The Impatient Groom

by Sara Wood

He shuddered as his drowsy eyes contemplated the alluring swell of her breasts above the scooped neckline. And, unable to do otherwise, he stealthily eased down her zip and bent his head to close his mouth over one turgid nipple.

  She was moaning and kissing him, clutching at his shoulders in agonised pleasure. The heat in his loins became unbearable. Lifting his head to kiss her, he allowed his hand to explore her perfect breast, so soft, swollen with desire, its peak dark and throbbing beneath his fingertips.

  He felt her hands tearing at his shirt buttons, sliding impatiently beneath the fabric. A groan whispered from his lips as she touched him, inexpertly—but with the instincts of a siren.

  Her tongue slid around his, destroying his self-control entirely. He wanted her softness beneath him, to run his hands over her naked body, to kiss every inch and bring it to life till she was equally aroused and in need of him.

  ‘Sophia,’ he muttered roughly in her tiny ear, and he couldn’t resist gently nibbling it, revelling in her answering spasm as her loins contracted. ‘How I love you!’

  He froze. Had he said that?

  ‘Rozzano!’ she breathed, her voice trembling with a heartbreaking sweetness.

  He felt her frantic fingers fumbling for his belt. His eyes closed in a fierce attempt to gain control of himself. But already he was caressing her softly rounded hips, his hands intent on one thing only. With a groan of utter helplessness, he swung her around till her back was against the soft Fortuny fabric that clothed the wall.

  His mouth tasted her breasts. Eased down her dress inch by delicious inch, the fever in his body at explosion point Slowly he kissed and nibbled along her hipbone and across her faintly rounded stomach. She gasped and cried, her hands grasping at his hair in desperation, her legs trembling as he touched and caressed his way to the soft moistness which lay waiting for him.

  ‘Oh, please, please!’ she begged, when he hesitated.

  She was beautiful. His eyes devoured her hungrily. Her eyes were almost black and gleaming with desire. Her lips were parted, red and swollen, sweetly soft against her gleaming white teeth. As she panted with need, the high, firm globes of her breasts lifted and jutted out for his touch. A faint film of sweat slicked her body, giving its curves a silvery shimmer of such beauty that he felt choked.

  A strange emotion filled his head. Something beyond the physical. A kind of...joyous soaring. He dragged in a ragged breath, shaken by its intensity.

  ‘My lovely Sophia!’ he whispered thickly.

  And his tongue curled around her sweetness and he felt as if he were entering paradise.

  She lay later, trembling in his arms, her mind a blank—a delicious languor which kept all thoughts at bay and allowed her to bask in the wonderful sensations curling through her entire nervous system.

  He loved her.

  She felt like a goddess. Even now, sated and content, he was running his hands gently over her body and marvelling over it in a sleepy murmur which pulled at her heartstrings.

  They sprawled on a huge damask couch and she could hear the sounds of life going on outside: a waterman’s cry, a child laughing, the roar of a reversing boat engine and the ever-present lapping of the silky green water against the palace walls. Sun streamed in on them, warming her body deliciously.

  She touched him in wonder. He was such a beautiful pale gold, his chest well toned and powerful. Lightly she ran her fingers down to his hard stomach. And coloured up at what that did to him.

  ‘You blush now, after making love to me?’ he teased gently.

  She couldn’t look at him. She would never have believed that she could have kissed away his hunger with such wanton abandon. A little shudder rippled through her. His reaction had been incredible. She’d made him groan and beg, cry aloud in hoarse longing. And his exquisite paroxysms as he’d reached his climax had been echoed inside her as her own body—inflamed by her love for him—had responded to his pleasure.

  She had wanted more. They had both ached for the final union. But Rozzano had restrained his own passion and with words and gentling kisses he had calmed her, reminding her that she longed to be a virgin on her wedding night.

  ‘I love you!’ she whispered.

  His mouth covered hers and he touched her again. She felt her head empty, her body become fluid as his fingers teased and tormented. This time her climax was prolonged—one deep, mind-blowing pinnacle of emotion after another.

  And then she quivered in the circle of his arms again, refusing to think about anything but the feel of his heart thudding against hers, the softness of his hair beneath her fingers and the deep peace of her body.

  Over the course of the next week, she fell more deeply in love. Each morning, he worked with her in the magnificent library, their voices muffled by the richly bound books lining the walls and the priceless carpet beneath their feet. They sat at their antique desks opposite one another—just as Queen Victoria had faced her beloved Albert.

  With great patience, Rozzano guided her through the complexities of the D‘Antiga portfolio and explained how he had managed—and increased—the family wealth. Gradually she began to realise how hard he must have worked to achieve this. And to her delight she discovered that he had donated a good deal of money to charities, particularly for the elderly and the very young.

  Now, cool and elegant in a cream embroidered camisole and matching jacket, with coffee silk trousers, she hurried to the library after lunching alone with her grandfather. The previous night, Rozzano had flown to Milan for a meeting with his brother and she had been astounded by how much she’d missed him.

  She waited impatiently, pacing up and down, checking her watch. He’d phoned her to say he was on the launch, that he’d be there very soon, and to wait in the library because he couldn’t pretend to greet her politely and he wanted to kiss her breathless.

  Her heartbeat clamoured in her breast as she heard footsteps outside. She whirled to face the door. And there he was.

  Hungrily her loving eyes took in every detail: the tenderness in his face as his glance caressed every inch of her body, the immaculate Milanese suit, its severe charcoal colour relieved by a fine white stripe. The very perfection of him.

  For several heart-stopping moments they gazed at one another and then he strode forward, enveloping her in his embrace.

  ‘I’ve missed you!’ he whispered in her ear. And he proceeded to prove that.

  ‘Rozzano!’ she protested feebly, when it seemed he was intent on stripping her. ‘Later! We have so much to do! Wedding plans, our afternoon explorations of Venice—oh, I’ve loved seeing the city.’

  ‘I just...needed to touch you,’ he said shakily.

  She smiled and wondered if he needed reassurance too. ‘I want to touch you all the time,’ she admitted.

  Then... How’s your grandfather?’ he asked eagerly.

  ‘Very well,’ she said, surprised by his manner. ‘I think he’s improving every day—’

  ‘Let’s tell him, Sophia!’ he urged, his eyes dark and shining. ‘Just him, no one else. He’ll be so pleased. He adores you—’

  ‘And he adores you.’ When he began to kiss her again, she pushed him away, laughing. ‘I give in!’

  ‘He’ll be having his siesta now, so...when he wakes—before we go out,’ he persisted.

  His enthusiasm was disarming. ‘All right, Rozzano!’ she said, pretending to sigh heavily. He chuckled and wandered over to his desk. ‘To be honest,’ she said, coming to perch on it, ‘I did wonder if he’d put two and two together about us. He kept asking leading questions. So I diverted him and made him tell me about my mother.’

  Rozzano leant back in his chair. ‘I hope you both cleared the air.’

  ‘I don’t bear grudges.’ She fiddled with her new diamond watch. ‘He doesn’t know why she didn’t return and claim her inheritance, only that she’d sworn never to put her trust in the material world ever again.’

  ‘Quite a sacrifice,’ he commented, his eyes watchful.

&n
bsp; ‘I think she was happier with Father than she was here. I feel sad for the life she led. It seems she never knew who her true friends were, and which of them were after her money—’

  ‘It’s a problem,’ he said gently, his steady gaze never wavering from her face.

  ‘I can understand that. She complained that she was expected to pay for everything. People envied and resented her. And she had two disastrous love affairs. Her lovers only wanted the lifestyle she could give them. That’s when Grandfather urged her to marry your father. He thought he could save her heartache by giving her security. She felt undervalued as a person, Rozzano. That’s why she gave up everything for Father, who hadn’t a clue who she was until she told him on the plane to England. It must be terrible to be wanted for your money.’

  ‘Come here, sweetheart,’ he murmured, seeing her distress. Drawing her onto his knee, he cuddled her closely. ‘I’ve had my share of gold-diggers and hangers-on. Wealth can be a barrier. It attracts greed. Sometimes those who have it become selfish and shallow because they don’t need to fight and struggle in life. They get lazy and search for more and more outrageous ways to enliven their empty lives. That’s why I want to protect you,’ he said, kissing her temple. ‘Keep you safe. You’re too precious to me for anyone to spoil’

  She coiled her arms around his neck and kissed him. ‘Thank you,’ she said simply, ashamed that she’d ever doubted him. ‘I’m glad I met you and not some povertystricken charmer, or a playboy hell-bent on using me as a wallet!’

  ‘Sure.’ A little abruptly, he pushed her off his lap. ‘Shall we get down to work?’

  ‘Tell me first, how was your brother?’

  ‘Oh, in fine spirits as usual.’ After a brief hesitation, he said, ‘We came back on the same plane. He’s arranged a surprise welcome party for you.’

  She beamed. ‘Great! When?’

  ‘Tonight.’ He frowned. ‘Short notice. I’m not sure we can—’

  ‘We must!’ she insisted. ‘He must have gone to a great deal of trouble. Besides, we’re not doing anything else. Not,’ she said with a wicked look, ‘until much later tonight.’

  ‘I would have preferred to have gone to bed early,’ Rozzano said.

  Sophia smiled in pleasure because he’d sounded curt, as if he was trying to control his hunger. ‘I know. But think of the anticipation!’ she murmured, her senses alive with excitement even now.

  ‘Yes.’ His eyes gleamed. ‘Don’t be surprised if I eat you alive tonight!’

  She shuddered deliciously. ‘Ditto!’ she breathed throatily.

  ‘Hell.’ He set his jaw. ‘I must get my mind off you! OK. Wedding plans, contessa!’ he said, suddenly all efficient, the tremor in his jaw touchingly betraying his feelings. ‘Then, after breaking our news to Alberto, I’m taking you out to show you the difference between a Titian and a Tintoretto.’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘Heavens! You’re educating me now!’

  ‘To your desk, woman,’ he growled, opening letters at a tremendous rate. ‘Before I teach you a little basic biology.’

  Sophia checked her moan of desire and hastily beat a retreat, settling down to examine the acceptances from guests who’d been invited to the ‘celebratory ball’.

  ‘I’ve had confirmation of the flight booking from Gatwick to Venice,’ Rozzano told her, punching holes in a letter and adding it to their wedding file, ‘and we’ve now found enough launches to take everyone to my family church.’

  Sophia nodded, amused that she could be so blasé now about sending a plane to collect her friends! They had decided on a ceremony in the little private church adjoining the Barsini palazzo because it would be easier to keep out gatecrashers. And the press.

  ‘I’m glad we decided to come back here for the reception,’ she mused. ‘I’m a bit staggered by the amount and variety of food, though—’

  ‘Leave it to the caterers, darling,’ he advised. ‘They have experience of this. We have eighteen hundred mouths to fill, remember.’

  ‘I can’t believe it! It seems that half of Dorset and the whole of Venice will be stuffed in here!’ she said in awe. ‘I get nerves just thinking—’

  ‘Don’t.’ His eyes held hers steadily. ‘This is our wedding. Our commitment to one another. No one else—other than your grandfather—is important.’

  ‘That’s what you think. We need your family priest too! And your brother and family.’

  Rozzano frowned at the letter he had just opened. ‘Mmm,’ he said absently. ‘By the way, we’re getting short of time. We must fly to Paris to buy your lingerie. I could get us on a flight tonight—’

  She laughed at his eagerness. ‘Your brother’s arranged a party for us, remember?’

  ‘Yes, but his parties are ten-a-penny. We could miss it—’

  ‘Absolutely not!’ she protested. ‘I’m longing to meet Enrico and his family. I want to get to know them really well.’

  ‘Paris at midnight would be more romantic—’

  ‘Venice at midnight is romantic enough if I’m with you,’ she said tenderly.

  Rozzano’s face eased into a slow, loving smile. ‘Stay by my side the whole evening, then,’ he said huskily.

  ‘No. People will talk. We’re supposed to be acquaintances, remember?’ she teased. But she was delighted that he needed her so much.

  ‘We leave the party early and go to Paris the day after, then. Yes?’

  ‘Try to stop me!’ she cried. ‘I’d love to. I need to think about my wedding dress—’

  ‘Milan,’ he said promptly. ‘We’ll stop off there on the way back. I’ll make the arrangements.’

  As she changed for Enrico’s party that night, she felt as if her life had accelerated into the fast lane. Her grandfather had been thrilled with their news and as she’d gazed at his tear-filled eyes she’d known that this was the best medicine they could have devised for him.

  Her love for Rozzano had been intense when he’d knelt before her grandfather to embrace him, tenderness and emotion plain to see on Rozzano’s face.

  He was planning a wedding for them which she would never forget Her head whirled with it all: photographs of wonderful flower displays, table decorations, discussions about the gold dinner service and the heavy whitegold cutlery, the crystal which would need cleaning, the presents for the guests, the fabulous clothes she was to have for her trousseau...

  She stopped, her expression dreamy as she listened to a sweet Venetian love song. Rozzano had asked her to listen to some music by composers who’d been born in or had lived in Venice: Vivaldi, Liszt, Rossini and Bellini. It had touched her that he’d had the tracks specially compiled for her so that she could decide on her favourites for the ceremony.

  Her hands paused as they were fastening her La Perla basque. She felt so strong now, so sure of Rozzano’s love. His adoration had given her a pride in herself, and she knew she could cope with the pressures of managing the estate-with his help.

  Slowly she snapped the fasteners and drew on the deep lace-topped stockings that he loved. For the party she had chosen a cerise silk taffeta top with a low boat neckline and a lime silk skirt, short and straight and showing more thigh than she would normally have dared. But the woman in the exclusive designer outlet had told her sternly that everyone, but everyone, was wearing their skirt that short-and that she had the legs to carry off the style.

  Rozzano hadn’t seen it yet. She hugged herself, anticipating the look on his face when he did. Excitedly she tucked her feet into a pair of spindly cerise shoes and scooped up the matching full-length taffeta coat. It rustled wonderfully and would billow about her in a hugely dramatic statement of confidence.

  The last touch. Enormous dangling earrings. Wow!

  Perfect, subtle make-up, courtesy of a beautician who’d attended to her half an hour ago, gorgeous shiny waves tumbling in artful confusion about her shoulders, thanks to a stylist who, like the beautician, had been more than eager to attend the new contessa.

  Carefully sh
e walked to her grandfather’s suite and said goodnight to him, touched by his extravagant compliments.

  ‘Enjoy yourself, sweetheart. Tell me all about it in the morning, yes?’

  ‘Promise.’ She kissed him tenderly. ‘I love you, Grandpa,’ she said softly. ‘I love you very much.’

  ‘Sweet girl,’ the old man said huskily, ‘you are my greatest joy.’

  Her eyes sparkling with happiness, she hurried along the galleried corridor to the salon. Taking a deep breath, she checked herself carefully, composed her face as well as she could, and pushed open the doors.

  Rozzano’s gasp was very, very satisfying. ‘Sophia!’ he cried in stupefaction. ‘You look...sensational!’

  ‘You look gorgeous too!’ she murmured, rendered breathless by his appearance. ‘I think you should wear a tux day and night. You’re so handsome,’ she said with a sentimental sigh. ‘Oh-I forgot. I have a coat, too. Look! Is that Drama Queen or what?’ she cried in glee, flinging it around her shoulders and stalking about. ‘I’m ready for my close-up now, Mr de Mille!’ she husked extravagantly, mimicking the fading movie star in Sunset Boulevard.

  He laughed, though his grin faded quickly. ‘It’s...’ He opened his hands in an expression of helplessness. ‘You’ll knock ’em dead! But—‘

  ‘But what?’ She stopped whirling about and stared at him.

  ‘Sophia,’ he began hesitantly, ‘I thought you might wear something simple, like...like that little flowery dress you had in London or—’

  ‘Rozzano!’ she scolded. ‘You really are hopeless! Call yourself an Italian? OK. Venetian?’ she corrected hurriedly. ‘I love those dresses, but they’re not for a grand party in the Barsini palazzo! What would your brother think?’

  ‘That’s what I’m worried about,’ he said lightly. ‘All the men there will flock around you and the women will hate you.’

  ‘You’re flattering me!’ she scoffed. ‘I’m not half as lovely as some of the women I’ve seen around Venice. But thanks for pretending. Come on! I’m dying to be introduced to Enrico and to dance the night away!’