He slid one hand down her back. Felt the silken texture of her skin. Cupped her bottom, lifted her into him, and she sighed his name against his lips.
“Nicolo.”
Just that, nothing more, and yet he felt as if his heart might leap from his chest.
“Yes, sweetheart,” he murmured, and he turned her in his arms, swept her long fall of golden hair aside and fumbled for the loops and buttons at the gown’s halter neck, knowing those tiny bits of gold and cotton were all that kept her from him.
His fingers felt big. Clumsy. Undoing the buttons seemed to take forever….
And then, at last, they were undone.
The bodice of the gown slipped down.
She caught it and held it against her. Nick didn’t try to stop her. Instead, he bent his head and put his lips to the tender skin he had uncovered just at the nape of her neck. A soft kiss. Another. The faint nip of his teeth and she moaned. Her head fell forward; her hair tumbled over her shoulders. Nick trailed the tip of his tongue along her sweet, heated flesh, then kissed his way down her spine.
Alessia’s moans became soft whimpers of pleasure and when he could take no more, he cupped her shoulders and turned her toward him.
Her head lifted. Her eyes met his and he felt his heart turn over. Everything a man could possibly dream was in her eyes, desire and need and something more, something that made him murmur her name, lift her to him and take her mouth with growing hunger.
She kissed him back, her teeth closing lightly on his bottom lip.
Adrenaline flooded his blood.
He took control of the kiss. Deepened it, until she was clinging to him. His lips moved to her jaw, her throat, her shoulder. She gasped, shuddered, her hands drove into his hair and the bodice of the gown, now forgotten, fell away.
“Alessia.” His voice was hoarse. “Mia bella Alessia…”
His hands shook as he hooked his thumbs into the gown’s deep V at the base of her spine and slowly eased it down. The silk whispered over her hips. Her buttocks. Her thighs. Nick groaned and let it slip from his hands to become a soft circlet of gold around those sexy stilettos.
“Nicolo,” she whispered.
“Yes, baby.”
“Nicolo. Please.”
The word was a sob. A plea. Nick felt his heart thud. He knew what she was asking, knew, too, that he was as close to finishing this before it really began as he had ever been in his life. He could feel everything within him tightening, coalescing, centering low in his belly as he looked at her glittering eyes, her kiss-stung lips, the black lace thong between her thighs.
A shudder went through his big body.
He wanted to tear the thong from her, bare her to his hands, his eyes, take her again and again and again….
Instead, he took a harsh breath, wove his fingers through hers. Helped her step free of the gown. Let go of her hands, reached for the thin silk band of the lace thong, drew it down and down and down…
And looked at her. Just looked at her.
The sight almost stopped his heart.
His princess had the face of a Botticelli angel. The body of a Venus. Small, rounded, up-tilted breasts crowned with nipples the color of the palest of pink roses. A narrow waist rising from curved hips. Endless legs, topped by a cluster of honey-colored curls. She was exquisite, a man’s most perfect dream….
A man’s most perfect desire.
Her breathing was quick and shallow. Her eyes were feverish, the pupils deep and dark. She started to raise her arms to cover herself, but Nick caught her wrists and brought her hands gently to her sides.
“You are beautiful,” he said. “More beautiful than I could ever have imagined.”
Her lips curved and he leaned toward her, brought his mouth to hers, kissed her and kissed her until she murmured his name, again and again.
“Yes,” he whispered, “yes, sweetheart, yes…”
Nick watched her face as he raised his hands and cupped her breasts. Her breath hissed at his touch. God, oh, God, the softness of her breasts against his palms. The delicate weight. His thumbs rolled over her nipples.
She cried out; she trembled, her hands dug into his shoulders.
“Do you like that?” he said hoarsely, his eyes locked on her face. “Tell me what you like, sweetheart,” he whispered, and he dipped his head, licked one lovely furled tip, then sucked it into his mouth.
Alessia’s knees buckled and Nick swept her into his arms and took her to the bed. A bed that might have been designed with his princess in mind.
The silky coverings were as soft as her skin, the blues as vivid as her eyes. She lay back and her hair fell over the pillows like spun gold.
His heartbeat skittered.
She was more than beautiful. She was exquisite.
Her arms rose, reached for him. He obliged, came down on the bed beside her, kissed her, then ran his hand lightly over her from throat to breast to belly. She caught his hand. Lifted it to her lips and kissed his fingers. Touched the tip of her pink tongue to his palm.
A groan tore from his throat.
He wanted to look at her forever. He wanted to caress her, to spend an eternity exploring her…
He wanted to tear off his clothes and bury himself inside her.
“Please, Nicolo,” she said brokenly. “Per favore, Nicolo mio…”
Ah, dear God, he was going to explode.
He could feel it happening. The heat, gathering low in his belly. His scrotum tightening, his aroused sex now so hard, so swollen it was almost painful.
He wanted to end her torment and his but somehow he held back. He had to make this last. Last forever. Even now, his brain barely functioning, he understood that such a thing was impossible and yet, he wanted to find a way to make it be true….
And, suddenly, his mind achieved a terrible clarity. For all his careful planning, he had forgotten one thing.
Condoms.
He had no condoms! How could he been so stupid? The thought of stopping now…
“Nicolo?”
“Yes.” Nick framed her face in his hands. “Sweetheart. Alessia. I forgot…” Silently, he cursed himself for being such a fool. This wouldn’t be the most romantic of questions but it had to be asked. He could only pray she had the right answer. “Are you on—”
“The pill.” She blushed. That she could blush as she lay naked in his arms only heightened his arousal. “Sì. There is no need to worry. I am—”
His kiss was deep and drugging. Her response was wild and he gave up any final attempt at rational thought, came down to her and gathered her in his arms. She clasped the back of his head, dragged his mouth to hers and kissed him, drew the tip of his tongue into her mouth. He rolled her beneath him, brought his lips to her breast, drew a budded nipple between his teeth, and her cry shattered the night.
She said something in Italian. The words were soft and hot and desperate. They needed no translation.
Nick reared back. Tore off his clothes and Alessia reached for him, wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her body to his.
He shuddered.
There was so much he wanted to show her. To teach her. But she was sobbing his name, arching like a bow against him and he tried, God, he tried, entering her slowly, as slowly as he could, and when she screamed in ecstasy, he was lost.
He drew back, then drove deep again and again and again until she was wild beneath him, until he could feel the contractions of her womb….
Nick threw back his head and followed his princess into the starry night.
He slept.
She did, too, curled in his arms, her head on his shoulder, her hair silky against his lips.
The night grew chilly. He awoke just long enough to pull the duvet over them both.
“Mmm,” she sighed, and he gathered her closer, told himself he wouldn’t wake her, that he would only hold her, like this. Stroke his hand down the length of her spine, like this. Repeat the caress until she made that soft little sound
again and now he would rise over her, just a little, bring his mouth to hers, kiss her softly, lightly, gently…
She sighed again, and he rolled her gently on her back. Absolutely, he would let her sleep. She had to be exhausted after the last couple of days. All he would do was kiss her a little more.
Her closed eyes. Her temples.
Her mouth. Her delectable mouth.
“Nicolo?”
Her lashes fluttered. Her eyes opened. “Nicolo,” she whispered. Her arms went around him. “Nicolo,” she sighed, her mouth warm and sweet against his, clinging to his, and then, somehow, his lips were on her throat. Her shoulder. Her breasts.
Her nipples, delicately beaded, their taste like honey against his tongue.
His kisses drifted lower. And lower. He heard her breath catch.
“Nicolo? What are you…?”
“Nothing,” he said, his lips at her navel. “Nothing at all.”
“Oh. Oh, Nicolo! You can’t—you shouldn’t…” She gave a soft cry as he parted the delicate petals of her labia. Inhaled her essence. Sought out the delicate bud that awaited him.
Her cry rose into the night.
He kissed her there again. And again. Stroked her. Caressed her. And when finally he entered her, this time he did as he had hoped to do the first time, entered her slowly, slowly enough to bring them both to the edge of eternity, to that moment that is part death, part paradise.
And when it was over, Nicolo gathered his princess in his arms, against his heart, and knew that whatever it was he had found in the last forty-eight hours was more than he had ever anticipated….
And more than some men found in a lifetime.
CHAPTER TEN
ALESSIA woke to sunlight, the smell of coffee…
And a heart-stopping view of her lover.
Nicolo had just walked out of the en suite bathroom, drops of water crystallizing on his tanned skin. He was toweling his hair. Which left the rest of him naked. Gloriously, unashamedly naked.
Heat swept through her veins. Such a magnificent sight!
Her lover was beautiful. So beautiful. Until now, she had not had the chance to look at him, really look at him, and appreciate the sight. He’d made love to her again and again through the long, wondrous night. The stroke of his hand on her, of his mouth, the feel of him against her…and under her, she remembered with a soft catch of her breath—all of those incredible things were now hers, forever, imprinted in her mind and on her flesh.
But she had not had the chance to see how perfect he was.
Now, she could look her fill. Without embarrassment, because he had no idea she was awake. And, oh, he was a sight to behold. The muscled shoulders and arms. The dark whorl of hair on his chest. The way it arrowed down his flat, hard belly, tapered to his navel, then flared out again as it surrounded that part of him that was flagrantly, unashamedly male.
Alessia was a child of the city of Florence. She had grown up virtually surrounded by magnificent works of art, including Michelangelo’s David. She’d been stunned by the artistry of the great marble sculpture…and, the same as generations of other adolescent girls, amazed by the depiction of all that intimate masculine beauty. Of course, she had stared. What teenager wouldn’t?
Now, for the first time in years, she thought of the statue again.
David had nothing on her Nicolo.
Nothing at all.
The thought was totally unlike her. It made her giggle….
A mistake.
Nicolo took the towel from his head and looked at her. “Just what every man wants,” he said. “Laughter from his woman, first thing in the morning.” His woman. The words filled her with joy but the expression on his face filled her with laughter and she couldn’t help it, she snorted back another giggle.
He raised his eyebrows, draped the towel around his neck—his neck, she noticed, not his hips—and came slowly toward her. “The sight of me without a stitch on is amusing?”
He looked deadly serious. Had she actually offended him?
“No, of course not. It is only that—that I was imagining the statue.”
“What statue?”
“David. You know the one. And I was thinking that you—that you and David—”
“Go on.”
She couldn’t. Oh, she couldn’t. This was embarrassing. It was humiliating. It was—
She gasped as Nicolo flung himself down beside her, grabbed her wrists, hauled them high over her head…and kissed her. She could feel his lips curving against hers.
“Ah-ha,” he said in a mock-growl, “the lady is a student of art.”
“You are laughing at me,” she said, trying to sound stern.
“Not if you tell me who won.”
Dio, now she knew she was blushing! “Who won what?” she said, trying for innocent indignation and knowing she wasn’t succeeding.
“You know exactly what. David and me. Hey, you’re talking to a guy who has two sisters. Anna and Izzy spent a summer touring Europe when they were, I don’t know, maybe fourteen and fifteen. The trip was supposedly all about art.”
“Art is an important part of a young woman’s education,” Alessia said primly.
“Uh-huh.” Nick grinned at the look on his princess’s face. She was doing her best to sound proper. Not an easy thing when laughter glinted in her eyes. “From what they said, or maybe from the way they said it, it took my brothers and me ten seconds to figure out that the highlight of their visit to Florence was that statue.”
“David is a revered work of art,” Alessia said, trying not to laugh.
“At least tell me Dave and I came out even. Hey, you’ve got to keep in mind, Dave is, what, twenty feet tall?”
“Seventeen,” she said, and another giggle burst from her lips.
“Yeah, well, I’ve seen some pretty interesting sculptures, too.” He nuzzled her throat, loving the delicious mingled scents of woman and sleep and sex. It had taken all his determination not to wake her with kisses this morning but he’d made love to her so many times during the night that he’d felt a twinge of guilt at the thought of depriving her of a little more sleep. “The Venus de Milo. The Winged Victory.”
Alessia pulled one hand free and swatted his shoulder. “The Winged Victory has no arms and no head.”
“Trust a woman to notice something like that.” Nick nipped lightly at her shoulder, heard her soft intake of breath as he shifted against her. “The point is, you win, hands down.”
“What is this hands-down thing?”
He pulled back. Not far, just enough so he could see all of her face.
“It means,” he said, “that you’re a hundred times more beautiful.”
She smiled. Stroked a dark strand of hair back from his forehead.
“Liar,” she whispered.
“A million times more beautiful,” he said softly.
He kissed her. Moved over her. Kissed her again and again, until laughter had been replaced by passion.
“Nicolo,” Alessia whispered, “Nicolo, mio amante.”
She had called him her lover. And that was what he was, he thought fiercely, what he wanted to be, what he would be….
And then he stopped thinking and let the world slip away.
The day was overcast.
It didn’t matter.
They ran a mile together, returned, showered and made love. Then they ate a huge meal—the villa came complete with staff—and talked and laughed and talked some more.
Hands linked, they strolled the grounds. The place was all Nick had hoped for. Quiet. Isolated. Nothing but a soft breeze that swept through the ancient olive trees, a small vineyard and, over a rise, a stable and half a dozen horses grazing in a paddock.
He watched Alessia as she petted the animals, watched their reactions to her touch. One big stallion snorted, tossed his head, then leaned into her hand.
I know how you feel, pal, he thought, and when his princess turned and smiled up at him, he cupped her face and
kissed her.
“Happy?” he asked, after they’d climbed a hill, reached the top and found a view that stretched for miles.
“Very happy. To be here, in such a beautiful place with you… How did you find it?”
“Pay the price and maybe I’ll tell you.”
“It all depends on the price.”
“A kiss,” he said, swinging her toward him.
Alessia fluttered her lashes. “You drive a hard bargain, signore.” She stood on her toes and planted a quick kiss on his cheek.
“You call that a kiss?” Nick grabbed her, dipped her back over his arm and she offered an appropriate shriek. “This,” he said, “is a kiss!”
She laughed. So did he. But the kiss went from melodramatic to passionate to sweetly, achingly tender, and Nick sank down on the grass and drew her down beside him.
She sighed and laid her head against his shoulder, and he tried to figure out how he could ever have thought her cold and imperious.
The truth was that she was warm and giving.
She was amazing.
He had never enjoyed being with a woman as much as he enjoyed being with his princess. “Enjoy” was the wrong way to describe it. A man could enjoy a fast car. A deal he’d successfully concluded. But what he felt about Alessia was more intense. More vital. What he felt was more like—more like—
Nick blinked.
Easy, he told himself. Just slow down. Relax.
Alessia was bright. She was funny. She was beautiful. He liked talking with her, sparring with her, having sex with her, but sex was what it was. Incredible sex, especially considering that she’d had been concerned about meeting his expectations. She’d made it sound as if she was inexperienced.
Maybe. But she was the most responsive lover imaginable.
And she was on the pill. A good thing, considering that he’d managed to think of everything but protection.
But…
But, why was she on birth control? Better still, why did it bother him? Because it did. That she was using something was, as he’d just told himself, a damned good thing. Otherwise, what would they have done last night besides drive each other half-crazy?
Nicolo: The Powerful Sicilian Page 11