‘I want you so badly, Orlando de Luca,’ she whispered. ‘Make love with me. Please.’
‘Con piacere.’ His voice was actually shaking. ‘With pleasure.’ His fingers splayed over her stomach; his hands moved with feather-light touches, yet it didn’t tickle. Her skin just felt hotter and hotter where he touched her. As if she were slowly being consumed by desire.
‘You’re so beautiful, Eleanor. All curves.’ He skated around the edge of her breast with the tip of his index finger, and she tipped her head back against the pillow.
‘More,’ she murmured.
She reminded him of a medieval princess, lying back and commanding him to touch her. All she needed was the long hair spread over the pillow and a tiara. He couldn’t help smiling.
‘What?’ she asked, frowning slightly.
‘You remind me of a principessa—a princess. We really should have the four-poster and the velvet drapes.’
‘Sir Orlando. I can imagine you coming home from the battlefield on your white charger.’ She sat up and stroked his cheek. ‘Was there a Sir Orlando?’
‘In Italian literature, there’s Orlando Innamorato—the tale of the knight Roland, who fell in love with the beautiful princess Angelica and tried to win her favours.’ Just as he was winning Eleanor’s. ‘Though he went mad when she fell in love with another man., and was finally restored to sanity by a magician.’ He turned his head slightly to the side so that he could kiss her palm. ‘That story’s called Orlando Furioso. “The Madness of Orlando.” And right now I’m a little crazy, too, Eleanor. I need to touch you. Taste you.’
In answer, she brought her other hand up to his face, slid her fingers into his hair, and drew his mouth down to hers.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted someone so much. Everything about Eleanor Forrest attracted him—body, mind and heart. Her skin was so soft, she smelled good, and the need he felt for her made him dizzy.
He broke the kiss, and gently lowered her back to the bed. Kissed the curve of her neck, the hollows of her collar-hones, and nuzzled his way down the valley between her breasts.
He teased one nipple with the tip of his tongue, until she arched on the bed and slid her fingers back into his hair. He smiled against her skin, then took her nipple into his mouth and sucked.
Her breathing had changed, he noticed, become needy little gasps. Good. He planned to make her forget everything except him. He kissed his way over her abdomen and slid one hand up her thigh. When she shivered, he cupped her sex with one hand.
‘Yes. Oh, please.’
Hot and wet and so ready for him. He touched and teased and explored until she was shuddering, almost hyperventilating. Her eyes were tightly shut.
Was she thinking about Jeremy, the man who’d asked her to marry him when he’d already been committed elsewhere?
Well, he was going to drive that image right out of her head. Starting now.
‘Open your eyes, innamorata,’ he commanded softly. He wanted her to see him. So the next time she closed her eyes in pleasure, it would be his face she saw in her mind. ‘Open your eyes.’
She did—and he saw the very second that her climax hit her. Saw the way her gaze became opaque. Heard her gasp his name. Saw the shudder of pleasure that rocked right through her.
So he’d been able to make her forget the world, forget her worries—forget everything except the fever pitch of desire between them.
Bene.
When Eleanor finally floated back to earth, she found herself lying in Orlando’s arms. He’d tucked her protectively into his body; her head was resting on his shoulder and her arm was draped round his waist.
She could hardly believe he’d been so generous. He’d made sure that she was satisfied and had left himself frustrated. Given her time.
‘Orlando. Innamora—’ She stumbled over the word
He smiled and brushed a kiss against her mouth. ‘Innamorato is what you say to me.’
‘Like the title of the poem,’ she remembered aloud.
‘Exactly like that. Except I think you’re much more beautiful than the princess Angelica.’ He stroked her face. ‘And you’re certainly not spoiled.’
Wasn’t she? ‘Orlando … I wasn’t expecting that. That you’d …’ She swallowed hard, trying to work out how to say it.
‘Make sure you came first? Tesoro, I’m not quite that unselfish.’ His laugh was wry. ‘That’s why I told you to open your eyes. So you’d see me and know that I was the one making you feel that way.’
She shivered. ‘I wasn’t thinking of Jeremy.’
‘Good. But just in case you were …’ Gently, he manoeuvred her onto her back and slid his hand between her thighs again.
She was shocked to discover how quickly he could arouse her again. When he kissed her, she matched him hunger for hunger, bite for bite, stroke for stroke.
Exploring his body was a revelation. Jeremy had always seemed faintly embarrassed about sex. Orlando clearly enjoyed it, encouraged her to touch him and even showed her exactly how he liked being touched. And because he was so bold about it, Eleanor wasn’t in the least self-conscious: she even found herself enjoying it, discovering how to make his breathing become faster and shallower and how to make him arch in pleasure, his fists curling round the headboard.
He murmured something in Italian—something she couldn’t quite catch. ‘Orlando?’
His eyes snapped open and he stared at her. ‘What?’
Tension radiated from him. Did he think she’d changed her mind and was going to tell him to stop? ‘You spoke in Italian,’ she explained. ‘I’m sorry, I couldn’t follow.’
Immediately, his tension dissolved, and he smiled. ‘Mi dispiace, tesoro. Oh, hell. Here I go again. I’m sorry. I, um, forgot to think in English.’
‘What did you say? I mean, I understood that last bit. It’s the bit before where you lost me.’
A slow smile spread across his face. ‘Ah. That.’
‘Orlando?’
‘It might shock you.’ He kissed her, a sweet kiss that turned into a slow burn of pleasure. ‘What I said was, “I need to be inside you, Eleanor,”’ he said huskily.
She nibbled at his lower lip. ‘Guess what? I need you inside me.’
He slid his hand between her thighs. ‘Now?’ ‘Right here, right now,’ she confirmed. He moved to unwrap a condom and roll it on. Then he frowned. ‘You’re smiling. What?’ ‘Just thinking.’ ‘Tell me.’
‘You don’t actually keep a stock of condoms on you.’
His frown deepened. ‘No, I already told you I don’t. That’s why I had to buy some.’
‘So you don’t take, um, every opportunity that comes your way.’ And with a man as gorgeous as Orlando, there would be opportunities. Plenty of opportunities.
‘I told you before, I’m picky.’
‘Mmm, and you’re beautiful.’
This time, he laughed. ‘You can’t tell a man he’s beautiful.’
‘Oh, yes, I can. Look at you. Like one of the gorgeous statues you see in the museums and art galleries here. Perfect.’
Her fingertips trailed across his skin, down his chest to his abdomen, and he groaned. ‘Don’t tease me, Eleanor. I can’t wait any more.’
‘Neither,’ she said, ‘can I.’
And she stopped thinking as his body eased into hers.
CHAPTER NINE
THE next morning, Orlando woke to find himself wrapped around Eleanor, with a sheet half covering them and half on the floor. The rest of the bedclothes were probably also on the floor; and he realised with a flicker of guilt that she was balanced virtually on the edge of the bed. He had the lion’s share of the pillows, too.
Last night had been … amazing. He knew he should’ve left last night—or at least in the early hours of the morning. But she’d asked him to stay with her. Hold her until she slept. And, heaven help him, he hadn’t been able to tear himself away. Even worse, he hadn’t wanted to stay away—if she hadn’t asked h
im to stay, he would’ve suggested it.
And they’d woken twice in the night, feasted on each other.
They’d gone through a whole packet of condoms.
Oh, this was bad.
He’d told Eleanor he didn’t do relationships. That he didn’t believe in ‘The One’ or love or happy ever after. She’d said it didn’t matter.
But had she, with that weird female logic, decided that maybe she could change his mind? Would she expect him to stick around this morning? Would she think that what they’d shared last night meant he’d decided that maybe love did exist?
What really scared Orlando was that he was beginning to wonder it himself.
Oh, lord. He needed a cold shower to shock some common sense back into his head.
From where he was curled around Eleanor, he could see the clock on the bedside table. Nearly seven o’clock. It was his turn to run the practice’s Saturday morning surgery this week. He could hardly turn up dressed in what he’d worn last night—besides, his doctor’s bag was at home. He needed to leave. Now.
Eleanor seemed to be sleeping soundly. If he was careful, he’d be able to untangle himself from her, get dressed, write her a note and leave her sleeping. Avoid all that horrible morning-after awkwardness. And then maybe they could meet for dinner. Back on the old footing. And everything would be just fine.
He was just starting to move away from her, very gently, when Eleanor rolled onto her back and opened her eyes.
‘Good morning, Orlando.’ She gave him a soft, trusting smile that made him feel like a real louse. Oh, lord. How could he possibly leave now?
And, for his own peace of mind, how could he possibly stay?
Orlando definitely had a rabbit-in-headlights look on his face, Eleanor thought. Frozen in panic and desperate to run.
‘I …’ He swallowed hard. ‘Good morning, Eleanor.’
It was clear to her that he regretted what had happened last night. Though she hadn’t exactly given him a chance to refuse, had she? She’d cried all over him in the bar and asked him to stay with her because she was tired of being alone. She’d actually begged him to make her forget the world.
He had.
What they’d shared last night had been amazing. And she was sure that it had been mutual. But this morning the real world had come back to smack them both in the face. Orlando had made it clear he didn’t do relationships—and nothing had changed.
‘I … um, I’m on duty this morning,’ Orlando muttered. ‘At the surgery.’
Oh, for goodness’ sake. Did he really have to make such an obvious excuse? Embarrassment flooded through her, making her temples throb.
‘Listen … about last night,’ Orlando said.
Oh, no. That was one of the most cringe-making phrases in the English language. The one that made people apologise and shuffle their feet and offer excuses. It made her want to bury her face in the pillow and howl. Instead, she strove for coolness. Never again after Jeremy would she let a man know he’d hurt her. And weren’t the English meant to be good at this stiff-upper-lip business? ‘Don’t worry about it.’ She yanked the sheet up to cover herself. ‘We both know where we stand.’
He rubbed a hand over his face. ‘Eleanor, I—’
Don’t let him say he was sorry. She couldn’t bear hearing that. ‘I know. You need to go home and change. I’ll, um, catch you later. And don’t worry, I won’t look while you’re getting dressed.’
Disappointment made her voice catch. She’d thought there was something between them. That Orlando felt the same pull of attraction she did. Or maybe he was one of those men who just liked the thrill of the chase without the manacles of commitment. Hadn’t the fiasco with Jeremy already proved beyond reasonable doubt that her judgement in men was lousy?
‘Eleanor, I really do have to work. It’s not an excuse. It’s my turn to do the Saturday morning surgery and I need to collect my doctor’s bag from home first. And I need to change into the sort of clothes our patients expect me to wear.’
She didn’t dare meet his gaze.
‘I’m not expecting you to shadow me today. Not on a Saturday.’
That definitely sounded as if he wanted some distance between them.
‘Maybe we could, I don’t know, have a late lunch somewhere overlooking the sea?’
Eleanor had a nasty feeling that this was his way of softening what he wanted to say. Over lunch, he’d give her the ‘Dear Jane’ speech about how it wasn’t her, it was his fault and he was a louse, yada yada yada.
Well, she didn’t want to hear it.
If he thought it was a mistake and it shouldn’t have happened, then she wanted to be the one to say it first. She still had some pride left. ‘You really don’t need to do that. I’m a big girl and I can take responsibility for my own actions.’ She took a deep breath. ‘We both know last night shouldn’t have happened. I was upset and I took advantage of your good nature.’
‘Cara, I am the one who took advantage of you.’
‘No, you didn’t.’ She still couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes. ‘I’m the one who asked you to stay. And I’m not under any illusion that you’re going to declare undying love for me. You were honest with me from the start. You told me you don’t believe in love.’
There was a long, long pause. ‘So where does it leave us now?’ he asked.
‘As we were. Fr—’ She changed her mind in mid-sentence. ‘Acquaintances.’
‘And colleagues?’
It’d be hard to explain to Serafina, Alessandro, Chiara and Giacomo why she’d suddenly vanished from the practice. Though, at the same time, how could she work with him now?
Complicated.
Or maybe it’d be easier if they did work together: a working relationship would slot a nice neat barrier between them, precluding a more personal relationship.
‘The offer to work in our practice is still open,’ he said. ‘You were planning to stay in Italy for a while. And I’m not intending to break my promise to help you with the paperwork and to find a place to live.’
‘I’ll sort something out myself.’ She took a deep breath. ‘But there is something I need your help with.’
‘Of course,’ he said immediately.
Relieved that she’d let him off the hook so easily? It stung, so she couldn’t help saying, ‘Careful, you don’t know what I’m going to ask you.’
‘Ask me, then.’
This time, she did look at him. ‘Will you come to Bartolomeo’s house this afternoon? Talk to us—as a doctor—about the aplastic anaemia.’
He frowned slightly. ‘His doctor might not be too happy about that.’
‘I’ll deal with that when I have to. Will you help me?’ He nodded.
‘What time can you make it?’ ‘Three?’ he suggested.
‘Perfect. I’ll see you then.’ She found a piece of paper and scribbled Bartolomeo’s address on it. ‘Have a good morning at the surgery.’
He opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it again. She turned away as he slid out of the bed and feigned interest in a guidebook about Naples while he dressed.
‘I’ll see you later, then,’ he said at the doorway.
‘A presto.’ She didn’t look up from her book until she heard the door click behind him. Then she sat up in bed, drew her knees up to her chin and wrapped her arms round her legs. What a mess. She didn’t regret last night—how could she, when she’d discovered so much pleasure in his arms?—but she really, really regretted this morning. She regretted the awkwardness between them. And most of all she regretted the knowledge that she’d been stupid enough to hope for something more than Orlando was prepared to offer her.
At five to three, Eleanor answered the door to Orlando. ‘Come in,’ she said. She ushered him through to the terrace where Bartolomeo was sitting and introduced them quickly. ‘I’ll fetch coffee,’ she said.
It had finished brewing—just—when she walked into the kitchen. And when she returned to the terr
ace with the tray of coffee she could virtually see the tension between Bartolomeo and Orlando. They were speaking so rapidly that she couldn’t follow what they were saying, but she could tell by the tone that things were getting a little heated.
‘Perhaps one of you could be courteous enough to translate for me?’ she asked, pouring them both a cup of coffee.
They exchanged a glance, and then Bartolomeo said ruefully, ‘Orlando was telling me that if you could understand what I was saying, you’d go bananas because you’re an independent woman who’s perfectly capable of making her own decisions and doesn’t need her father to grill a man about his intentions towards her.’
Bartolomeo was playing the heavy father?
And Orlando was doing the angry-young-man thing?
She looked at them both in disbelief, and then burst out laughing. ‘Oh, honestly! The pair of you!’
‘I’m glad you can see the funny side,’ Orlando said dryly. ‘But your father accepts now that we are colleagues and this is a professional matter.’
Which pretty much summed up their relationship. That morning she’d called him an acquaintance. He’d referred to her just now as a colleague. Last night had been … an aberration. Something they wouldn’t repeat.
‘Eleanor’s qualified medically but she needs my help as a translator—someone who understands both languages and medical terminology. So may we have your permission to talk to your consultant about your condition?’ Orlando asked.
Bartolomeo looked at both of them, and sighed. ‘Si. All right.’
‘That’s settled. Good.’ Eleanor folded her arms and looked at Orlando. ‘We could sit here and be polite. But I think it’s better if I say it straight.’
For a second, alarm flitted over his face. Did he really think she was going to bring up last night? She didn’t want Bartolomeo knowing just how naïve and foolish she’d been. ‘We need to talk about a bone-marrow transplant. My bone marrow will be compatible with my father’s.’
Orlando sucked in a breath. ‘You’re saying you want to donate bone marrow?’
Bartolomeo’s hand shook as he replaced his coffee-cup in the saucer, making the china clatter. ‘Eleanor, piccolina, you can’t do this.’
Latin Lovers: Italian Playboys Page 27