Her legs felt as if they’d give way any minute and she turned away, fighting the tears, fighting all that she was trying so hard to handle on her own.

“Payton, what is it?”

The intensity in his voice nearly undid her. Part of her longed to tell him everything and yet another part of her was still so afraid. It was that old fear of naming something…of giving something of substance…existence…power.

She couldn’t give the disease power. She knew the power it had. She knew what had happened to her mother and aunt.

“Payton, talk to me.”

“I don’t think I can.”

He swiftly moved toward her, his hands circling her upper arms. “Why not? You can talk to everyone else. Why can’t you talk to me?”

When she didn’t answer, he clasped her chin, lifted her face to his. “You know me, Payton. You know me better than anyone.”

“Maybe that’s the problem.”

His intense expression pierced her, driving holes of hurt into her heart.

“God forgive me, but you make me crazy.” He swore softly just before his head dipped and his mouth covered hers in a kiss so hot, so fierce that it stole her breath, emptied her lungs, left her head spinning.

Hot tears stung her eyes and reaching up, Payton clasped his shirt, hanging on to him as her heart felt as if it were being wrenched in two.

No one, but no one kissed like this. No one but Marco made her feel like this and God in heaven, she wasn’t over him yet. Not by a long shot. Maybe not ever.

A cry escaped her as his lips parted hers. She felt wildly divergent emotions—pain, pleasure, denial. What on earth was she doing? The last time he’d kissed her like this it’d been in the gardens of the Trussardi family palazzo. They’d both lost control then and they both knew what had happened since.

There were consequences, her brain shouted, there are always consequences.

She shouldn’t—couldn’t—let this happen and yet it was heaven and hell and Payton knew this was how it’d always been with Marco. Her response was pure instinct and it was impossible to control.

Her whimper seemed to push him to the edge. Marco’s thumb stroked close to the corner of her mouth, lighting fire beneath her skin, making her crave more and she shifted beneath him, the pressure of his mouth parting hers and she felt open and naked as his tongue caressed the inside of her lower lip.

Her hands were knotted in his shirt, her breasts pressed to his hard chest, her body straining and it was still not enough, she thought dimly, body hot, tingling, feverish, this kiss and this limited touch wasn’t enough. She arched closer, felt his hand shift from her arm to her hip as he dragged her even closer, and battling a groan she felt him press against her, his body hard, tense, barely controlled.

He’ll hate himself later. She heard the warning, knew the warning as the voice of reality. Sanity and gasping for air, she broke free, using her palms to push him away.

His dark eyes glittered, his cheekbones glowed red. “You.”

His voice was deep, thick, accent pronounced. She’d wanted the kiss to continue, hadn’t wanted to end it but she knew Marco, knew he’d resent the loss of control—no matter how brief.

There would be consequences—no, make that hell to pay.

She was right. He drew another shallow breath.

“Maledizione!” He swore bitterly, battling to control his breathing. “Why do I do this? What is the matter with me?”

“Marco—”

“No. Don’t say anything. You’ll only make it worse.”

Payton’s gaze searched the taut planes of his face, his features hard, his mouth pinched.

He took a menacing step toward her, his finger pointed. “I nearly broke her heart once. I nearly crushed her, and she’s fragile, Payton, she’s not like you. She can’t handle the rejection.”

“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“No, it won’t, because I want you to go. I want you to get your things, your luggage, your children and go.