Sexy in the City

by Alexia Adams, Galen Rose, Samantha Anne, Carolann Camillo, Nicole Flockton, Iris Leach, Olivia Logan, Nancy Loyan, Stephanie Cage (epub)

  His kiss was a feather soft touch of his lips against her own. She felt the light touch of his tongue against her lips. Thrilling. Caressing. Breathtaking.

  That he wanted to be with her as much as she wanted to be with him. That all other women past and future would be forgotten and he’d want only her in his life.

  He kissed her brow, her cheek, her eyelid and back to her lips. Pleasure radiated through her veins.

  Her body strained to receive his caresses. She felt reckless and very much alive and vital.

  As her lips touched his, she felt them part. She could feel his tongue, light and warm touching hers, his quickening breath, as she pressed against his solid chest.

  She felt as if she was being swept into a whirlpool of desire from which she had no chance of escape. Did she really want to escape from him?

  She opened her eyes and a full moon shone down upon them, and she imagined its silver light spreading across the Yarra’s murky waters.

  The sound of laughter from somewhere behind them.

  She could hear the gentle movement of the river. Smell the jasmine.

  She thought she heard the song of a bird but could that have been possible this late at night?

  And then she remembered the name of the tune — The Best Is Yet to Come.

  And as his kiss deepened, she thought of nothing else but him.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Edoardo was coming to cook dinner. He’d tasted a few of Glory’s shaky attempts at cooking, like her Chinese beef, where the beef always tasted rubbery no matter how much she paid for the steak, or how gently she cooked it; and what about her spaghetti marinara where the fish dissolved into a glutinous mess; or her charcoal sausages, onion and lumpy mashed potatoes.

  Kate always said Glory’s cooking was a burnt sacrifice to the gods.

  Eventually, and most gently she had to admit, Edoardo suggested he take over the kitchen. What a delight. What a joy it was when Edoardo cooked. Suddenly vegetables had a wonderful flavour and a stew that used to have her shuddering at the thought, she now looked forward to with greedy anticipation.

  Her mouth watered and she idly wondered what deliciously tantalising temptations he’d planned for tonight.

  Glory had discovered that dinners were important to him almost a production number with the best china and crystal glasses for their wine.

  She looked up at the bright blue sky and fluffy clouds. The day was surprisingly warm. Clad in a skimpy cropped T-shirt and short shorts, Glory was digging in her small and lovely garden.

  Her stomach rumbled. She hadn’t eaten a thing since breakfast, and she was ravenous. Tossing down the trowel, Glory straightened, placing her hands on her hips, stretched with a small groan of pleasure as her bones creaked into place.

  She made her way into the kitchen. Opening the refrigerator door, she intently studied the contents eventually taking out a plate of cold roast chicken, bought from the local KFC on her way home last night for an easy dinner, a plastic container of left-over potato salad and a carton of milk.

  She had no sooner placed the food onto the kitchen bench when Edoardo strode into the room.

  “Hi,” he said. “I knocked but you didn’t hear me. Your front door was wide open, so I came in.” He frowned. “You should make sure your door is secured. Never know who’s lurking about.”

  “You were lurking about,” she quipped.

  “I’m not a mugger.”

  “That’s debatable.” He frowned. She laughed, delighted with his perplexity.

  He was wearing light blue jeans and a stark white T-shirt that made his complexion seem darker, and had the appearance of a man who had just stepped out of the shower; his hair was damp and a thick black lock had fallen down his forehead. He looked so sexy that her heart pelted out a love-song in the middle of her throat.

  He stood in front of her, big, powerful, and total male. She wondered how one man could have so much and not detonate. “You’ve got dirt on your nose,” he said, wiping it off with the tip of his finger. He grinned. “I always seem to be wiping something or other off your face,” Edoardo said good-humouredly.

  “Been gardening.”

  “Nice.” He stretched over, placing two plastic bags of goodies on the kitchen bench. “This is our dinner,” Edoardo said.

  Through the thin material of his T-shirt, the muscles in his chest rippled with every move he made. She swallowed harshly.

  He squinted at the food she had taken from the refrigerator. “Eating and it’s nearly five?” he said as he threw his long leg over a kitchen stool. He reached for a chicken leg.

  She poured them each a glass of milk. “Get the urge to eat at any time day and night,” she explained. “Comes from my ballet days.”

  He laughed. “You learned ballet?”

  Fascinated as his strong even white teeth ripped the white meat from the bone.

  She licked her lips nervously. Why was she so darn jumpy? Because he looked sexy, in a weaker position, as if she could take advantage of him and — and what? Attack him? Throw herself on to his body and beg him to kiss her, again and again?

  “When I was a kid,” she explained. “My mother imagined me on the stage. She thought I’d step into Anna Pavlova’s ballet shoes.”

  “Show me.”

  She laughed softly. “Are you kidding?” She raked a hand back through her hair and exhaled. “My legs have seized up. Ballet classes were a long time ago.” As if to prove her point, she stood and, placing a hand on one hip, shuffled around the room giving the occasional groan. “All my bones have stiffened.”

  “Indulge me.”

  She shook her head. “No way.” She shrugged. “Anyhow I need incentive,” she said, hoping to put him off his wacky request.

  He rose from the stool, rummaged in the plastic bag and came back with a chocolate caramel koala in his hand. He carefully peeled off the silver paper. “Open your mouth,” he ordered.

  She obliged, he broke the chocolate into half and slid it into her mouth. “Yum,” she murmured as the delicious taste of chocolate and caramel filled her mouth.

  “Enough incentive?”

  “You fool,” she mumbled and made her way into the centre of the room. “Um, let’s see. The basic petite allegro. Begin en face, right foot front, arms bras bas. Two bars four counts musical introduction.”

  She hummed an introduction. “Echappe sauté to second, taking arms to demi-seconde then two sautés in second, head remains en face, spring back into fifth, changing feet, bringing arms to — ”

  As Glory moved her feet, she lost balance and with a squeal tumbled to the ground. She immediately sprung to her feet, and cried, “Spring back into fifth, changing feet, bringing arms to fifth bras bas and collapse.”

  Out of breath, she sunk onto the stool beside him. “What do you think about that?” she gasped.

  He clapped wildly. “You were great,” he enthused. “I bow to your outstanding abilities. You’re a woman of many talents.”

  “Too true, but — ” Glory took a long drink of milk. “Don’t ever ask me to do that again.” She rubbed her lower back. “It’ll take me a week and a half to get over it. I think I’ve broken my back.”

  He grinned and leaning over rubbed his fingers across her mouth. She jerked back her head. “You’ve got a milk moustache,” he told her.

  Disturbed by his touch, she rubbed the back of her hand across her mouth. “Please leave my grubby face alone,” she said.

  He left her, went to the radio and switched it on, fiddling with the dial until he found a station playing swing music.

  Before she knew what she was doing he had her in his arms and they were dancing around the kitchen. Her breasts pressed firmly against his chest. Her desire for him flooded her like a wild river.

  His hands
slid under her T-shirt and clasped her waist. “Now this type of dancing I like,” he murmured. “The I-can’t-get-close-enough-to-you type of dance.”

  She should have drawn apart from him. Instead, she cuddled closer. He smelled wonderful, like summer rain on a hot pavement.

  He stopped dancing and drew slightly back from her. He gazed down at her and her heart stopped beating, gave a hefty jerk and swung back into a mad beat.

  There was so much emotion displayed on his face, yet she couldn’t put a name to any of it. It confused and bewildered her and yet that he may love her flashed through her mind. Could it be true? Could Edoardo’s feelings for her be deepening?

  If he kissed her, whatever type of kiss — a peck, the kiss of a friend and colleague or a full-blown kiss of passion and desire — she would be his willing slave for all time. And you know what, she didn’t care, for at this moment she was so full of love for him, her heart was bursting with happiness.

  His head came lower and as his mouth moved closer and closer, her mouth opened slightly in readiness for his kiss.

  The whole world stilled and everything disappeared and only Edoardo remained; gloriously alive, vividly technicoloured and potently sexy.

  His face filled her view and his mouth pressed lightly against hers.

  She melted into his arms like chocolate against her tongue.

  The shrill sound of an alarm clock separated them like someone had thrown icy cold water over them. They quickly drew apart.

  “What in — ” Edoardo cried.

  “It’s my alarm clock.”

  “Set for five-thirty?”

  She looked sheepish. “It’s a reminder to have a shower and get ready, well, for you.”

  He chuckled, and then laughed loudly. “Sounds a great idea. I’ll go and turn on the hot water tap. You bring the towels.”

  She laughed and knew he was half-joking. “And a rub down with baby oil, huh?”

  He reached for her but Glory dodged his seeking hands. “You start dinner, Edoardo, I’m starving.”

  “Are you ever anything else?”

  “A girl’s gotta eat.”

  “Yeah, but there’s a rule, only three meals a day,” he said.

  “I eat three meals a day except I divide them into two so I get six.” She grinned. He laughed. “There’s a bottle of red in the larder.”

  His blue eyes were alive with stardust. “Okay, run for the hills, but I’m a whiz at finding anything I’m dotty about,” he told her with a ghost of a chuckle.

  Wow, that was a nice thing for him to say. Heart thumping, she left the room to the relative safety of the bathroom.

  Dressed in evening midnight blue wide-leg slacks and a white cropped lacy top, Glory had taken a few tresses of her hair, twisted and pinned at the back. Falling tendrils made for a casual yet attractive hair style.

  He looked over at her as she entered the room and gave a low wolf whistle. “Now that’s something else,” he said with a grin.

  Taking his compliment as her due, she gave a nod and said, “Just an old thing I threw on.” She did a twirl for effect. “What’s for dinner?”

  Edoardo blew out a breath. “Compliments are so wasted on you.”

  “So feed me instead,” she said brightly. “The way to a woman’s heart is through her stomach.”

  He pulled out a chair. “Please sit and I’ll bring out the first course.”

  As he was leaving she called out, “What is the first course?”

  “Antipasto,” he called. “What else would an Italian serve?”

  “Yummo. Love it.”

  He returned and placed the platter near her. “Dig in,” he said and she obliged eagerly.

  “What’s next?” she mumbled, her mouth half-full of antipasto.

  He laughed indulgently. “Hey, enjoy the first before thinking of the second.”

  “It’s your fault. You’ve got me hooked on good food.” She patted her hips. “My hips and I thank you.” She hesitated, and then said, “I think.”

  He laughed. “Your hips are perfect.” She flashed him a knowing smile. “And the main course is Alla Carbonara. A special favourite of mine,” he said, “followed by Fruttae dolce o formaggio.”

  “Which is?”

  “Simply fruit and cheese.”

  “Hmmm, sounds much more interesting when said in Italian.”

  He grinned, and filled her glass with Amarone, a rich, dry red wine. “Wait till you taste my coffee. It’s to die for.”

  “I’ve tasted your coffee, Edoardo, and my mouth shrivelled for a week.”

  “You’re not suggesting it’s too strong and bitter?” He held up his hands feigning suffering.

  “Without offending your chef sensibilities? Oh my, yes.”

  Laughing they dug into their meals, not talking much until Edoardo suggested they take their wine out on to the balcony.

  They sat on a large cane couch, relaxed in each other’s company, talking about work, laughing over things that had gone wrong.

  And there was something different about their relationship, something warmer, more exciting and maybe he was falling for her. That soon he would carry her in his white Mercedes to his castle in the Yarra Valley hills and make her his own special princess. She could dream, couldn’t she?

  Then he shattered the night by saying, “Will it be difficult for you, you know, acting normally back at work when this is all over?”

  “What do you mean by that crack?”

  “It wasn’t a crack, it’s a question.”

  “What type of question is that to ask me? Will I be normal? What they hey? Do you imagine in your tiny warped mind that I’ll be sending you flowers and throwing confetti over your office desk? What’s with you, Edoardo? You’re the one who’ll have trouble acting normal.” Her breathing increased. “Know why? Because you’re nuts, that’s why?”

  “I’m nuts? Wow, you sure have a way of twisting things to suit your own little needs.”

  “And while I’m at it, have you told Mamma about our so not having a wedding? Huh, huh? Have you? Well, have you, smarty pants?”

  “Not yet, but I intend to and maybe tonight. Yeah, right, tonight.”

  “Good, and while you’re at it, tell her and Papa that we’re barely friends, and that working normally with you will be a hardship for me. Tell them just that.” She leaped to her feet, towering over him, resisting the urge to pull his hair, or kick his shin.

  He followed suit, and she bent backwards to look up at him. “I’m getting outta here.”

  She stomped into the lounge, grabbed his coat and threw it at him. “Goodnight, and I hope the bed bugs bite a hunk out of your backside.”

  He didn’t answer, the slamming of the door was answer enough.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Edoardo eyeballed the pile of work on his desk.

  He couldn’t concentrate, not of late. Everything seemed out of perspective and he wasn’t at all sure how to put things back in balance.

  The way he was lately, it was a relief when he could hold a sensible conversation; it proved he was still rational.

  He knew one thing, he was growing accustomed to her laughing face, and the peace she gave him and the way her presence made him feel totally alive. It gave him an odd, slightly daunting feeling of his life without her.

  Until Glory, he had been in complete control of his emotions. But now?

  Sometimes he would observe her lovely face in repose. Sensing his gaze, she’d look over at him, and he would quickly avert his gaze in case he would drown in the liquid fire of her eyes.

  What the hell was happening to him? Why couldn’t he stop thinking about her?

  Edoardo picked up a legal document and began to read, but the words blurred beneath his vision.


  Her kiss left him wanting more. And he remembered the way her mouth had tasted … soft, tender and sweet as honey on his tongue. Her softness and the undeniable scent of her. If he had to describe her in one turn of phrase, he’d call her earth woman. A woman full of love, generosity and kind-heartedness. A woman destined for children, home and hearth.

  A woman he’d stayed clear of …

  His eyes were drawn down the office desk-line towards her office. He could see her quite clearly, head bent over her desk, the silky veil of her hair covering her face, but he knew her face; could describe every freckle, every fine line of her skin.

  Oh, yes, he knew that face so well.

  Agitated, Edoardo left his desk and poured himself a strong black coffee, sinking back into his chair, he forced himself to work.

  • • •

  Edoardo, Edoardo, Edoardo.

  Laughing. Talking. Working. Everything he was and everything he did haunted her like a lovely tune.

  She imagined him confessing that he’d fallen in love with her and wanted her for his wife. She imagined them living in a white-and-blue shuttered weatherboard in the country near his parents and their children playing in a large tree-filled backyard, a dog barking.

  She glanced down the office. He was working feverishly as usual as if there were only five hours in the day, his pen scribbling over sheets of paper. His legal mind alert and ready for any discrepancy, any loophole he could use to win his case.

  Even from this distance she could see the darkness of his hair and the thick lock that dangled over his forehead. The width and strength of his shoulders stretching beneath the dark grey suit he wore, and she knew and loved the sea blueness of his eyes.

  As he stood and stretched, Glory gasped, and drew back in her chair. He was looking at her, as if he knew she was watching him.

  Frantically, she began writing on a notepad, and gave a soft chuckle when she realised she was writing a shopping list. Pushing the pad aside, she began summarising a deposition of the man pressing charges against her client. There was something fishy about his statement and she intended discovering what it was.