by Maisey Yates
“How can I? When I feel you have so much to teach me.” He kissed her gently as his hands moved to his belt. She could hear him undoing the buckle slowly and a shiver of anticipation ran through her. She helped him push his pants and underwear down his narrow hips and he sent them over the side of the bed to join the rest of their clothes. She could feel him, feel his hot hard length, pressed against her heat.
“I want to see you,” she said, her voice husky, unrecognizable to her own ears. “I’ve never seen a naked man before.”
He straightened, a dull slash of red coloring his cheekbones. “So many honors I don’t deserve, Princess.”
He sounded tortured, and at any other time she might have felt sorry for him, or wondered why. But not now. How could she feel sorry for him when she was too busy exulting in this triumph for herself?
He was perfect. Masculine beauty depicted in sculpture could never have prepared her for Alex.
Marble was cold, lifeless. It might show the shape of a man, but it didn’t show the vitality. His life, his strength. It was everything and more. His broad shoulders, perfectly defined chest and washboard stomach, bisected by a line of hair that ran down to his very evident desire was enough to take a breath away.
He was so very…large. Thick. Part of her was made nervous by that, the other part marveled at the glory that was in front of her. The glory that would be hers.
“You’re right,” she said, her words hushed.
“About what?”
“You are in possession of very rampant masculinity.”
He laughed, the sound tortured. “I only hope that it isn’t too rampant for you.”
“It’s just perfect for me. How can it be anything else?”
He dropped forward on his knees, between her thighs, his hands on her shoulders. She looked up at him, her heart pounding heavily.
“You’re beautiful,” she said.
“And you are more than I deserve,” he said, kissing her, wrapping his arm around her waist and drawing her body hard up against his as he pressed the head of his arousal against the entrance to her body.
She winced slightly, bracing herself for his invasion. It hurt. But she wanted it. There was no question. Even as he pressed forward, and she stretched around him, trembling as he joined their bodies together, she didn’t want anything else but this. It was desire so perfectly and beautifully realized, the fulfillment of fantasy. Not because it brought pleasure. But because she was joined to him. Because they were one. Even though it hurt.
And when he thrust deep within, completing their joining, there was no pleasure to be found at all. Not in the physical sense.
But her soul felt alive. Complete. For the first time.
And as the pain slowly began to fade and the pleasure began to build again, she felt so full with it that she could scarcely breathe.
Desire was a wild, needy thing inside of her. She wanted it to be satisfied. Needed it to be satisfied. And yet at the same time she wanted this to go on forever. Wanted to prolong the moment where she would reach her peak. Because once that happened it was the end. Of this perfect moment where they were joined. Connected. Where they were one with each other. The desire to cling to him, to cling to this, was doing battle with the desire to find completion. Ferocious, intense. She didn’t know which one would win. Didn’t know which one she wanted to win.
“Gabby,” he said her name. Just her name.
Gabby would always belong to him. Only to him. The very idea of someone else saying it made her ill.
His teeth scraped the edge of her collarbone, the small slice of pain mingling with the pleasure, drawing her back to earth, making her feel so acutely aware of everything. So perfectly in tune with her body, and his.
She could feel his building pleasure along with hers. Could feel how close to the edge he was as his muscles tensed, as his control frayed.
She opened her eyes, determined to watch his face. Determined to watch this man who was everything she was not. Hardened, masculine beauty. Experienced. World-weary. She would watch him as he felt the same thing she did. As they experienced this storm of pleasure on the same level. It reduced them, this desperation, reduced them down to their souls. To ravenous, needy things that had nothing beyond this moment, this common need.
It was how Princess Gabriella D’Oro, recent virgin and definite bookworm, met with Alessandro Di Sione, rumored fearsome monster and a man who claimed to have a hardened heart. How they not only met, but understood each other. Spoke in perfect words that each other alone could understand. How had she ever thought they were different? How had she ever looked at him and seen a gulf they couldn’t bridge? They had. She was closer to him now, in this moment, than she had ever been to another person in her life.
It was powerful, fearsome, awe-inspiring. These needs that only the other could meet. That only the other could inspire. A hunger only he could arouse and satisfy.
“Alex,” she said, arching against him, the source of her pleasure meeting his heart and body as he thrust deep within her. A shower of sparks rained over her, pleasure breaking over her like an electrical storm, flashes of light blinding brilliance behind her eyes. She closed them, but only for a moment. Then she forced them open again, watched his face as he, too, gave himself over to this thing between them. She watched as that face, that face that could have been carved from granite, softened, the lines on his forehead shifting, a look of pure pain and desperation contorting his features as he growled his release, his entire body trembling as he spilled himself deep inside of her. She held him, as pleasure continued to rack his frame, as aftershocks kept moving through her in an endless wave.
They were connected in this. This pleasure. This moment.
And when it was over they simply lay there, entwined in each other. Breathing together.
She knew that Alex would feel regret later. Because no matter what he said he wasn’t a monster. She had to wonder why he was so desperate to convince not only others, but himself, of the fact that he was.
She knew it came down to his fear that he would become like his father. She knew enough about him to understand that. But she also knew him well enough to understand it would never be him.
He had made some mistakes in his life with his family, but he had been a young man. Barely more than a boy. She had made far fewer mistakes. If only because she interacted with less people. Life wasn’t as difficult when you hid from it.
He looked at himself and saw nothing but a potential monster and he was dedicated to forcing others to see the same.
She knew better.
He was so dry. So funny and brilliant. He cared. Very deeply. For her, for everyone else around him. He pretended he didn’t. The way he looked after his grandfather, the pain that laced his voice when he spoke of his half brother and his past treatment of him, the way he had taken such great care with her, told an entirely different story than the narrative Alex had spent so many years carefully constructing.
He had only given when she had pushed. And both passed the point of resistance. He had never pressured her for anything, and she knew without a doubt that he never would have.
He was a hero in her eyes and yet he insisted on casting himself as the villain.
She wished, more than anything, that he could see himself through her eyes. That he could see himself clearly. She would make it her mission to change his thoughts on himself. She would.
No, it wouldn’t change in a moment. No matter how much she might want to. She was going to have to show him, over time. Show him the man he really was. But in order to do that she would have to stay with him. Leave Aceena. Convince him to attempt to make some kind of relationship with her. He had arrangements with women, he had said as much. Why couldn’t he have one with her?
Eventually…he would have to see that they were good together. Her thoughts were spinning, her entire body humming. There was so much going on in her brain. But she had never been good at letting things rest. She was always try
ing to solve the problem. Always trying to get down to the truth. To figure out the source of the problem so that she could stamp it out.
Unfortunately, there was no history book she could look at to conduct a simple study on Alex.
She would have to study him in person. Not a hardship, really.
“You’re very quiet,” he said.
“Thinking,” she said honestly.
“About?”
She bit her lip. She could hardly tell him that she was plotting ways to convince him to love not only her, but himself.
“You’re very good in bed,” she said, rather than telling him the exact thoughts that were on her mind. That was what her body was thinking about, anyway. “Granted, I have no one else to compare to, but I can’t imagine there are very many men who exceed your skill.”
“It isn’t about skill, Gabby.” He brushed her hair out of her face, his body still entwined with hers. “This is chemistry.”
A burst of warmth fired up in her heart, then fizzled out just as quickly. It was more than that. For her, it was so much more than that.
She would show him. She would find a way. After a lifetime spent hiding away she knew one thing for certain. After standing in the light with Alex, she would never retreat back into the shadows.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
ALEX HAD CALLED himself ten kinds of villain since that first night he had taken Gabriella to bed. Of course, it had not stopped him from taking her to bed every night since. She was everything he had fantasized she might be. Beautiful, soft. And her enjoyment of study had come into play in some erotic and interesting ways he had not imagined. She was very thorough.
She had explored his body as though he were an ancient text she was attempting to pull meaning from.
No one had looked that deeply into him and his secrets in…ever. He was stone people built legend around. But no one ever looked beneath to see the man. And he’d kept it that way. For a reason. Several reasons.
He found it hard to keep Gabby at that same distance. Found it hard to even want to keep her at a distance.
She was soft and beautiful, and more generous than she should be. And he spent late nights not only exploring her body, but lying next to her, skimming his hands over her bare curves while she read passages from favorite books to him, and did her very best to educate him about art and other things he didn’t care about in the least.
But he liked hearing the words on her lips. Enjoyed the way they poured over him like warm honey, soothing him in a soul-deep way he hadn’t imagined possible. Mostly because it was easy to imagine he didn’t have a soul.
Because a man who had kept his own half brother a secret, who shared the blood of the most selfish, pleasure-seeking bastard on earth, could hardly have regular human emotions. Could hardly feel softness, tenderness, for a beautiful woman he had nothing in common with.
Could hardly be soothed to a soul he didn’t have.
But with Gabby things felt different. Possible. Ridiculous, since he was a billionaire and everything was possible. He could have small mammals on jet packs delivered by noon if he wanted. One princess shouldn’t make anything feel more possible.
Still, it was the word that came to mind, whether it made sense or not. Well, there were other words, but none of them were appropriate.
He hadn’t ever cared about anything like that before, but with her he did. He couldn’t afford to care, and he needed to get back to work. But until he dealt with his grandfather, the painting and his family, he couldn’t.
Fortunately, they were meeting today. Gabriella would come with him; she would be part of passing the painting to his grandfather, as her grandmother had asked. And then she would go home.
The thought shouldn’t make it feel like a knife’s blade had been slipped beneath his skin and twisted.
“Hi, Alex,” she said, coming out of his bedroom right then, dressed in nothing but a T-shirt. His T-shirt. And what would have been cliché on another woman was new on her. As though he’d never before seen it. As though no woman had ever slipped her lover’s T-shirt on over her luscious curves after an evening of passion.
Gabby was an original no matter what she did. Perhaps because she was his, and only his. Because no other man had touched her, no other man had kissed her. He’d never been with a virgin before. Maybe he was just archaic enough for it to matter.
He hadn’t thought he was. But then, he hadn’t thought he had a soul, either.
“Good morning, Gabriella,” he said, lifting his coffee mug to his lips.
“So, we meet with your family today?” she asked, her dark eyes liquid, hopeful for some reason. Perhaps she was ready to be rid of him. Ready to go back to Aceena.
But last night she had not sounded like a woman ready to be rid of him.
“Yes. Soon. You’ll have to get dressed in something other than that.”
She smiled, and it was a little bit wicked. On that innocent mouth that he had trained to do such sensual things, it was another Gabby original. “You mean I can’t wear this to go and meet your family?”
The way she said those words. Meeting his family. They did something to him. Grabbed hold of something down deep inside of him and twisted hard. He was torn between an intense longing and a fierce need to reject the desire.
He cleared his throat. “It would probably be best if you are wearing pants of some kind when I introduce you to my grandfather.”
“Because I would shock him?” She seemed rather pleased by the thought.
“Because he would steal you away from me.”
“No one could do that, Alex,” she said, crossing the distance between them and kissing him on the cheek. “But I will get dressed.”
She turned and walked back out of the room and he was left wondering what the hell had just happened here. What was happening in his life? Gabriella seemed to be happening. And far from being the harmless little bookworm she had seemed to be when he first met her at the door of the estate in Aceena, it appeared now that she was a rather intense bespectacled whirlwind.
Today all of the Lost Mistresses would be reunited again, would be with his grandfather. He had helped make his grandfather’s last wish come true. He would focus on that. What happened beyond today? Well, what happened beyond today would be what was necessary. Gabriella returning home was necessary. Gabriella getting as far away from him as possible before he did even more damage was necessary.
Damage was all he would do. It was all he was capable of. She would only need to ask Nate to know that was true. Would only need to ask every other woman who had ever passed through his life. Every one of his siblings he had been distant with, emotionally unavailable to.
The idea of Gabriella returning home should fill him with nothing more than a sense of completion. He could get back to his real life. Get back to the running of his company, could forget treasure hunts for lost paintings and art lessons and owlish eyes.
Instead, he felt as though his chest was full of lead.
But he had spent the past thirty-six years ignoring his feelings. He saw no reason to start engaging with them now.
*
He didn’t often make his way to the Di Sione family estate. As far as he was concerned it held nothing but ghosts from his past. Too many memories of what it was like to be a lonely little boy who just lost his parents. An angry, fearful eleven-year-old who had hidden the existence of a half brother to protect a man who didn’t deserve protecting.
He shook off the thought as he walked through the grand entry, determined to shed every last one of his memories and feelings like mud on his boots with each step he took.
He could hear Gabriella following behind him, her footsteps timid on the marble as she did so. He was carrying the painting, making his way into the family sitting room, scarcely feeling prepared to face not only his grandfather, but his assorted siblings.
When he walked in, every eye in the room landed on him, the painting he was carrying and the woman who was trailin
g behind him. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d all stood in one room.
Hell, Dario and Dante were standing beside each other. The identical Di Siones finally speaking again after years of discord.
Everyone gathered here in this room, united in this mission for Giovanni. This would have been impossible before. Before the quest Alex had been so quick to mock.
Nate, who he had always had the most challenging relationship with, was here, too, with his pregnant lover. And when Alex looked at him…he didn’t feel the weight of his failure, of his guilt. Not anymore.
Now he wondered. Wondered if it had ever truly been about these artifacts, or if they had been searching for a different kind of treasure all along.
“What’s the matter with all of you?” he asked, his tone sardonic. “Have you never seen a painting before? Or a woman?”
Giovanni stayed seated, his dark eyes trained on Gabriella. And Alex knew that his grandfather was seeing the same spark of resemblance in Gabby as Lucia had seen in him.
“It has been a very long time since I have seen such a painting,” his grandfather said slowly. “Or,” he continued, looking at Gabby, “such a woman.”
Gabriella looked up at him, her eyes searching. All of this was confirming what they both already suspected, but Alex was eager to hear the story from his grandfather’s own lips. “There is not only a woman in this painting,” Alex said. “The mistresses are here, as well.” He turned, standing the painting up on the mantel.
His siblings were no longer looking at him, but at the painting.
“I sense there is a story here, Nonno,” Alex said, his voice hushed. “And I can’t imagine you sent all of us on a worldwide scavenger hunt only to keep the truth hidden from us forever.”
Giovanni rubbed his chin, his expression thoughtful. “You are right there, Alessandro. I had no intention of keeping you in the dark forever. Nearly a century is long enough for a man like me, to live, to hold on to his secrets.”
“Well, I expect you to live a few more years,” Alex said, knowing that such a thing was highly unlikely, but hoping to speak it into existence, anyway.