by Heidi Rice
‘I’ve got a better idea.’ She braced her palms against his chest. ‘Why don’t you give me a straight answer?’
‘All right, then,’ he said, not remotely chastened. ‘I plan to spend a few days ravaging you senseless.’
‘Ravaging…’ Her jaw went slack as fire spiked her cheeks and roasted her sex. ‘Are you insane?’
The smug smile got bigger. ‘Stop pretending to be outraged. Once wasn’t enough. And you know it.’
A sharp reprimand rose up in her throat, but got choked off when his fingers sank into her hair and his lips covered hers in a hungry, demanding kiss.
She pushed him away, clinging onto the last edge of sanity. ‘I’m not doing this. It’s…’ What? ‘A very bad idea.’
‘Why?’
‘It just is.’ If he gave her a moment she could probably come up with a thousand reasons. Just because she couldn’t think of any right this second…
His hands caressed her scalp, making it hard for her to think straight. ‘Issy, the past’s over,’ he murmured. ‘But if you’re still hung up on—’
‘Of course I’m not,’ she cut in. ‘This has nothing to do with our past.’ She pulled out of his arms. ‘And everything to do with your unbelievable arrogance. How dare you trick me into coming to Florence? When exactly were you going to tell me about your plans to ravage me senseless?’
His lips quirked some more. ‘I’m telling you now.’
‘Well, that’s not good enough. What if I want to say no?’
He drew a thumb down her cheek, his eyes black with arousal. ‘And do you?’
Even as the denial formed in her mind, it was muted by the long, liquid pull low in her belly. ‘No…I mean, yes,’ she said, scrambling to keep a firm grip on her indignation.
His palm settled on her nape. ‘Let’s finish what we started.’ His thumb stroked her throat, stoking the fire at her core. ‘Then we can both move on.’
Could it really be that simple? Was this thing between them just left-over sexual chemistry?
But even as she tried to make sense of her feelings he tugged her towards him and took her mouth in another mind-numbing kiss.
Her fingers curled into the cotton of his T-shirt, but this time she couldn’t find the will to push him away. The pent-up hunger of only a few hours ago burst free as her tongue tangled with his.
He drew back first, the slow smile melting the last of her resistance. ‘No ties. No strings. Just some great sex and then we go our separate ways. It’s your choice. If you can’t handle it, we part now. I’m not interested in anything serious.’
‘I’m perfectly well aware of your commitment problems,’ she countered.
Not only did she have personal experience, but when she’d been Googling him yesterday she’d found numerous paparazzi shots of him with supermodels and starlets and society princesses on his arm. And not one photo of him with the same woman twice. The man’s track record when it came to relationships sucked. Any fool could see that.
‘As long as that’s understood,’ he said easily, clearly not insulted in the least, ‘I don’t see a problem.’ The sensual smile made the heat pound harder. ‘Florence is spectacular at this time of year, and I have a villa in the hills where we can satisfy all our prurient sexual fantasies. And, believe me, after ten years I’ve stored up quite a few.’ He threaded his fingers into her hair, pushed the heavy curls away from her face. ‘We had fun together when we were kids, Issy. We could have more fun now.’
Issy swallowed, the rough feel of his palm on her cheek making the promise of pleasure all but irresistible. ‘And the theatre’s sponsorship will be okay either way?’ she clarified, desperate not to get swept away on a sea of lust too soon.
He gave his head a small shake. ‘I already told you—’
‘Okay. Yes,’ she interrupted, placing her hands on his shoulders. ‘I accept.’
Gio was dangerous. Yes. But danger could be thrilling as well as frightening. And right now the thrill was winning. Big-time. She felt like Alice, tumbling head first into Wonderland. Exhilarated, excited, and totally terrified.
His arms banded around her waist. ‘Good.’
Issy had bounced up on her toes, eager to seal their devil’s bargain, when she heard a gruff chuckle from behind them.
‘You’ll have to save that for later, Hamilton,’ said an unfamiliar voice.
She jerked round, spotting a stout, older man in a pilot’s uniform.
‘Our slot’s in ten minutes,’ the man said, sending her an indulgent smile. ‘I’m sorry, miss, but we need to do the final equipment check.’
Gio swore softly, touched his forehead to hers, then stepped to one side. ‘Issy, this is James Braithwaite,’ he said, keeping his arm round her waist. ‘Co-pilot and all-round killjoy.’
Issy shook the man’s hand before her foggy brain registered the information. ‘Did you say co-pilot?’
‘That’s right,’ Gio said nonchalantly, giving her a quick kiss on the nose and letting her go. ‘You’d better get strapped in.’
‘Wait a minute.’ Issy held his arm, her fingers trembling. ‘You’re not flying this thing yourself?’
The sleek jet suddenly morphed into a metallic death trap. Images flashed through her mind of Gio as a teenager after he’d totalled his father’s vintage Bentley, or Gio on his motorbike with her clinging on the back, shooting around blind bends at twenty miles above the speed limit.
Okay, maybe she could risk a quick fling with Gio, to finish what they’d started this afternoon, but she wasn’t about to risk her life letting him fly her anywhere. The boy had always had a need for too much speed and far too little caution. On the evidence so far, she wasn’t convinced the man was any less reckless.
Gio grinned at her horrified expression. ‘Oh, ye of little faith,’ he murmured. ‘I happen to be a qualified pilot, Isadora. With a good solid one hundred hours of flying time under my belt.’ His smile widened as he stroked her cheek, weakening her resolve, not to mention her thigh muscles. ‘Trust me. You’re perfectly safe in my hands.’
As she strapped herself into her seat and watched him duck into the pilot’s cabin, Issy knew she’d be mad to trust Gio Hamilton with anything.
But forewarned was forearmed. And, given how well aware she was of Gio’s shortcomings, she was more than capable of keeping herself safe this time.
After a smooth take-off, and an even smoother touch down in Pisa two hours later, Issy had to concede Gio could be trusted to pilot an aircraft without plummeting her to earth. But when he ushered her just as smoothly into an open-topped Ferrari at the airport, then sped her through miles of glorious sun-drenched Italian countryside, her pulse continued to thump like a sledgehammer and she knew she shouldn’t trust him with anything else.
The noise of the wind and the rush of the heart-stopping scenery meant they couldn’t talk during the drive. Which gave Issy more than enough time to think.
Was what she had agreed to do demeaning? After all, what self-respecting smart, capable career woman agreed to be ravaged senseless?
But after examining their arrangement Issy came to the conclusion she didn’t have a choice. Because Gio was right. She needed to get over the dirty trick her hormones had been playing on her for years.
She’d had a measly two proper boyfriends since Gio had introduced her to the joys of sex. And both relationships had ended with a whimper rather than a bang. At the time she’d told herself it was because she wasn’t ready, because the timing hadn’t been right, because the two guys she’d dated hadn’t been right for her. But now she knew the truth.
That special spark, that frisson of sexual energy that had exploded in her face today had always been missing. Sex wasn’t the most important thing in a relationship. She knew that. But it wasn’t unimportant either. She’d compared Johnny and Sam to Gio in bed without even knowing it, and found them wanting. Maybe it was some sort of natural selection, a mating instinct thing—after all Gio was the ultimate alpha male in the sack—or
maybe it was just that Gio had been her first. But whatever the problem was it needed to be dealt with.
Because if she didn’t deal with it she might never be able to form a long-term committed relationship with anyone, ever. The sort of relationship she’d spent her girlhood dreaming about. The sort of relationship her parents had shared before her father’s early death. The sort of relationship she’d almost given up hope of ever being able to find for herself.
This wasn’t about letting Gio ravage her senseless—it was about releasing her from the sexual hold he had always had over her, ever since that first night, and allowing her to forget about him so she would be free to find the real one true love of her life.
Convinced she’d satisfied all her concerns about the trip, Issy couldn’t understand why her pulse refused to settle down during the drive. In fact it was still working overtime when Gio steered the Ferrari off a narrow cobbled road in the hills around the city and onto a tree-lined drive.
The scent of lemon trees perfumed the air as he braked in front of a picture-perfect Florentine villa constructed of dusky pink terracotta stone. A grand fountain with two naked water nymphs entwined at its centre tinkled quietly in the circular forecourt.
Issy gawped as Gio leapt effortlessly out of the low-slung car.
She wasn’t a stranger to wealth and privilege, for goodness’ sake. She’d spent the formative years of her life living below stairs in a stately home. So why had her pulse just skipped into overdrive?
He opened the car door. As she stepped onto the pebbled drive she had to remind herself to breathe.
The carved oak entrance door swung open as they approached. A middle-aged woman with a homely face and a pretty smile bowed her head and introduced herself in Italian as Carlotta. Gio introduced Issy in turn, and then had a conversation with the housekeeper before she excused herself.
Hearing Gio speak Italian had Issy’s heartbeat kicking up another notch.
How strange. Even though he spoke English with barely a hint of an accent, Issy knew he was fluent in Italian. But there was something about hearing the language flow so fluidly, watching him use his hands for emphasis, that made him seem very sophisticated and European—as far removed from the surly boy she remembered as it was possible to get.
She tried to shake off her uneasiness and calm her frantic heartbeat, but as Gio led her through a series of increasingly beautiful rooms the unsettled feeling only got worse.
The house’s furnishings were few, but suited the open Mediterranean layout and looked hand-crafted and expensive. The minimalist luxury should have made the place seem exclusive and unapproachable, but it didn’t. As they walked into a wide, open-plan living area, the brightly coloured rugs, the lush, leafy potted plants and the stacks of dog-eared architectural magazines on the coffee table gave its elegance a lived-in feel, making the house seem unpretentious and inviting.
Gio held open a glass door at the end of the room and beckoned her forward.
Issy stepped on to a balcony which looked across the valley past a steeply terraced garden. At the bottom of the hill in the distance the sluggish Arno River wound its way through Florence, the city laid out below them like a carpet of wonders. She could make out the Ponte Vecchio to her right, probably heaving with tourists in the sweltering afternoon heat, and appreciated the citrus-perfumed breeze even more. Walking to the low stone wall that edged the terrace, she spotted a large pool in the lawned garden one level below, its crystal blue waters sparkling in the sunshine.
‘Goodness,’ she whispered, as her heartbeat pounded in her ears.
Who would have expected the wild, reckless boy whom she had assumed would never settle anywhere to make himself a home almost too beautiful to be real?
‘So what do you think?’ he asked.
She turned to find him standing behind her, studying her, his hands tucked into the back pockets of his jeans. She thought she saw a muscle in his jaw tense. As if he were anxious about what she might say.
Don’t be an idiot.
He didn’t care what she thought. That had to be a trick of the light. He knew how amazing this place was. And she knew perfectly well she was only one in a very long line of women he’d invited here.
Don’t you dare start analysing every little nuance of his behaviour, you ninny. Reading things into it that aren’t there.
She cleared her throat. ‘I think you have incredible taste.’ She stared out at the breathtaking view. ‘And calling this place a villa doesn’t do it justice. I think paradise would be more appropriate.’
‘It’ll do for now,’ he said casually.
His palms settled on her waist. Tugging her back against his chest, he nuzzled the sensitive skin below her ear. ‘Although, given what I’m thinking right now, paradise lost would be the best choice.’
She gasped out a laugh, finding it hard to breathe as brutal realisation hit her. Being in Gio’s home would involve an intimacy she hadn’t bargained on during all her careful justifications.
‘Why don’t we go check out the master bedroom?’ he said, the humour doing nothing to mask his intentions. He folded his arms around her waist, making her breasts feel heavy and tender as he drew her into a hard hug. ‘I’d love to know what you think of the…’ He paused provocatively, nipping her earlobe. ‘View…’
She pictured the view the last time they’d been naked together. And the hot, heavy weight in her belly pulsed. Panic spiked at the vicious throb of desire.
I’m not ready for this. Not yet.
She whipped round to face him, breaking his hold. ‘Could we go sightseeing?’ she said, trying not to wince at the high-pitched note in her voice.
She couldn’t dive back into bed with him. Not straight away. Sex was one thing, intimacy another, and she couldn’t afford to confuse the two.
His brows rose up his forehead. ‘You want to go sightseeing? Seriously?’
‘Yes, please. I adore sightseeing,’ she said, keeping her voice as firm as possible to disguise the lie. She could feel his arousal against her hip and eased back a step. ‘I’ve never been to Florence. I’m dying to see as much of it as I can. Could we eat in the city tonight?’ A couple of hours to establish some distance. That was all she needed. She was sure of it. ‘I’ve never been to Italy before,’ she rattled on, pretending not to notice the frown on his face. ‘And I’ve heard Florence has some of the best trattorias in Italy.’
What the…?
Gio knew a delaying tactic when he heard one. And Issy’s sudden transformation into super-tourist definitely qualified. He spotted the rigid peaks of her breasts beneath her dress, the staggered rise and fall of her breathing—and almost howled with frustration.
Hadn’t they settled all this on the plane?
He was ready to get to the main event now. More than ready. In fact, if he hadn’t been co-piloting the plane he would have got to it sooner, giving in to the temptation to initiate her into the Mile-High Club.
Thrusting his hands into his pockets, he kept his face carefully blank. Her cheeks were a bright rosy pink but he could see the alarm on her face.
He should have guessed things wouldn’t be that straightforward, because nothing ever was with Issy. She’d been jumpy ever since they’d walked into the house. He’d enjoyed her nerves at first. Keeping Issy off-kilter was a good way to handle her. And it hadn’t done his ego any harm to see how impressed she was with his home.
But when she’d turned round, her eyes wide with surprise, he’d had the strangest sensation she could see right through him. And for the first time in his life he’d wanted to ask a woman what she was thinking.
Not that he intended to do it. For one thing, straight answers were not Issy’s forte. And for another, he had a golden rule against asking women personal questions. Once you opened that floodgate it was impossible to slam it shut again.
He’d already broken one golden rule by inviting her into his home. He generally avoided getting into any kind of routine with the wome
n he dated.
‘Sure. No problem.’ He forced his shoulders to relax.
If Issy wanted to play hard to get for an evening, why not let her? He could slow the pace for a few hours. If he had to.
‘I know a place not far from the Piazza della Repubblica. Their bistecca fiorentina’s like a religion.’ And Latini had the sort of low-key, unpretentious atmosphere that should relax her while still being classy enough to impress her.
He would ply her with a couple of glasses of their Chianti Classico, comfort-feed her the Florentine speciality and indulge in a spot of light conversation. Maybe he’d even show her a few of the sights. Keep things easy. He could do that. For an evening.
‘Are you sure?’ she said, sounding surprised but looking so relieved he smiled.
‘Yeah. It’ll be fun,’ he said, forcing down his frustration. He could wait a while longer to get her naked. He wasn’t that desperate.
Then a thought struck him, and he realised he could make it more fun than he’d figured. He smiled some more. ‘We can take the Vespa. My mechanic Mario gave it an overhaul recently, so it’s running fairly well for once.’
‘A scooter?’ She had the same shocked look he’d seen on the plane. ‘You ride a scooter? That sounds a bit incongruous for a duke.’
‘Now, Isadora.’ He brushed a thumb across her cheekbone. ‘I hope you’re not saying I’m a snob?’ he teased as her cheeks pinkened prettily. ‘No Florentine with a brain takes a car into the city. A scooter is the only way to go.’
And, like all natives, he drove his Vespa at breakneck speed. Which meant she’d have to glue herself to him to stop from falling off.
His grin got bigger as his gaze flicked down her outfit. ‘If you’ve got some jeans, you might want to put them on. The staff will have put your suitcase in the master bedroom.’ Placing his hands on her shoulders, he directed her towards a wrought-iron staircase at the end of the terrace. ‘Take those stairs and the door’s at the end of the balcony. I’ll get the Vespa out of the garage and meet you out front.’
By the time they got back here, he’d have her naked soon enough.