The Italians: Luca, Marco and Alessandro. Natalie Anderson

of her thigh. She sent him an agonised look but he had his head turned and was talking to Francine.

      The pudding was divine—and so was the orgasmic fantasy of sharing it with Luca…on Luca…all over…

      She put her spoon down, unable to eat anything more. Barely controlling the urge to part her legs and let his fingers slip all the way up. What was he trying to do to her?

      At last the others finished and Emily was glad to be able to scoop up their empty dishes and take them into the kitchen. She insisted the others remain at the table. She needed a breather—not from the guests but from the intensity of Luca, from the pent-up passion she could feel in him and the response he was seeking from her. But as she placed the plates down she heard footsteps behind her in the kitchen and he whispered her name. She turned but he caught her, pulling her backwards into his embrace, lifting her back behind the door. His mouth was hot on the side of her neck—kissing and sucking. His hands were everywhere. She leant back against him, and like kerosene-drenched wood their passion ignited into an inferno.

      ‘Luca?’

      He said nothing but kissed her even more fiercely. His hands slid up her bare thighs, lifting under her dress and up to her knickers. But he didn’t slide his fingers inside them as she wanted him to. She arched back in invitation. Oh, she wanted everything. Control of the urges suspended between them for hours snapped at the first touch. There was anger and hurt and most of all need.

      She forgot everything—where she was, what she was supposed to be doing. All she could think of was Luca and how he felt and how badly she wanted him back deep inside—then it would all be right, right, right.

      The tips of his fingers stroked over the lace and silk. Close, so close and yet not touching her heat as hard as she needed. His other hand cupped her breast. His thumb worked back and forth over her tight, jutting nipple. And from behind he rubbed against her, pressing his erection against her rounded, hungry flesh.

      Sandwiched between his fingers and his aroused pelvis she rocked, seeking satisfaction from both. Wanting the barriers of their clothing gone so she could feel everything fresh and raw.

      ‘Do you want me, Emily?’ he muttered, mouth hard against her neck.

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Shall I bend you over that bench and just—?’

      ‘Oh, yes…’ she panted, knees buckling. ‘Now. Now!’ She was so close she’d climax as soon as he thrust in—she knew it and she wanted it. As hard and fast and as animal as he liked. She couldn’t fight her hunger any more, couldn’t fight him.

      But his hands left her body. He stepped away so fast she staggered—his hands came back again, steadying her.

      ‘Emily,’ he panted, more breathless than she’d ever heard him. ‘You’re right. We can’t.’

      ‘What are you doing?’

      ‘Torturing us both.’

      ‘Why?’

      He didn’t answer directly. She felt his head resting on her shoulder, but he held the rest of him away from her. ‘I want you like I have never wanted before.’

      There it was again—want. And there was an unmistakable note of agony in there as well. She closed her eyes. He didn’t want to want her like this.

      ‘I’d better get back to the others.’ He pulled away.

      ‘I need a minute.’

      ‘Of course.’ He took another couple of deep breaths and left.

      She made it to the bathroom but there was no way she could disguise the colour in her cheeks or the redness of her mouth. It had only been minutes—maybe three? But everything had changed.