The Consequences of That Night

said something rude, though he couldn’t imagine what. Women could be sensitive, and even though Emma was the most rational woman he knew, she was still undeniably a woman. Oh, yes. Running his hand down the curve of her bare breast—even fuller than he remembered—he looked up at her with heavy-lidded eyes. “I love that you are always prepared, Miss Hayes.”
    She leaned forward, allowing her long dark hair to trail sensuously across his bare chest as she said pointedly, “Emma.”
    “Emma,” he groaned as her fingertips trailed down his body. “Oh, God—Emma—”
    Reaching up, he kissed her, and as she leaned down to kiss him back, he could wait no longer. Pulling her down on him with his hands, he simultaneously thrust up with his hips, pushing inside her, and heard her gasp as he filled her soft, wet body.
    God. He’d never felt anything like this. He rammed inside her, filling her hard and deep. She slid over his hips, riding him, and his whole body started to tighten. No. No, it was too soon. The intensity of pleasure was too much. But being inside her without a condom...skin to skin...
    He gripped her shoulders. “I’m not sure how long I can last,” he said hoarsely. “Give me... Give me a minute to...”
    But it seemed Emma’s days of obedience were over. She continued to slide against him. He looked up, intending to protest. He stopped when he saw how her eyes were closed, her beautiful face rapt and shining in ecstasy.
    No! He squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn’t see her like that! Not when at any moment he could... He could... But even with his eyes closed, he could still see her shining face, see her full breasts swaying above him as she moved. He felt tighter—tighter—about to explode...
    “You feel so good,” she whispered. “So—good...”
    “Oh, my God,” he said in a strangled voice. “Stop!”
    Gripping his shoulders, she leaned forward, so close he could feel the brush of her lips against his earlobe, and whispered, “Love.”
    It was the one thing that made him cold.
    “Lust,” he growled back, and flung his body over hers, lying her beneath him on the bed. He ran his hands down her body, licking and sucking every inch of her skin. Sitting back against the pillows, he pulled her into his lap, wrapping his arms around her.
    Tangling his hands in her hair, he tilted back her head and kissed her deeply. Lifting up her body, he lowered her hips heavily against him, thrusting slowly inside her. He rocked against her, controlling the rhythm and speed, slowing down when he came too close to exploding. Face-to-face, breath to breath, their eyes locked, their arms wrapped around each other, as close as two lovers could possibly be. He made love to her for what felt like hours until finally she gasped against him one more time, closing her eyes with a cry.
    Cesare could hold back no longer. Kissing her shoulder, he sucked hard against her skin, and let himself go. He thrust inside her four times, so deep and hard that he exploded, so close to heaven that he saw only stars.
    He saw only her.
    Exhaling, he collapsed, still holding her tight.
    It took long moments for Cesare to fall back to earth. He slowly became aware of the ticking of the old antique clock on the mantel. Blinking in the darkness, he saw he was in Emma’s bed, in her suite of rooms on the second floor of his Kensington house. Moonlight was creeping in through the edges of the window shades as he still cradled her in his arms. He felt her cheek against his chest. Against his heart.
    He shifted, cuddling her in the crook of his arm, her naked body against his own. He saw a small mark on her shoulder, where he’d sucked a little too hard in a love bite. That would leave a bruise, he thought. He’d marked her as his own. And for some reason he didn’t want to examine, he was glad.
    Emma blinked, smiling up at him sleepily before she glanced down at the bed. “What a mess we’ve made.”
    He looked down. The duvet and sheets were twisted at their feet and there were banknotes everywhere.
    Cesare prided himself on discipline. He’d tried to do the sensible thing with Emma, to make them both forget their intoxicating night and return to their employer-employee relationship.
    He’d failed. Massively.
    And he was glad.
    Now they could both have what they actually wanted. Yes, his home might fall apart without her in charge. At the moment he didn’t give a damn. Who cared about milk in the fridge or having his