“Buon giorno, cara. Are you enjoying your bath?”
She spluttered and tried hard not to blush like a schoolgirl. “Are you kidding me? What are you doing here? As most married women would state, I have a headache.”
He had the audacity to chuckle. “Ah, I have heard that expression before. We just uncorked one of our best bottles of pinot grigio, and I thought you’d enjoy a sip while you soak.”
She frowned. “Well, okay. Thanks.” Maggie grabbed the half-filled glass and breathed in the scent of lemony citrus and tangy oak. “You can put the plate over there.”
He set it on the small ledge at the end of the tub and stared at her. Refusing to squirm under his open, hot stare, she glared right back, sticking her lip out to blow some stray wet strands of hair out of her eyes. “You can go now.”
He sat down on the small lip a few inches away. He’d changed out of his suit and looked crisp and casual in worn jeans and a white button-down shirt. His feet were bare and his hair fell loose to his shoulders, which somehow made him even sexier. His presence squeezed out all the breath in the room and left none for her. Already that familiar zing tried to stab her like some sort of Sex Superhero. What was with that?
She waited him out but since she was the naked one, he didn’t seem to feel the need to make conversation. “What are you still doing here?”
“I thought we’d chat.”
“Fine. Strip off your clothes and let’s talk.”
He didn’t move, but his features shifted and suddenly, he was all hot male predator. “Sure about that request?”
Damn, her usual snarky comments were having the wrong effect. Why wasn’t he walking away? A light of challenge gleamed within his eyes, and in horror, her body lit to life. The water swished between her open thighs. Her nipples hardened beneath the bubbles. She caught her breath as his gaze deliberately dropped and caressed her hidden, naked form. What the hell was going on?
She changed tactics. “What do you want to talk about?”
“Our deal.”
Maggie shrugged. “Thought we were on course. Papers are filed so your mom knows we’re legit. Did you see how she asked a zillion questions to make sure everything was in order? She’s a crafty one.”
“Always was.”
“My shoot is over. Dress shopping is behind me.”
“Good.”
“Another family dinner is Friday night, oh, and Julietta wants me to visit the bakery with you tomorrow.”
“Fine.”
She frowned. “Why are you still here?”
“Because I want something.”
“What?”
“You, cara.”
Her tummy plummeted. She worked her jaw up and down but nothing came out, just weird squeaks because she had no air left in her lungs. Michael never moved, just remained poised on the edge of the tub. His easy posture contradicted the heat and demand in his eyes as he stared at her like a hungry cat ready to pounce on his evening meal. Oh, and just the thought of him biting her somewhere made her limbs go loose and liquid. What had he said?
“What did you say?”
His lip quirked. “You heard me. Here, try a bite of this.”
“I don’t want a frickin’—”
He reached out and pushed the crème puff slowly between her lips. She opened on reflex, then bit down. The flaky, buttery taste of the pastry exploded in her mouth. Rich crème coated her tongue in sheer pleasure. He watched her chew, and his thumb ran across her lower lip to catch the last bit of crème lingering. With deliberate motions, he put his finger in his mouth and sucked.
Her thighs tensed. Wetness seeped from between her legs and she knew it had nothing to do with the water. Her eyes widened as he tipped the glass to her lips. One precious drop fell on her tongue, and the icy sting of liquid slid down her throat and seduced a moan. He set the wine on the ledge and leaned in.
“Good?” he murmured.
Maggie blinked.
His gaze held her spellbound. Rough stubble covered his jaw and matched the image of a civilized man gone bad. The intoxicating scent of musk and soap filled her nostrils.
“Uh. Yeah.”
His hands skimmed her shoulders, teasing a line through the bubbles and leaving a trail of peppered gooseflesh. “What scent is this?”
“Huh?” Oh, dear God, she’d become a mute. She struggled to surface from the physical torture of his touch right above her breasts. “Sandalwood.”
“It’s been driving me crazy. When I finally taste you, will you remind me of earthy musk, sweet against my tongue?”
She realized then he was the master. He’d pretended she was in charge the whole time. No wonder she amused him! Her limbs hung limply, her center ached, and her skin burned even underwater. The man had bided his time and got her when she was the most vulnerable. Why did he suddenly want to change the rules of the game? Maggie forced her brain to work through the sensual haze.
“Why are you doing this now?” She hung fiercely to the thread of irritation, knowing if she lost it she’d throw herself at him and beg him to take her. “Are you playing some sick game with me?”
His face tightened with determination. “You’re the one playing games, la mia tigrotta,” he growled. “I’ve wanted you from day one, and I never denied it. I’m tired of fighting with you when we can be doing other things. More pleasurable things . . . for both of us.”
The fact he’d come to the exact realization she had pissed her off. She was supposed to proposition him. Michael was mad if he thought she’d meekly sit by and let him seduce her and stay in charge. It was her idea to finally have sex and get him out of her system. Damned if she’d allow him to win this round.
“I need time to think.”
He rose from the tub and nodded politely.
“Please hand me a towel.”
He glanced back at her. The struggle on his face, whether or not to push, finally settled. Maggie realized a layer of trust had begun to build, and knowing that as angry as he would get, he’d always remain in control softened a fear deep inside that had been buried for way too long. He grabbed the pink fluffy bath towel off the hook and handed it to her, then discreetly turned around.
Maggie grinned in triumph. Slowly, she rose from the bath, wringing out the dripping ends of her hair and wiping down most of the bubbles. Then she dropped the towel on the floor.
“Okay, I’m ready now.”
* * *
Michael turned.
She was naked.
Gloriously, vibrantly, bare-ass stark naked.
He dimly remembered the first time he’d seen a pair of naked breasts. As a young man on the brink of sexuality, he’d thought nothing could ever beat that moment for him.
This one did.
She stood at full towering height, head thrown back, with the towel pooled around her feet. An endless expanse of golden smooth skin lay before him, damp from the bath, glistening with the remains of the bubbles. Her breasts were high, full, and crowned with red nipples. His mouth watered to taste and suck on the ripe fruit. Her legs went on forever, lean and muscled. And a perfect triangle of cinnamon-colored hair hid her most intimate secrets. Barely. He scented her arousal and her body beckoned him.
Yet, he stood stock-still in the middle of the ceramic tiled floor, completely unable to move.
She’d tortured him all afternoon. The brush of her hair on her shoulders, her sarcastic wit, her vibrancy that shimmered even when she stood still. He remembered those few precious inches the other night. If his hand had dipped just a tiny bit lower, he would have been able to touch liquid fire.
The woman was under his skin and there was only one way to remove her. Sleep with her. Wring her out of his system, and in the morning, maybe they’d both be normal. Hell, they weren’t right for each other. They wanted different things—craved different lifestyles. He wanted a big family and a settled home with minimum drama. He wanted someone sweet, fairly pliable, but with enough spunk to keep him from gett
ing bored.
Sex could fix everything. He was sure of it.
Maggie’s rejection had stung, but he refused to force her. The deep disappointment in her inability to be honest with him only proved his point that they weren’t evenly matched. He touted honesty as one of the most important factors in a relationship, and whatever secrets she hid, he bet those would never be shared. With him. With anyone.
But, again, she’d surprised him. On her own damn terms.
She had the gall to shrug and look down her nose at him like she was dressed in a royal gown. “I agree with your proposition to sleep together. But since you can’t even speak, I’ll go get dressed and we’ll revisit the topic later. When you’re more”—her gaze drifted downward to his rapidly rising erection and she smirked—“functional.”
She headed toward the door.
Two steps and he closed the distance. Locked the knob. And slowly turned her around.
Her eyes widened. With deliberate motions, he backed her up against the door. Tilted her chin. And pushed his knee between her thighs to spread her wide open. She caught her breath as he lowered his mouth to hers.
“I’m ready, cara,” he whispered. “Are you?”
His mouth took hers.
He loved to seduce women. Loved the slow slide of tongue, the catch of breath, the easy climb of desire as each step led toward completion. He considered himself a master in the art of pacing, but one thrust between her lips wrecked any type of control he’d ever had.
Her body slipped against his, as wet as the heat between her thighs and as blistering as flame. This was no easy, gentle, let’s-get-it-on kiss. This was a no-holds-barred war with no survivors. And Michael loved every inch of his total surrender.
He dove deep into her taste. She moaned and pushed her hips up, her fingers digging into his hair as she held him against her and demanded more. His hands slid over her body and reveled in every glorious inch, palming her breasts and tweaking the tips with his thumbs as he swallowed her moans. He nudged her legs farther apart while she panted, then hooked one of her thighs around his waist to secure her. He ripped his lips from hers and stared into mossy-green eyes dazed with lust.
His hand moved from one of her breasts and traveled downward, stopping at the top of her belly. “I’ve been dying to sink my fingers into you,” he murmured. “Are you ready for me?”
Her breath was a sexy whisper of sound. “You talk too much, Count.”
He smiled and slid his fingers into the swollen folds.
She cried out and threw her head back against the door. Her silky, pulsing channel closed around him and squeezed. He muttered a curse at her response, her need for him evident in the rush of liquid that soaked his fingers. Dios, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, so open to every sensation. He stroked her deep, curling his fingers, and hit the sweet spot as she pumped her hips and reached closer to the edge.
His erection grew painful, but her face was a creation of erotic beauty he didn’t want to miss. Her teeth sank into the swollen flesh of her lower lip, and her eyes half closed as she fought off the growing need for release. Her body bloomed beneath him, but her hands clenched into fists and pushed against his chest. Her endless need to control the result of every encounter taunted him to make her completely surrender. To him. To this.
He swiped the tight, pulsing bud once. Twice. Then lowered his mouth and sucked on her nipple.
“Michael—”
“You talk too much yourself, cara.” His teeth scraped over the swollen tip while his fingers teased mercilessly. Her thigh muscles trembled, and her heartbeat rumbled in his ear. Her glorious musky scent rose to his nostrils and he knew she was about to explode. For the first time, she belonged in the present, surrendering to her body, and open to everything he gave her. His erection throbbed, and the blood roared in his veins.
“Michael! Don’t, I’m going to—”
“I want you to come. Now. Come, Maggie.”
He bit her nipple as his fingers plunged one last time.
She cried out and squeezed him mercilessly. Her scream ripped through the air as she shuddered and arched against him, and he held her as he prolonged her orgasm, keeping her body against his.
She grew limp. He muttered soothing words and pressed a kiss to her temple, slowly removing his fingers. He’d been right about the chemistry between them, but nothing prepared him for the surge of emotion and connection that suddenly squeezed his gut. He wanted to lay her out on the bed and claim her completely. Spend hours in a tangle of sheets until she couldn’t think of another smart remark and only knew how to murmur his name. Where had such tenderness come from?
She lay still in his arms, her breathing returning to normal. He nuzzled her cheek and decided to carry her into the bedroom so they could talk and make love and—
“Well, thank goodness. I needed that.” Her cool, no-nonsense tone contradicted her slight shaking, but before he could soothe her, she gave him a push and scooped the towel off the floor, wrapping it around herself. She tossed her head and let out a long, relieved sigh. “Thanks. Do you want me to take care of you?”
Her flippancy cut deep. He took a step back, wondering if he’d been an idiot. Why was she so determined to act carefree when a minute ago she was crying out his name and clinging to him with a fierceness he’d never experienced from a woman? His gaze picked and shredded, but she remained perfectly at ease. And distant.
“Do you want to take care of me?” he asked coldly.
She shrugged. “If you want. Tit for tat. No time for a long marathon—I promised your mom I’d help her with dinner, so I have to get dressed. Well?” She raised a brow and waited. A sinking sensation told him he was in trouble. For a few moments, she belonged to him completely. Yet she was incapable of maintaining any sort of closeness. Why was he so bothered by her inability to connect? Why did he care?
“Why are you doing this, cara?” he asked gently.
Maggie jerked back as if smacked. She practically snarled. “Sorry if I don’t want to talk about touchy-feely things after an orgasm, Count. I thought we were past that.”
The silence simmered with unspoken emotion and words. Finally, he nodded, then shut down the blossom of tenderness like a delicate flower ripped from the stem. “You’re right, Maggie. I thought we were past this, too.”
He snatched the knob and opened up the door. “After dinner we’re babysitting. Since you were the one to convince Carina to break her promise to Brian, we will take over the responsibility.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Brian has four boys! I’m exhausted. No way am I babysitting tonight.”
He leaned forward with a menacing air and snapped his voice in command. “You will be babysitting tonight. We’ll go after dinner. Get dressed and meet me downstairs.”
He closed the door on her loud protest and stalked off with a hard-on and a boiling temper.
* * *
She’d screwed up.
Maggie peered at her fake husband from under lowered lashes as he fought with his bawling nephew who refused to go into the crib. Michael had rolled up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt, and his strong forearms flexed as the baby kicked and spit with growing fury. If she weren’t so miserable, she’d get a chuckle out of the scene. His normally cool appearance now showed a disheveled, tired man who looked as if he craved the couch and a remote.
And it was only 8:30 p.m.
The room looked as if it had thrown up. The cheerful yellow and blue paint with vivid sea animals sketched on the walls now seemed like a scuba diving mission gone horribly wrong. Crayon marked up the walls, books were flung everywhere, and stuffing poked out from a blue teddy bear that had been ripped apart in some sort of weird experiment.
“Is he still hungry?” she asked, taking a step forward and crunching on some sort of cereal.
“No. Lizzie said one bottle is all he needs to get to sleep.” The baby squirmed in his crib, wet drool pooling out of his mouth and ruining the t
hird bib of the night. The playful ducks on his onesie mocked their inability to make him happy as he renewed his screaming. “Do you think he needs to be burped more?” he asked with a frown.
She blinked. “I don’t know. When Lily cries for too long, I just hand her back to Alexa.”
Michael gave a sigh. “Where are Luke and Robert?”
She shifted her feet. Somehow, she had a bad feeling about his next reaction. “Playing.”
“I thought you put them down to bed.”
“I did. But they didn’t want to go to sleep so I told them they could play.”
He muttered something under his breath and wiped more drool from baby Thomas’s mouth. “Of course they don’t want to go to bed, Maggie. But we’re the adults. Just tell them no.”
“I did. Three times. But Robert started crying because he wanted his mother, and then Luke joined in, so I told them five more minutes.” No way would she admit those crocodile tears broke her heart and she’d give them anything they asked for.
He huffed out a breath. “They played you big-time. Fine, keep it to books. Nothing messy.”
Maggie wondered why she was suddenly afraid to tell him about the Play-Doh. Wasn’t that kid-friendly stuff? That’s what the commercials always advertised. Robert told her his mother always let them play with the stuff when they couldn’t sleep.
Suddenly, she realized Michael was right. She’d been played. Big-time. No wonder they’d both been so excited when she took it out from the top shelf of the closet! She nibbled her bottom lip and decided to sneak back in and take it away before Michael found out. His directives began pummeling her faster than angry bees. “How about Ryan? Is he asleep?”
She blinked. “He kept popping up because he was thirsty. I gave him some water in that sippy thing.”
He placed a pacifier into the baby’s mouth and lifted his eyes up to God. “Don’t tell me this, Maggie. He wets the bed and he’s not supposed to have liquids after seven.”
She cut him a glare. “You didn’t tell me that. He grabbed his stomach and said it hurt because he was so thirsty. You’ve been in here over an hour while you left me with the sons of Satan. Let’s switch. I’ll put the baby to bed, and you handle the Outsiders gang.”
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