Bought with the Italian's Ring

by Tara Pammi

  Her face burrowed into his chest, her fingers drawing mesmerizing lines on the back of his neck. “I... I want to return the favor.”

  He swallowed the jolt of lust that shot through him. “What favor?”

  “I want to do to you what you did to me just now,” she had finally whispered at his ear. “I want to make you lose control too.”

  How he hadn’t combusted right there, Raphael had no idea. Wedged against the taut curve of her buttock, his erection had twitched in his trousers at her innocent suggestion.

  “Are you agreeing to marry me then?” he’d taunted instead.

  He had no idea what she’d been about to say because his infernal cell phone had rung, disrupting the pregnant moment.

  Somehow, what had begun as a convenient arrangement had morphed. It wasn’t just the prize of finally owning Vito Automobiles that lured him anymore. It wasn’t the convenience of returning all the favors Gio had bestowed on him by marrying Pia. It wasn’t taking on the responsibility to protect her and Gio’s wealth.

  It was Pia herself.

  He knew as surely as the beat of his heart, while he waited at the center in front of Teatro Alla Scala for her to arrive for her special opera night, that he wanted Pia in his life.

  He wanted the woman who looked at him as if he were the world to her. And in return, he would give Pia everything she could ever want, everything that he was capable of giving.

  * * *

  Pia stepped out of the limo on a side street, an unnecessary indulgence Raphael insisted on, and walked the last few steps to the front of the historical opera house Teatro Alla Scala and gaped with her mouth open. She could have just as well caught the light rail, but of course he wouldn’t listen.

  Glad that she had worn her soft silk emerald-green dress that made Milan’s humidity bearable, she looked around herself. Typical of the busy city’s evening, Piazza della Scala was busy and noisy, mostly with tourists. Locals, she’d learned, had already escaped to the beach, especially as it was the weekend.

  She had barely breathed in the architectural marvel all around her when the hairs on her nape stood up with that familiar prickle. Turning around, she spotted Raphael instantly among the elegantly dressed men and women in front of the famous opera house.

  Tall and wide and impossibly gorgeous, he stood out. His shoulders looked broader than ever in the handmade suit, his looks even more breathtaking in the magnificent lights of the square.

  Clad in a black suit with a white shirt underneath, hands loosely tucked into his trouser pockets, he was leaning against a pillar and watching her with a curious smile playing around his lips. As if knowing that she wanted to linger, he crooked a finger at her.

  That playful arrogance, that wicked promise in his eyes sent a shiver down her spine. He looked good enough to be devoured. And he looked at her as if he was ready to devour her.

  It had been a whole long, utterly miserable ten days since she had last seen him, ten days since he had sent her into spasms of unbearable pleasure with his mouth at her most private place. Just thinking of that scandalous moment, the pleasure that had filled her sent blood rushing to her ears.

  And he knew. Even across the ten feet or so that separated them, she could see the gleam of that hunger in his eyes, sense the attraction arc between them.

  Heart beating a thousand beats a minute, aware of more than one woman stumbling to a stop at the breathtaking sight of him, Pia reached him.

  He is mine, a part of her cooed in joy.

  Holding her at arm’s length, he swept that possessive gaze over her arms and shoulders left bare by the thin straps of the dress. A much-needed breeze wafted by, revealing the thigh-length slit in her dress. She saw him swallow as a partial view of her toned leg flashed and she was fiercely glad for swimming all those hours and keeping herself fit.

  And then his arm was around her, his mouth at her ear. “I do not like any other man getting such a good view of your legs, cara mia. They are only for my pleasure, to be wrapped around my hips while I move inside you.” His hand rested possessively on her waist as if to warn off any approaching man. “I think I like you all covered up in your jeans and my shirts.”

  Luckily, Pia wasn’t required to respond as the ushers were showing them to their seats on a balcony, which she was delighted to find was an individual room with a private coat closet across the hallway from the box.

  While Raphael exchanged words with the usher, Pia took in the historical circle-style theater that she’d heard so much about. The energy of the place was incredible. Gorgeously decorated in gold and stunning red velvet, the teatro was everything she’d hoped it would be. Pushing up her glasses, she began to people watch, because the women and men were dressed in elegant designer outfits that would probably rival the costumes themselves.

  When Raphael tapped on her shoulder and showed her to a seat, Pia smiled sheepishly. “I’m sure my enthusiasm must look very provincial to you. But Nonni described this very theater to me so many times and all the wonderful productions she had seen here before she left Italy that I can’t believe I’m finally here.

  It feels as if I have waited forever to see this. I think she wanted me to come here too.” Tears filled her eyes, a sudden ache filling her to her very soul.

  She knew Lucia had come here with Giovanni once. The special friend her Nonni had always mentioned with melancholy in her eyes could be no one else. And yet, soon after, they had had a big row, and Lucia had fled Italy while Gio, in a fit of anger, had engaged himself to a heiress.

  Suddenly, that Raphael had brought her to the same theater, to the same opera, struck a chord of fear through her. She shivered, and instantly Raphael pulled her into his embrace.

  Pia hid her face in his chest, embarrassed by her irrational fear. This was ridiculous. She and Raphael were different from Gio and Lucia.

  For one thing, they were older and wiser. They understood each other much better. And yes, at every chance possible, Raphael stubbornly claimed that he didn’t believe in love while she still did. But hadn’t he shown her that he cared for her in a million ways over the last month and a half?

  Weren’t actions worth more than words?

  Despite his cynicism because of his marriage to Allegra, despite his hardened exterior from having to raise his family from sudden calamity to prosperity, wasn’t his desire to marry her based on loyalty and respect? Didn’t it prove that somewhere in his heart Raphael did care for her?

  The man who had so ruthlessly accused her of being an impostor and a cheat the night of the ball, the man who had threatened to cut his ex-wife out of their child’s life, Pia would have never expected him to consider marriage at all.

  But it was he who had accepted the consequences of their night first. He who hadn’t hesitated even for a moment over the step they would have to take for the future.

  What she felt for Raphael—she was so scared of calling it love—was so much more complex than what she felt for Frank. Frank had only pandered to what she had so desperately needed at that time in her life whereas Raphael could be infuriating and arrogant but he would never lie to her.

  He would never deceive Pia, would never make her feel as if he needed an added incentive to be with her, to somehow make up for her plainness and her shyness. For the glitter she lacked.

  So what if he would never admit in so many words that he loved her? Wasn’t what they had better, more real than some notion of love she had cooked up in her head?

  His abrasive palms covered her bare arms and moved up and down. “Your skin is ice-cold, Pia. What is it?”

  “Nothing. Thank you so much for this, Raphael.”

  “Never apologize for your enthusiasm for everything in life, cara mia. Haven’t I convinced you yet that your pleasure, in all things, leads to mine?”

  Pia blushed and cast a confused gaze at the empty seats in some of the private rooms for the opera was about to begin soon. “Antonio told me this particular production of Rigoletto had be
en sold out months ago.” She sat down next to Raphael and adjusted her dress. “Do you think they’re late?”

  “I asked a friend of mine to buy as many tickets as he could on this level.”

  “But why?”

  “Because I wanted you all to myself. And I wanted this night to be special for you.” Pia gasped as only now she noticed a bucket of champagne on the table and a small velvet box in his palm.

  Her heart thudded. Her mouth went dry as he opened the box and pulled out a magnificent princess-cut diamond with tiny emeralds around it, set in a simple white-gold setting.

  “Pia Alessandra Vito, will you be my wife?”

  “Oh.” It was all the sound Pia could make, all the response her brain could come up with. Because just as she knew this theater, she knew of this ring too.

  It was the ring with which Giovanni had proposed to Lucia. The ring that Lucia had sent back to Gio after their fight. Another tremor slid down her spine as she stared at it.

  Something about this ring made fear bubble up in her.

  “Pia?”

  She jerked her head up, met his gaze and the desire she saw there fragmented her silly fears. “I’m sorry. I... Gio gave this to you?”

  “Si.”

  “When?”

  A shadow fell over that dark gaze. “Is that important?”

  The impatience brewing in his carefully controlled tone told Pia how insensitive she was being. Heart thundering, she extended her left hand to his and smiled. “Yes, I will be your wife, Raphael.”

  With a victorious smile, he slid the ring onto her finger. Pulling her down to his lap and sinking her hands into his thick hair, Pia poured herself into his kiss. His mouth was warm and fluid over hers. They kissed softly, slowly, nibbling at each other, playing with their tongues, until passion was simmering in their very blood. With an arch of her back, restless with need, Pia wiggled in his lap. The length of his hard erection caressed her buttocks, sending a groan from her lips.

  With a chuckle, Raphael pushed her off him and settled her in the next seat. Still in a haze, Pia gazed widely and he brushed a kiss over her temple. “If you wiggle anymore in my lap like that, cara mia, I will shame myself and then we’ll have to leave before you see this grand production of Rigoletto. And then you’ll not forgive me for spoiling your evening.”

  A hush fell over the theater and the red curtains were pulling aside when Pia murmured, “I think I would forgive you anything, Raphael. As long as you keep kissing me like that.”

  * * *

  Raphael gently tapped on Pia’s shoulder while the audience clapped thunderously at the end of an outstanding performance of Rigoletto. This particular story wasn’t a great favorite of his but even he’d been moved by the top-notch performances and the intricately detailed sets.

  Or maybe it was the woman he had shared the experience with. The woman who now belonged to him, body and soul. For a man who had vowed never to marry again, it was a bit of a shock to realize he very much wanted Pia’s soul to belong to him too.

  A savage sense of satisfaction pounded through his veins, made even hotter by the magnificent drama they had just seen. Not even the pride he had felt when he had made his first million, or when he had bought back the house his father had lost to creditors, could parallel his sense of possessiveness as he stared at the diamond glittering on Pia’s finger.

  She hadn’t come to Teatro Alla Scala on his arm because it was the “in” thing to be enjoying high culture or to be seen in designer outfits, but to immerse herself in the drama played out on stage. She had tears in her eyes because she could see the majesty of the theater through her Nonni’s eyes and relive it for her.

  Pia had watched transfixed, every emotion portrayed on the stage reflected on her own face.

  And watching her, understanding the depth with which she felt things, Raphael couldn’t help but be moved. Couldn’t help but feel a strange turmoil that he couldn’t calm.

  They emerged from the theater into the pulsing energy of the pedestrian square. Something feral throbbed in his veins and since he didn’t want to scare Pia, he offered, “We’re mere steps from the Duomo. Would you like to get a gelato to cool off? Or a coffee, which by the way I should remind you is an espresso in Italy and not the watered-down junk you call coffee?”

  She turned to him and the candid emotion he saw in her eyes rooted him to the spot. “Not tonight, thank you. Nothing could top that performance.”

  As if it were an uncomfortable, unwanted weight, she twisted the ring on her finger. She had fiddled with it self-consciously during the performance too.

  “Pia, if you do not like the ring, we will get you something else. I could not refuse Gio in that moment but I will absolutely understand if it does not please you. I want you to have whatever you want, cara mia.”

  “No, of course I love the ring, Raphael. Nothing could make this night more glorious than it already has been.”

  “Then let’s finish it with some of the calamari you like so much. With Gio visiting his sister today, I’m sure you’ve forgotten to eat.” He let his gaze settle on the upper curves of her breasts.

  It was the first time Pia had worn something so silky and revealing. And it was driving him crazy.

  “Because I can’t afford to lose any of the few curves I have?”

  The vulnerability in her eyes snagged at him. “Because you’re now mine to protect. I wish I could show you how perfect you are to me.”

  “I think I’m beginning to believe it.”

  “Bene.” He inclined his head, waiting for whatever was in her head to come to her lips with bated breath, for he knew only one thing made Pia so self-conscious.

  Even white teeth digging into her lower lip, she adjusted her clutch, and then looked up again. That hint of hesitation in those eyes pierced him. And made him wild with desire, for he knew what it meant. “I just want to go home.”

  But he still waited. He wanted to hear those words from her mouth. He wanted her surrender. He wanted her to choose this, him. Again and again. He had a feeling that even a lifetime wouldn’t be enough. “I will take you home then.”

  “No.”

  Covering the distance between them, she laced her fingers with his, pressed her body to his in a side hug that sent a shudder through him. If they lived a hundred years together, he would never get used to how freely she expressed her affection. How easily and naturally it came to her to show what she was feeling. That diamond sparkling brilliantly on her finger reminded him that the generosity of her spirit was his too now. His to guard from anything that could hurt her. Including himself.

  A weight unlike any responsibility he had shouldered so far in his life.

  She made a moue of her mouth, and then completely negated the saucy effect by pushing her glasses up on her nose.

  He chuckled.

  “I don’t want to go back to the estate and I don’t want a gelato.”

  “No? What are you interested in then, bella?”

  A soft kiss on his cheek. Her breath fluttering over the rim of his ear. And then those warm brown eyes pinned him.

  “You.” There was no coyness in her gaze. No sultry invitation. No feminine arch of her body or fluttering of her eyelashes. Just pure, artless need. “Tonight, I want you, Raphael. Just you.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  BY THE TIME she and Raphael rode the glass elevator to his ninth-floor apartment, Pia’s nerves had stretched to breaking point. Desire was a live wire left unearthed between them as they sat at the ends of the seat in the taxi, speeding through the seven or so miles to his apartment in the affluent fashion district, a world away from the busy nightlife through Corso Venezia.

  Raphael’s cell phone gave that shrill ring the moment they stepped inside and Pia almost jumped out of her skin.

  His hand at her lower back, Raphael steadied her. His own pithy curse when he looked at the screen painted the air blue. “I have to take this call.”

  While Pia stood ther
e in the middle of the huge lounge, her pulse ringing like a bell all through her body, Raphael returned, after only a few minutes. His mouth took on that hard cast that she didn’t like. Another darker tone added to the awareness sizzling between them.

  She thought they’d grown comfortable with each other over the past few weeks, that they had crossed a milestone in their relationship, had gotten closer emotionally too.

  Yet it seemed that all it took was one of them to give voice to this need between them, to express desire for sexual intimacy—she blushed when she realized that was what she had done—and every word became explosive, every look rife with promise.

  “Who was that?”

  He shrugged off his suit jacket, carefully folded it and left it on the chair. “Nothing important.”

  Struggling to keep her dismay off her face, she said softly, “That’s what you say when you don’t want to tell me.”

  His fingers stilled on his shirt buttons. “I don’t want to tell you because it’s not important.”

  “And yet, it made you curse like that? I’ve seen very little that causes you to lose your arrogant confidence. I know you’re used to keeping matters close to your chest, that you probably never had a chance to confide in any—”

  “It does not concern you, Pia. Bene?”

  A sudden prickling heat behind her eyes, Pia simply nodded.

  Raphael exhaled harshly, the tight line of his shoulders relenting. His hair, already messed up by Milan’s humidity, became a little wilder when he pushed his hand through it. “I did not mean to be short with you.” A sigh that made that broad chest rise and fall. “Mi dispiace, Pia.”

  Whatever hurt she had felt, his genuine apology instantly placated it. The matter was nowhere near resolved, she knew. It was her right as his future wife, it was her deepest wish that he share everything with her. But Pia had enough patience to wait. In every way, Raphael had proved that he was worth waiting for. “It’s okay, Raphael.”

  “You mean it, don’t you?”

  “Si.”

  His dark eyes, liquid with desire, swept over her. “I knew there was more than one reason I wanted to marry you.”