Happy Mother's Day! - By Sharon Kendrick Page 0,90

assume that you’re the only one to consider a wedding ring guaranteed exclusivity?’

The silence stretched.

Some of the anger faded from Francesco’s face as he looked at her downbent head. ‘When I made my vows I meant them.’

In the middle of a loud sniff her head came up with a jerky motion. His use of tense was not lost on her.

‘This is ridiculous. You will listen to me, Erin … that night I—’

Realising his intention, she shook her head. ‘I don’t want to hear it and I’m not coming back to Italy with you.’ She pressed a hand to her stomach in a fruitless attempt to ease the aching, empty sensation deep down. ‘The truth is, together we don’t work. We’re just incompatible. I’m ready to concede that it’s partly my fault, but I am who I am, Francesco—I can’t change that.’

Francesco closed his eyes and snarled an oath under his breath. He pushed back his anger and let his eyes fall away from her earnest stare. His glance fell as far as the heaving contours of her small, perfect breasts and stopped dead.

He knew they were perfect not because the top was suggestively skimpy, but because he had cupped them in his hands, kneaded the warm, firm flesh and aroused the tight pink nipples with his fingers and tongue.

In his head he could hear her hoarse cry of pleasure as she speared her fingers into his hair, holding him close as her body arched with pleasure.

She had been the most exquisitely sensitive creature; even the sound of his voice could draw the most incredible response from her. Still is sensitive … said the voice in his head.

In his mind he visualised the frustration building up in him as a wall, a crumbling wall with several gaping holes in it.

Breathing harder than he did during a strenuous workout he turned to pick up his clothes from the floor, presenting his back to her. The breathing space afforded him an opportunity to regain some degree of control over the compelling overpowering urge he had to slide his hand under that top and stroke the warm silky skin it covered.

Erin, who had been staring at the smooth, graceful lines of his strong, golden-skinned back with longing, blushed guiltily when he straightened up and looked at her. His lashes skimmed the hard angle of his cheekbones as his darkened glance dropped to her mouth and stayed there.

Erin’s own lashes came down in a dark silky screen. ‘Do you understand what I’m saying?’ she said severely.

‘There are some levels at which we work very well, Erin.’

She gave a shrug that was meant to convey supreme indifference to the honeyed implication, but spoilt the effect by being unable to hold his gaze.

‘This blushing ingénue act is a little misplaced when you’re talking to a man who has an intimate knowledge of your body.’

Erin’s head lifted with a jerk. ‘If you think I find your arrogance arousing.’ she gritted her teeth and felt the heat fly to her cheeks ‘.and if you think you can embarrass me, Francesco.’ The wolfish grin that spread across his lean face made her voice dry.

‘Oh, I know I can do that, mia bella.’ Their eyes locked and his dangerous smile faded, leaving an intense burning look that was infinitely more dangerous. It was also exciting, but Erin refused to acknowledge this even to herself.

‘What are you doing, Francesco?’ she asked, trying to sound calm and practical and feeling neither as he began to walk slowly but with purpose towards her.

Framing her face in one big hand, he smiled. It was a smile that stripped away the thin veneer of urbane charm he presented to the world. When she looked into his midnight eyes Erin saw the raw, untamed, masculine heart of him.

Her pulses leapt in wild response to the primitive need stamped into every angle and plane of his strong, heartbreakingly beautiful face.

He wanted her, but not in the same way she wanted him; he wasn’t capable of that. She knew there could only ever be sex between them, but the emotions that ached in her throat didn’t understand the distinction.

The fear and fascination she felt was mirrored in her eyes as she looked through her lashes at his face.

His thumb moved gently over the curve of her cheek and her eyelids fluttered briefly. It was a light butterfly caress, but more than enough to vaporise every instinct for self-preservation she possessed.

‘I’m doing this, cara mia,’ he explained in a voice