“She’s ill, so please be careful.”
“Oh, no, Michael. What’s wrong with her?”
He gave a deep sigh and rubbed his hands over his face. “Besides an arthritic knee, her heart is delicate. She needs to watch her stress and activity, so I intend to humor her this visit.” His brows lowered. “And I hope you will, too.”
“I can play nice for a week.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” he murmured. “Be sure you don’t try to deck me when I kiss you.” He looked thoughtful, and Maggie almost gulped with unease. “In fact, perhaps I should kiss you right here. Right now. For practice, of course.”
She hissed like a ticked-off snake. “I can manage not to jump when a man touches me.”
“I’m not convinced.” He stalked over and invaded her personal space. The heat of his skin pulled her in. “One slipup and this charade ends. I can’t afford it. Especially when a simple kiss beforehand may make the difference.”
“I’m real good at faking it.” She tossed him a mocking smile. The delicious scents of musk and man beckoned her to steal a sample. Her heart tripped at the thought of him calling her bluff, which only made her more obnoxious. “No one will ever know I’m not interested in kissing you. No need to put ourselves through a practice run.”
He studied her in silence and she began to relax. “Let’s test the theory, shall we?”
He grasped her shoulders and yanked her forward. She collided with a rock of carved muscle, and her arms came up in automatic protest to push against his chest. When she hit resistance, her fingers gripped the soft material of his T-shirt. His feet straddled hers and kept her off balance. His lips stopped inches from her own.
“Take your hands off of me.” Sweat beaded her brow. Oh, God, what if she melted and looked like an idiot? What if she moaned when those full lips slid over hers? She could not respond. She could not respond. She could not—
“What are you so nervous about?” Humor danced in his eyes. “You’ve done this a million times, remember?”
“I don’t like to be manhandled,” she shot back.
His lip quirked. He lowered his voice to a husky purr that promised her pure bodily pleasure. “Maybe you haven’t had the right man handling you.”
“Give me a break. Do women really fall for that line? Because if they do, they must come from the land of the stupid. Take your hands—”
His lips covered hers.
His warm, soft mouth stopped the angry flow of words and distracted her from any other thought she’d ever had except how this man kissed.
Her senses short-circuited. She liked kissing and had experienced her fair share, but with Michael everything seemed different. His body heat reminded her of a werewolf in those Twilight films she secretly loved. His tongue probed the seam of her lips, then dove in without apology. She could have fought him if he got greedy; instead, the slide of his tongue seduced and asked for her to come and play. His stubble rubbed the sensitive curve of her jaw. His hips slanted against hers as his arms came down and cupped her rear, bringing her up to meet the hard bulge between his thighs.
She moaned. He caught it and pressed a bit deeper, and Maggie opened her mouth and gave in.
He plundered and commanded in complete thrusts, reminding her of how he’d claim her body if she gave him a chance. She tried to surface and gain control of the kiss, but her mind crumbled and her body sang. He murmured her name, and her legs got shaky as she held on to him for dear life and kissed him back.
How long had passed? Minutes? An hour? He finally pulled away, slowly, as if he regretted ever breaking the contact. She hated herself in that moment. Instead of slapping him away, or coming up with a smart-aleck comment, she just stared helplessly. Her tongue ran over her swollen lower lip.
He groaned. Uneven breaths lifted his chest. “You’re right,” he said softly. “You fake it really well.”
She jerked back and prayed her cheeks didn’t look flushed. She forced out the words. “Told you.”
He turned and stacked the luggage in the corner of the room and opened the closet door. “There’s plenty of space for both of us. This will be our room for the week.”
Reality crashed over her. Rich details made the room comfortable yet masculine, from the royal-blue throw rugs, cherrywood furniture, and lack of frilly clutter. A deep red quilt finished off the polished look of the bed that took up the center of the room. Maggie stared at the bed, a bit smaller than what she expected, and realized there was no sofa or cushy rug. The knowledge they’d be squished together rattled her nerves. Dear God, she’d just melted from a lousy kiss. What if she rolled over in her sleep? What if her fingers accidentally hit one of those sleek pec muscles and she made a fool out of herself?
Irritation bit at her from the ridiculous situation so she did what she learned best. Go on the attack first. “Nice bed.”
He cleared his throat. “Is this acceptable? If not, I can always put a blanket on the floor.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m a big girl, Count, just stay on your side. I’ll take the left.”
“As you wish.”
“You don’t snore, do you?”
A twinkle of amusement glinted in his eyes. “I’ve never had anyone complain before.”
“Well, I’ll let you know for future reference if they’re lying.”
He gestured toward the bathroom and glass doors that led to a balcony. “Why don’t you take some time to freshen up and come downstairs when you’re ready? I’ll show you the property and the rest of the house then. When is your Milan shoot?”
“Tomorrow. I’ll be there most of the day.”
“Very well. I’ll meet you there in the afternoon so we can file our Atto Notorio and Nulla Osta at the consulate’s office. I’ve already arranged for witnesses. Don’t forget to bring all your papers—I had to pull some strings so Mama wouldn’t suspect we wish any delay.”
Maggie swallowed a gulp. “I thought you said it was impossible to get a priest to marry us?”
“It is quite difficult to get a priest to perform a ceremony last minute, and Mama will only accept this type of wedding. There’s no way they can be approved in a week.”
“Okay.”
They stared at each other for a few moments in silence. He shifted his weight, and the fabric of his jeans strained against the bulge dead center. His black T-shirt did nothing to hide the breadth of his shoulders and chest. Or the corded, sinewy length of his arms covered with dark hair. Her traitorous body responded to his confidence as heat burned between her thighs and her ni**les tightened to achy points.