He pulled her close, so close she could hear the thunder of his heart and the rapid give and take of his breath. Or maybe she wasn’t hearing his, but her own. He covered her face with kisses, swift and hungry, before finding her mouth and sinking inward. Oh, yes. This. This was what she craved. What she needed as desperately as sweet, life-sustaining air. Where before he’d controlled the kiss, now she took charge, giving him everything she possessed.
She heard his voice. Heard raw, guttural words. Words of want and need. And then her world tipped upside down as he swung her into his arms and carried her back to the couch. She hit the cushions with a soft bounce before he came down on top of her, his body pressing her deeper into the silken material.
“We just met,” she managed to gasp.
He shifted against her, fitting them one to the other like two pieces of a puzzle. “Sometimes it’s like that.”
“When? With who?”
“Now. With us.”
None of this made any sense. Rafe was supposed to be the rational one. The one in control. And yet, whatever had ignited between them had swept him away as completely as it had her. She wanted him with a bone-deep need that grew with each passing moment.
He made short work of the vest of her uniform, slipping buttons from their holes with a speed and efficiency that took her breath away. Parting the edges, he tackled her blouse next, button after button, before yanking the crisp black cotton from her slacks and shoving it half off her shoulders.
Rafe paused then, his hand hovering over the delicate bones of her shoulder, his dark skin tones at odds with her pale complexion. “My God,” he whispered. “You’re breathtaking.”
No one had ever described her that way before. But seeing his stunned expression—seeing herself through his eyes—she felt beautiful. He traced the edges of her bra, a simple, durable black cotton, sculpting the curves of her breasts. She could feel her nipples peaking through the material. An intense heat shot through her, echoed in the throbbing of her palm and sinking deep into her feminine core. “Rafe…”
It was her turn to touch. Her turn to explore. She cupped his face and gave in to the irresistible compulsion to trail her fingertips over those amazing planes and angles. To revel in the sheer masculine beauty of him. When she’d first seen him in the reception area, he’d appeared so self-contained, so remote. Never in a million years would she have imagined herself in this position. Who knew if the opportunity would ever present itself again? When they regained their sanity she wouldn’t be the least surprised if he instituted a “no touching” rule, especially when touching was so incredibly, gloriously dangerous.
Unable to resist, she wove her fingers into his hair to anchor his head and then rose to seal his mouth with hers. He tasted beyond delicious and she couldn’t get enough of him. Not his touch. Not his kisses. Not the press and drag of his body over hers.
Her hands darted to his shirt and she tugged at his tie, managing after a small struggle to rip it free from its anchor. Next she tackled the buttons that blocked her access to the rich expanse of flesh and muscle she yearned to caress. He groaned against her mouth, levering himself upward to give her better access. Her hands hovered over his belt buckle and the bulge that lay beneath.
And that’s when they heard it.
“Rafaelo?” A deep, gruff voice came from the far side of the office door, accompanied by a brisk knock. “Where are you, boy?”
Rafe swore beneath his breath. Vaulting off Larkin, he helped her to her feet. “Just a minute,” he called.
She stood, swaying in place, dizzy from the swift transition from passion to normalcy. Or the attempt at normalcy. “Who’s there?” she whispered.
“My grandfather Primo.”
Her eyes widened in alarm and her hands shot to the buttons of her blouse at the same time his did. Fingers clashed and fumbled. She could hear the murmur of voices coming from the far side of the door. Not just his grandfather, she realized. A woman’s voice, too.
“Nonna,” Rafe confirmed grimly. He let her finish working on straightening her clothing while he tackled the mess she’d made of his. “My grandmother.”