“If you want to be made love to,” he roared, “let it be by a man and not by a nincompoop!”
He kissed her then, not once but at least dozen times, hard brutal kisses that must have bruised her mouth and which left her limp and gasping in his arms.
“I love you,” he said, looking down at her flushed face and astonished eyes. “I love you and you have tempted me, captivated me and made me miserable long enough. Now you shall suffer for your caprice and for your beauty, which drives a man mad.”
He stopped for a moment and then his arms tightened round her so that she could scarcely breathe.
“I love, you,” he said fiercely, “and damn it, if you will never speak to me again, this moment is worth it!”
He bent his head towards her and, as Amé watched, Isabella moved for the first time. Her arms
