Twice, he placed calls to Bella, but she didn’t answer or return them. She might be at the hairdresser, having her nails done or indulging in a spa treatment. Wherever it was, she seemed out of contact for the day.
Stymied there, he searched his contacts for Rico and almost made that call. What stopped him was the niggling feeling that his brother-in-law might not be at fault. He had, for the most part, distanced himself from his father’s less respectable associates; how likely was he to turn to them now? Moreover, for all his shouting and bombast, Rico had never seemed the kind to inflict bodily harm, particularly on a woman.
Dinnertime came at last. It was a strained meal with only sporadic conversation. Andrea could sense Dana’s doubt and impatience, but there was little he could do about it. He discovered more of her childhood with pointed questions, and revealed something of his plans for the boat he building. She asked how and when he had learned to pilot the helicopter, and they compared oddly similar tastes in music. And all the while, the memory of what had almost happened on the beach lay between them like an awkward guest at the table.
It was a relief when the cheese and fruit tray appeared, signaling the end of the torment. Andrea could not even be sorry when Dana elected to retire to her room immediately afterward. Yet when he’d said goodnight and watched her climb the stairs to her bedroom with Guaio leaping at her heels, he had to clench his teeth and press his lips together to keep from calling her back.
~ ~ ~
“So. What are you going to do?”
It was the following day, her third on the island, when Dana put that question to him. They were having a light lunch of seafood salad and bread sticks with a crisp white wine as a concession to the hot, dry wind that rustled the grape leaves on the pergola above them.
“About what?” Andrea thought he knew, but felt it best to be clear.
“Rico and the threat he represents, of course. You can’t just do nothing in the hope it will all go away.”
That was exactly what he was doing in a sense. Things often did just go away if ignored, at least in Andrea’s experience. That there had been no new menace in the past twenty-four hours and more suggested it might yet turn out that way.
“Are you so anxious to leave here then?”
She glanced past his shoulder, avoiding his eyes. “I can’t stay forever.”
“Unfortunately,” he replied as lightly as he was able.
She colored a little. “That’s nice of you, very hospitable, but unnecessary.”
She seemed to think he was merely being polite or maybe flirtatious. “Dana—”
“You and I both know this is just a temporary thing. It will be over in a day or two and we will go our separate ways.”
He did know it, which was one reason he was in no hurry to cause changes that might speed the parting. He could get used to sharing his meals with her, reaching to touch her now and then when he was able to manufacture an excuse. His sigh was silent before he spoke.
“I need to speak to Bella again, but can’t reach her.”
“You don’t think something has happened to her?”
“I contacted her housekeeper. She was upset after we spoke on the phone, and has been in and out trying to catch up with Rico. Somehow, they keep missing each other.”
“That’s all very well, but things have been quiet for a while now. I can’t just hang out here for no reason.”
“What if they are only quiet because you are here with me?”
“Meaning something might happen if I leave? Oh, please!”
He hunched a shoulder. “It isn’t impossible.”
“It isn’t likely, either, not if it’s Guaio these people want.”
“I told you—”
“They have no reason to think there’s anything between us that would make me useful as a hostage!”
“None except what happened on the beach yesterday morning.”
The pink shading to her features was his reward for bringing up that reminder, just as the effect on his body was his punishment.
“You’re saying someone saw us?”
“Not that I know of, but it’s possible.”
Her eyes narrowed. “That’s very convenient.”
“Meaning?” he demanded as ire stirred inside him.
“First you bring me here as if I’m your—what was it you called me? Oh, yes, your companion. Then you provide proof, for those who don’t know any better, that something is going on between us.”
“I didn’t notice you objecting at the time, cara. Besides, there is indeed something between us.”
“No there’s not!”
“Think about it, and I believe you may see it differently.”
“I have thought about it, and what I see is just an impulse. We were there and the moment was right.”
She had thought of it. It was progress of a sort. “In that case, logic should show you there was no hidden agenda.”
“It also shows me,” she said with smoldering intensity, “why Italian women often feel like throwing things.”
“Be my guest.” Andrea picked up his empty bread plate and held it out to her.
She stared at it as if tempted, but then shoved back her chair and got to her feet. “I’m already your guest,” she said tightly, “but I won’t be for a minute longer than necessary.”
A rueful smile tugged at one corner of Andrea’s mouth as he put down the bread plate and watched her walk away. Her threat was real, he knew, but he could not regret her flare of anger. She was losing some of her American reserve. For an instant there, she’d seemed as fiery as her red hair, had sounded almost Italian. That change definitely brightened his day.
It was all he could do not to go after her. Yet how could he? She seemed to think he was attracted to her merely because she was available. Following up on it would be like saying he expected her to accept that and fall into his arms anyway.
He didn’t, not by a long shot.
What he did expect, he wasn’t entirely sure. He only knew he didn’t want Dana to go. And he intended to hold her on the island for as long as possible.
The day waned after more interminable hours of avoiding each other. Night drifted in from over the sea. Andrea lingered over a brandy after Dana had gone upstairs, but finally followed after her.
Sleep wouldn’t come. He kicked the sheet completely off the bed and threw his pillow across the room. He got up for a drink of water, and then returned to fling himself face down on the mattress. Wrenching over after a few minutes, he sat up and shoved to his feet again. He crouched down to feel around in the dark, sweeping the floor with his spread fingers in search of the discarded pillow.
His hand touched and closed on the down softness just as Guaio let out a screech from down the hall. High-pitched, frantic, it sounded like a cry of distress. Before it died away, Dana shouted out with rage in her voice.
Andrea dropped the pillow and slammed from the bedroom. He raced down the hall and hit Dana’s door at a run, throwing it open so hard it bounced off the wall behind it. He skidded to a halt, taking in the flat and empty bed, the open balcony doors where the night breeze off the Mediterranean billowed the curtains into the room.
He saw shadowy figures struggling on the balcony beyond.
Plunging across the room, he launched himself out onto the balcony. His shoulder struck a hard body dressed all in black. The man spun away, but came back at him in a leaping attack. Merciless in his fear for Dana, Andrea bent swiftly, hoisted the assailant high on one his shoulder and tipped him over the balcony railing beside him.
The man yelled as he plummeted to the ground. Andrea didn’t bother to look. He whipped around to face Dana.
The second intruder had her around the neck with one arm while clutching Guaio to him with the other. As the man’s attention was deflected by the fate of his comrade, Dana grabbed his hand and locked her fingers in his. Whirling out of his hold, she completed the circle and sent the man to his knees with his arm twi
sted behind his back.
“Drop the cat,” she snapped, even as the bones in the man’s elbow creaked.
Her would-be assailant grunted and complied. Guaio landed on all fours and streaked into the bedroom, a fleeting gray shadow.
Immediately, the man in black jerked away, breaking Dana’s hold. With one wild look in Andrea’s direction, he bolted to the railing and flung himself over it. He clung to the wide stone top for an instant then dropped to the ground below. Seconds later, he and the other man could be seen sprinting toward the beach.
Dana stepped to the railing to stare after them. Swinging around, she looked at Andrea. “Do you think—?”
The tremor in her voice before she came to a halt caught at his heart.
“I imagine they have a boat waiting in the cove,” he said, moving in beside her. “They will be long gone before anyone can catch them.”
“They were after Guaio. He was on the foot of the bed. They came in from the balcony and just grabbed him.”
“You should have let them have him.” He put out a hand to touch her shoulder, turning her toward him.
“I couldn’t,” she said. “I just—couldn’t.”
She came into his arms then, pressing against him from breast to ankles while a fine trembling ran over her. He drew her closer, holding her against him, burying his face in her hair. “I know. You were magnificent, cara. You took down the bad guy. Only I think you also took ten years off my life.”
“Did I?” The words were not quite even.
“I was afraid they were after you, too.”
She gave a convulsive shake of her head. “Just the cat. He—he clawed the face of the one that had him.”
“Good for Guaio.”
“I was so glad when I saw you.”
“Yes.”
He let that stark answer stand since he could think of nothing to add to it. The alternative would not bear thinking about, much less comment. He smoothed his hand over her back again and again, taking in her softness along with the fact that she was safe and unharmed.
“You must have been awake to come so quickly,” she said after a long moment.
“I was.”
“So was I.”
Had she been as unable to sleep, and for the same reason? He didn’t dare ask.
“I thought for just a second, as I saw the first man, that it was you coming through the balcony door.”
His movements ceased as he heard the quiet wonder in her voice. At the same time leftover adrenaline, fervent relief and a warm woman dressed only in a thin nightgown, was having its inevitable effect. His voice was almost too gruff to make sense when he spoke.
“And if it had been?”
She stirred, lifted her head, though her eyes were no more than dark pools in the night. “It would have been all right.”
The leap of his heart nearly cracked a rib. He whispered her name, or at least he thought he did; it was hard to hear for the roaring in his ears. Pushing his fingers into her hair, he tilted her head and angled his mouth across hers in hard, frantic need.
She answered it, rising on tiptoe to slide her arms around his neck, humming deep in her throat with a sound like gratified longing. Her lips were smooth and sweet, tasting a little like her toothpaste, as she opened to him. Her skin was fragrant with the intoxicating scent of roses and warm woman. She was firm yet soft against his heated hardness. He could feel the tips of her breasts pressing into his bare chest, sense the wild beat of her heart.
Every atom of his being was at a fever pitch of recognition for her alone. The need to feel the warm satin depths inside her was so strong he was on fire with it, burning everywhere her body touched his.
He was also forgetting the lesson learned before, once more making desperate love to her in full sight of anyone who might care to look. She destroyed his good intentions, obliterated his common sense. With a growl of self-condemnation, he swung her through the open door into the bedroom. There he scooped her up and laid her on the bed.
Guaio hissed and jumped from the mattress to the floor, but Andrea barely noticed. There was only Dana, holding her arms out to him as he settled beside her in the dark.
~ ~ ~
This was what she needed. Dana knew that much with fierce certainty. She recognized it was also what she’d longed for since Guaio interrupted them there on the beach. Her disappointment afterward had been instructive, letting her know how much she had wanted Andrea’s touch, the closeness of his body against hers.
Elation and anticipation ballooned inside her. If some small part of it might be purest joy at being safe, unhurt and alive, what did it matter? Life was meant to be embraced.
A temporary fling might not be what she really wanted, but it would be better than going home in a few days without knowing what she’d missed. Any number of wise people had said it was better to regret something you did than something you didn’t do. She would take this chance that had come her way then.
Her time with Andrea was limited, a few days set apart here on his private island that was like an enchanted place where maidens could cavort with gods and nothing was quite real. All she could do was take what he offered and make a memory of it to smile over one day while she sat doddering in a nursing home.
She spread her fingers and pressed her palms to the hard muscles of his shoulders, reveling in the intimate contact even as she drew him closer. He snared her waist, shifted his hand lower to draw her against his hard length. She felt the heated nudge of him at the juncture of her thighs and shifted against it, her heart swelling with awe that she could do this to him, with him.
His scent surrounded her, one made of wood and moss and raw desire. She breathed it in, taking it deep just as she wanted to take him. She wanted his mouth on hers again, was parched for that hot incentive. Lifting a hand, she rubbed her palm over the prickly stubble of his evening beard, loving the rasp on her skin, exploring the corner of his mouth with her thumb even as she lifted her mouth to his.
He accepted her invitation, slanting his mouth over hers with unerring accuracy. He took the lead then, invading with a sure, powerful glide of his tongue that made her stomach muscles contract as if it had been a different entry. He took possession, learning her tender surfaces and the sharp edges of her teeth, twining with her tongue in sinuous enticement. She met his raw assault, explored in her turn.
He rolled her to her back, hovering above her as he skimmed his hand down her thigh to reach the hem of her gown. Pushing beneath it, he burrowed upward so the lightweight fabric bunched around his wrist, riding high and higher still. As he reached her breasts, baring them, he brushed their soft mounds with warm lips, nipping a little, soothing with his tongue. With one last lick for each straining peak, he stripped off her gown and sent it flying. Before it had landed, he spread his hand over her abdomen, clasping the slight fullness he found there like a miser holding treasure.
She moaned, moving restlessly on the mattress, wanting his hand centered lower and with more definite intent. He flexed his fingers, holding her in place while he shifted, easing downward on the mattress. An instant later, he lowered his face to the flat of her belly, twirling his tongue into her navel and then blowing carefully on the wetness he’d left behind.
“Andrea,” she breathed.
“You are delicious,” he said, and went on in a liquid Italian murmur that rippled along her nerve endings, soothing yet inciting. She threaded her fingers through his hair until his skin beaded with goose bumps, then caressed them away as she let her fingers follow the muscles that ridged his back and wrapped around his rib cage.
He brushed his lips along the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, his breath scalding as he trailed to her knees and over their caps, licking the contours. His attentions there made her writhe in protest. “That tickles!”
“It’s supposed to,” he said with a choke of laughter in his voice, though he soothed away that unbearable irritation. “You were tickling me.”
“I didn
’t mean to,” she whispered.
“You can do whatever you like since I intend to match it.” His deep, sensually smooth voice turned rough as she shifted her attention to his flat, coin-like nipple, tweaking it. “In fact, I insist on it.”
“So whatever I may do, you’ll do the same?”
“Or better.” The words were a growl.
Her heart throbbed as desire flared inside her like a hot coal in the wind. How could she resist such an erotic threat? Or refuse such freedom?
She had never felt so abandoned or so desired. Exhilaration surged over her in waves. She flattened her hand on his chest, feeling the warm silk of the hair that grew there, locating the hard nub of his nipple again and circling it, wishing she could take it in her mouth. So absorbed was she in what she was doing, it was a moment before she realized he had shifted once more, and now his breath stirred her own fine, silky body hair.
Her breath caught in her throat as he centered his hot, wet attention there. Her stomach muscles clenched and she closed her hands on his shoulders, gripping handfuls of warm skin and muscle. As he slid his hands beneath her hips, raising her to delve deep within her tender folds, her very being seemed to unravel.
Her skin felt on fire. Her blood simmered in her veins. In a delirious maelstrom of the senses, she curled toward him, sliding her hand along his waist to his hip. Encountering the waistband of his silky boxer pajamas, she tugged. As their snap parted, she shoved them aside. Hot, heavy and silken smooth, the length of him seemed to curve toward her as she reached for it.
His breath hissed between his teeth as she touched him with her tongue. That tried sound made her smile in the dark and redouble her efforts.
Oh, but he did the same and had begun first. Within seconds, she gripped him in hard desperation as her senses imploded with such force she saw flowers of fire behind her eyelids.
The Amalfitano's Bold Abduction (The Italian Billionaires Collection) Page 12