This was the Marietta he knew.
Confident. Spirited. Pushy.
The way she’d challenged him on the beach—her boldness, the things she’d said, even her scars—had made him want her even more, until resisting his desire, resisting hers, had been impossible. And yet the woman who had frozen beneath him had been vulnerable, insecure—a version of Marietta he hadn’t seen before—and his chest had ached with a fierce need to reassure her. To chase the uncertainty from her eyes and bring this woman—the one who fired his blood, who challenged him at every turn—back to him.
She wound her arms around his neck now, clinging to him like a silken-skinned mermaid, pressing her lush, caramel-tipped breasts against his chest. He had sucked on those responsive nipples at every opportunity, enjoying her gasps of pleasure as he’d coaxed them into tight, sensitive nubs.
They were ten metres or so from the shore, the water chest-deep, and his feet on the seabed prevented them from drifting.
He kissed her, savouring the warm, salty taste of her mouth and the erotic playfulness of her tongue as it dived between his lips and then retreated, duelling with his.
After a minute he pulled back. Despite his previous claim about the point of no return, he needed to make certain she understood what this was—and wasn’t. To offer her one last chance to change her mind. Even though it would kill him if she did.
‘This is all I can give you,’ he said. ‘These few days—’
Her fingers landed across his lips. ‘I’m not looking for anything more,’ she said. ‘Here and now—this is all I want...’
And with that the final barrier fell. He dropped an open-mouthed kiss onto the wet, satiny skin between her neck and shoulder and slid his hand under the water, seeking out the silky curls and the velvety V of flesh he’d briefly explored once already—and planned to do so more thoroughly now.
‘Tell me where it feels good,’ he urged, eager to learn her pleasure points. To understand where she had sensation and where she didn’t. He slid his fingers along the seam of delicate flesh, parting, probing, locating the precise spot that made her throw her head back and arch those magnificent breasts against him.
‘Oh, Dio... There, Nico... There...’
He hoisted her higher in the water and clamped his mouth over her nipple, sucking hard while increasing the pressure and movement of his fingers. Her nails sank into his back and the sound she made as she came—something between a purr and a little feminine roar—was the sexiest damn thing he’d ever heard. His body throbbed urgently, almost painfully in response. She dropped her head onto his shoulder, her body going limp in his arms, and cursed in Italian.
Satisfaction rocked through him. ‘Was that on your wish list, chérie?’
‘No...’ she mumbled into his neck. ‘But I think I’ll add it, just so that we can do it again and cross it off.’
‘I have some other ideas for your list.’
She lifted her head, her dark eyes slumberous. ‘Tell me.’
Nico shook his head, shifted her onto his back and started towards the shore. ‘I’m going to show you instead.’
CHAPTER NINE
MARIETTA HAD EXPECTED Nico to lay her down on the cushions beneath the awning and take her right there on the beach—and she’d have been lying if she’d said a part of her hadn’t wanted him to. But he had muttered something about sandy blankets and comfort and now they were in his bedroom—a huge room characterised by clean lines and simple masculine decor—lying naked on soft cotton sheets in a bed so enormous it could have slept an entire family.
Her insides were still molten from the orgasm she’d had in the ocean. She had never climaxed like that before—so easily, so quickly. With Davide—and on the occasions when she’d experimented by herself—she’d needed a lot more stimulation. But Nico had brought her to her peak with such little effort it had been almost embarrassing.
She stared at him now, unashamedly, her gaze trailing the length of his powerful body as he lay on his side, stretched out beside her. His arousal was just as proud and fierce as it had been in the water, when she’d wanted so desperately to touch him, and it nudged her hip now, so thick and long she wondered a little nervously if she’d be able to accommodate him.
He drew a fingertip over her belly. ‘Comfortable?’
Frustration spiralled. She was comfortable, lying on her back, one arm thrown above her head, soft pillows plumped under her shoulders for support. But she didn’t want to feel comfortable. She didn’t want Nico to be solicitous—to treat her like a china doll that might break in two if he was too rough with her. She wanted to feel hot and sweaty and breathless. Wanted to feel his weight on top of her, crushing her into the bed as he drove into the hollow place inside her begging to be filled.
His fingertip traced around her belly button and then her nipples, trailing circles of fire over her skin.
‘Is there anything I should know?’ he said, his voice rough—as though he wasn’t quite as in control of himself as he appeared. ‘Anything I can do to make it better for you?’
Her thoughts veered towards the tiny niggle of nervous concern at the back of her mind. Heat surged into her face, and his eyes narrowed.
He gripped her chin. ‘What?’.
She swallowed. ‘I used to sometimes have issues with—’ she closed her eyes, her cheeks burning like hotplates ‘—with lubrication.’
Silence followed. She cracked her eyes open, expecting to see an awkward look—maybe even disappointment—on Nico’s face. Instead his blue eyes glittered with something like...determination. As if she had tossed down a gauntlet and he was accepting the challenge. Slowly he rose to his hands and knees.
‘Are you worried I won’t be able to make you wet for me, chérie?’
Her eyes widened. ‘No! It’s not that... It’s just—’
Her eyes grew rounder still as he straddled her, placed his large hands on her skinny thighs and spread them apart.
When he dropped to his stomach, his intent obvious, she babbled again. ‘It’s not you... It’s just that... My body—oh!’
Suddenly his mouth was on her—there—and the powerful jolt of sensation forced her head back onto the pillow. She caught her breath, clawed her fingers into the sheet beneath her. His mouth was so hot, and his tongue...
Santo cielo!
His tongue was running over and over the spot where her nerve-endings were still very much intact. And then his finger was gently seeking entry, stroking, massaging, sliding deep into...wetness. She felt the sweet burn within, the build-up of tension that teased with the promise of a shattering release. Moments later the pressure reached its zenith and she cried out, silence impossible as she split into shards of white light that beamed her skywards and kept her suspended there for a weightless, timeless moment before casting her back to earth.
The bed moved, and she forced open heavy eyelids. Nico was braced above her, his gaze hot. Satisfied.
‘It’s wet down there, ma petite sirène.’ He kissed her, thrusting his tongue into her mouth, letting her taste herself. ‘Very wet,’ he added, and reached over to the nightstand for a condom.
Soon he was sheathed, poised between her legs. He slid his mouth over hers, kissing her long and deep. He lifted his head, his expression as he stared down at her stark. Intense.
‘I can’t hold back,’ he warned, his voice ragged. ‘I can’t be gentle with you.’
She thrilled to those words. She didn’t want gentle—she wanted wild. Passionate. She scraped her fingernails down his back and dug them into his firm buttocks.
‘Don’t be,’ she said boldly.
And then he pushed inside her and her mouth slackened on a gasp of pleasure. In one long, powerful thrust he filled her up, and when he started to move, sliding out and thrusting in, again and again, she had no trouble feeling him.
She knew a moment’s regret because she couldn’t wrap her legs around him, couldn’t flex her hips to meet his powerful thrusts. But Nico didn
’t seem to care; when she looked at him she saw only lust and fierce pleasure carved into his stark features.
He went taut above her, and a second later he shuddered and groaned, signalling his release, and then he was collapsing onto her, pressing his face into her neck.
Marietta wrapped her arms around him and smiled to herself. The weight of his body crushing her into the mattress was, she decided, the most delicious feeling in the world.
* * *
Nico awoke from an unusually dreamless sleep, and as he hovered in that place between oblivion and wakefulness he was aware of an unfamiliar sense of...contentment.
He turned onto his side and blinked.
Sunlight streamed through the massive bedroom window and he guessed from the angle that it was late morning—long past the time he would normally rise. He wouldn’t normally leave the blinds up either, but last night Marietta had wanted to lie in bed and watch the sunset and he’d indulged her, spooning against her as he’d listened to her ooh and aah over the fiery sky until his body had stirred and he’d given her something much more impressive to ooh and aah about.
When the sky had finally turned a deep navy blue and the stars had begun to wink he had turned her onto her back and taken her again, watching her moonlit face as she climaxed before giving in to his own mind-shattering release.
He watched her now, asleep beside him, the sheet rumpled around her waist and her breasts bare. Her ebony eyelashes were dark against her skin, her long mahogany hair fanned out in thick waves across his pillow. The night had been warm and humid, but she’d tucked the sheet around her lower half, conscious of her legs even after everything they’d done together—all the ways he’d explored her—over the last twenty hours.
He didn’t understand her insecurity. Marietta was a beautiful, sensual woman and he didn’t give a damn about her legs.
He curled a thick strand of dark lustrous hair around his fingers. He’d known his attraction to her was strong, but he hadn’t predicted just how fiercely and completely his hunger for her would consume him. He had the feeling she had been seared into his memory for life—and yet he knew the danger of collecting memories. Knew how treacherous they could be. How they could lurk in your soul, lying in wait for the moment when you finally thought you were strong and then raising their insidious heads just so they could remind you of what you’d once had—what you’d lost.
Marietta’s eyelids fluttered open and she turned her head, blinked sleepy, liquid brown eyes at him.
Nico shook off his maudlin thoughts, curved his mouth into a smile. ‘Morning, ma petite sirène.’
She stretched her arms above her head. ‘What does that mean?’
‘My little mermaid.’
She blinked, took a moment to process that, then turned her face towards the window. An adorable scowl formed on her face. ‘It can’t be morning.’
‘It is,’ he assured her. ‘Late morning, in fact.’ He circled a fingertip around her left nipple and the nub of caramel flesh puckered and hardened. ‘Time to wake up.’
She stretched again, shamelessly thrusting those perfect breasts towards him. ‘Coffee...’ she mumbled. ‘Mermaids need coffee to wake up.’
He took her hand and guided it to his groin. ‘I have something better than coffee to wake you up.’
Her eyes flared, her lips parted—and suddenly his little mermaid didn’t look sleepy any more.
* * *
Over the next forty-eight hours time slowed and blurred and the outside world ceased to exist—or at least that was how it felt to Marietta. They made love at regular intervals and in between they ate and swam, either at the beach or in the pool. When Nico disappeared to his study every so often to work she would paint, parking herself in front of her canvas and the easel which he’d erected for her in a sunlit corner of the living room.
In no time at all she started feeling as though she were living in one of those protective bubbles, the thought of which she’d scoffed at only nights before. Which was dangerous, she knew. Bubbles were pretty, but they were temporary. Sooner or later they burst—and hers was about to burst very soon. Because it was Thursday afternoon, and that meant that tomorrow she would return to Rome.
A good thing too, she told herself, slotting tubes of paint into their storage container. This thing with Nico couldn’t last. A few days of indulgence—that was all it was meant to be. He’d been up-front about that, and so had she.
She had a life to return to. An excellent, satisfying life where there was no room, no need, for unrealistic expectations.
Plus she had little Ricci’s party in two days’ time. That would cheer her up. Help her get rid of this silly ache which had settled in her chest this morning and so far had refused to budge.
Nico appeared in the doorway of the living room. He’d been working in his study for no more than an hour and still her breath hitched as if she were seeing him for the first time in days.
She smiled, forced herself to sound brighter than she felt. ‘I thought I’d get a head start on packing up my things. I assume we’ll leave early in the morning?’
‘We’re not,’ he said.
She paused in the process of wrapping her brushes in a cloth. ‘Oh...? What time will we leave, then?’
‘We’re not leaving.’
She blinked at him, and for a fraction of a second her heart soared. Because if they weren’t leaving then she wouldn’t have to say goodbye to him just yet. She wouldn’t sleep with him tonight knowing it was the last time they would ever make love. The last time she would ever feel him inside her, filling her. Making her feel beautiful and desirable and wanton and whole.
And then her brain reasserted itself. ‘What do you mean, we’re not leaving?’
‘Exactly that.’ He came into the room. ‘You’re not going back to Rome tomorrow.’
His tone left no room for misinterpretation. He wasn’t giving her a choice. He was telling her.
For the first time in days, her temper flared. She put her brushes down. ‘One week, Nico. I agreed to come here for one week.’
He crossed his arms over his chest. The gesture reminded her of the way he and Leo had confronted her six days ago. How they had bulldozed her into coming here. She’d been angry, hating the loss of her independence, the sense of having control of her life stripped away. Which was why she’d laid down her own rules—rules Nico was now completely ignoring.
‘Until your stalker is caught, this is the safest place for you to be.’
She folded her arms, mirroring his pose with an equally resolute one of her own. ‘And when will you catch him?’ she demanded to know. ‘Next week? Next month?’
Something glittered in his eyes. ‘Is that an appalling idea, chérie? Spending an entire month with me?’
She pressed her lips together before she could blurt out the word no. The idea didn’t appal her. Not in the slightest. In fact it made her feel light-headed. Euphoric. And that was wrong.
Wrong, wrong, wrong.
She wasn’t meant to want more of him.
‘This is hardly a joking matter,’ she said. ‘I have a job to get back to. A life. And it’s my nephew’s first birthday party on Saturday—I told Leo and Helena I wouldn’t miss it.’
‘I’ve spoken with Leo and he agrees you should stay.’
Her anger bloomed, swift and bright and vivid like a bloodstain on cotton. How dared they? ‘That’s not Leo’s decision to make—nor, might I add, is it yours!’
She seized the wheels of her chair and propelled herself towards the doorway.
‘Where are you going?’
‘To call my sister-in-law,’ she snapped.
‘Why?’
‘Because she’s got more sense than you and my brother put together!’
And maybe Helena could change her husband’s mind. If Marietta had Leo on her side Nico would have to let her go—a thought that only sharpened the ache in her chest.
And that made her angrier still.
* * *
Sisterhood, it turned out, was overrated.
Helena had sided with the men. Marietta had wanted to express her anger over the phone but found she couldn’t. Her sister-in-law’s stance came from a place of caring and concern, and Marietta wasn’t angry with Helena. She was angry at the situation—and with Nico for his high-handedness. He hadn’t even consulted her first. He’d simply made the decision.
She managed a smile for the young waitress who had arrived at the table with her dessert and then realised the courtesy was a wasted effort. The girl was more interested in casting pretty smiles at Nico, even though she looked as if she was barely out of her teens and he was surely too old for her.
He had that powerful effect on women. She imagined he always would. He’d carry those rugged good looks and that dark sex appeal into his later years and become one of those sexy, distinguished-looking older men to whom women of all ages flocked.
The thought didn’t improve Marietta’s mood.
And if Nico had hoped a nice meal and the buoyant atmosphere of the Bouchards’ seaside restaurant would, he was in for disappointment. She picked up her spoon and cracked the hard caramelised top of her crème brûlée with a sharp jab.
‘You’re still angry.’
She glanced across the table at him. He was clean-shaven for the first time in two days and the skin over his hard jaw looked bronzed and taut in the golden candlelight which flickered from the glass holder on the table.
‘Of course,’ she said, opting for honesty, because no matter how hard she strove for the kind of composure she’d often admired in her sister-in-law she’d never been very good at hiding her emotions. ‘I’m missing an important family event by staying here, Nico.’
His long fingers toyed with his espresso cup. ‘You would put a child’s birthday party above your own safety?’
‘It’s not just any child’s party,’ she retorted. ‘It’s my nephew’s very first birthday and a milestone I won’t get to share with him now.’
Nico regarded her. ‘It means that much to you?’
Defying Her Billionaire Protector Page 10