The Italian Billionaire's Secretary Mistress by Sharon Kendrick Read Free Book Online

to possess her. To see whether the body beneath matched up to all the tantalising promise which had been showcased by the scarlet dress. Which had driven him mad with desire all evening.
    Deliberately, he circled his hips against hers and she gasped into his mouth as he slipped his hand into the bodice of her dress. He could feel her trembling anticipation as he took one breast into his palm and began to flick his thumb over the stiff, puckered nipple.
    ‘Oh!’ she cried out again, wriggling restlessly, her fingernails skating over his back and digging into his flesh through the silk shirt he wore. She was eager, he thought, his heart erratically missing a beat. Very eager. Once again, the voice of reason began to clamour in his head, demanding to be heard and to put a stop to this madness—but the needs of his body were more demanding still and he could hold back no longer as he began to ruck the slippery material up over her bottom.
    It was a surprisingly firm bottom. Luxuriously, he smoothed his fingers over the high, tight globes—but his access to a still sweeter destination was impeded by the tights she wore.
    Pulling his mouth away from hers, he looked down at her as he hooked a careless finger in the thick elastic of the waistband. ‘I think we’d better take these off, don’t you?’ he questioned unsteadily.
    Angie was so het up with need for him that she could hardly think, let alone speak. Her lips were dry and her heart was hammering but warning bells began to ring. Couldn’t he just carry on what he was doing, which was giving her more pleasure than she’d ever thought it possible to feel? Strip her here without her having to give him permission to undress her. So that sex, if sex they were going to have, would be driven by passion rather than a cold-blooded discussion about it beforehand. And that way—driven by heated need rather than cool logic—he wouldn’t get the chance to discover her relative inexperience until it was too late to stop.
    And then she considered the reality of Riccardo removing her tights—the hold-everything-in tights which resembled cycling shorts and which she had bought deliberately to wear under the all-too-revealing outline of the thin silk dress. Because the last thing she had imagined was that he would be taking them off! Would he be disappointed when he saw what she was really like underneath—with a bit of a tummy, and hips about which the most flattering thing which had ever been said was that they were ‘child-bearing’? How would she compare to the perfectly honed supermodels and actresses he usually went to bed with? Angie shivered with a mixture of dread and sheer excitement—because he was touching her bare skin.
    Her lack of response to his question prompted him to rake his fingers through her hair, so that it spilled out all over his hands. Somehow the gesture made her feel curiously wanton—and so did the way he dipped his head to whisper his lips all the way along her shoulder blade.
    ‘You are suddenly very quiet, cara mia .’
    He made the silken words sound like poetry and the butterfly kiss which accompanied them was unbearably beautiful. Shuddering with pleasure, Angie swallowed down her self-doubts. She didn’t care! She didn’t care about support tights or the other women or the fact that they were in her grotty little apartment instead of the fancy places he was used to. All she cared about was Riccardo, the only man she ever had cared about, really—though she must never tell him that. Well, certainly not tonight!
    She buried her lips in his ear. ‘Yes, take them off,’ she whispered.
    Heatedly, Riccardo glanced around the room. Should he do it to her here? There was a small sofa and a floor covered by a rather tatty-looking carpet. If ever there was a room which was the antithesis of erotic, it was this one. ‘Let’s go to bed,’ he said urgently. ‘Come. Show me where it is.’
    Lacing her fingers with his, Angie led him towards the