Page 30 of The Italian's Pregnant Enemy (A Diamond in the Rough)

Or perhaps just buried in a snowdrift.

She wanted him. She was certain of that. And as she looked into his blazing, dark eyes she knew with absolute certainty that she had wanted him all this time.

That the edge beneath her skin when she looked at him was desire.

But the absolute pull of need that wound its way through her like a live wire was deeper and more consequential than she would have ever wanted to admit.

It was not simple aesthetic appreciation for his perfectly formed features. It was not just an acknowledgment that he was a handsome enough man.

No. She wanted him.

Every time she had been tempted to misbehave to get his attention when she had been his assistant, every time she had snapped at him rather than being civil or sane.

When she had come here and he had arrived, she hadn’t been angry that he was here. She was angry because what she wanted was to want another man, and she simply didn’t. Simply couldn’t.

Not in the way that she wanted him. Being irritated with Dario Rivelli was more exciting than being attracted to Carter had ever been, and now that she saw it through this perfect lens, she knew that it had always been need.

She had been angry about it.

She had been resentful of it, but it was very much the truth. She wanted him.

Oh, how she wanted him.

“Make love to me,” she whispered, wondering who belonged to that husky voice that had come out of her mouth.

She felt like an entirely different creature. But she wanted to be brave.

He had told her that she was, and now she wanted to rise to the occasion. She wanted to demand all the things she wanted, she just needed to know what they were. It wasn’t that she was totally innocent, it was just that when she had imagined being with somebody finally, she hadn’t really imagined it in a detailed way. She hadn’t really imagined it in a graphic way. And she could already tell that this was going to be rawer, more physical than she had given space for it to be.

She had never been a raw or physical person. She had not been especially brave in her life.

She had been hampered by a desire to please. Oh, how she had wanted to make her father proud. She wanted to be acceptable. Not good, because it wasn’t like she was a robot. She had been sulky as an assistant. She had not been perfect.

She had not been enough, trying to live in the space where she could fill the hold her mother had left. Fearing the world, knowing how fragile life was, grieving and stagnating while trying to push forward and heal.

She had wanted to carve out a system of success for herself, but she had been afraid to push too far out because what she really wanted was to be wholly approved of.

She wasn’t sure that was possible. But she had tried.

Oh, she had tried.

But this wasn’t about pleasing anybody. Not anybody but herself. She wanted him. And she was going to have him.

Outside of this room it wouldn’t make any sense. Outside of this moment. It would be desire as a spark, and nothing more. But here, it raged. Here it became an unstoppable force. A wildfire.

And she was happy to let it burn.

Nobody else ever had to know. It could just be a secret between them. Just tonight. Just this moment.

That made her feel alive. Invigorated. If this was her night with Dario, the one and only night ever, then she could be whoever she wanted to be. And when they were free of this place they would go back to being the way they had been. He was experienced. It would mean nothing overly significant to him. And she was realistic.

“Take your clothes off,” she commanded.

He arched a dark brow. “Giving orders?”

“I want to see you,” she said.

“Do you?”

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