Blackmailed Bride, Innocent Wife

Grasping, immoral, unrepentant. She’d tried so hard to deny him ownership of his home. She must have imbibed the Mangano hatred of Parisi blood with her mother’s milk.

Yet he’d made her his wife.

The Parisi name shouldn’t be sullied in such a way.

He ignored the turbulent heat that fired his bloodstream whenever their gazes met. The way his eyes strayed to her face. Her neat nose, bluer-than-blue eyes, her perfect mouth, the fragility of her slender neck.

He was merely taking her measure. It was anger he felt, not desire. He remembered the feel of her flagrantly enticing body, his hands encircling her tiny waist. The taste of her, rich and sweet. The tattoo of need that throbbed in his blood as he inhaled her skin’s perfume. The pulse of need he couldn’t suppress.

Triumph had tempted him to respond to the lure of her petal-soft lips. They’d fascinated him from the first. Now he knew they were lush, delicious, dangerously enticing.

The kiss had been an error.

It must never happen again.

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