Bad Blood Collection

by Various Authors

  Stefano sucked in his breath. “Was that Patrick Arbuthnot?”

  She looked away, not meeting his eyes. That was answer enough.

  “I met him once, did I tell you?” Stefano said flatly. “The man came to my charity event a few years ago. When I refused to sell him a horse he wanted, he bragged about being your first lover. I think he was trying to impress me.” He set his jaw. “Say the word and I’ll go hurt him for you.”

  Annabelle gave a surprised laugh, then shook her head tearfully. “He was thirty years older than I was, and weighed over twenty stone. He died last year of a heart attack while in bed with a Ukrainian model.” She took a deep breath. “But still. What he said about me was true. No one can ever truly love a scarred monster like me.”

  Stefano cursed in Spanish, so loudly and fluidly that her eyes went wide. “You are beautiful. Talented. Lovely and kind. I’ve never wanted any woman as badly as I want you, Annabelle,” he said harshly. “I’ve been tortured with wanting you.”

  He saw her blink, heard her ragged intake of breath. “You really think I’m still beautiful?” she whispered. “Even like this?”

  He took a shuddering breath. Reaching forward, he traced her scar with his fingertip. “This is only a small part of you. You are more than this. You are also this,” he said, lightly running his fingertips down her soft, unblemished cheek. “And this,” he said, stroking her long, creamy neck. He moved his hand to her sensitive lower lip, unable to look away from her pink, full mouth. “And this.”

  He felt her tremble beneath his touch. He wanted to kiss her so badly he couldn’t bear it. But he forced himself not to do what every cell in his body screamed to do.

  He’d given his word not to kiss her. So dropping his hand, he turned away.

  Then, like a miracle, he felt her soft hand on his cheek, turning him back to her. He had a brief vision of her eyes, shining like a summer mist.

  And she kissed him.

  He felt the tremble of her mouth as her lips parted. He felt the softness of her skin. Dios mío. His body shook as he kissed her back ferociously, with all his pent-up need.

  A gasp came from low in his throat. He needed more of her. All of her. He’d never wanted any woman like this. Feeling her slender body against his own, wrapping his arms around her, was like embracing pure fire.

  With a shuddering intake of breath, he wrapped his arms around her. “I want you, Annabelle,” he breathed. “I think I’ll die if I don’t have you.”

  Her gray eyes shone at him with trust and desire. Placing her hands on his cheeks, Annabelle kissed him with sweet, trembling passion. He tasted her tongue in his mouth and gasped.

  Roughly, he pulled her down against him. Kissing her with every ounce of force he possessed, he rolled her beneath his body, laying her down amid the waves of purple and red flowers.

  Now. He could wait no longer. Now.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  AS STEFANO PRESSED HER back into the flowers, Annabelle felt the cool damp earth beneath her ripped suit, felt the warmth of his hard body over hers. She’d fallen into a dream.

  When he’d told her she was beautiful, when she’d seen the truth shining in his handsome face, she hadn’t been able to stop herself from kissing him. Now, she felt his hands move over her skin, caressing her sunburned face. Poppies blew against them, red and purple petals tangling and twisting in her hair.

  He kissed her so deeply that she didn’t know where he ended and she began. His lips moved against hers, his fingertips lightly stroking down her neck, beneath her bare collarbone. His tongue flicked inside her mouth, teasing hers like a sensual whirlwind. A tingle of sensation flooded her body. Her nipples tightened as she gasped, clinging to him. His calloused hands moved downward, stopping at the edge of her neckline. She held her breath, waiting for him to reach beneath her silk camisole. Instead, after a pause, his hands moved over the linen jacket, cupping her high, firm breasts.

  Electricity ricocheted down her body, jagged and raw. Her breasts felt heavy, straining against the camisole, her nipples pebbling to tight aching points.

  With a shuddering breath, he pulled away to look at her.

  “You think you’re not beautiful, Annabelle? You think you’re not lovable?” he whispered. “Let me show you.”

  His hands cupped her breasts before he moved the weight of his body against her, kissing her so long and hard that she felt lost in her own fiercely answering need.

  Annabelle looked up at his face. Above him she could see the wide blue sky as the wind fluttered purple flowers and red poppies down upon them. He was so handsome, so impossibly handsome, with his tanned skin and lean, muscular body. Tendrils of chin-length black hair had escaped the leather tie at the base of his neck and hung down around his face, giving him the look of an eighteenth-century pirate.

  His dark eyes were hungry for plunder. For her.

  Somewhere in the back of her mind Annabelle knew that giving her virginity to a Spanish playboy would do worse than break her heart—it would destroy her. But she couldn’t push him away. Not now. She needed his warmth, his light, his touch. She needed to feel. She needed to live.

  Stefano stroked her face with the pads of his thumbs, making her shiver in the hot sun. He cupped her face, looking down at her amid the flowers. “Never hate your scar. It is a badge of honor. It is beautiful.”

  She choked out a disbelieving laugh.

  “Sí,” he insisted. “It reveals your strength and courage, a far greater beauty than flawless skin. I would kiss your every scar if I could.”

  Annabelle’s heart pounded in her throat. Could her scar really be something to be proud of, rather than something to hide?

  She swallowed, licking her lips. Trembling at her own boldness, she lifted her hair to reveal a scar on the base of her neck.

  “I have one here,” she whispered.

  He smiled at her. Then, lowering his head, he kissed her neck.

  She felt his lips against the scar, leaving a trail of hot and passionate kisses down her neck to the crook of her shoulder. Prickles spread down her body like wildfire, crackling with need, burning through her like a dry forest.

  When he drew back, she shyly pulled off her ripped linen jacket, revealing the white silk camisole beneath. She pointed at a long, jagged scar along the length of her right upper arm.

  “And here.”

  Taking her slender arm in his rough hands, Stefano slowly kissed up her scar. She felt his lips caress her skin, felt his slick tongue along her puckered flesh as he nibbled her with the edge of his teeth.

  Again, he drew back. His dark eyes devoured her, as if only the barest thread of will held Stefano back from ripping off her clothes and making love to her amid the flowers.

  Annabelle should have been afraid. Terrified.

  Instead, she felt strangely fearless, like the fourteen-year-old girl she’d once been. The girl who wasn’t afraid to pursue what she wanted most.

  She pulled the neckline of her silken camisole down to reveal a single extra inch of skin.

  “Here.”

  Slowly, so slowly, he kissed the long-faded scar that stretched along the top of her naked breast. She nearly gasped at the new waves of pleasure, of tension and need. No man had ever done so much to her.

  The white sun beamed down on them, the flowers blowing softly in the hot wind. On the distant hillside Annabelle could see the ruined pile of rocks of the old Moorish castle. She felt out of time, out of place. Ancient magic, a sensuality older than memory, wove through her. It made her weak; it made her strong. It flooded her body with sharp euphoria and a breathless hush of expectation.

  “I want you,” Stefano breathed, cupping her face. “I’ve never waited so long for any woman. Annabelle.”

  His lips were hard and hungry as he kissed her. She felt his fingertips stroking softly down her body, her neck, her waist, and she forgot to breathe. She needed him more than she needed air. She gasped as he slowly kissed down her neck, tasting her
bare shoulder as his hands cupped her breasts beneath the fabric. Her nipples tightened, and he moved his mouth to suckle her through the silk.

  Her fingers gripped his shoulders as she gasped aloud.

  He pulled her arms upright and yanked the silk camisole up off her body. Her white lacy bra came next. Her upper torso was completely bare as he pushed her back amid the flowers. She shivered in the hot sunlight, beneath the dappled shadows of tree branches swaying in the wind, as he looked down at her.

  For several seconds, he stared at her in awe, whispering incomprehensible words of reverence. Then he swiftly pulled off his shirt. He looked like an ancient god of passion and war. Dark hair laced the tight, hard muscles of his chest and the flat plain of his belly. His shoulders were powerful and wide, his arms strong enough to fight a thousand men for her.

  His body fell against hers. She felt his hard chest crush her breasts as he moved against her, the heavy weight of his body pinning her against the cool earth. His lips plundered her mouth in a kiss of seduction and fire. His hands moved down her half-naked body, stroking and caressing every bare inch of her skin. He suckled her earlobes, kissing along her neck to the hollow between her breasts. Her breaths came quick and fast as he slowly kissed down her naked belly. He flicked his tongue into her belly button and she moaned, shifting her weight beneath him. Desire pooled low in her belly. She felt a driving need for more …

  He wrapped his hand around the mound of one breast and suckled her taut, naked nipple. She felt him take her inside his wet, warm mouth and arched her back with a soft cry. He swirled his tongue against her, teasing her nipple gently with the sharp edge of his teeth. As she gasped, writhing beneath him, he moved to her other nipple, licking and suckling her. She felt his hands move down her naked waist, down to the waistline of her pants. Over the fabric, he stroked her hips, grazing lightly over her thighs.

  He lifted her legs around his hips.

  She felt his hardness through multiple layers of fabric. It was unmistakable. He felt so hard and huge, pressed up against her. He swayed, moving between her legs, and her breathing came in haggard gasps.

  She’d never known it could be like this. She hadn’t known….

  Suddenly, Stefano choked out a low, guttural curse. As the sun moved behind a cloud, a shadow shifted across Stefano’s face as he ripped away from her.

  It took a minute before she remembered how to speak, before her lips could even form words. “What—what’s wrong?”

  He stared down at her furiously, his jaw hard. “We have to stop. I never thought … I’m not prepared. Damn me to hell!”

  Even through her pants and his jeans, she’d felt him against her, rock hard and huge. “You seemed pretty prepared to me.”

  “I didn’t bring a condom,” he bit out, scowling in fury.

  Looking at him, a laugh escaped her. “You mean you don’t carry one in your wallet? You? The playboy everyone warned me about?”

  “A mistake I will soon rectify.” Standing, he yanked her camisole back over her chest. Wadding the rest of their clothes into a ball, he picked Annabelle up from the flowers. Carrying her against his bare chest, he strode swiftly out of the meadow and back through the forest.

  “Put me down!” she said. “I can walk!”

  “Not until you’re in my bed,” he said grimly, never breaking stride as he crashed through the forest. “I’m not giving you the chance to change your mind.”

  Back at the paddock, he carried her to the gentle mare he’d saddled for her. As if she weighed nothing, Stefano lifted her onto the dappled horse, then swung onto the saddle behind her. Thrusting their crumpled-up clothes into the saddle’s pack, he wrapped both of his arms around Annabelle. With a flick of the reins, he tapped his heels against the horse’s sides.

  The mare leaped forward, and Annabelle rested her head back against Stefano’s chest. She closed her eyes, hearing his heartbeat, feeling protected in his arms. They flew forward through the trees and back down the hillside, back toward the golden fields that surrounded the hacienda.

  Sitting in Stefano’s lap astride the horse, leaning against his muscled chest with his arms wrapped around her, Annabelle drowsed in a sensual dream. Her lips were bruised from his kiss. Her silk camisole clung to her bare skin where he’d suckled her with his wet mouth. Red and purple flower petals flew from her loose blond hair, whirling in the breeze as the horse soared over the ground, sharp hooves flying.

  With every leap of the animal’s long stride, Annabelle felt the warmth and strength of the powerful man who held her. She felt how much he still wanted her.

  Annabelle twisted her head to look back at him as he guided the horse. His dark eyes were focused intently on the horizon. He looked like a knight, she thought, riding a charger to save a medieval castle. She felt every jarring step of the horse’s fast gallop against the earth. She saw the sharp hooves and the distance to the ground, but in Stefano’s arms, she wasn’t afraid. Not even of what waited for her.

  His bedroom.

  His bed.

  When they arrived in the courtyard, Stefano pulled the mare to a stop with a low whistle. Tossing the reins to one of the young stablehands, he leaped down. Not bothering to explain, he lifted Annabelle into his strong arms.

  She had a single vision of the teenager’s shocked face as Stefano carried her to the house.

  His fast stride never wavered as he took her upstairs. They were inside his bedroom before Annabelle’s eyes had adjusted from the bright sunlight to the cool darkness inside. She blinked and saw his bedroom, the mirror of her own but with Spartan, masculine furniture.

  Stefano put her down on his enormous bed. He looked down at her, bare-chested, dark-eyed and impossibly handsome. The rest of the world disappeared. She could see only him. Wanted only him.

  Even if it destroyed her.

  Stefano pushed her back against his pillows. He kissed her, his lips deliciously hard, and she felt his hands reach for her camisole. Roughly, he ripped the silk apart in his bare hands and dropped it to the floor.

  “Don’t rip my clothes!” she gasped.

  “I want it all off,” he growled. “Now.”

  Flinging himself on top of her, he moved his hands down her body, stroking her naked breasts to her flat belly. His gaze locked with hers as he undid the zipper of her pants and yanked them down over the curve of her hips, past her feet, before tossing them to the floor.

  Annabelle’s mouth parted in shock as he knelt at the foot of the bed.

  Roughly pushing her legs apart, he kissed up the inside of her naked thighs. He cupped the mound between her legs over her underwear, causing her to tremble and arch her back, rising to meet him. She closed her eyes, gripping the white cotton sheet in her fists, as if she were afraid she might otherwise go spinning upward into the sky. His mouth moved to the edge of the cotton fabric, licking just beneath the elastic with a flick of his tongue. Then he ripped it off her body entirely, and she gasped.

  She realized she was naked, spread-eagled across his enormous bed. No man had ever seen her naked before. She opened her eyes.

  Looking at the hunger in his eyes, she sucked in her breath. Slowly, never taking his gaze from hers, he took off his jeans and dark boxers. Naked, he knelt before her on the bed. Staring up at him in the half shadows slatted with streaks of light from the blinds, Annabelle sucked in her breath at his masculine beauty. He was so hard, and so ready for her. But he was so huge. How would he ever fit inside her? How badly would it hurt?

  Biting her lip, Annabelle looked up at him, her eyes dazed with wonder and desire and fear. With a groan, he lowered his head to kiss her. He kissed her softly on the forehead, her eyelids, then finally her mouth with a long, intense kiss.

  “Look at me,” he whispered, biting her lower lip, “and ask me if I think you’re beautiful.”

  He pulled away, his knees braced on the mattress as he straddled her hips, and even as the question rose to Annabelle’s mouth, she had no need to ask. The
physical proof of his desire jutted hard from his body.

  “Touch me,” he said roughly. “And ask if I want you.”

  She’d never seen a naked man before, let alone touched one. Timidly, she reached out a fingertip and stroked him from the tip along the shaft. He jerked beneath her touch. Gaining confidence, she took him fully in her gentle grasp. He exhaled. He was so huge in her hand, and so hard. When she looked up in wonder at his handsome face his expression was strained, as if he were fighting to keep control.

  “You want me,” Annabelle said softly. It was a statement, not a question.

  Stefano looked down at her, spread across his bed. His dark eyes seared her skin. She realized he could see all the scars on her whole body. Everything that surgery and time had not healed, everything she’d hidden for twenty years, he could see.

  But to her surprise, she wasn’t afraid. She wasn’t ashamed. Beneath his eyes, she was beautiful.

  He lowered his body over hers, and as he kissed her, she felt it all over her body. The intensity of his embrace felt like Christmas, like home, like love itself. She felt the hard roughness of his thighs against hers, felt his muscled, hair-covered chest slide against her plump breasts. They were so different and yet, as he held her beneath him, they were the same. They were one.

  She felt him between her legs, sliding over her most secret core, demanding entrance. His hands cupped her breasts as he suckled her nipples and stroked her breasts. She gasped as she felt his fingers move down her flat belly to her hips and finally between her thighs, closer and closer to the sweet aching place that begged for his touch. He teased her, making her tight with longing and desire as he licked and stroked her body. Finally, when she was nearly half-mad with need, he brushed her molten core with his fingertips, in the barest whisper of a touch.