Marco felt her recoil. Oh, she was right. It was evil to tease her. His cousin would ring a peal over his head. However, at this moment, the only sound he could hear was the heated thrum of his pulse.
Ta-tum. Ta-tum. Ta-tum.
As her lips parted in outrage, the pounding grew louder, and Lynsley’s stern warnings to keep his mind on the mission fell on deaf ears.
“You owe me something, Kate.”
Her eyes widened at the intimacy. Only a close friend or a lover was allowed the liberty of stripping away the formalities of Polite Society and using her pet name. He was neither, but he liked the feel of it—a rough-edged growl that started deep in his throat and then slid from his tongue in a short, sweet rasp of air.
“Kate,” he repeated, savoring the sound.
“How dare you call me that!” Anger had ridged the sharp slant of her cheekbones with a slash of crimson. Like her flesh was on fire.
“Because I am a wicked, wanton wastrel.” He traced the back of his hand along her jaw.
The tiny muscles twitched beneath his touch. “What do you want from me?” she demanded.
“Just a kiss.” Planting himself in her path of escape, Marco slowly framed her face. “And don’t tell me you haven’t been kissed by another man before.”
“Then take it, and be done with it, you cad,” she said through clenched teeth.
“Va bene. Then with your permission…”
He had no intention of rushing the experience. His lips hovered for a moment, a whisper from hers. Heat radiated from her every pore, prickling sharp as her Spanish dagger against his skin. The scent of oranges and Mediterranean thyme teased at his senses. Closing his eyes, he could almost taste it—sweetness, spice, and the foam-flecked salt of the sea.
“W-what the devil are you waiting for?” she whispered.
Damn him for a fool. He ought to rein in this reckless need to crush his mouth to hers. But restraint was not part of his nature. Not anymore.
And so he gave way to desire. To lust. To something he couldn’t begin to put a name to.
In answer to her tremulous question, Marco nipped the swell of her lower lip.
“Beast,” she repeated, and then bit him back.
He gave a rough laugh. “Spitfire.” He kissed her cheek, which seemed to surprise her. She stopped struggling and went very still. He kissed the shell of her ear, tracing its shape with his tongue.
She let out a little moan as the basket slipped from her grip.
A surge of fire shot through his blood. He might be doomed to burn in the eternal flames of Hell for his sins, but at this moment he didn’t care.
“Bella,” he murmured, teasing a trail of tiny caresses to the corner of her mouth.
Her hands came up, and all at once her slim fingers were tangling, twisting, twining in his hair. Kicking aside a terra-cotta pot, Marco braced her up against one of the fluted iron columns and possessed her with a hard, hungry kiss. The shards crunched under his boots as he hitched his hips, pinned her between the cold metal and his hot steel.
“Oh.” She sucked in a breath as he slowly released her lips. His arousal was thrust up against her belly, an unyielding shaft of throbbing, engorged flesh. “You are a very wicked man.”
Her body arched—not to seek escape but to meet his advances with a slow, sinuous slide of silk over the taut leather of his buckskins.
“And you,” said Marco, trying to control the urge to fist her skirts and yank them up over her thighs, “are a very bad girl.”
Her expression tightened, and for a fleeting instant she looked as vulnerable as a child. Unsure, and perhaps a little afraid. Then the sardonic mask was back in place.
“That shouldn’t come as any surprise, Lord Ghiradelli…”
In contrast to the polished tones of a proper young lady, her voice was a little rough around the edges. Low and husky, the sound seemed weathered by wind and salt. Marco found it incredibly sexy.
“… now that you know my dirty little secret,” finished Kate.
Secrets. He was about to ask what had made the granddaughter of an English duke turn to thieving in a seamy Italian brothel. But the trembling jut of her kiss-swollen lower lip was too great a distraction. Coherent thought gave way to desire. And then, against all reason, to a desperate need to taste her lush, lovely mouth.