‘You obviously mix with the wrong sort of women,’ she teased, and was surprised by the thoughtful look on his face.
‘Maybe I do,’ he murmured, and offered her his arm. ‘Shall we go?’
She tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and they turned into the wind, but the cold air struck her face and slid down her neck and she shivered and huddled down into her coat. ‘Oh, that’s icy. I didn’t realise it would be so cold. I should have brought a scarf.’
‘Here—have mine,’ he said, and draped it round her neck.
‘Oh—you’ll get cold now!’ she said, and then caught the scent of his body on the fine, soft wool and nearly moaned out loud.
‘I’m sure I’ll survive. It’s not far to the place I want to take you, just round the corner.’ And it was worth giving up his scarf just to watch her snuggle down inside it with that sensual sigh. ‘Here, this is it.’
He opened the door and ushered her in, and the tempting aromas made her mouth water. They’d paused for a light lunch, but it and their coffee this morning were just a distant memory now, and she was more than ready, but it was heaving.
‘It’s too busy,’ she said, disappointed, but Luca just shook his head and looked up, catching the eye of a man with a white apron wrapped around his ample middle, and he beamed and came over to them, arms extended.
‘Luca! Buona sera!’
‘Buona sera, Alfredo. Come sta?’
Isabelle listened to the warmly affectionate exchange but only caught the odd recognisable word, such as bambini, and then Luca switched to English. ‘Alfredo, do you have a table?’
‘Si, si! Of course, for you, my friend. Always.’
And with a bit of shuffling and rearranging, he fitted them in, dragging a table out of the corner and finding another chair.
They sat down, but because they were squeezed in, her leg was jammed against Luca’s hard, muscular thigh. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t move out of your way,’ she said, but he just smiled.
‘Don’t apologise!’ he said softly, and she felt heat flood through her. Good grief, what on earth was happening to her? It was only a leg, and yet since the first touch of his knee against hers in the café this morning, every fleeting contact had been enough to send her heart into hyperdrive.
All day she’d been trying to forget it, but he’d made it impossible, constantly brushing into her, touching her—nothing in the least bit questionable, but it had kept her senses simmering all day, and then he’d offered her his arm and wrapped his scarf around her neck, still warm and heavy with the very male scent of his body, enclosing her in his essence, and the small amount of common sense she’d talked into herself had been wiped out in an instant. And now the heat of that solid, well-muscled leg against hers was setting it on fire and burning away the last fragments of reason.
‘Relax, bella,’ he murmured, his teasing eyes dancing. ‘I won’t eat you.’
Shame, she thought, and shut her eyes briefly at the images that leapt into her mind. Good heavens, this wasn’t like her! She’d never felt like this, never reacted so violently, so completely to a man’s touch.
But it wasn’t just his touch, it was his presence, too. She’d felt him at the café before she’d seen him, felt his eyes through the window stroking over her like little fingers of fire. And now, every time he looked at her, there was something there, something hot and dangerous and unbelievably tempting. And she was totally out of her depth. It had been so long since she’d dated anyone she’d forgotten how to do it, and a bit of her wanted to stop the clock and breathe for a few minutes, just to settle everything down again and remind herself why she didn’t do this.
But the clock didn’t stop, and Alfredo was coming back, weaving between the tables, a bottle of Prosecco in one hand, two menus in the other, and he filled their glasses with a flourish. Luca lifted his and smiled at her. ‘Welcome to Firenze, Isabelle.’
‘Thank you.’ She clinked her glass against his and sipped, the bubbles tickling the back of her throat as she met those hot, dark eyes. ‘And thank you for bringing it to life for me. It was fabulous. Much more fun than trailing round alone.’
‘My pleasure,’ he murmured, his eyes locked on hers.
Oh, help. ‘So—what should we eat?’ she asked lightly, trying to break the tension, but it lingered for another second.
‘The special’s always good,’ he said after a slight pause, and she dragged her mind back into order.
‘Let’s go for that, then,’ she agreed, and tried to concentrate on the food, but she could hardly taste it. She was too conscious of the pressure of his leg against hers, the warmth in his eyes, the soft sound of his laughter wrapping round her and making her ache because it was so nearly over.
And then at last it came to an end; they’d finished their food, dragged their coffee out indefinitely, and their conversation had finally run dry. The day was officially done.
He set his napkin on the table and smiled wryly. ‘Shall we make a move?’ he suggested, and she felt a surge of regret.
He held out his hand to her, and after the tiniest hesitation, Isabelle put hers in it and stood up, desperately trying to ignore the sensation that raced up her arm. Her leg was still burning from the heat of his body, and when he’d stood up and moved away, she’d felt the loss of his warmth like an arctic blast. Crazy. He was just a man, just an ordinary man.
No. That was a lie, and she’d never been dishonest with herself. He was gorgeous—witty, intelligent, disarmingly frank, and his body, tall and powerfully built, with those midnight-dark eyes, made her go weak at the knees. His hair was slightly rumpled from the wind; she wanted to touch it, to thread her fingers through it and test the texture, and then draw her hand slowly over his jaw, letting the rasp of stubble graze her palm.
His lips, so firm, so full, made her ache to feel them. On her lips, but also on her cheeks, her eyelids, her throat, her breasts. Everywhere.
Relax, bella. I won’t eat you.
Oh, lord! She looked away, dragging her eyes off him and bending to pick up her bag from the floor while she gathered her composure.
‘I need the Ladies’,’ she said.
‘Good idea, I’ll meet you back here,’ he said, and she made her way into the sanctuary of the quiet room with relief.
What was happening to her? She never reacted like this to men! Never in a million years. Or twenty-eight, more to the point. Over a quarter of a century, and no man had ever made her heart beat fast or her skin heat or her body ache with a longing so intense it almost frightened her.
But Luca did. Luca made her body sing with joy at the slightest touch, and when she rejoined him and he rested his hand lightly against her spine to usher her out into the street, she could have been naked the effect on her was so powerful. It was as if he’d touched her intimately, found her secret places and stroked them with the slow, sure hand of a lover.
And now she was being ridiculous! He was just killing time after his interview, indulging in a little mild flirtation, and she’d do well to remember it. It was nothing personal, he was just exercising his natural charm, and there was certainly nothing intimate, for heaven’s sake! And even if there was, nothing was going to come of it. She was only here for one more night, flying out in less than eight hours! She’d never had a one-night stand in her life, and she wasn’t starting now. But she wished there was more time…
‘Where’s your hotel?’ he asked, and she told him.
‘That’s good, it’s just near here.’
He tucked her hand into his arm again, his smile gleaming white against his olive skin in the darkness, and she caught the faint tang of his aftershave and that warm, male scent that was becoming so familiar—the scent that was also drifting up to her from the scarf, snuggled so softly and intimately against her skin, almost as if he was holding her.
She shivered, and he shot her a quick glance. ‘OK?’
‘I’m fine,’ she lied, but she wasn’t, because it was the end of t
heir time together and she wasn’t sure she’d survive if he simply took her back to her hotel and dropped her off, whatever her scruples, because for some reason this night—no, this man—was different, and if he asked her…
Luca paused outside the entrance, staring down thoughtfully into her eyes, and she reached up and kissed his cheek, her warm breath whispering over his skin and setting it alight. ‘Thank you for the most lovely day. You’ve been so kind, Luca.’
He didn’t feel kind. He felt on fire, more alive than he had in years, and extraordinary reluctant to let her go, but there was no way…
‘What time’s your flight tomorrow morning?’
‘I have to be at the airport at five.’
He hesitated, not sure what was happening to him, just knowing he couldn’t walk away. Not from this, because this—this was different, and he’d deal with the consequences later.
‘It doesn’t have to end here,’ he said softly, and waited, his breath lodged in his throat, for her reply.
Isabelle’s heart was pounding now, because this was something she didn’t do. Never. She felt she was on the brink of a precipice—or at the gateway to a whole new era.
‘I don’t do this,’ she said in a whisper, but he heard and he laughed under his breath.
‘Nor do I.’
‘I—I can’t get involved.’
‘That’s OK.’
‘So—just tonight?’
He nodded slowly. ‘Si. Just tonight, cara. If that’s what you want.’
Why not? she thought. It had been years now. She was too fussy to sleep with anyone just for the sake of it, not desperate enough to settle for mediocrity, and she was alone by choice.
But Luca—Luca did something to her that no man had ever done. He made her heart race, her blood heat, her body throb with need. There was absolutely nothing mediocre about him.
If she walked away from him now, she’d never know what it would have been like to make love with the most interesting and attractive man she’d ever met in her life. A man she could so easily, under other circumstances, have come to love.
And maybe it was time to let herself live again—if only for one night. Taking her courage in both hands, she met his eyes. ‘Your place or mine?’ she asked.
He let out his breath in a rough, choppy sigh, then his lips twisted into a wry little smile. ‘Yours is closer.’
Her heart nearly stopped, then started again with a vengeance as he took her hand and led her into the hotel. She picked up her key at the desk, her heart pounding, and they went up to her room in a taut, breathless silence, their fingers tightly meshed.
They’d hardly made it through the door before he reached for her, his mouth finding hers in a kiss she felt she’d been waiting for all her life. She dropped her bag on the floor, and somehow he peeled away her coat and his scarf that she was still wearing, and then his hands slid up and cradled her breasts and he gave a deep, guttural groan that turned her legs to jelly.
She whimpered, and as if it was what he’d been waiting for, he stripped the sweater off over her head, muttering incoherently as he pressed her back against the wall, his mouth on hers, his hands moulding her breasts again. His chest was heaving as she grabbed the front of his shirt and dragged it open, pinging buttons off in all directions and whimpering in frustration because she couldn’t get it down over his shoulders with his arms bent and his hands doing such incredible things to her nipples.
She gave up with the shirt, her hands moving to his waistband, and then he dragged his mouth away and dropped his forehead against hers, his hands catching hers and stopping their frenzied fumbling. ‘Wait,’ he growled, his breath sawing in and out of his lungs. ‘This is crazy. It’s too fast.’
Crazy? Too fast? Maybe, but when he stepped away and released her, she felt a huge sense of loss. She didn’t want to be away from him, not for a moment—but apparently that wasn’t what he had in mind.
He stared at her, his eyes on fire, and shook his head slowly, his hand coming up to cradle her cheek with incredible tenderness, and she could feel that it was shaking. ‘If we go on like this, it’ll all be over in seconds,’ he murmured roughly, ‘and I don’t want seconds, Isabella. I want hours. I want to take my time—savour every moment of this night. Touch you all over. Taste you.’
Her knees nearly buckled. Relax, bella. I won’t eat you.
‘Oh, Luca, please,’ she whimpered, and he closed his eyes and muttered something that sounded halfway between an oath and a prayer.
‘I need a shower first—come,’ he said, pushing open the bathroom door and leading her in before turning on the water, then he held out his hands out to her and drew her closer.
Gentle now, and garment by garment, he slowly stripped away the rest of her clothes, his knuckles grazing softly over her skin. She closed her eyes, suddenly shy, but he touched her cheek, tipping her face up to his so she could see the heat in his eyes, so close to hers.
‘You’re beautiful, cara,’ he said gruffly, his thumb dragging slowly over her lips. ‘Don’t be shy with me.’
She swallowed and flicked her tongue out to moisten her lips, and the tip caught his thumb. He paused, and she grew bolder, stroking it back and forth across the pad, then sucking it gently, nipping it between her teeth—just lightly, but it was enough to make him groan.
‘You’re going to drive me crazy,’ he whispered unsteadily, and stepping back a fraction, he shed his clothes in record time then stepped into the shower, holding out his hand for her.
Her heart hammered against her ribs, and she let her eyes absorb him—the sheer potent masculine beauty of his body, so beautifully sculpted, so taut, so exquisite that he could have been one of Michelangelo’s models—except this man would surely have shocked the matrons and terrified the virgins, she thought, stifling a bubble of slightly hysterical laughter, but the only thing that shocked and terrified her was her own reaction.
She wanted him—wanted to touch him—no, needed to touch him, to feel him, test the texture of that hot, wet skin beneath her palms, and so she took his hand and followed him into the shower, under the streaming water that pounded over them like a tropical storm, and let her roaming fingers explore him, investigating the stark contrast between the rough texture of his body hair and the wet silk of his skin, following the streaming water from his shoulders, over his deep, solid chest to the arrow of hair that her downwards.
She moved lower, her fingers trailing over the taut muscles of his abdomen, and his teeth clenched and he sucked in his breath with a hiss.
‘Cara, slowly,’ he groaned, and, easing away from her, he squirted shower gel onto his hands and started to wash her, his hands firm and almost impersonal as they touched her everywhere. If it hadn’t been for the blazing heat in his eyes she might have thought he was washing a child, but there was nothing of the nurturer in this man now, and when she filled her palms with shower gel and smoothed her hands over his body he gave a shuddering sigh, his breath hot against her face as he cupped her bottom and eased her against him. She felt the urgent pressure of his knee between her thighs and opened for him as his hand slid round and cradled the terrible, yearning ache that was building in her body.
‘Luca?’ she whispered, and as the water streamed over them his mouth found hers in a kiss so searing she thought she’d go up in flames. She felt the hot, sensual slide of his tongue, its probing so erotic, so explicit that she could scarcely breathe. And it wasn’t just his mouth. His hand was moving against her, freeing a wanton woman she hadn’t even known existed until this moment.
A woman who wanted him, this man she’d never met before tonight but would have trusted with her soul, because already, in some obscure way, it belonged to him.
She felt fevered. She thought she’d die if she didn’t have him, and then he hit the shower control, grabbed a towel and rubbed her roughly dry, then hauled it over his skin and threw it aside as he led her back into the bedroom.
His mouth found hers again, an
d then his thigh was between hers and he pressed her backwards until her legs hit the bed and he toppled her over, falling with her in a tangle of limbs into the centre of the mattress.
‘Isabella,’ he groaned, lifting his head to stare down at her, his hands shaking as they touched her. She was gorgeous. So beautiful. So perfect. So much woman. He wanted to go slowly but he couldn’t. He needed her, and his control was in tatters.
Slowly, he told himself. Slowly. Make it last. He lifted a damp strand of hair from her face and pressed a tender, lingering kiss to her lips, then turned his attention to those soft, generous breasts, first one, then the other, kneading them gently and rolling her tightly budded nipples between his fingers until she whimpered and arched up to him, and then using his knee to ease her thighs apart, he turned his head and stared down at where the soft nest of curls hid her from his sight.
Dio, he wanted her. Wanted to taste her, to touch her, to bury himself inside her…
His mouth closed over one nipple as his hand sought her again, found the hot, sleek moisture of her delicate folds, felt the tremble in her body as his thumb found the swollen bud and stroked it gently, probing her warmth, testing her.
‘Luca!’ she sobbed, bucking under him, and he hushed her softly and moved on, his tongue taking over where his thumb had left off, and she cried out and trembled, her shaking fingers knotting in his hair. ‘Oh, God, Luca, now, please!’
He couldn’t wait any longer. He felt as if he’d been waiting for her all his life, and he couldn’t wait any more. She was begging him, her voice cracking, and he moved over her, settling against her, feeling her body yield to him as he entered her with a long, slow thrust that nearly pushed him over the edge.
She gasped his name again, and he kissed her softly, trying to take it slowly, trying to give her time to adjust to him as he withdrew and thrust into her again, deeper this time, harder, bringing a tiny scream to her lips. He felt her hands clawing at him, her nails digging into his shoulders as she urged him on breathlessly, her body striving beneath him.
The Valtieri Marriage Deal Page 2