Breathing Room Read Online Free PDF Page B

bene."A small, courteous nod, and then he walked past her into the bedroom. He moved like a creature of the dark, sleek and damned. Or maybe she was the one damned because she didn't leave. Instead, she followed as far as the doorway and watched him go to the windows.
    He leaned out to push the shutters back, and the breeze ruffled the long, silky strands of his hair while the moonlight glazed it with silver.He gestured outside."Vieni a vedere. Il giardino è bellissimo di notte."
    Her feet felt like alcohol-soaked rags as she set her purse on the dresser and went over to stand at his side. She gazed down and saw half a dozen tables in the flower-filled courtyard, their umbrellas collapsed for the night. Beyond the walls she heard traffic, and she thought she detected the musty scent of theArno.
    His hand slipped under her hair. He'd made the first move. She could still leave. She could let him know this was a big mistake, a colossal mistake, the mother of all mistakes.
    How much money did you leave a gigolo who hadn't completed the job? And what about a tip? Should she leave—
    But he was just holding her. And holding wasn't bad. It had been a long time. He felt a lot different from Michael. That unpleasant height, of course, but also a very pleasant muscularity.
    He lowered his head, and she began to back away, because she wasn't ready for the kissing to start. Then she reminded herself this was to be a purging.
    His lips touched hers at just the right angle. The slide of his tongue was perfect, neither too timid nor too suffocating. It was a great kiss, elegantly executed, no slurping sounds.
    Pretty much flawless. Too flawless. Even in her haze she knew that there was nothing of himself in it, just an effortless display of professional expertise. Which was good. Exactly what she would have expected if she'd had enough time to expect anything.
    What was shedoing here?
    Shut up and let the man do his job. Think of him as a sex surrogate. Reputable therapists use them, don't they?
    He certainly believed in taking his time, and her blood began to move a little faster. She gave him points for gentleness.
    His hand slid under her sweater before she was ready, but she didn't try to redirect him.
    Michael was wrong. She didn't have to take control. Besides, Dante's touch felt good, so she couldn't be all that dysfunctional, could she? He flicked the catch of her bra, and she began to tense.Relax and let the man work. This is perfectly natural, even if he is a complete stranger.
    He pushed aside the cups and stroked her spine. She was going to let him do this. She was going to let him brush his finger over her nipple. Yes, just like that. He was very skillful... Taking plenty of time. Maybe she and Michael had been too quick to race to the end, but what could you expect from goal-oriented workaholics?
    Dante seemed to appreciate fondling her breasts, which was nice. Michael had enjoyed them, but Dante seemed more of a connoisseur.
    He drew her away from the window toward the bed and pushed up her sweater. Before, he'd been able only to touch her breasts. Now he could see them as well, and that felt intrusive, but if she pulled her sweater back down, she might be proving Michael's point, so she kept her hands at her sides.
    He cradled her breast. Lifted it, molded it, then bent his head and drew the nipple deep into his mouth. Her body began to break away from its moorings.
    She felt her slacks drifting over her hips. It was her nature to be cooperative, and she slipped off her shoes. He stepped back just enough to take off her sweater, then her bra.
    He was a wizard with women's clothes. No fumbling or wasted motions, everything perfect right down to the meaningless Italian endearments he was whispering in her ear.
    She stood before him in beige lace panties and a gold bangle with the wordBREATHEinscribed inside. He removed his shoes and socks – no awkwardness there – and unbuttoned his black silk shirt with the slow expertise