His Fantasy Bride (Things to do Before You Die… #3)(4)

She still hadn’t spoken, just stood there staring back at him, her gaze fixed on his face. Then she took a step toward him. Her hand reached out, and she stroked a finger down over his cheekbone.

Of course, the scar. That was new.

“What happened?” she murmured and even her voice had a sexy edge, low and husky. He’d always thought she had a beautiful voice but never considered it sexy. Maybe this wasn’t Gabrielle. A twin sister? With the same name? Unlikely.

“Vito?”

He shook his head. What had she said?

Her finger caressed the curve of his cheek. The scar? That was it. He cleared his throat. “An accident. On a cruise ship. I was hit by a burning cable.”

“Ouch.”

He shrugged. “It could have been worse.”

Her hand dropped to her side, and she studied him, her head cocked. While she wasn’t short for a woman, she only came to his shoulder, and this close, looking down, he could see the swell of her breasts above the tight material. He tried to focus on her face.

“It suits you,” she said after a minute. “You were too perfect before.”

If he was so goddamn perfect, why had she run? The first flickers of anger licked along his nerves. She’d clearly moved on with her life—a completely different life than he had imagined.

“Why?” he asked, and the word came out as a growl, harsher than he’d intended.

She took a step back, her eyes widening. He’d never spoken to her in anger. He always kept his temper in check. Anger never achieved anything, but now he could feel it churning in his gut, rising up, unfamiliar, and tipping him further off balance.

She looked away, licked her lips with a small pointed tongue and heat flared up, mingling with the rage. Her gaze returned to his face, and she focused on his lips.

“Gabrielle?”

“I think I need to kiss you.”

At first, the words made no sense. They were certainly not what he expected, but then nothing about this encounter was like anything he’d imagined. And he could think of absolutely nothing to say. Then she took a step toward him, and his mind slid into chaos. He tried one last time. “We should talk—”

She stopped him with a finger to his lips. “Later. Kiss me first, and then we’ll talk.”

This close he could breathe in her warm scent—sweat mingled with a sharp, citrusy perfume, as unfamiliar as the rest of her. She’d worn Chanel when he’d known her before. Her hands rose to rest on his shoulders, and she came up on tiptoe.

He should move, back away. He’d come here to talk, to find out what had gone wrong between them. Persuade her to come back and give him another chance.

Time seemed to slow. They’d kissed plenty in the month he’d known her, but always in control. Now his heart raced, his blood thundered in his veins, and he had an inkling his control could snap at any moment.

Move.

But he couldn’t do it. He was physically incapable of shifting his feet. He was stuck in place as her hands slid from his shoulders to sink into the hair at the back of his neck. A shiver ran through him as her fingers glided across his skull then exerted a slight pressure to lower his head.

Her eyes were half-closed, her lips slightly parted. Her tongue swiped across her plump lower lip, and every muscle in his body clenched up tight. His hands were hanging by his side, now they moved of their own accord with no direction from his brain. They settled on the deep indent of her waist, urging her closer.

He’d let her have her one kiss, and afterward they’d talk.

Then her lips touched his and all rational thought fled.





Chapter Two


Holy freaking moly.

The man could kiss.

Get a grip.

She wasn’t supposed to enjoy it—it had been a means to an end, that was all. She’d had to do something to get out of answering his question because she had no clue what to say. And hey, they couldn’t talk if they were kissing, so it was the logical thing to do.

And who am I kidding?

She’d been fighting the need to kiss him from the second she’d touched that sexy scar on his cheek. It gave him the look of a wicked pirate. She’d told herself it was merely curiosity—they’d kissed before, but she’d never really allowed herself to let go, had always felt a little guilty, and consequently kept herself detached. Those kisses had been nothing like this. Now with his mouth on hers, she never wanted to stop.

Okay, so it’s a crap plan and I’m delusional.

Once he learned what she’d done, he’d never want to see her again, let alone kiss her. He was going to hate her so badly. So she was taking this, because it would be the last chance she would ever get. And maybe, if she had him just the once, then she’d be able to get him out of her head and her heart, where he had no goddamn right to be.

He’d taken control of the kiss as soon as their lips had touched, his mouth firm and warm, his hands on her waist sending tingles along her nerve endings to settle between her thighs, flooding her sex with heat. Her breasts were crushed against the rock solid chest, her nipples already swollen. Nothing had prepared her for this. Then his lips parted, and his tongue pushed into her mouth. He tasted of hot Italian sunshine and spices and heat. His tongue slid along the edge of hers like warm wet velvet, and he kissed her until she was starved for oxygen, light-headed.