Shadow Rider
Page 72
Electricity arced between them, sizzled over her skin and sank into her bones. Her bloodstream turned molten, so hot she felt each separate connection running through her body. His mouth was possessive. Demanding. On fire. Taking rather than asking. That didn’t matter, because she gave up everything to him.
His hands settled on her hips, almost as if he might set her aside. Francesca moved closer to him, needing to feel the strength in his body, the way his muscles rippled so elegantly beneath his clothes. She needed to touch him, his skin, to feel the heat scorching through her. Without thinking of the consequences, she jerked his shirt out of the waistband of his pants and slid her palms up his rib cage and over his chest.
His breath hitched in his throat. Hers caught in her lungs. A moan escaped her throat. A groan emerged from his lungs. His hand slid down her narrow waist to her hips, fingers bunching in her skirt while his mouth took hers again. She went up on her toes, reaching for more, drowning in his taste, in his dark passion. His hand slid over her bare thigh, up to her hip, and then down around to the inside. The feeling of the pads of his fingers was exquisite. All the while his mouth commanded hers. Taking her to places she hadn’t known existed.
She needed to be closer, much closer. Skin to skin. On the far wall, over his arm, she saw their shadows merge, and felt the jolt of lightning, as if she’d been struck, as if somehow their two bodies became one inside the same skin. The blaze of fire sizzled down her spine, up through her belly to her breasts. Scorching hot. Making her hungrier for him. Addicted to his taste. His scent. The feel of his hard body against the softness of hers. She’d never been more aware of herself as a woman.
Abruptly, Stefano’s hands locked around her upper arms like a vise and he put her away from him. Holding her still at arm’s length, breathing heavily, shaking his head. She took a step toward him. Mesmerized by him. Completely under his spell.
“No, bambina. We can’t do this.”
“Yes, we can. I want this,” she whispered, once again stepping toward him.
His arms locked, holding her away from him. “No.”
One word. She saw his face. Uncompromising. Without expression. She was on fire, her body not her own, but his, and yet . . . he didn’t want her. She was making a fool out of herself. Never in her life had she offered herself to another man. Humiliation burned through her.
Francesca turned away from him, pressing her fingers against her mouth to still the trembling. To seal the taste and feel of him to her. He didn’t want her. She’d thrown herself at him and he’d rejected her. How could she have been so stupid? She didn’t have a lot of experience, but she shouldn’t have convinced herself he wanted her just because she wanted him. She’d never felt more mortified in her life. She wasn’t certain how to salvage the situation, or even if she could.
“Don’t.” His voice was low.
She didn’t turn around to face him; she didn’t dare. Color had swept up her neck and into her face. She took a step toward the hall, away from him, thinking to flee to her room. She had nowhere else to go and she wanted to hide. To give herself time to pull herself back together, because he’d totally unraveled her. She would have allowed him to take her right there in his great room. On the couch. The floor. It wouldn’t have mattered as long as she had him. But he didn’t want her.
She’d never thrown herself at a man in her life. Never. She’d never been rejected and she didn’t know how to act. What to do or say. She wasn’t sophisticated. She didn’t run in his circles, and she didn’t know the first thing about casual kissing. To her, those kisses had been anything but casual, but what did she know?
“Francesca, don’t.” He repeated the command softly. Imperiously. “Look at me.” Another command.
She refused to face him. She shook her head and took another step, the need to flee overcoming her pride. She whirled around, thinking to run to the elevator, but he was on her before she’d taken a single step. His hands caught at her hips and he kept moving, propelling her backward as he took her straight through the wide archway to the wall in the hallway. She would have fallen over, had he not been holding her up.
Heart pounding, back to the wall, caged in by his body, she could only stand there, wishing the floor would open up and swallow her. She refused to look at his face, into his eyes. She didn’t want to do this with him, listen to him try to let her down easy. That was even more humiliating.
“I want to go,” she murmured softly. “You can’t keep me here.”
“Look at me, Francesca.” It was another one of his orders. Clear. Clipped. Expecting obedience.
His hands settled on her hips, almost as if he might set her aside. Francesca moved closer to him, needing to feel the strength in his body, the way his muscles rippled so elegantly beneath his clothes. She needed to touch him, his skin, to feel the heat scorching through her. Without thinking of the consequences, she jerked his shirt out of the waistband of his pants and slid her palms up his rib cage and over his chest.
His breath hitched in his throat. Hers caught in her lungs. A moan escaped her throat. A groan emerged from his lungs. His hand slid down her narrow waist to her hips, fingers bunching in her skirt while his mouth took hers again. She went up on her toes, reaching for more, drowning in his taste, in his dark passion. His hand slid over her bare thigh, up to her hip, and then down around to the inside. The feeling of the pads of his fingers was exquisite. All the while his mouth commanded hers. Taking her to places she hadn’t known existed.
She needed to be closer, much closer. Skin to skin. On the far wall, over his arm, she saw their shadows merge, and felt the jolt of lightning, as if she’d been struck, as if somehow their two bodies became one inside the same skin. The blaze of fire sizzled down her spine, up through her belly to her breasts. Scorching hot. Making her hungrier for him. Addicted to his taste. His scent. The feel of his hard body against the softness of hers. She’d never been more aware of herself as a woman.
Abruptly, Stefano’s hands locked around her upper arms like a vise and he put her away from him. Holding her still at arm’s length, breathing heavily, shaking his head. She took a step toward him. Mesmerized by him. Completely under his spell.
“No, bambina. We can’t do this.”
“Yes, we can. I want this,” she whispered, once again stepping toward him.
His arms locked, holding her away from him. “No.”
One word. She saw his face. Uncompromising. Without expression. She was on fire, her body not her own, but his, and yet . . . he didn’t want her. She was making a fool out of herself. Never in her life had she offered herself to another man. Humiliation burned through her.
Francesca turned away from him, pressing her fingers against her mouth to still the trembling. To seal the taste and feel of him to her. He didn’t want her. She’d thrown herself at him and he’d rejected her. How could she have been so stupid? She didn’t have a lot of experience, but she shouldn’t have convinced herself he wanted her just because she wanted him. She’d never felt more mortified in her life. She wasn’t certain how to salvage the situation, or even if she could.
“Don’t.” His voice was low.
She didn’t turn around to face him; she didn’t dare. Color had swept up her neck and into her face. She took a step toward the hall, away from him, thinking to flee to her room. She had nowhere else to go and she wanted to hide. To give herself time to pull herself back together, because he’d totally unraveled her. She would have allowed him to take her right there in his great room. On the couch. The floor. It wouldn’t have mattered as long as she had him. But he didn’t want her.
She’d never thrown herself at a man in her life. Never. She’d never been rejected and she didn’t know how to act. What to do or say. She wasn’t sophisticated. She didn’t run in his circles, and she didn’t know the first thing about casual kissing. To her, those kisses had been anything but casual, but what did she know?
“Francesca, don’t.” He repeated the command softly. Imperiously. “Look at me.” Another command.
She refused to face him. She shook her head and took another step, the need to flee overcoming her pride. She whirled around, thinking to run to the elevator, but he was on her before she’d taken a single step. His hands caught at her hips and he kept moving, propelling her backward as he took her straight through the wide archway to the wall in the hallway. She would have fallen over, had he not been holding her up.
Heart pounding, back to the wall, caged in by his body, she could only stand there, wishing the floor would open up and swallow her. She refused to look at his face, into his eyes. She didn’t want to do this with him, listen to him try to let her down easy. That was even more humiliating.
“I want to go,” she murmured softly. “You can’t keep me here.”
“Look at me, Francesca.” It was another one of his orders. Clear. Clipped. Expecting obedience.
