Escaping with the Billionaire. Оливия Гейтс

      “All a part of the Medina welcome package.”

      “Perhaps.” But she’d noticed a few too many of their favorites for the choices to have been coincidental. She moved forward hesitantly, the tiles cool against the bottoms of her feet. “This is all…something else.”

      “Leaving San Rinaldo, we had to downsize.” He gave her another of those dry smiles.

      More sympathy slid over her frustration at his secrets. “Thank you for bringing us here. I know it wasn’t easy for you.”

      “I’m the reason you have to hide out in the first place until we line up protection for you. Seems only fair I should do everything in my power to make this right.”

      Her husband had never tried to fix any of his mistakes, hadn’t even apologized after his arrest in the face of irrefutable evidence. She couldn’t help but appreciate the way Tony took responsibility. And he cared enough to smooth the way for her.

      “What about you?” She joined him at the swirled iron railing. “You wouldn’t have come here if it weren’t for me. What do you hope to accomplish for yourself?”

      “Don’t worry about me.” He leaned back on his elbows, white shirt stretching open at the collar to reveal the strong column of his neck. “I always look out for myself.”

      “Then what are you gaining?”

      “More time with you, at least until the restraining order is in place.” The heat of his eyes broadcast his intent just before he reached for her. “I’ve always been clear about how much I want to be with you, even on that first date when you wouldn’t kiss me good-night.”

      “Is that why you chased me? Because I said no?”

      “But you didn’t keep saying no and still, here I am turned on as hell by the sound of your voice.” He plucked her glasses off, set them aside and cradled her face in his palms. “The feel of your skin.”

      While he owned an empire with corporate offices that took up a bayside block, his skin still carried the calluses of the dockworker and sailor he’d been during his early adulthood. He was a man who certainly knew how to work with his hands. The rasp as he lightly caressed her cheekbones reminded her of the sweet abrasion when he explored farther.

      He combed through along her scalp, strands slithering across his fingers. “The feel of your hair.”

      A moan slipped past her lips along with his name, “Tony…”

      “Antonio,” he reminded her. “I want to hear you say my name, know who’s here with you.”

      And in this moment, in his eyes, he was that foreign prince, less accessible than her Tony, but no less exciting and infinitely as irresistible, so she whispered, “Antonio.”

      His touch was gentle, his mouth firm against hers. She parted her lips under his and invited in the familiar sweep, taste and pure sensation. Clutching his elbows, she swayed, her breasts tingling, pulling tight. Before she could think or stop herself, she brushed slightly from side to side, increasing the sweet pleasure of his hard chest teasing her. His hard thigh between her legs.

      She stepped backward.

      And tugged him with her.

      Toward the open French doors leading into her bedroom, her body overriding her brain as it always seemed to do around Tony. She squeezed her legs together tighter against the firm pressure of his muscled thigh, so close, too close. She wanted, needed to feel him move inside her first.

      Sinking her fingernails deeper, she ached to ask him to stay with her, to help her forget the worries waiting at home. “Antonio—”

      “I know.” He eased his mouth from hers, his chin scraping along her jaw as he nuzzled her hair and inhaled. “We need to stop.”

      Stop? She almost shrieked in frustration. “But I thought…I mean, you’re here and usually when we let things go this far, we finish.”

      “You’re ready to resume our affair?”

      Affair. Not just one night, one satisfaction, but a relationship with implications and complications. Her brain raced to catch up after being put on idle while her body took over. God, what had she almost done? A few kisses along with a well-placed thigh, and she was ready to throw herself back in his bed.

      Planting her hands on his chest, she stepped away. “I can’t deny that I miss you and I want you, but I have no desire to be labeled a Medina mistress.”

      His eyebrows shot up toward his hairline. “Are you saying you want to get married?”