The Sicilian's Red-Hot Revenge

by Kate Walker

  ‘Emilia…’ he said, not caring that he gave away the dark sensuality of his thoughts in the way that he spoke.

  ‘Vito…’ His name was just a breath on her lips and as the sound died away, her soft pink tongue snaked out as she moistened her mouth.

  The faint sheen that the gesture left behind was a temptation in itself. He found himself longing to move forward, put his hand under her chin, tilt her face up to his and kiss it away from her mouth. He could almost taste it in his imagination and his own mouth dried at the memory of how those lips had felt under his out there on the beach. His body hardened, hunger burning in his groin, making him clench his teeth against the sensation of hot need.

  ‘I brought you towels…’ He spoke abruptly to distract himself from his thoughts.

  ‘Thank you.’

  Her voice sounded deeper than before and there was a strange little husky note in it as if she had a raw throat from speaking too long or too loudly. And because he was looking straight into her face he saw the sudden change in her eyes, the way that they seemed darker and deeper than ever before. And seeing it started a slow burn licking along his veins, heating his blood.

  ‘Niente.’

  ‘I—um…’

  Emily could feel the heat rising over her exposed skin and up into her face as he held out the bundle of towelling towards her. Just how did she take the ones he offered her without actually letting go of the one she was wearing?

  She couldn’t let go. If she did then the towel that barely covered her would come undone; already it was only staying fastened because she was holding it pinched between her fingers and thumb. If she so much as breathed more deeply then it threatened to open wide, sliding down her body, exposing her nakedness underneath.

  And with Vito looking at her like that then she already felt naked enough. Actually being naked was not something she wanted to risk.

  Or did she?

  ‘Could you—could you help?’ she managed, speaking sharply to cover the unexpected twist of discomfort at the way her mind had thrown the unwanted question at her. The truth was that she didn’t recognise the woman she had become since Vito had made his dramatic appearance in her life. Even being here like this was rocking her sense of reality dangerously.

  Those burning dark eyes took a moment to move from the way they had locked on to her but when they did she saw him sum up the situation in a second.

  ‘Scusi…’ he said, coming towards her at once, shaking out the larger of the two towels.

  With a movement that reminded her instantly of the way that he had draped his jacket over her on the beach, he swung the towel like a cloak around her back, bringing it forward and under her arms. With his eyes fixed on hers, he held it taut at the front, leaving just enough room for her to wriggle out of the inadequate, already sodden towel, letting it drop to the floor while she was still totally covered by the newer, larger one he had provided.

  ‘Thank you…’

  It was uneven, breathless, and she knew that she was trembling, not from fear but from reaction to the way that the backs of his hands were warm against the sensitive skin of the tops of her breasts as he held the towel secure.

  ‘Niente…’ he said again but there was a roughness on the word that told her he was every bit as aware of the intimate contact as she was and that he felt exactly the way she did.

  Hoping to improve matters, to ease the dizzying thud of her heart, she slid her hands into the top of the towel, tugging it closed and tucking in one end to fasten it across her breasts. But as an attempt to defuse the situation it was a total failure. In fact it just made matters worse.

  Those strong, lean hands still lingered at the spot where the towel ended and her flesh began, their olive-toned skin looking very dark against the paleness of her own. And without the towel to hold, the broad tips of those long fingers rested right on the spot at the base of her throat where her pulse beat a hard, uneven tattoo, betraying the way she was feeling, the effect that just his touch was having on her. The skin of his fingers was unexpectedly hard and slightly rough, faintly abrasive on her flesh; not the touch of a man who spent his days at a desk, pushing only papers or working at a computer.

  ‘The—the shower was wonderful.’

  She stumbled over the words, knowing she was only using them to fill the silence, then wished she hadn’t spoken when she saw the way his black-eyed gaze dropped to fix on her lips, watch them intently as they moved. Her throat felt closed and tight, her mouth painfully dry, and she swallowed hard to relieve it.

  And saw him swallow too as if in response.

  Why didn’t he speak? Surely he should say something—anything. One of them had to create a conversation that would shatter this spell that seemed to have enclosed them, to bring them back to reality, break into the almost hypnotic trance that held them there. So still.

  So close to each other.

  So close, with Vito’s hand on her skin, his hot gaze on her face, the heavy, thudding beat of his heart seeming to echo hers as it pounded in her ears.

  ‘Vito…’

  ‘Si, carina?’ It was the softest of murmurs, a sound that was almost a caress in itself, and she could feel the warmth of his breath on her skin, on the curves of her ear, he was that close. ‘What is it?’

  What is it?

  Emily’s eyes closed as she fought with herself, with her deepest, most primitive female needs. This wasn’t wise. It wasn’t safe. What was that saying about fools rushing in?

  ‘I—I…’

  She should tell him to move away. To stop touching her. She had to tell him. But, oh, she didn’t want him to move away. And she most definitely didn’t want him to stop touching her.

  But with her eyes closed she felt the touch of that hand on her collar bone with a new and sharper intensity. She knew its warmth and the unique combination of the softness of his skin and the rasp of those work-roughened fingers. With her eyes closed she could smell the warm male scent of his body, overlaid still by the tang of the sea.

  The sea!

  That thought and the memory it brought had her eyes flying open at once, locking at once with the darkness of his gaze. She couldn’t look anywhere else, but she could touch, and when she reached out a hand that shook with a mixture of tension and awareness, the moment that it made contact with him, resting lightly at his waist, sent her breath hissing in through her teeth in shocked reaction.

  His jeans were still wet. They weren’t actually dripping as they had been on the beach, but the blue cotton was clammy and damp.

  Her hand moved up to touch the bare skin of his chest. It was warmer, but, being this close, she could still scent the tang of the salt that had been left on it, feel it slide under her fingertips.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered and saw the faint frown that drew his black brows together.

  ‘Sorry for what? For this?’

  One of his hands touched hers, lightly but still with the effect of pressing her fingers even closer until they were lying flat on his chest. His skin was like oiled silk under her palm, the soft hairs tickling her fingers if they moved.

  ‘Don’t apologise for this, belleza. Never for this.’

  ‘But you’ve been so kind—and I…’

  A sense of guilt shrivelled the words on her tongue. She had never thanked him properly. He’d rescued her, let her take the first shower while he had been every bit as wet and uncomfortable as she had. And when he’d brought her the towel, he’d held it…

  The courtesy of that last gesture overwhelmed her, and, unable to express her gratitude in words, she gave in to the impulse that had been pushing at her brain from the moment he had come close.

  Leaning forward, resting both her hands on his shoulders, she lifted her head and pressed what she’d planned as a swift, warm kiss of gratitude on his mouth.

  At least that was what she told herself she was doing. And gratitude was all that she would let into her thoughts…

  Until her lips actually made
contact with the warm softness of his and she felt him first tense, then relax—and respond, kissing her back with a strength and fervour that acted like a match set to bone-dry tinder, setting it blazing in a second. And in the tiny space of time between one heartbeat and the next that kiss brought her body and mind to the point of meltdown from which there was no possible hope of return.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  SO WHAT the hell happened to restraint?

  The question slid into Vito’s mind for precisely one second then evaporated straight away in the heat of the sensations he was experiencing.

  Restraint had nothing to do with this. It wasn’t part of this sort of relationship and it never would be. This wasn’t a relationship for waiting, for the future. It was a relationship for taking—for living here and now.

  And here and now was where he wanted to be.

  Here with this woman’s warm, yielding body in his arms. Here, with her soft, giving mouth clamped tight against his, her lips open under his, her tongue dancing with his, with the intimate taste of her blending with his own, creating something totally unique.

  Here, where all he had to do was pick her up and carry her to the bed…

  In the end he didn’t even have to do that. He simply moved, taking steps backwards away from the bathroom door, and Emily went with him, her mouth still on his, her hands tangled in his hair, clutching at his scalp. Her feet didn’t fully touch the ground but she let herself be half walked, half lifted over the green carpet, her body totally supported by his, her eyes closed, her whole being given up to him.

  They were at the bed now, with the backs of Emily’s legs against the mattress. All it needed was a gentle pressure and her knees bent and she sank down onto the blue covers, her mouth still hot on his, her arms fastened around his neck, pulling him down with her until he was lying on top of her.

  ‘Emilia—carina, belleza,’ he crooned in his native Italian, the cold, harsh sounds of the English language seeming too rough, too curt for the way he was feeling.

  His lips explored her face, felt the softness of her skin beneath them, tasted the subtle flavour that was essentially hers. He kissed her cheek, her chin, caressed his way along the fine line of her jaw, smiling against her face as she moaned low in her throat and angled her head back so that she could have more of his mouth, more of his kisses.

  ‘You like that, hmm?’ he murmured and her sigh was all the answer he wanted.

  They had no need of words. They communicated so much better this way. The minute that words came into things, the mood changed. If he spoke to her then she rebelled. And, although the spark of mutiny in her eyes had turned him on, the way she’d stood up to him, and that neat little chin firming and coming up defiantly—he dropped another kiss on that particular part of her delightful face—had added an extra frisson of interest to the hot attraction he already felt, he much preferred her the way she was now—silent and willing. So willing.

  ‘So let’s see what else you like…’

  He started what he planned to be a slow voyage of exploration. Starting with her face, he kissed his way over the delicate curve of her ears, her cheekbones, the corners of her closed eyes. And each time his mouth touched she responded with a sigh or a murmur, a sensual twist of her body, a clutch of her fingers in his hair. So that soon the idea of taking anything slow was beyond him. His body was hot and hungry, his need a pulsing ache that made him clench his teeth against the urge to give in to the most basic, most primitive desires that had him in their grip.

  His hand slipped between their heated bodies, tugged at the corner of the towel that was folded around her, pulling it loose. The blue material fell away, exposing the soft, pale flesh of her body, the sweet, full curves of her breasts.

  It had been too long since he had held a woman in his arms. Too long since he had known the feel of satin-smooth skin, inhaled the intimate perfume of her aroused body. Her blonde hair was like silk across his face, her slender limbs a delicate imprisonment from which he had no wish at all to break free. The warm weight of her breasts fitted perfectly into each hand, the swollen nipples pressing into his palms as he lifted them to his mouth.

  ‘Vito…’

  It was more a catch of her breath than a word as he trailed his tongue over the smooth slope of her breast, circling it round and round the pink-flushed tip before drawing it into his mouth and suckling lightly.

  Underneath him Emily’s slender body moved in restless need, her hips coming up to press against him, driving a groan to escape his control as the movement rubbed the denim of his jeans against the heated sensitivity of his fierce erection.

  ‘More…’

  ‘More, cara?’

  He turned the question into another form of caress, speaking the words against and around the nipple that his mouth had already teased into further tightness.

  ‘Where would you like more? Here…?’

  He let his hands shape those breasts, feeling his own arousal grow even more powerful as he felt them push against him, seeking the pleasure he wanted her to know.

  ‘Or here…?’

  Slowly he let one hand trail down, sliding over her ribcage, circling the indentation of her navel, smoothing her hip before he let his fingers drift over the blonde hairs that covered her femininity.

  ‘Everywhere…’

  It was a sigh of pleasure, one that made him smile in sensual satisfaction. This was what he had wanted from the second he had first seen her. It was how he had known it would be in the moment that he had held her in his arms, that their lips had touched in that first wild and devastating kiss they had shared out there on the beach.

  ‘Then you shall have “everywhere”, mia cara,’ he promised softly. ‘And I…’

  ‘You could have “everywhere” too.’ Her tone was surprisingly petulant. ‘If only you’d make it possible.’

  The concealing eyelids opened slightly, revealing a reproachful gleam in those soft blue eyes.

  ‘But these…’

  One hand tugged at the jeans he still wore.

  ‘Are getting in the way. And besides…’

  She compressed her soft mouth in a pretend pout, the wicked glint in her eyes pure provocation. Deliberate provocation, he knew.

  ‘Your jeans are damp! You’re rubbing my legs raw.’

  ‘I am? Forgive me, cara—forgive me—and help me…’

  He lifted himself up, putting his weight on his hands, and knew a thrill like the charge of white-hot electricity run through him as she didn’t hesitate but reached immediately for his belt, tugging it open then fumbling with the button at his waist.

  But the water that had soaked into the rough denim material had left the fastening too awkward, too stiff for her to manage and eventually he laid his hands over hers, stilling the impatient movement.

  ‘Let me…’

  A moment later he kicked away the damp jeans with a sigh of relief, sending his boxer shorts after them before coming back down on the bed beside Emily, pulling her towards him and kissing her hard.

  ‘Now, where had we got to…?’he muttered against her lips.

  ‘Everywhere…’Emily responded, the word slightly muffled by the pressure of his mouth.

  ‘Ah, yes—everywhere.’

  This time his hands moved down her back, curving over the neat, tight buttocks, fingers digging into their cushiony softness. And Emily responded in kind, tracing tormentingly arousing patterns over his spine, sliding lower…lower while at the same time her slender body curved against him, breasts crushed against his chest, her pelvis rubbing against his, making his already erect penis harden even more to a point where pleasure almost took on an edge of pain.

  She felt so very different from Loretta, whose body had been fuller, skin darker, who—

  No! Savagely he slammed a door shut in his mind, closing it against the unwanted thoughts. He didn’t want to remember the other woman now. Never wanted to remember her again.

  ‘Vito?’ It was a murmur of co
nfusion, a question pushed from her by the way that she had sensed his momentary withdrawal, the fight he had had with himself to rid his mind of unwanted memories.

  ‘Per niente, tesoro.’

  His reassurance was soft, but distracted because, unwanted as they had been, those memories had stilled his mind, cooled his hunger long enough for him to think a fraction more rationally, remember something that the wild demanding hunger had totally wiped from his mind.

  Loretta had tried to con him and he had vowed that he would never, ever be caught that way again.

  ‘Emilia…’

  The note of regret in his voice jarred, dropping into the heated atmosphere like cold water splashed onto a glowing fire that was just about to burst into flame.

  ‘Cara—we can’t.’

  Can’t?

  If he had slapped her hard in the face he couldn’t have shocked her more. Since the moment that he had gathered her up in his arms she had been his. No—face the truth, Emily—she’d been his from that very first kiss and if she’d had any doubts about that they had burned up in the searing heat of the kiss they had shared just now.

  She had never felt like this in her life before.

  Never.

  Mark had never made her feel this way. Even when they had been close—closer—he had never roused her to such heights with a touch of his hands or his lips, never made her feel that she was burning up inside, aching with need—hurting with it.

  So that she felt she might die if he didn’t make her his right this moment.

  She had wanted this—wanted Vito Corsentino—so much.

  And he had wanted her every bit as much, she had been so sure of that.

  But now…now he was telling her that they couldn’t do this.

  ‘Can’t?’

  The word was strangled by her disbelief, by the reaction that shot through every nerve in her body. They couldn’t stop now. She couldn’t—already her aroused body was screaming a protest at the way he had stilled, the way his touch had been taken from her.