by Barbara Lohr
A couple passed them on the street, and Mallory drew back after a kiss that could have gone on forever and still been too short. “I do believe we might be making a spectacle of ourselves, wanton woman from Chicago.”
“Wanton?” She loved the round, ripe sound.
They walked on, fingers laced and her body humming. At the hotel, the doorman greeted them. Lighting dimmed, the lobby seemed more intimate than in the daytime. Their footsteps echoed on the marble floor. The registrar at the desk offered a polite nod. Italians were so discreet. The man studied a computer screen, as if he didn’t notice their rush toward the bank of elevators.
Her breath was coming in tight gasps when the elevator arrived with a soft ping. “How chummy do you think this could get?” Mallory asked with a guarded smile as the doors closed behind them.
“Very.”
His eyes warmed. “Damn, you’re beautiful, Amy.”
On Mallory’s lips, her name sounded beautiful.
And wanton. That too.
They fell into a heated kiss, her hands raking into his hair. Who noticed when his jacket slipped from her shoulders? Hands on her hips, he snugged her to his body. His arousal felt so good. Her breasts sprang to life.
The elevator stopped, and the doors slid open. They broke apart, and Amy took a deep breath. Scooping up his jacket and taking her hand, Mallory led her down the quiet hall. Anticipation spiraled inside until she felt like a helium balloon on parade day. Once inside their room, he closed the door and turned to her, a question darkening his eyes.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Thank God.” Groaning, he pressed her against the door with a slow, certain kiss. Amy shivered as his lips traveled to the hollow of her neck, threatening to turn her inside out. Her whole body throbbed now. “Oh, Mallory.”
But the man had fallen into his southern mode.
He explored her body with leisurely appreciation. A little stroking here, some cupping there. Her body curved easily into his fingers, and her breathing tightened to gasps. The light pinching nearly sent her over the edge.
Sure, red flags kept flipping up, caution signs that she mowed down with a fierce passion, like one of those Olympic skiers on a slalom run. Be a babe echoed through her body as she careened down a slope of snowballing desire.
But a snowball would melt in this heat. Caution jerked her to a halt. “Just one thing. This week and nothing more.” Maybe she was just reminding herself.
“Sure. Whatever.” His hands got busy with her zipper.
She caught his chin in one hand. “I mean it, Mallory. No waiting for calls or texts. None of that.”
A woman setting her boundaries. McKenna and Vanessa would be proud.
Did he look hurt? Must be her imagination.
“If that’s what you want. Now, if we could get back to business.” Thighs aligned, he backed her toward the closest bed.
As Amy melted, he hardened.
“Didn’t…didn’t mean to insult you,” she managed, panting. She was panting, for Pete’s sake.
“Look, I like you, Amy.” He stopped.
“Like me?” Was this middle school?
“No, really like you. Damnation, I am not good at this.” His frustration touched her heart, but the delay was killing the mood.
“Later.” Yanking him close, she got him back on track.
The rim of the bed hit the back of her calves. She only wanted to set limits, protect herself. So hard to think with his lips roving over everything that wasn’t covered and a couple of things that were.
When Mallory nudged her onto the bed, she kicked off her strappy aqua sandals and curled up on the green coverlet.
“If you were a cat now, darlin’, you’d be purring.”
“Can’t you hear me?” Her heartbeat throbbed in Amy’s ears. Grabbing the hem of her dress, she pulled it up, but the zipper snagged her hair.
“Let me help before you scratch that beautiful skin…why, Amy.” His eyes trailed from her filmy black bra to her clamped knees. He lifted a brow. “The thong?”
Thighs parting, she gave him a better look.
He tore at his tie. “Damn. What a gift.”
“Time to unwrap it.” She wiggled her fingers.
“Now, let’s take our time.”
“Now, let’s not be so southern.”
“Impatient, are we?” Balancing on the edge of the bed, he skimmed one hand from her shoulder to hip. Felt like he was unzipping her skin.
She sighed. “I’m beginning to like slow.”
“If we’re not careful, we’ll both wind up on the floor.” He nudged her over gently.
“Feels like I’m at camp on this tiny bed.”
“I’m quite sure there are no scout medals for what we are about to do.”
“Too bad. I’d want to earn them all.”
“Over achiever.”
First time that comment didn’t sound like an insult.
Mallory opened the front clasp of her bra and whisked the straps down her arms.
“Good lord.” His eyes burned.
She began to pull the pedant over her head, but his hand stopped her. “Trust me, it’s lovely right where it is.”
“Not in the way?”
“Never.” He traced the inner curve of each breast. “Hot. Definitely hot.”
That look would keep her warm on cold Chicago nights when he was a one-week memory.
Mallory fumbled with his shirt buttons, but he was taking so long. “One of us is wearing too many clothes, and it isn’t me.” One good yank, and she’d ripped the oxford cloth shirt open, buttons scattering.
“Hope the hotel in Venice has a tailor.” Laughing, Mallory kicked off his slacks. Briefs came next. “Lordy, you are wanton.”
“This is just the beginning.” Amy settled back with a sigh.
“You’ve got that right.” As Mallory aligned himself next to her, his need jutted against the softness of her stomach.
“You didn’t tell me you resembled David.” Her hands moved to the firm softness throbbing against her.
“Biggest compliment I’ve ever heard.” He moaned, flicking his thumbs across the tips of her breasts. “I’ve been dying to do this all day.”
“While we viewed those gorgeous paintings?”
“Nothing like good art to spur a man’s libido.”
“Did you need the art for inspiration?”
“Not with you. I have my hands full.” And he proved it.
Her body’s rush of liquid warmth tightened her hold, and he groaned.
Then she stopped.
“What?” His hands stilled.
Amy moved to cover her breasts. “Come on, I’m a lot bigger than the women in the paintings.”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” Mallory circled one of her wrists with one thumb and forefinger, forming an oval. “Look at how delicate you are.”
“Delicate?” Delicate and wanton.
Could this night get any better?
Mallory cupped her cheek. “Trust me. You are special.”
No, definitely not.
From somewhere, he produced a condom.
“You came prepared?” She should be relieved, not suspicious.
“Vintage supply.”
He fit so well between her thighs, and she was beyond ready. With one sure stroke, he was inside. She gasped.
“You all right, darlin’?” All movement stopped.
“More than all right.” Her legs wrapped around him.
The movements? Rugged and so right.
The feelings?
New. Had she ever felt like this before?
The answer terrified her.
Chapter 19
The breeze from the fields along the highway rolled over Amy in fragrant waves. Wheat? Weeds? Didn’t matter. Sleep deprivation had never felt this good. Sure, she’d had boyfriends. Nothing had prepared her for Mallory Schuster. But she was overthinking again. Giving a little stretch, she opened her car window
wider.
For these few days, she was a babe.
No remorse. No cautious over-thinking.
Weird, but the appearance of her family had made things better, like some crazy aphrodisiac.
Mom and Aunt Em were back in Florence. Caitlin and Kurt were out on the road, also headed for Venice. Next to her, Mallory wore a sleepy smile. Silence stretched between them, comfortable and shared. Morning sunlight brightened the landscape and reflected off the hood of the car. Overnight, her life had become dazzling.
Every incredibly hot moment was imprinted on Amy’s mind for snowy days when she worked on her lesson plan for The Great Gatsby. Every kiss, caress and groan would tide her over on those days when night fell before she made it to the parking lot.
“Tired?” Mallory asked.
“We didn’t sleep much last night, in case you didn’t notice.”
“How could I not?” Rubbing a quick hand over his eyes, he yawned.
Amy smiled, hating the tentacles of caution that groped for her. Even her heart beat a cautionary tale. She was ignoring them.
Reaching into her backpack, she pulled out what was left of a bar of dark chocolate from Florence. The slightly bitter chocolate melted on her tongue. “Want some?”
“Oh, yes, ma’am, I sure do. But chocolate’s not what I have in mind.” Mallory’s eyes met hers over the top of his aviator sunglasses.
The wedge of chocolate shot down Amy’s throat. “Attention to the road, please.”
Smiling, Mallory went back to driving, where, as far as she could see, all hell was breaking loose. Thank goodness he’d never asked her to deal with that stick shift again.
Putting one hand over her eyes, as if to shade them from sun, Amy turned to study Mallory’s profile. At the beginning, she hadn’t even liked him. He’d infuriated her. Now, she wanted to open him like a new book and read every line, cover to cover.
“You’re staring. Please stop or or I’ll run off the road.”
With a little laugh, she turned back to the countryside. On either side, vineyards stretched as far as the eye could see. But most of the crops had been harvested and the trees bent over the braces, gnarled and spent.
“Sure would give a penny for your thoughts, Amy,” Mallory drawled after a few moments. She’d been studying his hands. Another perfect part.
Amy fingered the crinkled wrapper of the chocolate bar. “Just thinking we should be careful.”
Mallory stiffened. “About what? I could have fixed us both a bourbon and peach tea in the time it took to get that condom on last night. The pharmacy in Venice better have the large pack. We destroyed more than one, as I recall. Is that a problem?”
“No, not at all. Besides, that’s not the kind of safe I mean.” No need to explain why birth control wasn’t necessary. “In that department, yes, we’re safe.”
“Well, what then?” Mallory downshifted.
“Let’s just take our time.” What else could she say? “Don’t hurt me like the last guy?” How pathetic. She was never doing pathetic again.
They were coming into the Piazza Roma, where they would drop off their rental car. Made her a little sad. The car held so many memories.
But Venice? Head swiveling, she drank in this outer edge of the city. The piazza hummed with activity—a jumble of cars, baggage, and travelers babbling in different languages. Sucking in a deep breath of the crisp morning air, she smiled.
Venice, city of romance. And she was here with a handsome man from Savannah. What could top this?
“I’ll be right back.” Pointing to the sign for the rental company, Amy was out of the car in a flash, eager to have something to do, something she could control. Because her feelings for Mallory?
Totally out of control.
~.~
After angling the car into a tight spot, Mallory watched Amy disappear into the car rental office. Struck him that it had been at least twenty-four hours since he’d thought of the custom BMW in Chad’s showroom. He wasn't answering his cousin’s calls. Finally he’d even turned his phone off except for the calls to Miriam.
What would Amy think if she ever knew about this crazy bet? Mallory’s hands tightened on the ridges of the molded steering wheel. Hadn’t she been lied to enough?
He liked her. Really liked her. And he liked her family.
The Shaw women felt so authentic. Mallory had exciting plans for them, well, after due diligence was done on both the jewelry enterprise and the niche T-shirt business. And at the end of the day, he didn’t give two hoots and one holler what his board thought.
He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. Last night had been incredible.
Business? The word felt hollow.
The week had become more than business, but for the life of him, Mallory couldn’t put a name on everything he was feeling. He shifted in his seat to avoid the reflection of the sun on the hood. When Amy swirled from the door of the office, his heart felt too big for his chest. The sun caught her burnished curls as she jogged toward the car—so vital, so sexy in her mini skirt and white T-shirt. A warmth churned through his chest into his gut, as welcome as the frothy Italian coffee.
“Hey, handsome. Ready?” She knocked at the window.
“You bet.” Jumping from the car, Mallory loped to the back and dragged the luggage out.
Within minutes, they were sprinting for the water taxi. The ride in the vaporetto would give him the time he needed to pull his thoughts into their usual logical order.
~.~
Stationed along the Riva del Vine, only steps from the Rialto Bridge, historic Hotel Marconi suggested a Venice of more prosperous times with its heavy-but-worn brocade drapes and intricately carved period furniture, marked by time and many visitors. From the nubile statuary in the lobby to the lush roses cascading from vases on the side tables, the hotel projected the opulence of an earlier era.
Upstairs, their room carried the Venetian theme even further with tinted mirrors and gilt sconces. Although Miriam had asked about changing this reservation when Mallory called her about Florence, he hesitated to meddle with too many of Amy’s plans. This was, after all, her trip and she had put a great deal of thought into it.
How had that numbskull ever let her get away?
One man’s folly can be another man’s treasure.
Treasure. That suited Amy perfectly.
“Another great choice, Amy,” Mallory marveled after the porter had left. He tried to forget that this room had been intended for a honeymoon with another man. Two twin beds were covered in gold brocade comforters. They should have called ahead. “One problem.”
“At least they look a little wider than the ones in Florence.” Surveying the beds, she nibbled on her lower lip.
“Not that wide.” Mallory started shoving the beds together, while Amy pushed from the other side.
“What’s on the agenda for today?” Skirting the beds, Mallory moved closer. Long afternoon ahead.
“Seeing the city?” Cute and coy, she tilted her head.
“Lots of history in Venice,” he agreed.
Edging closer, Amy played with the buttons on his blue polo. Her eyelids flagged, tugging at his stomach and all points south when she fell against him like room temperature provolone. “You’re so right. The palace, the campanile, who knows what else.”
Her body started speaking to his. He liked the conversation.
“People would kill to be in our position. I mean, in Venice.”
“Absolutely.”
“They would be grabbing their maps and heading for the Piazza San Marco,” he mumbled between kisses. Her neck was so soft. When he nibbled at her right ear, she shuddered. Lord, the woman was so responsive.
“So sexy when you say that.” A delighted smile any man would cherish danced across her lips. “Piazza…whatever. We should go there.”
“We most certainly should.” Gently pushing her onto the bed, Mallory ran his hands up her legs and reached for the zipper on her skirt. “Any
man in his right mind would be…”
“Stepping out?” she asked, lifting her hips.
“Exactly.” Slowly, Mallory slid the skirt down to Amy’s ankles, giving himself ample time to admire another delectable black thong. “We have other priorities.”
Throwing her head back, Amy kicked her shorts to the floor. “Sure do.”
Grabbing the collar of his polo, she pulled him to her. How he did enjoy her unexpected passion. Their kiss began slow and soft. But not for long. That ride from Florence had been so damn long.
“You taste like that chocolate you were munching.” This must be what it was like to be plunged into a vat of melted chocolate.
“Um, so good,” Amy murmured, hands tugging his shirt up and off. “Decadent.” When she fanned her hands over his chest, her slender fingers sent fire blazing across his skin. Pulling back, he took in her flushed face, closed eyes, and parted lips.
“But you didn’t share. The chocolate, that is,” he reminded her, patting one finger against the nose that could look so pert and sassy.
Her green eyes blinked wide and then narrowed. “Was that naughty?”
He nodded. “Very. The time has come for sharing.”
His hands slipped under her T-shirt, palming the pert tips of her breasts before he tugged the shirt off. He made short work of the lacy bra, wanting the full weight of her breasts in his hands.
“Ah, yes.” Mallory noted the appreciative gleam in her eyes as he tugged and tightened his fingers. Her moans guided his exploration. Thongs were pretty but could get in the way. Slowly, he stripped the bit of lace from her legs. With a sigh, Amy settled against the pillows, an expectant smile tilting the corners of her lips.
By that time his briefs were long gone. When her hands reached for him, Mallory thought he would lose it right there. He stretched out beside her. “Do you like appetizers before dinner?”
“Of course. Why?”
“Well, Amy, consider this a first course.”
~.~
Three hours later, they sat at Harry’s Bar down on the Grand Canal, sipping bellinis, the Italian specialty concocted with peach nectar and champagne. The chill of the crushed ice made her teeth ache. They had to wait thirty minutes to get a seat and filled the time with blatant PDA. Amy didn’t care who saw or noticed. None of the parents from school would be here.