At The Italian's Bidding (A Hot Italian Nights Novella Book 5)

by Annie West

  Behind her, powerful thighs tucked up against the back of hers and she realised the heavy weight at her waist wasn’t the bedding, but the drape of Niccolo’s arm.

  He was asleep with her in his arms.

  And clearly, given where they were in the bed, he hadn’t crossed the mattress to her. She’d been the one to crawl over and cuddle up against him.

  Fire danced in her belly. Between her legs she seemed to liquefy as that bold shaft nestled against her buttocks hardened still further.

  Her nightdress was up around her thighs and she supposed she was lucky it hadn’t hitched even higher.

  She tried to feel relief but instead it was regret she had to master as she stared wide-eyed into the dawn light. Regret and frustration. And a great, big dollop of shame.

  Was she so needy she couldn’t keep away from Niccolo even in her sleep?

  For a moment she considered drastic action. She could turn in his arms and kiss him full on the mouth, run her fingers through his hair and kiss him till he forgot she was his friend’s little sister. Make him think of her as a sexy woman.

  Or maybe she could simply drag her nightdress a little higher and press her bare flesh to his till he accepted her unspoken invitation.

  Flames flickered and flared low down in her body where that aching emptiness had set up. It would be so simple.

  Her mouth tightened. Simple to seduce a man from sleep into sex before he had time to consider? Wasn’t that cheating?

  No, what she wanted was Niccolo, wide awake and fully aware, looking at her with desire in those gorgeous dark eyes and reaching out to—

  With a ruthlessness born of desperation Lia sliced off that train of thought.

  The man was asleep. His erection had nothing to do with her, other than that she was female. He didn’t want her. He never had. Never would. If he had then he’d never have simply turned his back on her last night and dropped off to sleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow in this vast bed.

  Setting her jaw, Lia took his wrist in her hand and gently, carefully, lifted his hand over her hip and put it behind her. Holding her breath, thankful that this magnificent bed was too plush to squeak, she edged slowly forward till they were no longer touching.

  Still Niccolo breathed deeply and evenly. He had no idea how close they’d been and never would. If she had to sleep on the chaise longue tonight, so be it. Anything to avoid a repeat of this…torture.

  Except, a little voice in her head piped up, it was wonderful too. Part of her had wanted to lie there as long as she could, and maybe convince Niccolo into a little early morning pleasure.

  Except he’s not attracted to you. Remember?

  *

  Surreptitiously Lia slipped out of bed and gathered some clothes. Minutes later the bathroom door closed behind her.

  It was only when the door snicked shut that Niccolo expelled the air caught in his lungs.

  He’d thought for sure she’d realise he was awake.

  But the way she’d stiffened in horror as she realised where she was, where he was — his shaft pressed right up against the inviting groove between her buttocks — proved she didn’t want anything to do with him. Not sexually.

  Another deep breath, dragging oxygen into lungs that had frozen. His jaw ached from clamping it too hard. Ditto the muscles in his thighs and arms.

  He’d wanted to lash her to him, nuzzle that fragrant, soft hair that teased his flesh every time she shifted. He’d wanted to kiss her till she was senseless and abandoned and begging for him. But most of all he’d wanted to power into her with a carnal urgency that scared him. Scared him because he’d only clung to sanity by a thread. Another minute, another wiggle of that curvy backside against his crotch and his good intentions would have been history.

  Niccolo rolled onto his back and stared up at the embroidered hangings over the bed.

  Doing the decent thing had never been so hard.

  His lips curved in a mirthless smile. Hard was definitely the operative word.

  He’d spent the whole night awake, even though he’d feigned sleep well enough that Lia had finally relaxed into slumber herself. Initially her tension had been palpable.

  And later… He sighed and scrubbed his bleary eyes. Later, soft and sexy, warm and impossibly tempting, she’d gravitated to him, and maybe he’d pulled her closer too. Which meant Niccolo had spent the night hard as a rock and hardly daring to breathe.

  But he’d done it. He’d respected Lia as she should be respected.

  So why the hell did he feel defeated?

  Chapter Five

  * * *

  Guests crowded the large salon, glasses raised as Niccolo led the toast. ‘To Nonna, and to many more happy years.’

  ‘To Signora Marchesi.’

  ‘To Giovanna.’

  Satisfaction filled Niccolo at seeing the old lady so happy. Only a few months before he’d wondered if she’d make this birthday. Now he had every hope she’d be around for years to come.

  There was laughter and applause as she cut the enormous cake with the help of some of the youngest Marchesis. Then the guests pressed close, each wanting to talk with her.

  Niccolo took the opportunity to cross to Lia, standing near the open doors to the garden.

  There’d been a constraint between them all day he couldn’t explain. After all, he’d behaved impeccably. Even now he couldn’t quite believe he’d managed to spend a night in her bed and not make a move on her.

  Oh, she’d smiled and laughed today and stayed at his side, making an effort to appear the perfect companion. But even if no-one else sensed that it was an effort, he did.

  ‘You look fantastic.’

  Huge eyes of golden brown lifted to his but she didn’t smile. ‘You said that earlier.’

  ‘It bears repeating.’ He let his gaze rove the long black dress in some silky, stretchy fabric. It clasped her beautiful curves the way his hands wanted to. Its narrow halter-neck strap left her shoulders bare and its severity, its only decoration being the lines of sequins along that strap, drew attention to the purity of her features.

  She looked like a sexy Madonna.

  She’d even left her hair down in a sleek, inky fall that accentuated her pale skin.

  Even from across the room, giving the congratulatory speech for his grandmother, Niccolo had had to fight not to stare at Lia.

  Especially since she’d been surrounded by men. The sight of them crowding close made his hackles rise. He hated knowing each one wanted to try their chance with her.

  His own cousins, Pietro, Giancarlo and Dante, had lingered nearby. All day they’d made their appreciation obvious. Giancarlo had even told Lia over lunch that she was dating the wrong Marchesi. Fortunately for Giancarlo’s pretty face, Lia had laughed off his flirting before Niccolo’s unaccustomed anger got the better of him.

  Even now they vied for her attention, until he warned them off with a possessive glare.

  ‘You brush up well too, Niccolo.’ Lia’s gaze skated his dinner jacket and bow tie before meshing with his. Again he felt that jolt of energy, as if he touched a live wire. It was a sensation he’d become familiar with lately, but in the past two days it had grown so strong it took an effort to appear impassive.

  Niccolo took a long sip of his drink, hoping the fiery burn might assuage his restlessness.

  Lia looked away and smiled at Paolo Calderone, the playboy media star who’d been ogling her all evening.

  Niccolo’s blood reached boiling point as he turned his shoulder on the leering layabout. ‘Come.’ He took Lia’s arm, ready to propel her out onto the terrace.

  But the touch of her soft, bare flesh shorted his brain. In an instant he was back in that wide four-poster bed, holding her close, her breath warm and humid on his arm, her cheek trustingly nestled beneath his shoulder. Her—

  ‘I’d rather stay here.’ Lia’s voice was low but there was no mistaking the mutinous line of her pouting lower lip.

  Niccolo frow
ned. Here? With a mob of slavering men?

  If he didn’t know Lia, and the fact she never played the field, never indulged in teasing, flirtatious games, he’d think she wanted to be at the centre of these hungry male eyes.

  But there was no teasing light in her expression. Instead there were shadows in her eyes and her smile seemed forced as she answered some question from Calderone, who stepped closer.

  What was wrong? Had something happened to her? Someone hurt her?

  As far as he knew everyone had loved her. She’d charmed his relatives and the other guests, her quiet assurance and warm manner as engaging as ever.

  Niccolo watched as Lia and Calderone exchanged small talk. His patience wore thin at the way Calderone’s gaze kept dropping to her pert breasts.

  Niccolo’s hand tightened on her arm till she shifted, wincing, and he realised he held her too tight. Instantly he released her arm and instead swept her close to his side, revelling in the press of her exquisite body against him. His arm was around her back, his hand clamping possessively on one warm hip. She was so smooth beneath the thin fabric, he wondered if she wore underwear and had to stop himself sliding his hand lower to check.

  He felt her swift intake of breath at his embrace, then a shuddery exhale, but she kept up the chit chat with Calderone.

  Short of dragging Lia against her will from the room, there was nothing he could reasonably do.

  Even if he did get her alone he doubted she’d tell him why she was so ill at ease today. It was more than the masquerade. Gut instinct told him it was far more. She’d played the part to perfection. But it was as if the woman he knew so well had become someone else. Someone determined to keep him at a distance mentally and emotionally, even if not physically.

  He couldn’t stand it.

  The realisation had him knocking back the rest of his drink and snagging another from a passing waiter.

  ‘So, Niccolo.’ Calderone drew himself up straighter as if trying to match Niccolo’s height. ‘What’s this rumour that you might take a break from the racing circuit?’

  Lia’s head swung up, her eyes meeting his. He read shock there, and enquiry, but she said nothing, merely smiled slightly. Just as if she really was his girlfriend, leaving it up to him to share his news or not.

  He shrugged and fixed the other man with a lazy smile that he hoped Calderone found annoying. If he decided to change career, he wouldn’t be giving this slimy Casanova the scoop.

  ‘Is there a rumour? I hadn’t heard it. But you know there are always rumours. Didn’t I hear something about you and that very young singer from Calabria? The one your current girlfriend introduced you to?’

  Calderone’s inquisitive expression froze, his smile so brittle it looked like his whiter-than-white teeth might just shatter.

  ‘You’re right,’ he murmured. ‘There’s always the most outrageous gossip.’ He looked past Niccolo. ‘If you’ll excuse me, there’s someone I need to see.’

  ‘That wasn’t very nice,’ Lia said softly when he’d gone.

  Again Niccolo lifted his shoulders. He felt better already without that shark circling Lia. ‘He’s not very nice.’ He paused. ‘Come outside for a little.’

  *

  Lia looked up into that sculpted, familiar, beautiful face and knew something was wrong.

  She didn’t want to be alone with him out in the soft evening. She didn’t want to share the beauty of the exquisite garden with Niccolo. It had been tough enough playing the role of happy girlfriend during the day without being alone with him now.

  For alone with him was when the real acting began. Then she had to pretend, for the sake of her pride and their future friendship, not to be affected by him.

  But there was something on his mind. Something holding his strong frame taut and corrugating his wide brow. And the truth was she did care for him. Too much.

  ‘Just for a little.’ She put down her glass on a side table and let him lead her out the door, preternaturally conscious of his athletic body against hers, that long thigh, the jut of his hipbone, the warm, close clamp of his hand.

  As soon as they were into the garden she broke from his hold, telling herself it was relief she felt to be away from him, not loss.

  By mutual consent their steps turned towards the water. Lia surveyed the lake, taking in the deep indigo velvet of its surface, wishing she felt half as calm.

  ‘Why did you want to come—?’

  ‘Lia, what’s wro—?’

  They stopped, facing each other. It felt as if something punched the air between them. A force, a reverberation. Something that drummed to the beat of the blood coursing hard through her body.

  ‘You first,’ he said.

  He lifted his hand as if to touch her, before his arm fell to his side. Had he sensed the way her every muscle froze in anticipation of his touch?

  Did he know that if he did touch her she was in danger of unravelling? Of spilling the secret of how she felt about him?

  Had he any idea how close she was to the edge?

  The idea appalled. Surely she hadn’t betrayed her feelings. She had to distract him, quickly.

  ‘Why did you want to come out here? Aren’t you enjoying the party?’

  Lia watched his mouth turn down, grim lines bracketing his lips. ‘Of course. It’s wonderful to see Nonna so happy. But I’d had enough of Calderone and his like. Who invited him here, I haven’t a clue.’

  He paused then asked, ‘Is everything okay? You don’t seem yourself.’

  A bubble of humourless laughter rose in her throat but she squashed it. ‘Of course I’m not myself. I’m pretending to be your girlfriend.’

  More than that, she was pretending to Niccolo she was heart-whole and totally unaffected by him. The strain was just about killing her.

  ‘Is that so difficult?’ She didn’t recognise his voice. It sounded stretched. Almost the way she felt, tugged by opposing forces and barely able to keep up the pretence that all was well. But this was Niccolo. The man who took everything in his stride, from press hordes to breakneck speeds that would terrify anyone else.

  ‘I’m not good at lying.’ She breathed deep of the garden’s sweet-scented air. ‘I feel so guilty pretending to your grandmother, and to the rest of your family that I’m someone…special.’

  His hand gripped hers. ‘You are special, Lia.’

  Sudden fury blindsided her. How could he be blithely unaware of how difficult this was? She tugged her hand free and took a few steps towards the pier jutting out into the still lake.

  ‘Don’t. Just…don’t.’

  ‘Lia?’ His voice came from over her shoulder and she knew he was only a pace away. She felt the warmth of his body reaching out to her, smelled his scent even though it should be masked by the riot of sweet perfumes from the nearby blooms.

  She wrapped her arms around herself and lifted her chin. ‘It’s nothing, Niccolo. Nothing you need to worry about.’ Because tomorrow she’d go back to Bergamo and her real life, and there’d be no more wishes or hopes or dreams about Niccolo. She wouldn’t allow it.

  ‘Have I done something, said something to upset you? You’re not yourself. You seem…unhappy.’ His voice was soft as a curl of smoke, wrapping itself around her.

  Yet she sensed he stood solid and unmoving behind her, ready to deal with whatever ailed her.

  Her mouth twisted. As if! This was her problem and hers alone. Deep down it wasn’t the charade they played that upset her but that he’d slept beside her and hadn’t felt what she had. She wanted him to care for her not only as a friend but as a lover.

  She wanted him with every tortured fibre of her aroused body.

  And she could never tell him. If she did she knew she’d never see him again.

  ‘Tell me.’ She swung round and met his stare. ‘What Paolo Calderone said back there, is it true? Are you taking a break from racing?’

  Those straight shoulders rose in a fluid shrug. ‘I’m not sure. Maybe.’

 
He paused and Lia realised she was prying. Maybe playing the role of girlfriend had gone to her head. His grim expression confirmed she’d overstepped the mark. They were friends, but Niccolo didn’t share stuff like that with her.

  ‘Sorry, it’s none of my business.’ She made to walk past him, back to the house, till his hand slid through her elbow, calluses grazing her skin and bringing it to tingling life.

  ‘Don’t.’

  She stopped, looking up into dark eyes she could barely read in the gloom. ‘Don’t what?’

  Niccolo shook his head. ‘You really want to know?’

  Slowly Lia nodded. ‘Of course.’ She wanted to know everything about him. Even now, hurting at the realisation they could never be more than friends, she wanted to help him through whatever it was that bothered him. She wasn’t used to seeing Niccolo as he was tonight.

  ‘I’m thinking of giving up racing.’

  She frowned. ‘But you love racing.’

  ‘Used to. These days it’s more about the media circus and the sponsorship than the actual racing, and even that…’ He spread his hands, palm up. ‘Maybe I’ve grown out of the need to hurtle around a racetrack at top speed.’

  Lia nodded. ‘That French driver’s accident would have an impact on anyone.’ It had been sudden, dreadful and left the man unable to walk.

  Niccolo shook his head. ‘It’s not that, though I suppose it’s made me stop to think about why I’m racing. I haven’t lost my nerve so much as my interest.’ He laughed, the sound anything but amused. ‘I feel like there’s more I can do, more challenges I can face, instead of spending my life doing the same thing again and again. I entertain people but I don’t do anything really useful.’

  He dropped her hand and paced down to the lake, shoving his hands in his trouser pockets. His broad shoulders hunched and for the first time in all her memories of Niccolo, he looked…troubled.

  ‘Is it so bad, entertaining people?’ Personally she hated his career. She couldn’t watch his races, for fear of an accident like the Frenchman’s. But she’d always thought he enjoyed it.