Free The Impatient Groom by Sara Wood Page A

neck. Her lips curved into a slow smile and there was a glow of happiness in her eyes. Without knowing, she pressed against him, and found herself moving with a sensuality that was strange to her.
    â€˜Bellissima Sophia,’ he muttered in a heart-lurching growl.
    Fascinated, she watched his mouth shape into kissable, high arching curves. Her whole body trembled. He felt hard and muscular and utterly desirable. Parting her lips, she shaped her hands around his smooth neck and brought his head a fraction closer.
    It was an invitation he didn’t reject. His mouth descended on hers with a passion she welcomed. Her back arched automatically and he slipped the bodice of her dress down, his fingers brushing tantalisingly across the globes of her half-revealed breasts.
    Then his mouth was there, drifting around each curve, slowly, slowly inching down the sprigged material until...
    She went rigid. Her nipple was enclosed in moist warmth and it was being gently, agonisingly sweetly sucked, played with, and teased. She couldn’t bear it. Fiercely she held his shoulders, digging her fingers in, her mind focussed only on that hard, taut centre from which came fiery darts of promise, shooting along nerve pathways to every part of her body.
    Tousled and breathing heavily, he lifted his head and impatiently wrenched at his tie and top button.
    â€˜Help me!’ he whispered hoarsely.
    And, to her amazement, she did. Her palms touched his naked chest in awe, caressing the outline of his muscles while he brooded over her, his eyes black with passion. With a groan, she lifted her arms and put her hands
on his beautiful broad back, bringing him just close enough for each engorged tip of her breasts to brush seductively against his skin.
    Why?
    She tensed. She didn’t know. And he must have detected that something was amiss because he moved back a little, watching her, his chest rising and falling with his harsh breath, his lips parted, eyes pained...
    Of course. A flash of anguish scythed through her. He’d been distressed about his late wife. And she’d been there, a pair of arms for him to fall into. A soft cushion and a brandy would have done just as well, she thought miserably.
    His hand tentatively touched a coil of hair snaking over her shoulders. ‘Sophia?’ he said gently.
    She avoided his searching eyes. ‘I’m sorry. I think we ought to call a halt to this, don’t you? They’ll be coming in to clean the room—’
    â€˜Not while there’s a notice on the door. But if you wish...’ He eased himself away and stood, picking up his shirt and slipping his arms into it.
    Deeply embarrassed and shocked by her eager responses, she rearranged her dress and swung her long, slender legs to the floor. They were trembling. And every inch of her body was aroused and hungry. What a fool she was, she thought bitterly. And wondered how on earth she’d deal with the situation now.
    â€˜I’m the one who should apologise.’ He slid his fingers down her cheek and tipped up her chin. A faint frown crossed his brow when he met her misty eyes. ‘Forgive me?’ he asked huskily.
    She swallowed. It was hardly his fault ‘Course!’ she managed, and pushed out a wavering smile, which he
kissed from corner to corner, very gently, a little lingeringly. And it took all her will-power not to kiss him back.
    â€˜I think you’re right, we do need to get out,’ he said drily. ‘Why don’t you tidy your hair while I make a few escape plans? Take your time. I’ll need at least half an hour.’
    She nodded in relief and dashed for her bedroom, leaning back against the door with closed eyes and waiting for her leaping heart to settle down. It refused. So she scrubbed her hands in cold water and doused her face then put on some lipstick and punished herself by yanking her hair into a ballet-dancer’s bun.
    But she looked mutinous, her mouth pouting and