by BETH KERY
“I doubt you’d find any labels from my closet here.”
Sophia’s smooth expression didn’t falter. “Not a problem. We’ll just introduce you to some new ones then.”
A younger associate peeked her head into the door and asked Emma what she’d like to drink.
“Nothing, thank you,” she told the young blond woman, a little flustered at the unexpected question.
“Bring her a tea service, please, and me as well,” Vanni instructed. Emma turned in surprise. He’d followed them into the women’s dressing lounge. Was there any place he wouldn’t tread with complete confidence?
“I’ll wait for you out there,” he told Emma, pointing to the lavish sitting area that was part of the lounge. They’d passed it on the way in, so she knew to what he referred. He directed his attention to Sophia. “Please bring her out so that I can see the ones that are worthwhile.”
“Of course, Mr. Montand. I’ll be right back with some selections for you to start on,” Sophia told Emma. “Just have a seat and relax.”
The young blond salesgirl returned first, carrying not a cup of tea, but an entire service including a pot of tea, a tiered tray of small sandwiches, fruit, scones, jam and cream, and a glass of champagne. Despite Emma’s awkwardness in the surroundings, she realized she was hungry and sampled one of the sandwiches and then a strawberry. A few minutes later, she sat on the couch with the teacup in her hand and a scone melting on her tongue, watching wide-eyed as Sophia breezed in with an armful of dresses.
“What about this one first?” she asked Emma, holding up a stunning mauve strapless gown. Sophia waved the dress over a sort of pedestal. Much to Emma’s amazement, a video popped up on the mirror of a gorgeous, slinky model strutting down the runway wearing the precise dress Emma was about to try on. She gasped.
“Is there a chip in the dress?” she asked Sophia, standing.
Sophia grinned. “Yes, a tiny one on a tag. Our customers like to see the outfits we sell professionally modeled.”
And the store likes to see their merchandise purchased, Emma thought amusedly as she began to shuck off her clothes. It was a brilliant sales maneuver. How many customers actually pictured themselves in the gorgeous model’s shoes when they donned the dress?
She suddenly wished she’d put on a fancier bra and underwear set when she’d set out on what she thought would be a solitary, run-of-the-mill trip downtown this morning. Little had she guessed her solo trip to Macy’s would end up like this.
“Oh my goodness,” Sophia said, eyes going wide as she turned from hanging some dresses on a rack. At the woman’s exclamation, Emma cringed where she stood in her bra and underwear. Were her undergarments that bad? Then she realized where the woman stared and her hand flew to her throat. “Is that a Prisatti angel?” Sophia asked, her tone hushed and thick with awe.
“I . . . I don’t know. It’s a petit ange. It was a gift,” Emma said, letting her hand fall.
Sophia met her stare, a smile starting on her mouth. “From him?” she asked, glancing sideways in the direction of the sitting room where Vanni waited.
“Yes.”
Sophia gave her a lucky you smile. “It’s a Prisatti angel. They’re extremely rare, handmade by a man named Angelo Prisatti, an Italian jeweler who lives in France. He only makes a few a year, the metalwork and etching is exquisitely detailed, even under a microscope. Prisatti insists on approving of the wearer himself. Their spirit has to match the essence of the piece he makes . . . match up to his standards, in other words. Otherwise, you’d see every spoiled rich girl in the world wearing one.”
“I’ve never met him,” Emma said. “Maybe it’s not a Prisatti angel, after all.”
“He must have altered his expectations for Montand,” Sophia said with a knowing smile. “Because that’s definitely a Prisatti angel.”
Emma absorbed this amazing bit of news. It didn’t surprise her that it was an extremely valuable necklace—she could have guessed that just by its unique, delicate beauty. What bewildered her was why Vanni would have taken pains to acquire such a rare piece for her.
As the rack in the huge, ornate dressing room began to fill with not just dozens of dresses, but resort wear, hats, shoes, belts, and accessories, Emma’s confusion about Vanni’s gift had to be moved to the back burner.
“I really just need a dress and maybe a swimsuit,” Emma told Sophia uncomfortably.
“These are the items Mr. Montand indicated,” the woman overrode her with pleasant politeness. “Here, let me help you with that,” she said, moving behind Emma to zip up the gorgeous creation she’d just put on—a stunning green halter dress that came with a short jacket. When Sophia had zipped her in, she stared at her reflection in awe. The dress did amazing things for her figure. It made the gold of her hair look especially rich and vibrant and her skin gleam. She looked . . .
. . . fantastic in it.
“Oh my,” Sophia said, stepping back and grinning. “This is definitely one to show Mr. Montand, don’t you think?” She set down a sinfully sexy pair of strappy sandals in front of her. “Leave the jacket,” the saleswoman directed when Emma reached for it after she’d buckled the sandals around her ankles. Emma saw the sparkle in Sophia’s brown eyes. “He’s not going to want it on you. Trust me.”
Emma’s cheeks went hot, but she followed a beaming Sophia out of the dressing room. Vanni was sitting in a Louis the XIV–style armchair, reading a newspaper, his tea service set out next to him on a circular table. Despite his T-shirt and jeans, he looked every bit the insouciant, confident prince of the palace.
“Well? Stunning, isn’t she?” Sophia said.
Vanni glanced up as Emma came to a stop. His expression didn’t change that much as he looked at her, but something in his eyes made the burn in her cheeks amplify.
“Well?” Emma asked when he didn’t say anything.
“That one. Definitely that one,” he said, his mouth set in a rigid line as he went back to his reading.
Sophia looked ebullient as she gave Emma a wink. With a sinking feeling, Emma thought she knew why. Emma had cringed upon seeing the price tag on the dress.
She would have thought she’d blush less each time Sophia indicated the outfit was worthy for Vanni to see. Instead, the heat in her cheeks only seemed to mount every time he glanced up and considered her with a stare that was both cool and assessing and scorching hot at once. She was embarrassed to admit it but she was actually becoming aroused by those dispassionate-seeming perusals that really didn’t feel remotely aloof at all.
She walked toward him wearing a fantastic ivory cocktail dress that gave the illusion of transparency without actually being sheer, along with several ropes of pearls and matching pumps. Emma especially loved this one. It was an updated, sexier version of something a glamorous 1920s flapper heiress might wear on a jaunt across Europe. Vanni looked up and froze in the action of folding his paper.
“That’s it,” he told Sophia briskly, his mouth hard. “We’ll take them.”
“Which ones, Mr. Montand?” Sophia asked eagerly.
“All of the ones I’ve seen.”
“Vanni—” Emma started to protest.
“Did you bring her swimwear and lingerie?” Vanni asked Sophia, cutting her off.
“Yes, sir.”
“Choose several weeks’ worth of items for her. We’ll take one of the swimsuits now, but have the rest delivered to this address,” he said, handing Sophia a business card and what appeared to be a credit card.
Emma gave him a helpless, annoyed glance over her shoulder as Sophia bustled her back to the dressing lounge. The sales associate was all smiles as she helped Emma undress. Three other associates entered, each of them leaving with armfuls of garments and teasing Emma about how lucky she was. She had a feeling they were referring to the man sitting out in the sitting area more than they were the dre
am wardrobe he’d just bought her without a second thought. Sophia followed them a moment later carrying the final load. Emma picked up her bra—she’d had to remove it to do several of the dresses justice. She’d speak to Vanni about this privately. They’d agree to one dress, two if he said it was required given the events at the race, but—
In the reflection of the mirrors she saw the door open. Vanni walked in and shut the door behind him. Emma turned around, instinctively covering her bare breasts.
“Vanni?” she asked, her confusion mounting when she saw the single-minded intent gleaming in his light eyes.
He twisted the lock on the door.
“What are you doing?” she asked incredulous when he stalked toward her.
“It’s all right,” he assured, his nostrils flaring slightly as he glanced down over her. He reached for her hands and lowered them deliberately. Her nipples prickled and pinched tight beneath his stare. “Please don’t ever cover yourself from me,” he said.
“But . . . but what about Sophia and the others?” she asked numbly.
“They won’t be coming back for a while.”
“How do you know that?” she asked.
He gaze flicked from her breasts to her face. “Because I made sure of it.”
There. Just like that. Whether she liked it or not, Sophia and her band of sales associates were definitely going to remain absent, and they’d keep anyone else from wandering into this dressing suite, too. Why? Because Vanni Montand had proclaimed it to be his desire.
Emma didn’t speak when he reached up and put his hands on her shoulders, skimming his hands over her skin. She trembled as that familiar heavy pressure settled in her lower belly and sex. It felt so good.
“Do you know why I’m back early from my trip?” he asked her, his hands rubbing the back of her shoulders before they swept down her back. He pulled her against him. She moaned helplessly at the delicious sensation of pressing against his length, her erect nipples crushing against a soft shirt covering dense muscle.
“No,” she whispered, reaching up to grab his shoulders. She suddenly felt very weak.
His hands slid beneath her panties. He cupped her buttocks and massaged them. Emma felt moisture surge at her core. He nuzzled the hair near her ear and she couldn’t stop herself from shuddering in excitement.
“Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he breathed out. “You’re haunting me, Emma.”
“You never even called,” she said, pressing her cheek to his chest. God he smelled so good. He felt so good. What he was telling her made the sweet, hot pressure in her sex mount.
“I thought calling would make it worse,” he said, lowering her panties over her ass to her thighs. His hands made a lascivious journey across her hips and bottom. “Why didn’t you call me?” he growled softly before he kissed the opening of her ear. Emma gasped and tilted her head back to meet his stare.
“I thought calling would make it worse,” she repeated breathlessly.
His handsome mouth curled into a small snarl. “I don’t appreciate being tortured. That’s just what it was, too, having you paraded in front of me like that.” He pushed her tighter to him and dipped his knees. Emma’s breath caught when he pressed his cock to the juncture of his thighs.
“It was your idea, Vanni,” she reminded him dryly.
“That didn’t make it any less of a torture session,” he hissed, his mouth opening on her neck and then taking a tender bite out of her shoulder. Emma shivered. Hunger and heat seemed to radiate from him. How could he have looked so impassive and cool out there in the sitting room? “God you’re beautiful. Every time I see you it’s like being punched all over again,” he grated out, sounding almost angry. “You know that you’re mine, don’t you? For these few weeks, for these inadequate, skimpy little days and hours?”
She stared up at him. She was his whenever or however he wanted her. “Yes,” she whispered.
He nodded grimly before he bent and pushed her panties the rest of the way off her.
“Then come here,” he said firmly, leading her over to the couch.
Emma trailed after him, now completely naked. For a split second as he urged her to sit on the couch, she had a moment of clarity. She was in a store, for God’s sake, a public place.
But then Vanni sunk to his knees before where she sat. She saw the hard glint of desire in his eyes and delved her fingers into his thick hair, everything else, everyone else, disappearing. His hands opened on her waist and skimmed her hips, his gaze trailing hotly over her breasts and belly and landing at the juncture of her thighs.
“It seems like I’m always waiting for you, like you’re just out of my reach,” he said under his breath, almost as if he didn’t realize he spoke aloud. “I’ve waited too damn long to taste you.”
Emma bit her lip, but a whimper of stark arousal escaped her throat, anyway. He put his hands on the back of her thighs and pushed so that her head and fell back on the soft cushions of the couch and her hips rolled back. He urged with his touch, and she let her thighs fall open further.
“Hold your legs back,” he instructed, and she reached for her knees, keeping her hips in place. She was spread wide for him . . . positioned to take whatever he offered her.
“Vanni,” she said in a strangled voice when she saw the expression on his face as he stared fixedly between her thighs. His head lowered and her clit pinched in painful anticipation. It felt unbearably exciting. His face just inches from her sex, he inhaled and turned his head slightly.
“Jesus,” he said thickly, his lips brushing the tender skin on her inner thigh. “So soft.” He parted her labia with his fingers.
Then his mouth was on her sex, and Emma couldn’t stop a muted cry. His tongue burrowed between her labia and laved her clit. It felt warm, firm . . . deliciously decadent and forbidden. She suppressed a moan of pleasure. His mouth closed on her while his tongue continued to stir her clit, his upper lip pressing down firmly on her sensitive tissues. The slight suction he applied made her toes curl and her muscles clench tight.
He groaned, deep and guttural, the vibrations resonating into her sex. He pushed again at the back of her thighs until her knees were nearly parallel with her face. The soles of her feet began to burn in sympathy with her clit as he ate her. Nerves everywhere seemed to sizzle, eager to ignite. His tongued stabbed and pressed, slid and rubbed until a haze of lust and sensuality encompassed her like a dense, warm cloud. She had a fleeting glimpse of her face in the huge mirror across from her and hardly recognized herself, naked and wanton, her lips and cheeks floridly pink, her fingers clutching onto Vanni’s head as if for dear life.
One large hand cupped her ass from below, right along the crack. He lifted slightly, blue-green eyes flickering up to meet her stare. A long finger reached, plunging into her pussy.
“Ohhh,” she exclaimed shakily, unable to unglue her gaze from the vision he made, palming her ass like he might a lush fruit while he sunk his finger and tongue into the sweetness. It was an incredibly lewd vision, but an intensely beautiful one as well.
He applied an eye-crossing suction and moved his head slightly, a growl emanating from his throat. Emma’s eyes sprung wide at the acute stimulation. Then his tongue was back, a brutally precise, firm master.
“Oh God, Vanni . . .” she faded off, drowning in delight as climax loomed. He pushed back on her shins, forcing her knees into the couch near her ears. A helpless keen vibrated her throat. It felt incredible. Unstoppable. He laved her clit ruthlessly.
She broke in climax at the hard pressure, a cry escaping her throat. She bit her lip hard to restrain it, but couldn’t stop whimpering as she shuddered in pleasure. He didn’t let up on her a bit, agitating her clit with his stiffened tongue while she came, demanding every last shudder and shiver of pleasure she had to give him.
Emma checked out of reality for a moment.
She came back to herself when the warm pressure of his mouth disappeared. She opened her eyelids sluggishly, panting. A light sweat sheened her skin. He stood before her, looking down at her with a blazing gaze as he ripped open his button fly. A stab of re-arousal went through her at the vision of his chin, mouth, and upper lip glistening with her juices. He made a hasty jerking motion with his hands and Emma glanced downward. He’d freed his cock. It poked out from beneath the edge of his T-shirt, the smooth, delectable-looking crown bobbing slightly in the air from his brisk movements.
She licked her abraded lower lip—she’d bitten on it forcefully to keep from screaming—watching in stunned arousal as his cock jumped slightly in the air. His eyes narrowed on her.
“Dammit,” he growled. “Come here,” he said tensely, putting out his hand. She reached for him, and he pulled her off the couch to stand before him. She felt a little dizzy and steadied herself by clutching his waist. With no prelude, he immediately cupped the back of her head, palmed her jaw, and swooped down to kiss her. It wasn’t an angry kiss, necessarily, but it felt a little like it was. It was hard and wild and relentless. She was becoming used to his unleashed fierceness during lovemaking . . . or as used to it as a woman could be.
The sensation of his naked, swollen cock against her belly taunted her. She reached up and cupped his erection. The growl he made sounded dangerous. She moaned at the erotic heaviness of him, the smooth, warm skin gloving his arousal so tautly. He kissed her deeper. She tasted herself for the first time in her life, experienced the heady chemistry of her desire twining with his. He drank from her furiously, spearing her with his tongue again and again until Emma felt herself spinning from his dominant possession.
He eventually broke the scalding kiss with a rough groan. “There aren’t enough minutes in the day to do all the things I want to do to you,” he breathed out, white teeth bared. “There isn’t enough time, period.” His thumb pushed against her lower lip, separating it from the upper one. She stared up at him, helpless in her arousal, as he looked down at her mouth, his thumb moving in a tight little circle, his expression hungry as a wolf about to feed.