His For The Taking

by Kat Walters

  Isabella sucked in a breath as her body responded instantly. Her stomach muscles clenched, and her nipples pressed flagrantly against her cotton top. He stepped closer, and oh, she wanted him. He knew it too, and his mouth curved into a smile as he looked down at her. Still not touching her. Her chest rose and fell unsteadily as she dragged air into her lungs and his eyes left hers, dropped to her chest. He brought the chilled glass up to her breast, rubbed it against her nipple, back and forth, so slowly as he watched her. Isabella gasped, bit down hard on her lower lip. She saw his eyes darken, the wet patch on her top now clung to her breast, and she exhaled a shaky breath. Alessandro smiled.

  "Wine?" He asked. She blushed.

  How did he tie her up in knots like this? He handed her the glass, and the mischief she suddenly glimpsed in his eyes reassured her. It made her want to smile at him and tease him. She didn't.

  As she took the glass, she saw his eyes drop, linger on her tiny shorts and her naked thighs. "Perfect," he murmured, but then he stepped away and moved towards the table. He held out her chair with a relaxed smile. Isabella sank into it self-consciously, sucked in a breath as his hands brushed across her shoulders in a light caress. Would she ever get used to the feel of his hands on her skin? An amused smile tugged at his lips as he sat opposite her. Isabella knew she was staring, but she couldn't seem to stop. He was so beautiful. She would never have enough of this man. A lifetime of looking at him would never be enough.

  Isabella saw his lips move, but she felt like she was in a soundproofed room. On her own. Looking at him through the glass. All she could do was look at him and soak him up.

  "Isabella."

  Something finally pierced through the fuzz in her brain, and she shook her head, trying to clear it.

  "Yes? What were you saying?"

  Alessandro chuckled knowingly, and she felt heat scorch through her. She tore her eyes quickly away from him. How gauche she must seem. How childlike, naive, and silly. Isabella hated that he did this to her.

  "Eat." He commanded quietly, and she noticed the food for the first time.

  The table was laid with six plates of food, a selection of dishes. Spaghetti with herbs and parmesan, bruschetta, tomato and mozzarella salad, grilled fish, calamari fried in garlic butter, mushrooms stuffed with ricotta…Her eyes flew back to his in amazement.

  "How?"

  Alessandro laughed at her reaction but started to fill a plate with a small selection of everything. He held it out to her.

  "I phoned Gino while you were in the bath. It arrived a few minutes ago." He served himself and then looked across at her. "I wasn't sure what you would like."

  "So you ordered everything on the menu?" Isabella teased, and there was that smile again, the one that made her breath catch in her chest. And he knew. She saw it in his eyes, in the way he said so gently.

  "Eat, Isabella."

  She forced herself to look away. The food looked delicious, and it took only a couple of mouthfuls for her to realize how hungry she was. She'd barely eaten the last few days, too nervous, too wound up to manage food. She sighed, moaned her appreciation as the subtle flavors of the grilled fish filled her mouth. Thyme, garlic, lemon, she closed her eyes, savoring each one. The sole was cooked perfectly, flaky and light and she couldn't remember ever tasting anything so good. When she opened her eyes, Alessandro was watching her, a strange expression on his face. An expression he quickly masked.

  "You were right." When he raised an enquiring eyebrow at her across the table. "The best fish I've ever had."

  Thinking about that conversation made her cringe. Guilt chastened her. "I'm sorry about earlier… what I said," she shrugged and looked down at her plate. "I was nervous."

  "You don't like to talk about yourself."

  It was such a simple statement, but there was so much understanding in it.

  "No." They ate in silence for a few minutes. "I don't talk about my family to anyone," she explained, glancing up at him. He looked so relaxed, sitting there in his jeans, his chest bare, his hair ruffled. She tried to remember him as she had first seen him. Cold. Arrogant. But she couldn't deny this side of him either. As much as she wanted to paint him as the villain, as much as she tried to hate him… she couldn't. This was real too.

  "Anna tried to kill herself last year." She wasn't sure why she was telling him. Only a handful of people knew about that, but somehow, she knew he would understand. Alessandro went still. He put his cutlery down and turned those dark eyes on her, waiting.

  Isabella touched her wrists, not wanting to say it out loud, not wanting to voice the image she had of Anna lying in the bath surrounded by her own blood. If she hadn't arrived home when she did. If she had been even a few minutes later. Isabella closed her eyes, trying to block out the images.

  "You found her." It was a statement.

  Isabella nodded, took a shuddering breath. She forced herself to look at him while she continued, and she knew he saw everything on her face, her fear, her anger.

  "Henry was worried the press would hear of it. He refused to pay for counseling." She took a sip of her wine to steady her nerves. "After the… attempt… I found a therapist for her, but," she grimaced, "dance teachers don't get paid that much, and then the drinking got worse, and…I didn't know what to do."

  Alessandro sat quietly, giving her his full attention.

  "I heard about Childsworth from a woman at work but the cost," she swallowed nervously, still holding his gaze. "I didn't have that kind of money. Henry…" Alessandro's jaw tightened as she said her father's name.

  "Henry wouldn't pay for it," he said for her.

  "He called Anna an attention-seeking drama queen and said if she'd really wanted to kill herself, she would have done it right the first time."

  Isabella wouldn't have thought it possible for him to go any stiller. The very air between them seemed to stop moving, and then he swallowed, the movement of his throat breaking the tension coiling between them.

  "That's Henry for you," she shrugged. She aimed for flippant. She even tried to smile to lighten the atmosphere.

  "Don't do that," Alessandro growled fiercely. He startled her, wiping the forced smile from her face. "Don't make light of what you've been through." He looked away from her then, a brooding look on his face. "If I hadn't taken Henry's business… Anna is his daughter… surely," his frown deepened into furrows across his forehead. Isabella longed to go around the table and smooth those lines away with her fingers and kiss that mouth until his frown turned to desire.

  "Don't, Alessandro."

  His eyes came back to hers, still fierce.

  "It wouldn't have made any difference. This isn't your fault. For years, I've been asking Henry for help with Anna, long before you were a threat to him." Isabella sighed, trying to find a way to explain Henry. "He is not like most fathers. We're accessories to him. As long as we look the part, dress the way he wants, act the way he wants, then he smiles and acts the doting father… but only in public." She looked past Alessandro, her eyes searching through the dark lemon groves. She was a world away from London, and yet, even here, she couldn't escape her past.

  "I was not the daughter he wanted." She shrugged it off and smiled at Alessandro, but she felt brittle, and she was half afraid that if he said the wrong thing, she might break. "I never got it right, you see? I never looked the part. I never acted the part, but then one day, I realized that it didn't matter… I realized that I would never be the perfect daughter, and that was a good day." She tried to smile again. "From that day on, I stopped trying to be what Henry wanted me to be."

  "Isabella," Alessandro interrupted her. There was a fierce look on his face that warmed her, but she stopped him with a raised hand.

  "No, Alessandro, it's okay. You don't understand. I don't mind. Looking this way, looking the way I do, meant I was beneath his attention. Looking this way kept me safe, and it helped me protect Anna."

  "Tell me what he did." Alessandro's voice was rough, almo
st tortured.

  Isabella looked down at the table. "Please, Alessandro, let's leave it. Eat. You went to so much trouble."

  "Don't change the subject, Isabella. Tell me what Henry did to you."

  "Nothing," the word felt dragged from her because it wasn't entirely true, and yet it was pretty accurate. Years of being ignored could be called nothing but rather that than what Anna had endured. Isabella shuddered and saw his eyes narrow. She recognized the determination on his face and gnawed on her bottom lip. Alessandro deserved to know the whole story; he was the one paying for Childsworth, after all.

  "To understand Anna, you have to go back to the beginning."

  Alessandro's hand slapped down onto the table with force, silencing her.

  "I don't want to understand Anna. What did he do to you?"

  Isabella stared at him in surprise. "He really did nothing to me," she said quietly, her gaze steady on his. "Nothing. He ignored me completely…unless I provoked him." She pressed her lips together tightly. "I only did that twice." He waited for her to explain, and so with a resigned sigh, she continued. "When I was thirteen, Anna was six. She'd been given a set of markers for her birthday, and when no one was watching her, Anna went into Henry's office and drew all over his desk. There were some papers she drew on as well as the desk, important papers." Isabella grimaced. "Henry got mad. Anna was so little, and she was crying. I couldn't leave her alone with him when he was in one of his rages." Isabella lifted her hair up and tilted her neck for him to see the tiny scar below her hairline. Belt buckle," she said with a shrug as though she didn't still think of that day whenever she was in her father's company.

  "The second time?" Alessandro asked without any emotion in his voice, but his eyes were hard and angry, and her heart cracked open a little bit more. It was so long since anyone had cared about her.

  "I had just graduated," she smiled sadly, remembering a time in her life when she had actually been happy. "I was dancing in my first show… professionally. I had dreamt of dancing since, well, since forever. My mother was a dancer. It's all I've ever wanted." Isabella shook herself and sat up straighter in her chair. "But, I arrived home after one performance, and Henry was home with a few business associates. I walked in unexpectedly, and the first thing I saw was Anna. Fourteen-year-old Anna dressed in a tiny little dress that barely covered her. I don't even know who's dress it was. I would never have let her buy something like that. Anna was sitting between two of Henry's business associates. One of the men," she closed her eyes, swallowed back her revulsion, and forced her eyes open. Isabella forced herself to look at Alessandro as she said it. "One of the men had his hand on her thigh, holding it, stroking it." Her fingers flexed now as she remembered it. Even now, she felt such rage. "Henry wasn't doing a thing about it. Nothing. He let that disgusting man touch her, right there in front of him, in front of all of them."

  She stood abruptly. That rage never went away and never lessened. She needed to move. She needed to shake those memories off. Pacing back and forth, she was aware of Alessandro still sitting at the table. She could feel his eyes on her, but she felt something else too. His anger, so much like her own. It shouldn't have soothed her, but it did. Enough for her to stop her pacing and face him. Her hands closed around the back of the chair. "I got Anna out of that room, got her to bed. She was so tired, and I could smell the alcohol on her breath. It was a school night. She had to be up in a few hours. They'd been giving her drinks." Isabella stared at him. "What kind of man does that to his daughter?"

  Alessandro didn't even blink. His gaze was steady on her. "What did Henry do to you?"

  Isabella raised her chin defiantly. "He hit me. Once. I threatened to go to the papers if he touched either of us ever again. I gave up performing, got a job at a dance studio so I could be at home in the evenings."

  Isabella retook her seat, and they sat in silence. She reached for her wine glass and took a sip. Alessandro did the same. It seemed neither of them felt like eating anymore. She pushed her plate aside with a frown. Glancing down, she noticed what she was wearing. She felt suddenly naked, or maybe it had nothing to do with what she was wearing and everything to do with the man sitting across from her looking at her like he knew her.

  She frowned, thinking back to the silk dressing gown he had offered her. Playing the part. But she wasn't, was she? She wasn't being sexy, alluring, or entertaining. All the things a good mistress ought to be. Instead, she had told him her sad story. Isabella glanced across the table and found Alessandro was still watching her. She looked down at her clothes and then back at him.

  "You don't mind?" He raised his eyebrows, and she waved a hand at her clothes. "You don't mind that I didn't wear the red gown?"

  Alessandro frowned, and Isabella felt a moment's apprehension. "Why would I mind?"

  She shrugged, uncomfortable under his scrutiny. "You want a mistress for the week. This," she waved her hand at her body again. "I'm not exactly playing the part dressed like this."

  Silence. Those black eyes watching her.

  "I don't want a mistress, Isabella. I want you. In my bed. What you wear out of it is your own business."

  Isabella frowned, unsure how she felt about his answer. She was uncertain about everything if she was honest. Why couldn't he be the cold, arrogant man she met in London? She was still staring sullenly at the table when she heard the scrape of his chair against the tiles.

  Alessandro held out his hand to her. "Enough talking."

  Isabella's heart picked up pace, and excited shivers ran over her body. Desperate to conceal this from him, she glared at his outstretched hand. Enough talking. There was the arrogance she had expected from him.

  Alessandro ignored her anger with a laugh, and in one effortless movement, he scooped her up into his arms and carried her inside.

  Chapter 7

  "Alessandro!" It was a feeble protest, and he smiled wickedly.

  "Is that the best you can do, Isabella? I would have expected more fight than that."

  He felt her go still in his arms as he carried her up the stairs. He knew she was thinking about what he'd said. Isabella would rise to the challenge, and he smiled in anticipation, waiting for it, but her fight when it came took him by surprise. She didn't resist. She took control.

  In an acrobatic move that completely floored him, she unhooked one leg and twisted in his arms, wrapping it around his waist. As his arm dropped in surprise, her other leg followed and wrapped tightly around him. Isabella ground her hips into his, a wicked smile on her beautiful face. Her hands cupped the back of his neck, and she pressed her mouth to the sensitive skin below his ear. Her tongue flicked out and tasted him. He moaned and pulled her in tighter so that he could feel her breasts against his chest.

  Isabella was all sinewy muscle and strength. His hands found their way to her bottom, and he squeezed, groaned as she rolled her hips forward, rubbing against him. She nibbled on his neck, his ear.

  "Dio, Isabella." He groaned and sought her mouth, but she was in control. She held her mouth just out of his reach, and then she smiled, but there was nothing wicked in it anymore. The smile was soft, her lips gentle as they brushed against his mouth in a teasing kiss. He wasn't sure he would make it to the bedroom. All he wanted to do was press her up against the wall here in the passage. But he couldn't. He wanted more for Isabella. He wanted to worship her body, and he wouldn't be able to do that pressed up against a wall. He groaned as he realized this. "Isabella," he whispered her name between kisses.

  "Izzy," she whispered back without breaking the kiss. He stilled and pulled his head back to look down at her. She smiled mischievously.

  "Call me Izzy. Busy Izzy. Anna gave me that name when she was little." Isabella smirked, and he grinned back, amused.

  "Izzy," he tried the sound of it on his tongue. "Izzy," he whispered again against her neck. "Izzy," his mouth brushed against her jaw in an open-mouthed kiss. "Izzy," his lips lightly pressed to her temple. He trailed kisses along her jaw.
She laughed breathlessly as he carried her into the room and lowered her onto the bed.

  Alessandro came down on top of her, pinning her to the bed. His mouth found hers in a kiss that lasted and lasted. He couldn't get enough of her mouth, her soft lips. He nibbled on them before kissing his way down her chest, over her top, sucking on her nipple through the fabric. She writhed, arched beneath him.

  "Alex," she gasped. He raised his head then, startled by the sound of his name on her lips. Only his brothers called him Alex. She caught his surprise. "You told me to call you Alex," she whispered, uncertain. He moved up the bed until he was leaning over her again, his mouth a breath away from hers. He didn't have words for what he was feeling, so he kissed her. Gently at first and then with a rough intensity that should have scared her, but it didn't. It scared him. But like earlier that night, he pushed this feeling aside. Tomorrow. He would think about these feelings tomorrow.

  Alessandro moved down her chest, roughly pushing aside her tank top and sucking her nipple into his mouth. She arched and fisted her hand into his hair, holding him in place. He chuckled against her skin and flicked his tongue over her nipple. She moaned and pulled his head down onto her breast. He complied. He smiled against her skin and trailed moist kisses down her flat, muscled stomach before slipping his fingers into her shorts. She lifted off the bed for him, helping him, and he smiled against her skin. Again.

  He dropped the shorts onto the floor and leaned back on his heels to look at her. His eyes soaking up every delicious curve. He didn't think he would ever tire of looking at her. Placing his large hand on her thigh, he held it there, just watching her. Watching her shiver in anticipation. Her chest rose and fell in shallow gasps, but she was silent, watching him, waiting.

  He spread her thighs wide, exposed her, and then he cupped those soft brown curls proprietarily. He looked up at Isabella, but she wasn't watching him now. Her head was thrown back in complete abandon, her eyes closed, her beautiful auburn hair fanned out on the bed. As the moment stretched on and he did nothing but watch her, she arched her hips impatiently against his hand.