Claimed by the Italian: Virgin: Wedded at the Italian's Convenience / Count Giovanni's Virgin / The Italian's Unwilling Wife

A tiny mew of frustration escaped her. She felt like a starving orphan, deprived of warmth and succour. Greedily, she tugged at his shoulders, reclaimed his mouth, and submitted to a surge of white-hot pleasure as with a groan Paolo took her swollen lips again and plundered the moist interior with explicit thrusts of his tongue.

Suddenly, for Lily, it wasn’t enough—not nearly enough.

Heat flamed deep in her pelvis as her restive hands moved from his shoulders to the sides of his face and down, thrusting at the parted sides of his white dinner jacket. Furiously her fumbling fingers worked at the buttons of his shirt, desperate to touch his skin, explore the warmth, the strength of his superb male body.

It wouldn’t end with just touching. Lily knew that. But her sense of self-respect, of morality, was vanquished by the sheer power of his erotic hold over her senses. And as he lifted his mouth from hers, removing his jacket with a muffled oath, then caught her to him, burying his face in her hair as he tried to deal with the fastener at the back of the halter strap, his fingers were unsteady.

He was always so in control, but he was losing control now, Lily thought, a wave of tenderness washing over her. Just for tonight his needs came first, and she lifted her hands to release the stubborn clasp. She heard the heady sound of his indrawn breath as the silky fabric slid away to expose the pink-crested peaks of her breasts to his desire-hazed eyes.

‘Ah—bella, bella! How I want you!’ His voice was hoarse as he eased slowly away, putting space between them. ‘But my sweet Lily blossom—’

Reckless, fizzing need had her twining her slim arms around his neck, sliding forward and stopping his words as her mouth took his with helpless greed.

In the time it took to take a breath Lily felt him relax. The tension that had taken hold, tautening his powerful body, drained out of him, and now he was kissing her with totally erotic expertise. Her fingers worked with frustrated energy to release the buttons of his shirt, parting the fabric to splay her hands against the hard muscles of his chest, and she was hot with longing as he eased her back against the cushions and took one rosy nipple into his mouth, then moved to the other.

Her head arched back on her slender neck as hot, exquisite sensation flooded every nerve-ending, and he gave a deep groan of male appreciation as she helped him remove her dress with eager, scrabbling hands.

The dress disposed of, Paolo stood and removed the barrier of his clothes with haste, standing before her with the moonlight gleaming on the olive-toned skin that sheathed his male magnificence.

A feverish knot was tightening deep inside her, and with a shaky whimper she held pale, slender arms out to him. As he came to her she knew that her life had been leading up to this one moment of sublime intimacy with the man she loved. Just this one time—a time that would live for ever in her memory. To be treasured. And maybe the memory would surface sometimes for him, making him smile a little as he looked back and remembered …

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