His freshly shaved jaw scraped the skin of my face as he changed position to deepen the kiss. His arms relaxed their iron grip on me and moved to cup one of my breasts in a caressing and yet possessive movement that made my insides twist and contort with lust. His other hand went to the nape of my neck, underneath my hair. He knew instinctively that it was one of my most sensitive erogenous zones. As his fingers moved in amongst those finer hairs, I tingled all over and my toes curled in my shoes.
His mouth softened against mine, his kiss less punishing now, but no less passionate. Our tongues danced around each other in a cat-and-mouse caper, stopping to play every now and again before doing another round. I heard myself whimper as his lips nipped at mine in playful little nudges and bites that made every cell in my body shudder with delight. His warm breath mingled with mine, his taste lingering in my mouth like the bouquet of a top-shelf wine.
I wanted more. I wanted to get drunk on his kiss. To be completely and utterly intoxicated with him.
He slowly pulled back from me, but my lips clung to his as if they didn’t want to let him go. He cradled my face in his hands—a gesture that was sure to win any girl’s heart, in my opinion. I looked into molasses-dark eyes that were glittering with hot-blooded desire and felt another fissure open like a fault line in the cold, hard armour around my heart.
His thumbs stroked over my cheeks in slow motion, back and forth in a mesmerising caress that made it impossible for me to think of anything witty or pithy to say. I was in a sensual stupor. Stoned on the power and potency of his masterful mouth and the combustion of passion it had triggered in me.
There was a pleated frown between his brows. ‘That was…’ he paused for a moment, as if searching for the right word ‘…unforgivable.’
Unforgettable, more like, I thought.
I moistened my lips with a quick dart of my tongue. ‘It’s fine,’ I said. ‘It was just a kiss. No big deal.’
One of his hands cupped my cheek as if it were a priceless piece of porcelain. His touch was so gentle it made the tight knot of my bitterness towards him unfurl like satin ribbon spilling away from its spool. The pad of his thumb pressed ever so lightly against my lower lip. The desire to suck his thumb into my mouth was almost unbearable. His eyes met mine and I felt a jolt of something hot and electric run through me from head to foot and back again.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said.
‘For…?’ I could barely get my voice to work, let alone sound normal. It came out husky and breathy. So not like matter-of-fact me.
He drew in a deep breath and let it out on a sigh, his hand still cradling my cheek. ‘I don’t want it to be like this between us,’ he said. ‘Fighting. Scoring points. Being bitter.’
I moistened my lips again. ‘So…what are you saying?’
His eyes went to my mouth, as if he found it the most fascinating thing in the world. And I must admit I found his pretty fascinating—especially when I could see a trace of my lip gloss on his lower lip.
I lifted my hand and blotted it away. ‘Buy your own lip gloss,’ I said, with an attempt to lighten things.
I was feeling threatened by his disarming gentleness. It was reminding me of how easily I had fallen in love with him in the past. It was his gentle sensuality that had bewitched me. He wasn’t a man to lose control of his emotions or his passions. He had always been in control. He had shown me that in so many ways. It had built my confidence, made me feel secure and safe and able to express my own sensuality without fear of exploitation. He hadn’t steamrollered me or pressured me.
And yet he was a deeply passionate man. I could feel the heat of that simmering passion in his body, sitting so close to mine. I could see it in his gaze when it meshed with mine. I was left in no doubt of his desire for me. I suspected he was in no doubt of mine for him, in spite of all of my paltry attempts to disguise it.
His smile was canted to one side. ‘Is it so impossible for us to be friends?’
I cocked my head in a guarded manner. ‘What sort of friends?’
His eyes measured mine for a long moment. The back and forth movement of his gaze to each of my eyes in turn made me feel as if he was seeing beyond the starchy, don’t-mess-with-me facade I’d erected over the last few years. I got the feeling he was looking for the girl he’d met in Paris.
But I was no longer that girl…or was I?
Was there a faint trace of the old-fashioned romantic in me? Like an old sweater I should have thrown out long ago but had kept just because…just because it was warm and comforting and stirred a lot of memories.
Why else was I finding it so impossible to resist Alessandro’s touch? He had come back into my life and turned it upside down. I couldn’t control my response to him. It was programmed in my DNA to respond to him on a primal level. I wanted him—no matter how much he had hurt me. I wanted him regardless. I wanted to feel the passion only he evoked in me. I wanted to experience the rapture of being desired by a man who could have anyone he wanted but for some reason had chosen me.
Wasn’t that the thing I found most thrilling? Alessandro Lucioni wanted me. I was an ordinary girl and he was an extraordinary man—a gifted man who had saved so many lives, changed numerous lives for the better. He was a leader in his field—a giant on whose shoulders others would one day stand. How could I not be flattered that he wanted me? How could I possibly resist the longing he triggered in me?
I wanted to feel alive again. To feel passion and excitement and the hot rush of lust and release race through my body until I was boneless and mindless and breathless.
‘The sort of friends who can put the mistakes of the past aside and move forward,’ he said.
‘Forward into what?’
My voice was back to normal now. Shoot-from-the-hip normal. Don’t-mess-with-me normal. Even though I wanted him, I wasn’t going to spring into anything serious. Why would I set myself up for heartbreak and disappointment again? I know how to take care of myself these days. I can separate my emotions from my physical needs. Sure I can. No problem. Men do it all the time. Sex is just sex. It’s like eating or drinking. You do it when you’re hungry or thirsty.
Sex was just another appetite and I could satisfy it—temporarily—with him.
A one-off binge—that was what it would be. A gourmet feast of the senses that would hopefully overload my system so the craving stopped. That’s how I cured my chocolate addiction. I ate two family-size blocks and was so sick afterwards I was frothing chocolate at the mouth like one of those chocolate fountains you see at a party.
The reason I ate those two blocks was that I’d seen Alessandro walk into the restaurant where Bertie and I were having lunch that day. I’m not normally a comfort eater, but seeing him with that blonde had been like a rusty dagger to my heart. They had looked so good together. Like they’d stepped straight out of the pages of a glossy magazine. I could scrub up pretty well if I worked at it, but there was no way on earth I could compete with the sort of glamorous arm candy he squired around. Or employed. Or whatever the case might be.
Reading Alessandro’s expression was like trying to read a closed book. I knew there was a lot going on between the covers of his mind, but he was showing none of it on his face.
‘Would you be interested in taking it a day at a time to see how things go?’ he said.
I screwed my mouth up and shifted my lips from side to side in a musing manner. I didn’t want to look too keen. I wanted to appear cool and in control, even though my body was already leaping with excitement.
‘What about the school’s “no fraternising with the parents” clause?’ I said, even though none existed and I was pretty sure he knew it.
He would have done his research. He was that sort of person. He would make it his business to find out everything he could in order to get what he wanted.
His smile was sexily lopsided again. ‘Rules can be bent a little to accommodate specific needs, n’est-ce pas?’
I wish he wouldn’t do th
at. Speak in French, I mean. How was I supposed to act cool and composed when he made my spine go all squishy and tingly? His voice was not the only thing that undid me. It was that look in his eyes that made my body vibrate with longing. The look that said, I want you. Now.
I forced myself to sit primly. My mouth was set in a pursed fashion. My hands were clasped in my lap to stop them from wandering over to where I could see the tenting of his trousers. Be still, my pulse.
‘You seem pretty confident I’ll say yes,’ I said.
He picked up a stray wisp of my hair and gently tucked it behind my ear. That and the face-cupping and the speaking French were enough to make any hard-case cynic melt, let me tell you. Every muscle in my body felt like it had turned into a blob of hair mousse.
His eyes went to my mouth in that hooded manner that communicated much more than words could ever do. It was the body language of sex and he was totally fluent.
‘It would be a shame to ignore what’s still there between us,’ he said.
The only thing between us right then was the car’s middle console and the gearshift, but I didn’t point that out. I knew exactly what he was referring to. I could feel it. I’d felt it the first time we met and every time I’d come in contact with him since. The air changed. The atmosphere became charged. I became charged.
My blood pounded through my veins as if I had been injected with a potent drug. I could feel my heart beating against my rib cage like a sparrow trapped in someone’s hand. My skin tightened all over my body, as if the bones of my skeleton were pushing outwards so I could get closer to him. My breasts ached for the stroke of his hands, for the rasp of his tongue, for the suck and pull of his mouth. I looked at his mouth and felt another wave of need ricochet through me.
‘Here’s the thing,’ I said, forcing my gaze back to his. ‘I don’t hand out second chances. It’s another rule I like to adhere to.’
His eyes stayed locked on mine. ‘I’m not offering you the same relationship as before, so strictly speaking your rule doesn’t apply.’
He was good at the countermoves, I had to admit. But what exactly was he offering? And why was I even considering it? Although, come to think of it, maybe that wasn’t so hard to answer.
‘How would it be different from what we had before?’ I asked.
‘It would be temporary.’
I’m not sure why those four words should have hurt but they did. Wham. It was like a knockout punch to the solar plexus. Not that I showed it on my face or anything. I was Too Cool For School. No pun intended.
‘A fling, then.’ I stated it without emotion. Like a robot processing data.
He shifted his gaze and stared out at the rain-lashed street with a frown pulling at his brow. ‘It’s all I can offer now.’
I wiped my hand across my brow. ‘Phew! That’s a relief. So I won’t have to worry about you suddenly springing a romantic proposal on me that I’ll have to refuse on principle.’
His gaze cut back to mine. ‘Marriage is out of the question.’
I lifted one of my eyebrows. ‘That’s quite some turnaround from the guy who once couldn’t wait to get hitched and make babies.’
His jaw worked for a moment and his gaze swung back to the road. His hands gripped the steering wheel for a beat or two before he leaned forward to restart the engine.
‘We’d better get a move on,’ he said. ‘If we don’t show up on time we might lose our booking at the restaurant.’
I sat back in my seat—actually I was thrown back by the g-force of his car—and remained silent for the rest of the journey.
The restaurant was not far from the Roman Baths, and it had more stars than the Milky Way—or so it appeared to me. Even after all this time I still get a little starstruck when I go to posh restaurants. It’s because Bertie and I didn’t eat out when we were kids. Our parents wouldn’t allow it. We weren’t taken to fast-food restaurants, let alone fine dining ones.
I was seventeen and Bertie sixteen when we went to our first proper restaurant. Our parents were away on a rebirthing retreat, and thankfully we were left at home. Personally, I could think of nothing worse than returning to my mother’s birth canal, as apparently I’d come out upside down and back to front and caused quite a bit of damage on the way through. A fact she likes to remind me of from time to time.
Anyway, Bertie and I rocked up to a mid-priced restaurant—we didn’t want to look foolish using the wrong cutlery or something—and we both ordered big juicy steaks. It’s kind of a sisterly tradition between us now. Of course we don’t tell our parents what we get up to…although if my mother opens my fridge at home I guess the game will be well and truly up.
The maître d’ showed Alessandro and me to our table as if we were the guests of honour. I suddenly felt self-conscious. Were all the other diners looking at me and wondering what I was doing with Alessandro? Wondering how a plain and ordinary, conservatively dressed primary schoolteacher could possibly interest a man as clever and sophisticated as him? Then I had another thought. Were there any parents from school in the restaurant? I did a quick covert sweep of the room, but thankfully didn’t recognise anyone.
We sat down and the waiter took our drinks order. I’m not a big drinker. I’m too much of a control freak. I like to be fully in charge of my faculties at all times and in all places. There’s nothing quite like a drink spike when you’re thirteen to teach you that lesson once and for all.
Alessandro wasn’t a big drinker either. At least that hadn’t changed, even if his views on marriage and kids had. He had a glass of mineral water while I had a glass of cola. I know it’s bad for you. Twenty-two teaspoons of sugar and all that. But if I have the diet variety then there’s all those ghastly chemicals to think about. The way I see it, I can’t win.
Mind you, I’m lucky it doesn’t come back to bite me on the bottom. I’m happy to say my bottom is exactly the same size it has been since I was eighteen. Bertie hates me for it. I can eat and drink pretty much what I want.
I reckon it’s the nervous energy that burns all the calories off. I look like I’ve got it all sorted on the surface, but underneath my ice-maiden mask I’m a basket case. I ruminate. I fret. I chew my nails and pick at my cuticles when no one is looking. I would thumb-suck if I could get away with it. I’ve been known to roll into the foetal position and rock, but not for a while. Months, actually.
Alessandro looked up from perusing the gourmet menu. ‘What do you fancy?’
You, I wanted to say.
I dipped my head and made a show of examining my menu like it was a newly discovered addition to the Dead Sea Scrolls. ‘Hmm, let me see.’ I even tapped my fingertip against my lips. ‘Aha! Beef Wellington with scalloped potatoes and green beans.’ I closed my menu and sent him a ‘that’s settled’ smile. ‘You?’
He was looking at me as if I were the most fascinating thing on the menu. But then I realised I was on the menu. We hadn’t said it in so many words, but we’d more or less agreed on a fling. Hadn’t we? Would we race through dinner and go back to his place? We certainly couldn’t go back to mine. Not with my parents there. My mother would have her ear to the wall, listening to make sure I was having tantric sex or counting my orgasms or something.
Alessandro reached for my hand across the table, his long tanned fingers closing gently around mine, his eyes holding my gaze in a sensual tether I could feel tugging on me all the way to my core.
‘I’ve thought about you a lot, ma petite,’ he said.
‘Why do you speak French so much?’ I said. ‘Why not Italian, given your Sicilian heritage?’
I thought I saw something brittle come and go in his gaze before it shifted to watch his thumb stroking the back of my hand in slow rhythmic strokes.
‘I haven’t been back to Sicily since I left when I was eighteen.’
‘Because of your father?’
His gaze met mine once more. ‘My life is in England now. This is home.’
I searched his coal-bl
ack gaze for a beat or two. Was he distancing himself from his father by becoming more English than Italian? Had his year in Paris been another part of that distancing plan?
‘What sort of work does your father do? Or is he retired?’ I asked into the brooding silence.
His hand released mine and he picked up his glass and drank a draught of his water before answering. ‘He’s a property developer.’
‘Successful?’
‘Very.’
‘Was he disappointed you didn’t follow him into the business?’ I asked.
That hard look came back into his eyes. ‘I didn’t ask you out to dinner to talk about my father. Let’s talk about something else.’
‘I’d like to know more about you,’ I said. ‘I feel like I’m only now starting to get to know you. You kept so much hidden from me in the past.’
His hand reached for mine again and gave it a tiny squeeze. ‘Some things are best not talked about.’
Who was I to argue about that? I had my own dirty little secret.
I must have shown something of my conflicted feelings on my face, for Alessandro picked up my hand from where it was resting on the table and brought it to his mouth. He pressed a soft kiss to my bent knuckles, his eyes still holding mine.
‘Tell me about you.’
I could feel every muscle in my body shrinking back from the table, like a snail retreating into its shell, but there was only so far I could go with Alessandro’s hand anchoring me to him. ‘What about me?’
‘Tell me why you chose to teach in Bath.’
I flicked the tip of my tongue over my lips. ‘I’ve always liked the area. I love the Regency period and Georgian architecture. I guess this sounds a bit weird, but I felt kind of drawn to the place. I had other options, but I felt compelled to take the job at Emily Sudgrove. Of course my mother would say it was cosmic intervention, or some such nonsense.’
His smile was crooked and heart-stoppingly gorgeous. ‘Maybe it was destined that we would meet again, if only for me to apologise for how I handled things.’ He stroked the back of my hand again. ‘I’ve missed you, Jem. Really missed you. I’ve never met anyone else quite like you.’
Italian Surgeon to the Stars Page 9