CHAPTER FOUR

‘HEY,MARCO, tie up the boat for me.'

Roman threw the line to the dockhand, then leapt out of the dinghy, so eager to get to the villa, he was fizzing with energy for the first time in months.

‘Yes, Signor Garner,' the young man replied as he caught the rope and tugged the boat alongside the dock.

Adrenaline charged through Roman's veins as he grasped Milly's hand and hauled her out. He was semi-erect, thanks to having Milly wriggling in his lap the whole journey—which had felt as if it had taken five times as long as the swim to the cove.

As soon as she climbed onto the dock, he placed his hand on her lower back, intending to direct her to the villa. He wanted her alone and naked, asap, before he exploded.

But before he could apply any pressure, she sidestepped his controlling hand to turn and address the boy. ‘Hi, Marco. I'm so sorry, I left your bike at the cove. I can go get it later, before you take me back to Sorrento.'

Roman frowned, his impatience turning to frustration.

And no small amount of irritation. Why was she arranging to leave, already? And how come she was on a first-name basis with the kid?

The boy blushed. ‘I will be happy to collect it, signorina. When do you wish to leave?'

‘In an hour or so,' she said.

An hour?What was she talking about? No way were they going to be through with each other in an hour. Was she mad?

But while he was still trying to get his head around the preposterousness of her putting a time limit on their booty call, she added: ‘If that's okay with you, Marco,' speaking to his employee with a deference she had never shown him.

The kid nodded and smiled, the flush on his cheeks becoming radioactive. ‘I am at your service, signorina.'

What. On. Earth?

‘The signorina is not leaving tonight. And certainly not with you,' Roman barked.

Milly and the young man both spun around to stare at him, clearly startled by his outburst. Although he had no idea why. Was she playing some kind of game with him? Because they'd come to an agreement on the beach, and now she seemed to be reneging on it—and flirting with his boat boy to boot.

‘Sì, Signor Garner.' The boy bowed, looking suitably chastened, and shot off to secure the boat, which was his actual job.

From the sharp frown on Milly's face, though, he knew she was not going to be anywhere near as compliant. Quelle surprise.

‘Roman...?' she gasped. ‘You mustn't talk to Marco like that, or me either.'

‘Save it,' he said, aware of the young man listening to their every word as he grasped her hand and proceeded to head up the path towards the villa.

Having Milly Devlin question his authority was nothing new. In fact, up to now he'd found her ballsy attitude towards him refreshing and... Well, hopelessly hot. But he'd be damned if he'd have a negotiation about the duration of their fling in front of an audience. Especially one who was likely to relay the whole conversation to his disapproving estate manager and his wife.

While he didn't really care if his employees thought he had the ethics of an alley cat when it came to women, he did not appreciate being gossiped about in his own home. Or judged.

Especially because he had been struggling not to judge himself, and the intensity of his desire for this woman, on the sail back.

There was something about Milly—about her eagerness and openness and her livewire response to him as well as that kickass attitude—that made this liaison different from the many, many others he'd had.

Not only had he never been quite this eager to bed anyone, quite this captivated or enchanted by watching a woman succumb to her own pleasure, but she was younger and a lot less jaded than the women he usually dated—and there was still that niggling thought he had brought her here against her will last night. All of which made him feel responsible in a way he didn't like.

He had no plans to demand anything of her she did not wish to give him, but he couldn't quite get past the look in her eyes—dazed and wary and even a little shocked, after she'd climaxed earlier, while holding nothing back.

She'd looked as if she'd never experienced anything so intense before. Which had made her seem oddly vulnerable—almost as if she was the virgin he'd teased her about being.

Which wasn't possible. While he had no experience of virgins, he very much doubted they responded with such captivating abandon.

Captivating? Seriously?

And that was another thing... Since when had he found inexperience—or even the hint of it—a turn-on?

‘Roman, for goodness' sake, slow down,' she protested, tugging against his hold and trying to dig in her heels.

They had reached the pool terrace before he had calmed down enough to realise he was behaving like a caveman. Also not like him... He prided himself on being smooth and sophisticated with women. Especially women he wanted to bed.

He let her go, abruptly. She stumbled to a stop and huffed. Looking indignant and annoyed, but also confused.

That made two of them.

‘If you've changed your mind about sleeping with me, that's perfectly okay. But you need to say so,' he managed, annoyed now, not just by her conversation with Marco, and what it had revealed—that she saw this liaison as a one-off booty call that she got to call the shots on—but also his ridiculous overreaction to it.

After all, he was hardly a stranger to one-off booty calls. So why did he suddenly feel used? It wasn't as if either one of them were looking for anything more than a chance to explore this explosive chemistry. Although, he was also wondering now why he was still so desperate to sleep with her, and why he was so sure this chemistry would take more than an hour to satisfy, when this was not the first time she had driven him crazy... And they'd known each other for less than twenty-four hours.

Her lips flattened into a line of displeasure, but the wariness and confusion in her expression remained.

‘I... I didn't change my mind,' she said so cautiously, he felt like a bully. ‘I just... I have to catch a bus back to Genoa from Sorrento today. It's an eleven-hour journey and I'm scheduled to be running a tour group at seven tomorrow in the marina and then I have a waitressing shift at three.'

He stared, momentarily nonplussed by the prosaic answer. For a split second, he wondered if she was lying to him, to gain his sympathy or something, because he was just that cynical. But he dismissed the idea quickly, because it was clear from her expression she thought what she had just confided was perfectly reasonable, when he knew it was anything but.

Her sister was married to a billionaire. She was part of said billionaire's family. Which made her Cade's responsibility. And yet it seemed the man had abandoned that responsibility with the same carelessness he had once rejected Roman, and his own child.

He blinked as the last of his indignation died. But his temper remained, although this time it was not directed at the young woman in front of him.

‘Why are you working two menial jobs in Genoa?' he asked, keeping the disgust out of his voice with an effort.

He'd always known Cade and Cade's father were greedy, entitled, self-serving, irresponsible bastards—and he'd got over wanting things to be different a long time ago, even if the day he'd managed to arrange a meeting with the heir to the Cade empire, and beg him for a job, as a foolishly misguided sixteen-year-old, still smarted. But apparently even he had begun to buy into the media reports of Brandon Cade's blissful new marriage—and his enthusiastic embrace of family life and domestic responsibility. Because Roman was actually surprised by the extent of the man's callousness towards his own sister-in-law.

Who let their wife's sister work two menial jobs when they were loaded? And had been their whole life?

Milly, though, seemed even more surprised by his question, when her brows shot up, then snapped together.

‘They're not menial jobs,' she said. ‘They're the best jobs I could get. And they pay the bills...' She sighed. ‘Until I can find the time to do more of what I actually want to do,' she added, and he found himself wondering what it was that she wanted to do. But then she propped her fists on her hips, drawing his attention to the way the worn cotton stretched over the visible outline of her nipples. ‘Not everyone can be a media mogul, you know.'

‘And yet your sister happens to be married to one,' he countered, dragging his gaze away from her breasts before his erection became unmanageable again.

Her expressive eyebrows launched back up. ‘What exactly has what I choose to do for a living got to do with Brandon?'

No one chose to work shifts as a waitress, or ferrying tourists around, if they had other options, and from the wistful expression when she had mentioned having time to ‘do what she wanted to do' it was obvious Milly Devlin had other ambitions. But he had no desire to clue her in to his personal animosity towards Brandon Cade, because that was way too much information for a casual fling—even if this fling already didn't feel all that casual.

So, he stopped himself from stating the obvious—that Brandon Cade had the money and the connections to nurture Milly and support her in whatever ambitions she had.

That Cade had chosen not to help her said more about him than about Milly.

But all that was beside the point. And haranguing her about what a bastard her brother-in-law was was not going to solve the problem at hand. Which was the one-hour time limit she had just put on their sex-fest—so she could spend eleven hours on a bus!

Seriously?Was she a masochist or something?

‘How about I get my helicopter to escort you back to Genoa first thing tomorrow morning?' he offered. ‘So you can skip the long bus journey?'

He wanted one whole night with her, and her deliciously responsive nipples. They'd started something on the beach he intended to take his own sweet time finishing—and somehow he doubted once, or even twice would be enough to discover all this woman had to offer, and satisfy the need that had been provoking him all day and most of the night.

She was a distraction, nothing more than that. But she was a fascinating and exciting one, which he wanted to savour. After all, it had been a good six months since he'd had the time, or the inclination, to sleep with anyone. And a great deal longer than that since he'd experienced the endorphin rush she had inspired in the last twelve hours simply by breathing—and antagonising him. And surely no-holds-barred, hard, sweaty sex was just what the doctor had ordered to get his downtime on Estiva off to a flying start.

He'd been struggling in the last six months with an endless feeling of boredom. And exhaustion. It felt as if he'd achieved everything he'd ever wanted to achieve. He'd lost his hunger, for work, for his business, which had driven and energised him for so long. And he wanted it back. His doctor had suggested a two-week break on Estiva from the pressures of work and social commitments. He'd balked at first, but, after another couple of months of struggling to focus, he had finally given in to the inevitable, that his lack of energy was not going to disappear on its own. But the truth was, even totally burnt out, it was going to be hard for him to relax... He hadn't had a proper vacation since he had begun his quest to unseat Cade Inc as the top media brand over a decade ago.

He didn't want to examine the root causes of this odd feeling of disconnection too closely. He just wanted it to go away. But surely having Milly Devlin in his bed would help get that process started, at least.

Plus, he certainly didn't want any FOMO hanging over him when he sent her on her merry way tomorrow morning. Because he had enough damn FOMO already, from the thought that what he had achieved somehow hadn't satisfied him, that it wasn't enough. And he didn't know why.

She blinked, clearly surprised by his offer. ‘You have a helicopter here?'

It was his turn to frown. Actually, he didn't, the Garner chopper was in London, because he'd taken the company jet to Naples to get here, then piloted his own launch to the party on Capri—thanks to the hare-brained desire to meet Cade face to face for the first time in sixteen years at the Italian launch. Which he realised now had been based on some vaguely humiliating desire to show the man who had rejected him all those years ago that he was bigger and better than him now—or soon would be.

That would be the celebration Cade had chosen not to attend—and had sent his wife and sister-in-law to instead, to represent the company.

He couldn't help being glad Cade had been a no-show now, though. Not only would Roman never have met Milly, but he might have made an idiot of himself at the ball, confronting the man out of some misguided desire to prove himself.

He didn't need to prove himself to anyone any more. And certainly not Cade, but perhaps that was exactly the problem. He had run out of challenges in his life... Until Milly Devlin had tried to steal his boat.

‘Yes, I have a helicopter here,' he lied smoothly, because he was not about to get bogged down in any more insignificant details.

He cupped her cheek and glided his thumb across that tempting mouth. Her lips parted as she sucked in a breath and her eyes darkened. The giddy heat leapt up his torso, and plunged into his trunks.

‘So, is it a deal? You stay the night, and I'll get you back to Genoa in the morning?'

‘Well, I'm not sure using a helicopter for such a short trip is very good for the environment,' she murmured, because she was just that contrary, but the heat flared regardless. Apparently, he found her contrariness as exciting as the rest of her.

What else was new?

‘Stop prevaricating,' he said. ‘Are we having this booty call, or are we not?' he demanded, letting his impatience show, and going full-on Captain of the Universe again. ‘Because if you don't want to give me the whole night, you might as well go back to Genoa now. I have lots of plans to make you beg again—because you do it so well... But executing them is going to take considerably longer than one hour—and I do not like to be rushed.'

Indignant colour flooded into her cheeks on cue, but he could see the need in her eyes too and he had to bite back a laugh. And a groan.

The woman was so deliciously transparent—and easy to tease—it was practically a superpower. One he aimed to take full advantage of all through the night.

‘You really are the pushiest man on the planet,' she announced, apropos of nothing. ‘Do you always have to have everything your own way?'

‘Of course,' he replied, clasping her wrist and tugging her towards him. ‘But however pushy I am, I don't want you in my bed unless you want to be there. So, yes or no, Milly? It's a simple question.'

She huffed and tucked her bottom lip under her teeth to chew over the problem, then glanced at the villa. Something streaked across her face, which looked like the tantalising innocence again he had already decided was not real. But it had the same unpredictable effect, making the pulse of heat become a painful ache.

She nodded. Finally.

‘I'm in,' she said.

Then shrieked, right in his ear, when he bent down, scooped her up and slung her over his shoulder.

‘About damn time,' he said as he hefted her—laughing and kicking and gesticulating all at the same time—across the terrace and up the stairs to his suite.

Giddy desire warred with low-grade panic as Milly rode Roman's broad shoulder up to a white stone terrace overlooking the sea and pounded on his back with her fists, to no effect whatsoever.

‘Put me down, you egomaniac!' she shouted, but her breathless laugh at his outrageous behaviour ruined the effect somewhat.

‘Keep that up and I'll drop you,' he shouted back, then gave her bottom a stinging slap, which sent sensation skittering through her system and turbo-charged the endorphin rush that had begun to build as soon as he had interrupted her conversation with Marco.

‘The signorina is not leaving tonight. And certainly not with you.'

The memory of the possessive frown on his face and the demanding tone sent another giddy rush through her already over-eager body.

Of course, Roman's terse comment had been unbelievably arrogant. But it had also been beyond exciting to realise he was as keen to explore their chemistry as she was—and he wasn't shy about staking a claim.

To be fair, her protests at his outrageous declaration had all been for show really after that.

She'd been unsure of herself when they'd arrived at the dock. Unsure of what she had committed to, and whether she was being too eager, too obvious. Which was why she'd had the conversation with Marco in the first place.

She'd got it into her head she needed to make it very clear—to herself as well as Roman—she had no preconceived notions about their hook-up. That she was as smart and jaded and sophisticated about sharing his bed as all the other women he had probably invited into it over the years.

She would have died of embarrassment if Roman had known exactly how much the epic orgasm he'd treated her to on the beach had meant to her. Or figured out it was the first one she'd ever had that she hadn't had to supply herself.

The delirious journey back to the villa in the boat, with his strong arms cradling her and his breath hot on her neck while he handled the sail with such skill, had been exhilarating, the afterglow still shimmering through her even more so, but it had also given her too much time to overthink what came next.

And how exactly she was going to pull off the flirty femme fatale act she was playing, given she was actually a clueless virgin, when they got to the main event.

Had she bitten off way more than she could chew with this man? Because what had seemed like a brilliant idea on the beach—to have her first sexual experience with someone as hot and gorgeous and cynical as Roman Garner—had started to feel more than a little overwhelming as the dock had come into view.

It had seemed smart and practical—because she really did have to hit the ground running and kickstart Operation Turn Milly into a Successful Artist in a Fortnight first thing tomorrow morning—to deal with how she was going to get back to Genoa, not to mention apologise to Marco for leaving his bike on the other side of the island.

But while Roman's intervention had surprised her, it had also reconfirmed that, however scared she was of making a complete tit of herself in his bed... She also still really, really wanted to give it her best shot.

Of course, the conversation had taken a weird turn—when he'd mentioned Brandon—but it had also been kind of sweet to have him offer to escort her to Genoa on his private helicopter just to extend their booty call. Knowing he wanted her that much had been beyond flattering and had boosted her flagging confidence.

Also, good to know she wasn't the only over-eager one here.

As he carted her across the terrace, she forced herself to let go of the last of her panic and concentrate on enjoying the fun and frolics Roman's outrageous behaviour promised. Time to satisfy the sexual tension that had been ramped up to fever-pitch on the beach and ignore the familiar brick of inadequacy in her gut.

So what if Roman Garner was much sexier and more demanding than any man she'd ever met before—and also a much better kisser? She would never see him again after tonight. This was not a lifetime commitment, because they had already established it was just for one night. And no one was going to be grading her on her performance.

Keep it fun. Keep it light. This is sex pure and simple. You have nothing to prove. Not to him. All you have to do is enjoy yourself.

They were all good, she decided as he marched through the terrace doors and into a palatial, airy bedroom.

Upside down, she couldn't make out much more than an enormous four-poster bed, the luxury linen draped over its minimalist frame ruffling in the sea breeze from the open doors. The sight had her panic notching back up, but she didn't have long to think about it before she found herself bouncing off the mattress as he dumped her into the middle of the huge bed.

She laughed as he towered over her wearing a wicked grin—and looking like the master of all he surveyed. Including her.

She propped herself on her elbows and let her gaze glide over him—determined to be the mistress of all she surveyed in return.

Which was, it transpired, rather a lot.

Dressed only in the damp swimming trunks—which clung to his muscular thighs and that impressive bulge—he really was magnificent. His broad chest was roped with muscles, the sprinkle of hair on his pecs trailing into a thin line through ridged abs. She forced her gaze up, before she could get fixated on the bulge in his trunks again, but as moisture flooded her panties, the trickle of panic returned.

Because, seriously, how exactly was that going to fit?

But then she spotted the crossed cutlasses etched over his left pec again, which had intrigued her before. ‘What's with all the pirate tattoos?' she asked.

His lips quirked in rueful amusement. ‘My company was originally called Blackbeard Media.' Which wasn't really an answer. But then he pressed a hand to his chest, the wry smile mocking. ‘I'm actually quite wounded you didn't know that already.'

‘Sorry,' she said, not at all convincingly. Because she really had no interest in his business. Only in him.

‘Oh, really?' he said, then snagged her ankle and dragged her down the bed. ‘I'm not sure you're nearly sorry enough, actually.'

She let out a high-pitched squeal, which sounded perilously close to a giggle. He grabbed hold of her other ankle, then tugged off the shoes she had borrowed from Giuliana's daughter and flung them over his shoulder, while she attempted to kick his hands away, unsuccessfully.

He pulled down her shorts next, leaving her in nothing but her panties and the worn vest, her nipples already painfully swollen, and sticking out like bullets.

So much for playing hard to get.

‘Now, where were we?' he said as she lay on the bed, panting, having comprehensively lost the first round. Standing, he rubbed his chin, that fierce gaze searing her sun-warmed skin, pretending to consider the situation. ‘Ah, yes, I was about to make you beg again.'

‘Again? What do you mean, again?' she scoffed playfully, enjoying the game, and knowing her part in it. Roman Garner enjoyed a challenge when it came to sex, and apparently so did she. ‘You didn't make me beg the first time! That was just your enormous ego talking...'

But the rest of her protests got stuck in her throat when he kicked off his trunks and slung the damp fabric after her shoes.

Heat rushed into her cheeks, and several other important parts of her anatomy, as she got her first proper eyeful of that magnificent erection. Long and hard, the thick column of flesh bowed up from the nest of dark curls at his groin, the bulbous head shiny with precum.

She swallowed heavily as her mouth went bone dry... And the slick heat flooded between her thighs.

Apparently, his ego is not the only enormous thing about him.

‘Hey, Milly. Up here.'

She heard clicking, but it took her a moment to realise he was snapping his fingers. Because... Oh, my!

Her gaze jerked to his face. The blush suffused her whole body as the visceral yearning increased.

He smiled. ‘Have you entered a fugue state?' he teased, clearly enjoying her overawed reaction. ‘I'm flattered. Assuming, of course, you like what you see.'

‘Yes... I... I do...' she stuttered, trying desperately to regain her composure and her playful femme fatale persona. And not succeeding, from the wry amusement on his face.

Clearly shock and awe were not the usual reaction he got, but she was finding it hard to breathe.

She'd seen an erect penis before, of course she had. Like every self-respecting teenage girl she'd searched for pictures of naked men on the Internet as soon as she had saved up enough to buy her own laptop. But something about seeing Roman Garner in all his naked glory was so much better and hotter. And, well... Electrifying.

The heat swelled and eddied as she continued to stare at him.

‘I feel like I'm at a distinct disadvantage here,' he said, climbing onto the bed. The husky chuckle managed to finally snap her out of her trance.

His big body made the mattress dip, along with her heartbeat. The erection brushed her thigh as he settled beside her. But the look in his eyes was curious as well as aroused when his hand landed on her midriff.

‘How about you get naked, too?' he murmured, skimming under her vest to cup one aching breast.

She nodded, not quite able to speak.

The breath she'd been holding released in a rush as he kissed her neck. The mood had turned from playful to something else as he took matters into his own hands and paused to work her vest over her head.

She didn't object as he flung it away, too.

‘That's much better...' he murmured.

He lifted one breast then captured the aching flesh in his teeth.

She drew in a sharp breath, impossibly aroused by the sharp nip, and the arrogant way he took control of the seduction. She would not normally succumb so easily to someone else's control... But as she began to pant and gasp, she couldn't find a single reason to object to his take-charge attitude—because he clearly knew exactly what he was doing.

He tongued one turgid nipple, then the other. Then captured each swollen peak in his mouth to suck them gently until she was writhing, desperate, the brutal darts of sensation arrowing down to her core.

How did he know just how to touch her to drive her wild?

The assault on her senses kicked up another crucial notch when his fingers trailed across her quivering belly and slipped into her panties.

She gasped as his thumb circled the sweet secret spot between her thighs, which she had discovered as a teenager, but now seemed to belong to him. Still tender from her beach orgasm, the slick nub throbbed as his finger swept over it with unerring accuracy.

She bucked, groaning when that teasing thumb drew away again as he pulled her panties off.

‘Easy, Milly. We've got all night, remember,' he murmured, his husky chuckle so rich with appreciation she couldn't find the will—or the composure—to object to his smug tone.

Then he skimmed his thumb over the perfect spot again. And she launched off the bed, groaning. ‘Oh... Oh. God. You bastard.'

‘Better, Milly,' he said darkly, retreating again. ‘But I want you to beg.'

‘No!' She clung to his arm, wanting to stop him and yet... Not. But the sensations quickly became too powerful, too overwhelming as he caressed her clitoris—touching and retreating in a tantalising, tortuous rhythm that was driving her closer and closer to the point of no return... But not close enough.

She widened her knees and rode his hand. A part of her knew she must look desperate and unsophisticated, but as she continued to writhe, against that perfect-but-not-perfect-enough touch, she couldn't measure her breathing. She couldn't bear it much longer, as he held her on the brink, knowing just when to touch and when to tease, to drive her totally insane.

‘Beg me, Milly,' he demanded, still working her into a frenzy. ‘For what you need.'

‘Please... Please,' she begged. ‘I need you right... There!'

He centred on the perfect spot, at last, and rubbed. She stiffened, the brutal orgasm charging towards her. The pleasure slammed into her and the harsh coil released in a rush as sensation exploded.

She was panting, limp, steeped in afterglow—floating on the high bright cloud of endorphins—when he kissed her nose and murmured, ‘Good girl. I knew you could do it.'

Her eyes opened, but she was too blissed out to find the words to argue with him... Especially as she had no ammunition whatsoever. She had begged. No question about it, but the reward had been worth it.

And anyway, as she watched him scramble to locate a condom and roll it on the thick erection with considerable haste, she decided he wasn't in total control any more.

She stretched, feeling languid and smug now, too. ‘You're a bastard for teasing me like that,' she murmured. ‘Perhaps I should make you beg now, too.'

His gaze locked on hers—the look in his eyes fierce with undisguised need and approval. ‘You could,' he said as he grasped her hips and tugged her down until he could settle between her thighs. ‘But I think we both know that would be entirely counterproductive,' he said, ‘because you've already brought me to my knees.'

He smiled as he said it, to make it seem as if he were joking, but the low husky voice and the intense desire in his gaze told her he was as desperate as she was to finally feel him inside her.

Her heart battered her ribs and got stuck in her throat. The thought that she had made him want her, this much, both impossibly exciting and undeniably empowering.

‘You ready?' he said.

She nodded, overwhelmed.

Why did this moment feel so significant? Was it because of the approval in his eyes, the thought that he didn't just want her, he needed her, too?

The foolishly romantic thought faded, to be replaced by shocking desire as he dragged his thick length through her folds, angling her hips to caress the too-sensitive nub.

Then he pushed against her entrance, his hips surging forward to impale her in one all-consuming thrust.

She bit into her bottom lip, the pinch of pain nothing compared to the visceral shock of having him buried so deep inside her. He felt huge, stretching her body to its limits.

He grunted and swore against her cheek, burying his face in her hair.

‘Damn, you're so tight,' he hissed, his pained tone a vindication.

She wasn't the only one struggling to adjust to the exquisite torture.

He lifted up to stare into her face, and she let out a broken sob, the movement making her even more aware of how comprehensively he had claimed her. And stroking a spot deep inside that had the intense pleasure sparking along her nerve-endings again.

‘Are you okay?' he said, surprise sprinting across his lust-blown pupils.

She nodded. It felt both raw and overwhelming to have him lodged to the hilt, but also so real and right... And unbelievably erotic.

He held still, a bead of sweat forming on his brow, making her aware of the effort it took him not to move as he gave her time to adjust.

He shifted, caressing the raw spot again, and she jolted, brutally aware of the pleasure flooding back now, to pulse and pound at her core.

He clasped her hips, and adjusted her pelvis, to get deeper still.

She groaned, clinging to his shoulders, trying desperately to anchor herself, to hold on.

‘Tell me what you want,' he said, the teasing tone gone, to be replaced with urgency. ‘Tell me what works for you.'

Emotion swelled and burned alongside the rush of returning pleasure—at the expression on his face, both concerned and determined.

She blinked furiously, far too aware of the burn in her throat, and the unexpected rush—both physical and emotional—at the thought that, in this moment, she mattered to him.

‘Can you...can you move?' she asked. ‘It feels good when you move.'

He laughed, the sound deep and rough. Then he pulled out and thrust back, slowly, carefully, the thick intrusion even more overwhelming.

‘How about another please?' he said, the teasing tone back, but the look in his eyes still intense, and so focussed on her.

A strange euphoria—swift and strong—rose, to hammer against her chest and throb at her core. She laughed to ease the intensity.

‘Please, Mr Garner, I want some more,' she murmured, threading her fingernails into the short hair at his nape and then tugging hard as her body devoured the delicious shiver of his response.

‘You demon,' he said, but began to establish a rhythm.

The slow, powerful, undulating thrusts stroked the secret spot inside her and sent her senses soaring again, giving her exactly what she had pleaded for.

The coil tightened as she clung to his shoulders, trying to match his devastating moves. Her own were clumsy and frantic at first, and nowhere near as good as his, but before long she had got the gist of it.

Who knew she was such a fast learner?

They rode towards that high, wide plain together, the scent of sex and sea, the sound of skin slapping skin, filling the room, his grunts matching her sobs. A new pinnacle of pleasure beckoned—before she careered again into that sweet, shocking euphoria.

Well... Hell.

Roman shuddered on top of Milly, her sex massaging him through the final waves of the mind-blowing orgasm.

He breathed, inhaling her subtle, refreshing and unbearably erotic scent as he collapsed, face-planting in her hair, and let his mind and body drift... On the glittering cloud of afterglow, and the devastating feeling of connection.

What had she just done to him? Because that had been extraordinary. As if the bone-numbing climax had been wrenched from the depths of his soul.

Her hands swept over his spine and then she wriggled, making his erection—which was still lodged inside her—perk right up again... He frowned. Astonished, as well as impossibly aroused... Still.

How could he want to do it again, so soon after she'd just destroyed him? And frankly how could she? Because as they'd shattered together moments ago, he had seen the shock and awe in those whisky-coloured eyes too.

‘Could you get off me,' she hissed, ‘please.'

He choked out a gruff laugh, the edge in her tone going some way to break the spell she had weaved around him. Thank God.

He braced his hands on either side of her, and pulled out of her as gently as he could. Because she had been a lot tighter than he'd expected. And he'd been concerned he'd hurt her when he'd first plunged into her.

Which didn't make a whole lot of sense. He was a big guy, but he had never had any complaints before. And she had been more than ready for him. He'd made sure of it. In fact, he'd taken a great deal of pleasure in getting her stoked to fever pitch—because she was so responsive, and her no-holds-barred enthusiasm for his touch had driven him to desperation too.

But as he disengaged, she flinched again. He ran his thumb down her cheek to bring her gaze to his. Was it his imagination, or was she avoiding eye contact.

The sheen in those wide eyes had the concern returning full force. Alongside the pulse of arousal.

‘Did I hurt you?' he asked, shocked to realise how much her answer mattered to him.

He prided himself on always pleasing the women he slept with, because the more equal the pleasure, the more it enhanced the experience for them both. But why did his desire to prove himself a good lover feel like something more this time? And why was he even worrying about it, when he knew she'd had several orgasms?

Perhaps it was just because it had been so long for him. And he'd enjoyed her responses so much. This wasn't new or different, it was just a bit more intense. That was all.

‘No... I liked it,' she said. ‘A lot. You're really good at...'

The surge of pride and the strength of his satisfaction surprised him. But not as much as the desire pounding back into his groin, and making him hard again.

‘I've never had...' she continued, but then stopped abruptly, her gaze darting away as vivid colour scalded her cheeks.

‘You've never had... What?' he asked, curious. Which was also odd. He wasn't usually a fan of pillow talk after sex. But then again, everything about this encounter had been a little skewered so far, so why not this too?

Had to be the long dry spell, he reasoned with himself.

‘Nothing,' she mumbled, still staring out of the French doors towards the sea.

It was a breathtaking view from this side of the villa. The cliffs, covered with wild flowers this time of year, led down to a sandy cove, the glimmering blue water spotlighting the glowering presence of Vesuvius on the horizon.

But something about her stillness, and that telltale blush, made him sure it wasn't the spectacular view of the ancient still-active volcano that had all her attention. She still seemed dazed. And wistful.

He hooked one unruly curl behind her ear, then cradled her cheek, to angle her head away from the view, and back towards him, charmed.

‘You've never had an orgasm that intense before?' he offered.

Her breath hitched, her eyebrows shooting up her forehead. ‘How did you know that?'

He chuckled, finding her astonishment and the hint of irritation at his perceptiveness even more captivating. Her transparency was addictive, but not as addictive as the realisation she had no idea how easy she was to read.

‘Because it was intense for me too,' he said. ‘That was the best orgasm I've had in...' For ever, he thought, but stopped himself from saying, just in time. ‘In a while.'

Get a grip. Talk about cheesy.

He'd had a lot of spectacular orgasms in his life with a lot of captivating women, all of them a great deal more sophisticated and amenable than this woman. Just because he couldn't recall a single one of those orgasms at the moment, or the women he'd had them with, wasn't anything to do with Milly Devlin.

Specifically.

She was captivating and adorably responsive, for sure.

But he'd also been suffering from burn-out for months now and not forgetting their unconventional meet cute and the head injury, the virtually sleepless night that had followed, the death swim this morning, and the long wait to finally consummate their chemistry after they'd hit on each other at the cove. He'd never been a big fan of deferred gratification, and this was why. Because if the events of the last twenty-four hours weren't a recipe for temporary amnesia and overkill, he did not know what was.

But even so, he couldn't bring himself to qualify the foolish admission any more when her eyes shone. And he could see how pleased she was by his approval.

‘Well, it was very good for me, too,' she said, the tremble in her bottom lip captivating him all over again. And disturbing him.

How could he read her so easily? And why did it excite him so much? When the only time he'd enjoyed reading people before her was if he was trying to beat down their price, or print their secrets.

He shook off the disturbing thought, and pressed a kiss to her lips.

She opened for him, but he forced himself to drag his mouth away when the rush of need swelled in his groin again.

Time to start managing her expectations. And your own.

This had got way too intense, way too quickly—which was all down to their spectacular chemistry. It had to be. But if they were going to explore this connection for the rest of the night, and be ready to part in the morning, which was certainly his intention, he needed to cool things down.

He placed a hand on her belly, felt her delicious shiver.

‘I say we grab a shower, then get Giuliana to cook us one of her famous fried pizzas. She's from Napoli so it's one of her specialities. Plus, we need to keep our stamina up.'

A quick grin spread across her features, dazzling him. ‘Okay... I'll race you to the bathroom...'

She had scrambled off the bed before he'd even managed to draw a breath. He swore, the adrenaline hit surging, as she shot across the room, her glorious bottom and those gorgeous breasts jiggling enticingly—and giving him all sorts of ideas about what to have for dessert. But as he flung off the sheet to head after her, something on the white linen caught his eye.

He hesitated. It took him a moment to process the small red stain.

Blood.

Was she on her period? Why was she bleeding?

But as he stared, another thought occurred to him. A reason for the bloodstain so far out in left field he couldn't quite compute it... But then he couldn't seem to shift it, or the strange way it made him feel. Weirdly flattered, and kind of possessive. As well as stunned. And confused. And wary. And deeply ashamed.

Not a good combination at the best of times. And certainly not when he was already hard for her again.

‘Is something wrong?'

He raised his head. Milly's face peeked around the bathroom door. Guilty knowledge flashed across her expression when she spotted what he was staring at. And suddenly he knew what had made her so captivating from the start—the intoxicating mix of innocence and bravado, provocation and passion, which it now transpired had been entirely genuine.

‘Are you a virgin, Milly?' he asked, even though he suspected he already knew the answer. And had no clue how to feel about it.

She blinked. ‘Um...well...' she said, her uncertainty in contrast to her ballsy behaviour so far. Her gaze darted away from his. ‘That's...'

‘Don't lie,' he said, annoyed now and not even entirely sure why. Why did it bother him so much?

Her gaze met his at last, and her expression filled with that captivating mix of innocence, boldness and sass.

‘No, I'm not a virgin,' she said, but before he could quiz her on the assertion—because he didn't believe her for a second—she added, ‘Not any more, anyway.'

‘What the...?' He swore softly, blindsided by the admission. And even more aroused by the way she announced it. As if it were no big deal.

Except it was, to him. Because he'd never been anyone's first before.

Why him? Why now? And why hadn't she said anything sooner? When he'd been pushing her to sleep with him? To spend the night? Had he taken advantage of her innocence without realising it?

Damn, was that why she'd flinched? Why she'd looked so shocked when he'd first entered her? Not because it felt good but because he'd hurt her, and made her bleed?

‘Why didn't you tell me?' he managed, ashamed now of how eager and pushy he'd been with her. Because it made him feel like his father. A man he'd always hated, and never even met.

She shrugged. ‘Why would I tell you?'

‘Because...' He choked to a stop, both outraged and annoyed... And still aroused, which only outraged him more.

How did that even work? She'd set him up, made him feel like the reckless, womanising bastard who had sired him. And he hated to even think about that son of a bitch. But worse, how could he still want her so much when she'd lied to him?

‘I mean, I don't see how it's any of your business really,' she added.

‘Of course, it's my business,' he shot back, losing what was left of his cool.

‘Why is it?' she asked. Was she being deliberately disingenuous now, just to annoy him?

‘Because I'm not in the business of deflowering virgins if I can help it,' he said flatly—then felt like a jerk.

He'd always been relaxed about sex, had certainly never taken it seriously, because as far as he was concerned it was a basic physical urge, to be enjoyed and then forgotten about. But somehow, she'd made him sound like a pompous seventeenth-century Lothario. Deflowering virgins... Who even said that?

‘Okay,' she said, staring at him as if he'd lost his mind. But then her gaze drifted down to his lap.

He grabbed the sheet to cover the aching erection, but it was already too late, the colour in her cheeks had taken on a rich, redolent glow, the fierce sparkle in her eyes making the need swell alongside the indignation.

‘Well, if it's any consolation,' she began carefully, her full lips quirking in a mischievous smile, ‘for someone with no experience of deflowering virgins, you're remarkably good at it.'

‘You little...' he shouted, flinging back the sheet.

He leapt out of bed, furious with her now, but also still furiously aroused. What the hell!

She slammed the bathroom door as he charged across the room, ready to... Well, he wasn't even sure what he was ready to do... But first he had to get his hands on her.

This was no laughing matter. He felt responsible for her now, and weirdly ashamed. Somehow, she'd made this so much more than a one-night booty call.

And he was pretty sure it was deliberate.

One thing was for certain, she really was different from every other woman he had ever met. Because no other woman had ever wound him up to this extent. Not even his mother.

Alicia Rocco had never intended to drive him nuts, she had just been needy and fragile and pathetically desperate for any kind of male attention...

Milly Devlin, on the other hand, was a little ball-buster—who had deliberately tied him in knots as soon as he'd set eyes on her.

Good, hard, sweaty sex, on his terms, and at his convenience, had been supposed to remedy his Milly Devlin problem. Instead, she had just made it a hundred times worse.

He reached the door and slapped a palm against the wood while grabbing the handle with the other. But just as he twisted the knob, to yank the door open, he heard the lock snap shut.

He bellowed his frustration... The swear word bounced off the walls, making him even more aware of how comprehensively she had shot his usual charm and sophistication with women completely to smithereens.

Damn her!

‘Open the door this instant, Milly.'

‘No,' Milly shouted back through the wood, as she sank down against it, naked.

‘I'm warning you, if you don't open it right now, there will be consequences.'

‘I don't care,' she yelled back.

‘Stop behaving like a two-year-old having a temper tantrum.' The door reverberated against her back as he tried to open it. ‘We need to talk about this!'

‘No, we don't,' she shouted. ‘And FYI, I'm not the one punching a door naked, so if anyone's behaving like a toddler having a meltdown, it's you!'

The door stopped rattling. But she could hear him swearing in the room outside.

She frowned. What exactly was he so worked up about anyway? The history of her sex life—or rather the lack of it—really was none of his business.

‘Fine! Stay in there and sulk,' he said. ‘I'm going to the other suite to have a shower. But when I get back here you better be ready to talk to me about this. Or there will be consequences.'

‘What consequences, exactly?' she goaded him. Getting annoyed now herself. She hadn't deceived him, deliberately. And anyway, how did any of this make him the injured party? She was the one who was sore, not him.

‘Serious consequences,' he announced, ominously. ‘Which have yet to be determined.'

‘Maybe you could kidnap me...' she offered, suddenly desperate to humiliate him, too. ‘Then have your wicked way with me.'

‘That's not funny,' he declared.

The door began rattling again. Standing, she crossed the room and switched on the shower. The sound of the water jets pounding against the quartz almost covered the noise from outside.

‘I'm in the shower, go away!' she announced, then stepped under the jets, ignoring him.

The rattling finally stopped. He must have gone to get his own shower.

She released the breath that had been trapped in her lungs ever since she had spotted him spotting the spots of her blood on the sheet.

Well, that hadn't exactly gone according to plan. Not that she'd had a plan, precisely.

But she really hadn't expected Roman to figure out the truth. So quickly. And his reaction had been even more unexpected. Because she had seen the different emotions sweep across his features in that moment—and for once they hadn't been masked by his arrogance, or his charm or that industrial-strength cynicism. She'd seen surprise followed by shock and confusion and then shame. Why should he be ashamed of sleeping with her when she had been more than willing?

She reached for a bottle of pricey shower gel. As she washed away the evidence of their lovemaking, she became brutally aware of all the places that were tender and sore. And the knot of tension in her throat threatened to choke her.

Should she have told him? That she was a virgin? Why had it mattered to him so much? When it really hadn't mattered to her... Especially as he'd been so careful with her. So quick to slow down, so determined to ensure her pleasure first before he took his own.

She'd known he would be a magnificent lover. Which was precisely why she'd chosen him to be her first after their make-out session on the beach. But she hadn't really expected him to be so generous and intuitive, too. Or that he would get so freaked out by her virginity. Not that she'd really thought about his feelings, at all.

She stepped out of the shower and turned off the jets. After grabbing a fluffy bath sheet from the pile of freshly laundered ones on the vanity, she wrapped it tightly around herself. A tremor ran through her body, even though the room was warm.

Maybe she did owe him an apology, she thought miserably.

She hadn't thought her virginity would matter to him, but it obviously had. The fact she hadn't even considered his reaction was also selfish and short-sighted and, well, pretty entitled.

Finding a bathrobe, she slipped it on, then folded up the long sleeves.

She studied herself in the mirror, trying to find any noticeable differences. She touched the rough marks on her cheeks where he'd kissed her so thoroughly, he'd given her beard burn. And became aware of the beard burn she had in another, even more intimate spot. Or two intimate spots, to be precise.

The blush rose up her neck to join the colour in her cheeks. Without make-up on, her skin flushed from the hot shower, and her body sore in all sorts of unusual places, she felt new and different somehow.

But how different was she really?

Maybe she'd finally discovered the truth about sex—about how wonderful and exciting and liberating it could be. But had it really made her any more mature?

Because she'd discovered something else while she'd been exploring the joys of sex in Roman's arms. The act was also scarily intimate and intense.

Even though Roman was still a stranger, because she hadn't made any effort to get to know him before she'd fallen into bed with him. But maybe she should have.

The truth was, she had used him, to lose her virginity. And she hadn't given him a choice in the matter. She'd been reckless and impulsive and done what had felt right in the moment, just as she'd done when she'd made the decision to leave London with only a backpack and less than two hundred euros in her purse. Or when she'd argued with her sister on the palazzo terrace in Capri and then borrowed the wrong boat. And now, as Roman had so helpfully pointed out, she would once again have to face the consequences.

A rap on the door made her jump.

‘Time's up, Milly.' Roman's voice was husky and tense, but at least not mad. ‘You need to stop hiding in there now.'

She bristled slightly at the dictatorial tone, and tied the robe tighter.

If only she could stay in here for the foreseeable future. Because she did not want to have this conversation.

‘Could you hand me my clothes?' she said, because she had no intention of having this conversation naked.

‘Sure,' he said, being surprisingly helpful, for Roman. He must really be freaked out.

A minute later, he tapped on the door again. She clicked the lock, and grabbed the clothes in his outstretched hand, before shutting the door and locking it again.

‘You've got five minutes,' he said.

She got dressed slowly, making sure she took at least ten, just because. But then felt like a spoilt brat again.

She sighed.

Stop making this harder than it needs to be.

She owed Roman an apology. And the sooner she got it over with, the sooner she could leave. Because she doubted he would want her to stay the night now... Which only made her feel like an even bigger failure.

Little Miss Screw-Up goes large again.