Jennifer Probst - The Marriage Trap

“More,” she demanded. “Damn you, give me everything.”

He held her head still, his dark eyes drilling into hers with a promise to take and plunder everything she had. Then he plunged deep.

Maggie gasped as he filled her to the hilt, his massive size overtaking not only her body, but her mind and her soul. Panic hit her full force—the invasion by a man who’d be able to strip her of every surface barrier and unearth the truth.

“No!” She panted, the wild beating of her heart strangling her very breath. “I can’t, I can’t.”

“Shush, mia amore. Relax. Let me in.”

Her body eased, and the feeling of fullness caused a sharp rush of heat. He groaned, obviously struggling for control, and Maggie panted, his body pinning her down into the mattress with no escape. Helplessness flooded through her.

Tears pricked her eyes. “I can’t.”

He pressed a kiss to her brow, every muscle locked. “Here, baby, I know what you need.” With one quick movement, he rolled until she straddled him.

The freedom and sudden control whooshed through her. She relaxed and arched, ripping a groan from his lips.

“Better?”

The joyous smile curved her lips and broke over her face. “Yes.”

He cursed, his hands cupping her breast. “I’m never going to last. Ride me, cara. Ride me hard.”

She threw her head back and moved up and down his penis, reveling in his raw, naked response, in her ability to make this man weak with want for her. She sucked him in deep and the bruising pace quickly brought her right back to the edge. Her hair fell down her back, and his fingers worked her nipples as she reached for the pinnacle, feeling free and beautiful above him.

“Now, mia amore. Now.”

With one final plunge, Maggie shattered. She screamed his name, and heard his hoarse shout right behind her. The world broke around her in jagged pieces, and she rode out the pleasure to the very end. When she collapsed on top of him, and his arms came around her, one word echoed over and over in her mind, her heart, her soul.

Home.

Then she closed her eyes and slept.

Maggie sipped the strong, steaming brew and stared at the magnificent view before her. The sunlight washed over the green hills, highlighting the vast expanse of mighty, snow-tipped mountains. Terra-cotta sloping roofs spotted the horizon. The scent of olive and lemon wafted in the warm breeze, and she breathed deep, trying desperately to calm her racing heart.

Last night, Michael made love to her.

Pieces of memory flashed before her. The delicious heat and explosion of her orgasm. The gentle curve of his lips as he smiled. The strokes of his hands against her flesh as if she were breakable and precious, not just a one-night stand.

But she was. Or at least, maybe a two-night stand. Because at the end of the week, this whole charade would end, and he’d leave. Like they all did.

How had it happened? She’d confessed her secrets freely at his uncle’s house and had no one to blame but herself. His gentleness encouraged her to open up easier than any hot demands ever had. One moment she swore she’d be on the next plane out. The next, she’d challenged him to a bout of lovemaking with the stupid idea she’d be able to wring him out of her system.

She nibbled at her lip and took another scalding sip. When she woke up he’d left her a note that he’d run into town for a few hours and would be back to bring her to the headquarters of La Dolce Famiglia. The disappointment of an empty bed rattled her foundation. She always fought the need to escape as fast as possible once dawn hit. For the first time, she craved a morning snuggle with the man she made love with. He consistently surprised her, challenged her, and made her long for more. He was dangerous. Not just to her body. But to her heart.

She had to get out of here.

Her heart pounded and the blood roared in her veins. The oncoming panic attack gathered speed and Maggie grabbed her camera, desperate to control her ridiculous physical defaults. Breathe deep and clear her mind. She began snapping shots of the landscape, sharpening her focus to the frame in front of her, looking to find something unique and incredible. Her mind clung to the noise of the shutter and the flash of the light of the lens as she moved around the back terrace. Anything but the dizzy pull of alarm taunting her to lose all control.

“Meow!”

The half shriek of the cat caused her to stumble back and almost fall on her ass. She caught a whirl of black fur as the thing launched through the air, and she scrambled away, desperate to avoid the sharp sting of claws.

“Crap!” she yelled, heading toward the safety of concrete and away from the bushes. “Get away from me.”

The cat, or whatever the thing was, stalked her. Blazing green eyes dominated the black face as massive paws closed the distance between them. Maggie jumped behind a wrought-iron chair and glared at it. She did not like cats. Never did. Dogs were sufferable because they were generally affectionate and only lived for you to pet them. Cats were different—they were like high-strung divas who assumed your only job in life was to serve them. They scared the bejesus out of her—even more than children—and there was no way she was sticking around a moment longer. But this creature was three times the normal size, almost like a small dog. He’d do a wicked witch proud because he stared her down like he was about to cast a spell, and he freaked her out.

“Ah, I see you met Dante.”

Maggie spun around. Michael grinned down at her, clean-shaven, with his long hair neatly tied back. He looked rested and refreshed, while she still felt completely out of sorts and scrambling for her composure. “What do you feed it? Small children?”

He chuckled and knelt down, trying to call the cat over. Dante swished his tail and hissed. Maggie jumped back another step. “You’re not afraid of cats, are you, cara?”

She shuddered. “I just don’t like them. They’re demanding and spiteful.”

His lip twitched. “Seems like you’d go perfect together.”

“Funny. Is he yours?”

Michael shook his head. “Nope, he’s a stray. Visits a regular route for food, but won’t let anyone near him. Even Carina, whom we call the animal whisperer, hasn’t gotten close. Dante has issues.”

She stared at the cat. Pretty clean, definitely not starving, but he seemed to dislike people. The sudden humor struck her. “So Dante gets fed and catered to by the same people he openly despises. Interesting.”

“Yes, I guess it is,” he murmured. Suddenly, she was in his arms. His minty breath rushed across her lips and made her belly tumble. “Did you sleep well last night?”

“Yes.”

“Liar.” His dark eyes glittered with promise and a hint of danger. Shivers raced down her spine. “But if three times still gave you enough sleep, I’ll need to do better tonight.”

Oh. My.

She cleared her throat and reminded herself another night with him may be dangerous. She blinked and pulled back, needing the distance. His arms closed around her. “Michael—”

“I love hearing my name on your lips.” His mouth lowered and took hers, kissing her deep and long and slow. She opened up and thrust against each silky stroke of his tongue, pressing close. He caught her low moan, then slid over her bottom lip to nip. The sharp pleasure-pain shot a rush of heat between her aching thighs. He tasted so good she wanted to devour every inch and discover all those hard muscles straining under his clothes. Drowning in sensation, she let herself slide headlong into a pit of seething heat and fire and—

“Owww!” He thrust her away and jumped on one leg.

She looked down in horror to see Dante’s teeth stuck in Michael’s pants. The tiny puncture holes through the thin fabric caused her to freeze, afraid she was his next meal. The cat’s face turned upward in a sneer and he disengaged from Michael. He hissed low, then stalked toward her with intention.

“Dante!” Michael let out a rush of Italian and waved him away with a threatening gesture. The cat ignored him and reached her. She closed her eyes, unable to move and—

Dante rubbed his body against her calf. The low hum of a motor reached her ears. She opened her eyes and realized that noise was purring. He pushed his face hard into her leg, his long whiskers twitching with pleasure as he circled once, twice, then settled beside her.

Michael just stared at the cat, then back at her. “I don’t believe this. He’s never done that before,” he murmured. “And he’s never bitten.”

“What? It’s not my fault—I told you I don’t like cats. I didn’t tell him to bite you!”

“No. It’s deeper than that. Perhaps he sees something we’ve all been missing.”

Maggie watched with widened eyes. “And you feed this thing so he comes back?” she asked in amazement. “What is wrong with you? He came at you like he smelled a tuna dinner.”

The electricity between them jumped and burned like a live fuse gone wild. Her pulse rocketed. His eyes darkened with purpose, and he reached for her.

“Margherita? Michael?”

They both jumped back. His mother stood framed in the doorway, an apron covering her dress, her hair twisted neatly into a chignon. The aristocratic lines of her face shimmered with a classical power that had launched a successful business and raised four children. “What is happening out here?”

“I was just introducing Maggie to Dante.”

Mama Conte gasped. “Why is Dante near Margherita?”

“Yes, that seems to be the question of the day.” Maggie shifted uneasily and took a step back from the man-eating cat. Dante only stared with disgust at her cowardly retreat. “Mama, we’ll be going to the office with Julietta in a bit. Do you need anything?”