A Queen for the Taking?

Then she let out a little gasping shudder and her hand, as if of its own accord, clasped his arm, her nails digging into his skin as she pulled him infinitesimally closer. She tilted her head back just a little to allow him greater access to her throat, her breasts, and triumph surged through him. She wanted this. Him.

He moved lower, kissing his way to the V between her breasts where the diamond-and-pearl pendant nestled. He lifted the jewel and licked the warm skin underneath, tasted salt on his tongue and heard her gasp again, her knees buckling as she sat down hard on the table amidst the detritus of their dinner.

Triumph mixed with pure lust and he fastened his hands on her hips, sliding them down to her thighs so he could spread her legs wider. He stood between them, the silken folds of her dress whispering around him as he kissed her like a starving man feasting at a banquet.

He felt her shy response, her tongue touching his before darting away again, and he was utterly enflamed. He slid the straps of her dress from her shoulders, freeing her breasts from their silken prison.

She wore no bra, and desire ripped through him at the sight of her, her head thrown back, her breath coming in gasps as she surrendered herself to his touch, her face flushed and rosy, her lips parted, her body so wonderfully open to him. This was how he’d wanted to see her. He bent his head, kissing his way down her throat, his hand cupping her bared breast—

And then the door opened and a waitress gasped an apology before closing it again quickly, but the moment, Sandro knew, had broken. Shattered into shock and awkwardness and regret.

Liana wrenched herself from his grasp, holding her dress up to her bare front, her lips swollen, her eyes huge and dazed as she stared at him.

He stared back in both challenge and desire, because as much as she might want to deny what had just happened between them, her response had said otherwise. Her response had told him she really was alive and warm and real beneath all that ice, and he was glad.

‘Don’t—’ she finally managed, the single word choked, and Sandro arched an eyebrow.

‘It’s a little late for that. But obviously, I’ve stopped.’

‘You shouldn’t have—’

‘Stopped?’

‘Started—’

‘And why not? We are to be married, aren’t we?’

She just shook her head, fumbling as she attempted to slide her arms back into the dress, but she couldn’t manage it without ripping the fragile fabric. Sandro came to stand behind her, unzipping the back with one quick tug.

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