by CC MacKenzie
Anastacia had to laugh.
"Tell me about it. But I can't imagine working for anyone else."
Bronte frowned, bit her lip. "He worries about you, Ana."
Now it was Anastacia's turn to look bewildered.
"Me? Jeez, Bronte, I'm fine. I have my own place, a job I love. What more could I possibly want?"
"Maybe love? Affection? Intimacy? A shoulder to lean on? Someone to share the burden?"
After drawn-out silence, Anastacia shook her head, gazed up at The Dower House highlighted beautifully in glorious gold by the setting sun.
"I'm not looking for all that. Not yet. Maybe not at all. Anyway, I'm too young to worry about it."
Silence.
"Olivier has both eyes set right on you," said Bronte.
Anastacia knew the observation was nothing less than God's honest truth.
All through dinner Olivier's eyes hadn't left her for a second.
"I know. It's a little unnerving. He doesn't hang around. He just wants to get into my panties."
At Bronte's heartfelt laugh, Anastacia had to grin.
"Talking of panties, the first night I went out with Nico he was just the same. God, it was soooooo embarrassing."
Sensing a story, she tucked her legs under her and turned to face a pink-cheeked Bronte.
"Don't leave me hanging. What happened?"
Bronte shook her head. "First date. I didn't know what to wear. And Rosie just had to have an opinion - you know what she's like? Anyway, we were in my bedroom. And I tried on an impulse buy, a black silk slinky backless dress. But it showed every panty line, even a string bikini. So Rosie said, Don't wear panties, the dress is lined, who's to know?" Bronte buried her hot face in her hands and groaned at the memory. Ana reached over to grab her hair, gave it a tug. Rolling her eyes Bronte nodded and continued, "There was a big wedding reception being held at The Hall. And I was invited to the evening event and Nico was going to meet me there, we'd have dinner. I thought there'd be safety in numbers. So there I was dancing over strobe lights with a guy who was so drunk he couldn't see straight. I'd no idea that under the lights the dress became see through. Nico grabbed me, plastered me against him." She gave a little sigh. "It was wonderful. But when he took me home, we fought in the car right outside this house. I was upset. He was furious. I dropped my keys. He picked them up, opened the door and pushed me through. The next thing I know my back's against the door. My skirt is at my waist. His mouth is on mine. His hands are everywhere." Grinning at Ana's slack jaw. "And yes, no panties. He scared me so bad I put a screeching halt on what was happening. So then he's asking me why I'm not wearing panties. I said, Pantyline. He found that hilarious. And so our love was born."
Anastacia released a long breath, part envy, part longing.
And of course, her friend picked up on her mood.
"What's up?"
"I'm thinking about an Italian footballer who's thinking about me. I don't want him to think about me the way he's thinking about me. I think I'm thinking about him because he's not only gorgeous, he's also kind to little kids, a good listener and not as dumb as a turnip. But he's a footballer, Bronte."
She stopped, dropped her head in her hands and groaned.
Anastacia raised her head and met Bronte's eye. "A footballer."
"Olivier is most certainly a footballer. What I can't understand is why that would be a problem for you."
"He's too much. A world cup star. The Italian player of the year. And he's so in tune with his feelings, scarily so. He freaked me out the way he just held my hand and told me he wants me."
"The bastard."
"He didn't call me for two weeks."
"Again, the bastard."
"No, he isn't. He had to absolutely focus on the European Cup final. I totally get that."
"Of course you do. Two peas. Pod."
Anastacia's brow creased.
"Do you really see me as focused on my goals like Olivier?"
"Yep. You run with an issue, you see a way to make it happen, you aim, you score. Never miss."
Now Anastacia realized that she'd never really thought about the similarities between her and Olivier, only the differences.
"Is it the man or is it what the man does that's spooked you?" Bronte wanted to know.
"Both. I think."
"I adore Olivier. Nico adores Olivier. Just sayin’."
"Millions, and I do mean millions, of women adore Olivier, too. Did you know he has millions of twitter followers?"
"Ah, now I see it. You're worried about the competition?"
"I'm worried about making a complete fool of myself."
Bronte tipped her head to look Anastacia in the eye.
"You've lost me."
Anastacia rolled her eyes to heaven.
"Jeez, Bronte. I'm hardly his type, am I?"
"Ah, we're back to the fact you're a stunningly beautiful angel with hair and skin to die for? That you're smart, ambitious and successful? And a loyal and wonderful friend to boot. I agree. I've no idea what he could possibly see in you."
Anastacia glowered at her shoes, feeling a fool.
"You're saying I'm being an idiot."
"Told you, you were smart."
Silence.
"He makes my belly sort of shiver. I don't want the shivers. Shivers lead to other things."
"You like him. Maybe even more than like him. New territory for you. Why don't you explore it, see where it leads?"
"You're telling me to chill out and stop worrying?"
"Something like that. But first you need to admit you have strong feelings for him."
Anastacia huffed out a breath and wondered why the hell she'd started this ludicrous conversation in the first place.
"I do have feelings for Olivier. And I don't want to have feelings for Olivier. I'm happy as I am. We have a big job to do. Feelings will make doing that job really hard. But it's the grinding need deep in my belly that's driving me nuts. I can't stand it. I hate it and I hate him for causing it."
Bronte gave her a commiserating pat on the knee.
"But do you like him?"
Anastacia's head whipped up to look at her.
"What's not to like. Yeah, I like him. He seems like a nice guy."
"Do you trust him?"
Did she?
Anastacia shook her head as she realized they'd finally come to the crux of the matter.
"Nope. He's a footballer." At Bronte's narrowed-eyed look, she shrugged and added, "I don't know him the way you guys do."
"I know you don't. So if you don't trust my judgement, why not trust Nico's? Oli is not a dog."
"I do trust your judgement, Bronte. It's my own judgement that worries me."
"Ahh. I see it now. You're thinking about Jake."
The past should stay in the past, that was how Anastacia rolled. But now she realized the emotional fall-out of her time with a man whose love had turned into an obsession, into hate, was impacting her decision making process when it came to affairs of the heart in the present. She stared unseeing at the Dower House.
"I just don't want to go through something like that again. I'm not sure I could cope with it."
"Perhaps you need to talk to someone about your feelings."
She turned to find Bronte watching her carefully, her vivid emerald eyes filled with compassion.
"You mean a shrink?"
Bronte shrugged. "If what happened with Jake is having a bearing upon your feelings eighteen months after the event, perhaps it's still not resolved in your mind. You need to understand that you are not responsible for another person's behaviour, therefore you shouldn't feel guilty about walking away from a relationship that had become unhealthy."
Logically, Anastacia knew that Bronte was right.
But emotions were tricky things and it was her emotions that were ruling Anastacia at the moment.
Again, she stared unseeing into the garden as a conversation from the past that still made her blood r
un cold slid into her mind.
"Jake's mother was so devastated and so angry with me. She told me I'd led him on, made him believe I wanted what he wanted. She'd never seen him so happy. He wanted a family, a home and living the dream with a happy-ever-after. He believed he'd met the one. God, I hate that phrase. When I tried to cool the relationship he just held on tighter." Now she turned and her eyes stayed on Bronte's. "By going with the flow and not following my gut instinct, I hurt a good man. Olivier's a good man, too. I don't want to hurt him. For one thing you and Nico would never forgive me."
"You're making yourself sound like some sort of modern day Mata Hari. A seducer of weak-minded men. Olivier is not Jake. Olivier does not have a weak mind. He is incredibly self-aware and I'm sure you've made your feelings clear and he knows the score. Don't let fear rule your heart or your head."
"What if it goes wrong?"
"What if it doesn't?" Bronte shot right back.
Now there was a thought to ponder.
"So you think I should give him a chance?"
"Absolutely." Then Bronte cocked her head to listen, and right on cue Nico and Olivier strolled into the garden deep in conversation about football. She gave Anastacia a gentle elbow in the ribs. "Now don't you think they look like a wonderful example of handsomeness?"
The guys wore jeans that fitted them in all the right places and tight T-shirts. They were tall, dark and tanned. And both turned to grin at the women.
Anastacia couldn't have agreed more.
She suppressed a sigh.
"So gorgeous they hurt the eye."
Olivier gave her that look that made her belly quiver.
Her response was a narrow-eyed stare.
An hour later Nico and Bronte waved their guests off.
Nico wrapped his arms around his wife's slim waist, nuzzled her hair.
"They make a lovely couple," Bronte said, and then hummed with pleasure as he pressed a hot kiss on her neck.
"Si, I think they will work well together. They are both very attracted. Oli asked me if I knew who had hurt Ana in the past."
Bronte turned in his arms to stare up into his wonderful face.
"You didn't tell him about Jake?"
Black brows lifted as dark eyes held hers.
"Do I look like a fool to you?"
She patted his cheek.
"No. It's up to Ana to tell him her secrets."
"Si. But I think it is time Ana dealt with the past. She has no reason to feel guilty. But that guilt is holding her back."
Bronte knew that was nothing less than the truth.
Then the germ of an idea, a suspicion, took hold in her mind.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, shifted her pelvis into his, felt a certain hard muscle pressing into her belly twitch.
"You planned this whole thing. Olivier's investment in the hotels. Ana's part in it. You planned it all, didn't you?"
He kissed her, hard.
How was it possible he still made her head reel after four years and three children together?
Now Nico raised his head, rubbed his nose against hers.
"All I did was put two people together to see what might happen. The rest is up to them."
He lifted her in his arms and she had to laugh.
Winding her arms around his neck, she pressed hot kisses along his strong jaw.
And all the while he was taking the stairs to their bedroom.
"You should start a dating agency. Nico's Marriage Bureau."
He had to laugh as he shouldered open their bedroom door.
Dumped her on the bed and ruthlessly started to strip her.
"Funny girl. I have my hands more than full enough with you." He watched her just lie there, naked. Then he tugged his T-shirt over his head, tossed it, and started on his jeans. When he was in the same state, his hand pumped his erection. "Roll over on your knees, open up, and let me in."
She did as she was told.
Then tossed back her hair to watch him over her shoulder.
He saw plenty of love among the lust in those emerald eyes.
Bronte wiggled her tight little bottom.
"I want it hard and I want it fast."
His teeth flashed as he positioned himself, his gently probing fingers making sure she was slippery for him.
"Hmm, wet and hot and ready."
He gripped her narrow hips and entered her in one smooth stroke.
She wanted hard and fast?
He gave it to her hard and fast.
Their gasps echoed through their bedroom as they came together.
A couple madly in love and a couple who simply never got enough of each other.
Later as they lay together in a hot bath, Nico rubbed his cheek against Bronte's blonde hair and gathered her closer as she lay between his legs.
"Has Christopher Rucker decided how he's going to approach Ana?" she whispered.
The breath of Nico's heavy sigh fluttered over her cheek.
"He's been discussing the best way forward with his wife. And he's agreed to talk to me first."
"Maybe he could use a lawyer?"
"Maybe, although he feels it might be too impersonal. The detective agency has found out a huge amount of information on Ana. He is distraught with everything she has gone through. And I am worried about how Ana is going to react."
"It's going to be a huge shock. I know how I felt when I found my real father. This is the reverse situation for Christopher. It's the unknown that's so hard, the fear of rejection. I had a loving family. Ana's never had that. Whatever happens, she needs to know that we are here for her, Nico."
"Si, when the time comes I will make sure she knows we are here for her. I love you, cara mia."
"I love you, too. So much, Nico. So much."
Chapter Sixteen
As they exited the elevator on the floor to her apartment, Olivier wasn't going to give Anastacia the chance to blow him off. She'd been quiet on the trip back to town. Too quiet. And he could read the expressions crossing her beautiful face like a book. She was debating, wondering about him, wondering about herself and if sleeping with him would be the right thing to do. So when she took the door key from her bag, he caught it, unlocked the door and pushed her through.
The minute the door was shut behind them, he grabbed her.
Her breathy gasp of shock drove him crazy as he whipped her top over her head, the wisp of silk that was her bra unclipped and tossed aside.
Christ, he was good at this.
Then his hands, his mouth, were on her.
Any doubts in Anastacia's mind simply drained away.
Any choice was gone.
All she wanted was for him to take her.
In a furious blaze of passion, of a mutual hunger neither could deny, they came together.
His T-shirt, her jeans, his jeans, her panties, his Calvin's were tossed on the floor.
Hardly in the door, they fell to the oak floor.
Olivier made sure his body broke her fall.
"Damned floor," he groaned as he dinged his elbow.
Laughing, Anastacia rubbed her naked body over his, then moaned when he took her tight nipple in his mouth.
She was in a hurry, her hand slid between them to find him hard and hot, to give him the ultimate pleasure.
Then his hands took, without warning, as his fingers plunged into her hot, wet, heat.
Omigod.
She'd never felt anything like it. His mouth, hot, searing, clung to hers. Her heart had never, ever, beat so fast. Her body had never throbbed, ached, hurt so desperately good. But she wanted more. She wanted everything that Olivier had to give. With his fingers stroking, winding her higher, higher, Anastacia pressed fast, hungry kisses over his brow, his cheeks, his neck. Everywhere.
All that could be heard was the ragged sound of their breathing.
The heady scent of their blended arousal, the clean, salty sweat on his skin made her moan. The heat between their bodies created the most am
azing friction.
Olivier's mind was filled with her. She surrounded him. Her touch. Her taste. Her smell. She was demanding. Even savage in ways he could never have fantasized in his wildest dreams. She seemed determined to explore every part of his body, every hard muscle trembled when she touched him, pressed her mouth... there. Oh, yes, right there. He wasn't going to last. Half crazy for her, his hand reached down to grab her by the hair, to bring her mouth to his mouth.
Anastacia had never know that a man could bring so much pleasure to a woman. Racked with a dark delight, she arched beneath him. Legs spread, pelvis tilted, she relinquished her mind, her body. And moaned when he took his sweet time to taste his way down, down, down towards her pulsing, slick heat. And when his tongue found her, she screamed his name.
His mouth found her wet and willing and wanton. His tongue, his teeth, kept her helplessly pinned down in an orgasm that went on and on and on.
Never, never had she known what it meant to be so utterly weakened by a man. He could have asked her to do anything, taken anything and she would not have denied him. But Olivier never asked, never took. Olivier gave and gave and gave her the ultimate pleasure.
Anastacia's back arched, her neck arched, as she rose to soar over the edge again and again. Until she was delirious, delighted, demanding more, please more.
"Let go, Ana. Let go. I will catch you."
And then he was within her, stretching her, taking her without mercy, even higher. Oh God, how was this possible? Her scream of release was swallowed by his mouth, his groan as he bowed back going utterly still as he poured himself into her.
She was on her back on the hard wooden floor, gasping for breath, with Olivier sprawled on top of her.
Eventually, Anastacia found sanity, slowly drifting back to the world. The walls of her apartment were a pale mushroom color, the moonlight flickered through the slats of white shutters at the windows. She smelled the mix of their bodies. A little bit of her. A little bit of him. His hair tickled her cheek. Like hers, his heart was beating, too fast, against her breast.
Everything had happened too fast. Anastacia knew she'd never gone through anything like this. Or, she corrected herself, she'd never allowed it. Never let anyone get too close. Never let go. Weird things, she realized, happened to a woman who capitulated, opened her heart, her body, to a man she didn't really know. She gave other things away she hadn't meant to. Things like a little tenderness, a little affection, even, a little love. When she caught herself stroking Olivier's tight backside, she let her hand drop to the floor. It was a bad idea to think of allowing love into the mix, even for a moment. Because not only did love give, love took. And it didn't always give and take equally. Someone always got hurt, sometimes badly hurt. Oliver Conti wasn't a safe bet for a woman to love, not prudently, not easily, and certainly not for the long term.