by Caro LaFever
His seductive sprite was at the top of her game.
Which was remarkable. Only hours before she'd been a big-eyed waif, shaking with fear, slumped on the wall of the alcove where he'd tried to penetrate her secrets.
Without success.
Irritation welled in him. He sipped his champagne, nodded in response to some comment from the circle of admirers surrounding her as she held court.
She threw her head back and laughed. Her eyes sparkled. She glowed.
Frantic. Desperate. Sick with fear. It had been written all over her. Panic had screamed from her even as she denied it. Tried to pretend it wasn't real. Attempted to make him believe it was nothing.
Endeavored to trick him into believing her with her kisses.
Marc signaled for another glass of champagne as he noted the sprite accepting another compliment on her paintings with aplomb. A reluctant admiration for her courage, her pluck came over him. His piccola carita had more than spirit. She had guts.
You don't like women very much do you?
I like them just fine. In certain areas of my life.
I'll rephrase that. You don't respect them.
He stood in the swirl of the crowd and realized those words he’d exchanged with the nymph mere weeks ago were no longer true.
He respected Darcy Moran.
Respected her decision to care for her father. A man who didn’t deserve what she’d done for him. Respected her artistic talent shining on every wall of the gallery. More than anything, he respected her fighting spirit—her determination to stand tall. To take the world on all on her own.
It was something he could identify with. The driving need to prove yourself. The absolute resolve to make your way in the world without anyone’s help. He’d done it himself, years ago. Been justly proud of what he’d accomplished.
So why did it eat away at him when she would not lean on him? Would not trust him with her secrets and let him take care of her?
She’d allowed him in a bit with her father’s situation. She’d leaned for a time on his shoulder in the hospital. She’d grumbled a bit about him paying the bills, however, he hadn’t heard much about that issue since he’d put his foot down.
This was different, though. Instinctively, he knew it. This secret she held inside her was much more personal. This went deeper and it cut him that she wouldn’t share it with him.
The champagne was cool on his hot throat. But it curdled in his stomach as he realized he was in a bit deeper than he wanted to be with this woman. Faint nausea welled at the thought of being ensnared in another woman’s web.
Juliana.
The memory made his throat clutch.
The sound of Darcy’s laughter tugged him away from his thoughts. The chandelier light gilded blue highlights into her curls. Her skin glowed like pale milk. Her graceful hands lifted in the air and danced as if every word she uttered prompted them to play.
Every one of her paintings had a sold tag on them. The gallery owner was ecstatic in his praise, effusive in his desire to acquire anything she painted in the future. The crowd around her grew as she spun her stories, chuckled at every joke, charmed the living daylights out of everyone who entered her sphere.
Including him. The knowledge lodged like a stone in his gut.
“She's priceless, Marcus.” One of his mother's gaggle of crows swished to his side, the heavily-lined eyebrows like dark arrows pointing to her extravagantly curled hair. “Where did you find her?”
The churning inside him needed release. Why not stir his mother’s pot for once? “Actually, my momma was kind enough to bring Darcy to my attention.”
Aged eyes snapped with interest. “Really?”
“Si. As a connoisseur of art, I was happy to make the artist's acquaintance.”
“And launch her.”
He shrugged. “It was the least I could do.”
“Ah, so you've done even more for Ms. Moran.”
He noticed it wasn't a question. As a consequence, he didn't answer.
She arched one dramatic brow and gave him a moue of dissatisfaction. “You were always rather closemouthed, Marcus.”
“Si.” He'd learned the lesson well. Talking got a man in trouble. In business and especially with women. As long as he kept his thoughts to himself, he’d be fine.
Remember this when you are with Darcy.
“Oh, you.” The older woman batted his arm. “I won’t let you get away with it. Tell me what’s between you and this lovely girl.”
He gave her a grim smile. “A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.”
“Aaaah.” Her heavily lined eyes twinkled with glee. “I can’t wait to talk to your mother.”
Why was he not surprised? He wondered if his mother would take even a moment from her busy shopping and gossiping schedule to worry about him for a change. Worry he may be getting too deeply involved with an inappropriate woman.
He doubted it.
Darcy’s light laugh caught his attention once more.
“You can’t take your gaze off her.” The woman at his side cooed.
Her words weren’t an accusation, yet he felt the sting of it nevertheless. It was a truth he did not want to acknowledge or accept. It ate into him, the knowledge that somehow this little bit of a woman had penetrated the wall he’d erected to keep everyone out.
Clearly, he would need to do some rebuilding.
Bed her. Then you will be free of her.
Si. This was the plan he needed to focus on. All he needed was one more kiss from her, and he would take control. Make it happen. Then this breach of the wall around his emotions would once again be sealed.
He noted Darcy’s warm smile, but also the shadow of exhaustion under her eyes. He’d had enough of this event, and obviously she had, too. “If you will excuse me.”
Within moments, he’d skillfully extracted her from her admirers, signaled for the limo, and had her safely tucked inside it as they sped back to his penthouse. Leaning on the side of the door, he watched her as she smoothed the edges of her coat down.
Touching, he noted with sardonic humor, always touching.
The need for her to willingly touch him once more swept through him with a raging passion.
“Thank you.” Her gaze was glued to her hands.
“Prego,” he replied, trying in vain to curb his mounting desire.
Finally, she looked at him. Her eyes were wide and brimming with tears.
“No.” All thoughts of sex crashed inside him. “No crying.”
“I’m sorry.” She forced a grin as she swiped at the tears. “I’m not usually a watering pot.”
“Really?” He handed over his white handkerchief. “That surprises me.”
Her muffled chuckle was her response.
A long moment later, she dropped her hands to her lap. Her cheeks were wet, still it appeared the bout of emotion had subsided, much to his relief.
“Better?”
“Yes. Fine.” When she looked at him once more, her gaze was a clear, deep blue. “It’s…it’s been a very emotional evening for me.”
“Si.”
His short, clipped word brought a shadow across her face, yet she straightened her spine. “I meant the showing of my art. It’s always been a dream of mine.”
“Which makes me curious,” he responded. “I remember footing the bill on a rather large gallery showing for my brother and his friends a few years ago. A graduation present.”
Her gaze shot down to her lap.
“It’s surprising he did not include his lover’s work in the showing.” The reminder of her past love life with his brother made him want to howl. “Don’t try and lie to me. I would have remembered your work if it had been there. It is distinctive.”
Another dismissive wave of her hand. The action notched his anger higher by several degrees.
“Well?” he barked.
She took a shaky breath and pinned him with a look that choked his breath in his throat. Her eyes swam with
pain. “Marc.”
“Si?” He felt his whole body stiffen in anticipation of her next words.
“I can’t take this anymore,” she murmured. For a moment, her white skin shone in the flash of a streetlight. “N-n-not tonight.”
She would not let him in. He shouldn’t care, but he did. He turned away from her and surveyed the passing city lights.
“Please,” she murmured again. “Please simply let me thank you. Leave it at that.”
Anger pulsed in him. Anger because she wouldn’t confide. Anger at himself for even wanting such a thing. He never wanted a woman to confide in him. The fact he wanted this woman’s every secret appalled and stunned him.
“Marc, please accept my thanks.”
“You can thank me with a kiss.” He turned back to her, glared at her. All he wanted from this woman was sex, his brain yelled the reminder to his heart.
She gave a tiny gasp. Her eyes widened at his tone, at the fierce scowl on his face.
“Remember,” he ground out. “Remember what I told you the last time you kissed me.”
One of her delicate hands lifted to her mouth.
“Remember what will come next.”
This was wrong. He knew it. Another demand. Another attempt at forcing her to do something she clearly didn’t want to do. Rage billowed inside him like a scarlet rain. It burned the core of him with distaste at his action. She would rightfully slam him for this. His feisty girl would blast him and he deserved it.
He stared at her.
She stared back.
Why didn’t she scream at him? Hit him? He opened his mouth, ready to tell her it was wrong, to forget his evil words—
When she stunned him.
Sliding across the seat, her small hand cupped his jaw and kissed him.
* * *
She was his enchanting nymph. His seductive sprite.
His woman.
Her skin was pale as moonlight in the shadows of his bedroom. Her lithe body lay on his bed like a sacrifice. Her eyes were deep and dark as she gazed at him as he undressed. Let him survey her without trying to conceal or cover any part of herself.
This filled him with a fierce joy.
His hands shook as he unbuttoned his shirt and unzipped his pants. The need for her, the agony of need he’d felt for her since the moment he laid eyes on her, throbbed through every vein, every artery. Washed away any coherent thought, leaving only a primeval hunger to take.
A tiny gasp came from her as he dropped the last of his clothes to the floor.
He was big, he knew. Yet surely a woman with experience would rejoice at this.
He stared into her wide eyes. Was this an act of hers? Did she think this shy virginal reaction would turn him on? If so, she didn’t need any act. He was more turned on than he’d ever been in his entire life.
The thought stopped him for a moment.
Every thought was swept away, though, when she wrapped her arms around her body. Trying to hide from him once more.
He would not let this happen. Sliding down on the bed, he took her into his grasp. “Abbracciami,” he demanded. ”Hold me.”
She looked straight at him as her graceful arms slowly lifted and draped around his neck. The joy at her acquiescence, her acceptance rushed through him. Finally, after what seemed like forever, his sprite was coming to him. Wanting him. Giving herself to him. If this killed him, he would savor, prolong. After all these weeks of waiting, he wanted her to make the first moves. He wanted her to show him she wanted him as desperately as he’d wanted her since they met.
His pride demanded it.
His body wanted it.
His male heart needed it.
This had nothing to do with how they met or what he’d forced her to do. With every moment she gave to him, all that was washed away, cleansing him of any remaining guilt.
He would let her take the lead. He would let her claim him.
Then he would know they were together because she wanted him. Only him.
Her skin was cool in contrast to the heat of his own. With painful intensity, he felt the brush of her breasts on his chest, the slip of her legs as they entwined with his. Lust pulsed in him like a living thing. Barely contained.
“Baciami.” His voice was hoarse, husky. “Kiss me. Again.”
Her gaze never left his as she leaned forward. Her eyes didn’t close as her lips gently touched his. The night-blue gaze pulled him in, washing over him in a clear stream of need and want. Desire burned in her stare. Yet something more, something he couldn't quite define lurked on the edges.
His heart stirred and trembled with a sudden panic.
Then, the emotion he couldn’t name was gone from her eyes as she slowly closed them. Her mouth moved on his and he lost every thought as her soft, supple skin melded with his hard, hot need. Unable to wait, to savor, he thrust his tongue into her, tasting the sweet zing he'd remembered with aching longing. She played with him, slipping her tongue around his, answering his demands with a giving sweetness that only drove him further into mindlessness.
Wrenching his mouth from hers, he stared at her. “Toccarmi.”
A slight frown furrowed her brow. She glanced at him with inquiry. “Tell me what it means.”
“Touch me,” he groaned. He thought of the times he'd watched as she smoothed her hands along silk and leather and herself. Now it was his body she would explore and stir and feel. The anticipation turned something wild inside him. Something untamed and feral. Sweat dampened his forehead and his back.
At his words, her frown turned to a winsome, womanly smile. A smile as old as humankind. One that twisted every cell in his body into blinding lust.
One dainty hand cupped his jaw, smoothed across his hot neck.
He sucked in a deep breath.
The hand slid down to his collarbone and went slower as it trailed across his chest. Her fingers tangled in the hair lying in a patch between his nipple before wandering over to lightly circle one nipple.
She plucked.
He gasped.
“Cor,” she said, wonder in her voice. “You like that.”
“Si,” he managed to say. “Certamente. And you will too when I do the same for you.”
Was she truly blushing? It shocked him, confused him. What was with the shy attitude? It didn’t fit what he knew of her. A scraper who’d seen everything. A girl who’d grown up hard and tough. Surely sex was something she was experienced at. Hell, she’d been with his brother. A cold shot of anger pulsed through his hot body at the thought.
A gentle hand sliding across his stomach poured heat right after it. His entire body tensed.
“You like this?” Her voice was enchanting, luring.
“Si.” He held his breath as her hand slowed.
Then stopped.
A slight frown of concentration furrowed her brow as she watched her hand move on his body.
“Carita,” he panted. “You’re killing me.”
She peeked into his eyes. Hers were filled with…not fear…nerves. She was nervous. Once more, it hit him. The virgin. An act. Surely an act. She was torturing him.
“Toccarmi,” he demanded, his patience long gone.
Her focus went back to his body. She bit her lip as if she were about to jump off a cliff. But his girl wasn’t a quitter. She had courage.
Grazie Dio.
She slipped her silky fingers around him. Slid them up, then down.
His blood roared. He stiffened and arched into her touch. A low, animal groan of pure want poured from him.
“Blimey.” Surprise and pleasure echoed in her voice.
His brother was clearly the worst lover on earth. The thought dimly penetrated the passion pumping through his body. Had the idiot merely stuck himself into her and done his business? The thought of his brother in her blistered his brain. A blast of jealousy, hot and fierce, scrambled with the overwhelming need to take, to imprint himself into her.
His hand roughly grabbed hers and pulle
d hers away.
She glanced at him, startled. Her eyes widened at what she saw on his face.
“Did I do it wrong?” Nerves jittered in her tone. Her body grew stiff.
Taking a deep breath, he bent his head, slid his mouth along the side of her neck, hid himself from her. Hid the jealousy he never allowed himself to feel with any other woman since Juliana.
“No,” he murmured on her skin. “It was too much.”
“Too much?” Again, there was the questioning, the timidity, that confused him.
Her skin tasted like salted candy. Sweet and ripe. The soft hair at the base of her neck touched his cheek and nose, warm whispers of her tickling him. “I was close to coming, carita.” Why did he have to explain this to an experienced woman? “I was about to lose myself in your hand.”
There was a short pause as his sprite seemed to take it in. He felt it as she breathed in a deep breath. Then her body turned from stiff rigidity to warm, womanly welcome. Her hands came back on his body, slipping down his shoulders, moving over his sides. “I love your body,” she said it with a tentative tone as if testing out the words.
Lifting his head, knowing he’d succeeded in pushing his emotions back, confident he’d soothed her fears, he latched onto her mouth, tasting and taking. He couldn’t endure any more of this shy exploration. He needed her. Had to have her now. There was no more finesse and patience in him.
It was time he took the lead.
A rain of kisses moved from her lips to her neck, down to her pointed, tight nipples. He laved and lashed them with his tongue, bent on creating the same frenzy of lust in her that she’d given him.
“Aaaah.” She writhed in his arms.
“Sognavo di te,” he murmured, brushing his lips on her sweet skin.
He was mindless, driven, primitive.
His mouth drank her in, moved across her taut belly, darting a tongue into her navel. Sliding down, farther, down.
“I d-don’t know—” Her words ended in a shriek of surprise? Delight?
He couldn’t tell as he pushed her legs apart and sucked the essence of her into his mouth. He couldn’t decide which emotion she was feeling because his mind had gone completely blank as the primal animal in him took over.
“God,” she moaned.