by Caro LaFever
The words of his sisters floated into Lara’s mind.
Dante always has a goal.
Dante never gives up.
Dante always wins.
Her throat tightened around a cold lump of fear. His formidable will combined with the sexual draw was a potent weapon. “Stop pushing me.”
Ignoring her plea, he moved close, close enough she caught his scent, masculine and clean. A shudder of forbidden desire raced through her. “Look at me,” he commanded.
Closing her eyes, she kept her face turned away.
A deep sigh escaped him. “Bella, I understand enough to know you were hurt—”
“You understand nothing.”
“—however, you must put it behind you,” he continued. “You must look at this from a logical point of view.”
The male condescension in his voice lit up all the old memories buried in her heart. He sounded precisely like Gerry had when he’d lectured her. Chastising her for not being able to read simple English. Chiding her for thinking she could handle her own money. The censure in his voice when she’d attempted to get a job.
“Logically,” Dante said, continuing to dig himself a deeper hole. “We have many things in common.”
“Logic. Typical of you. Yet missing the total point, as only a man can do.”
“As I am only a man.” His tone turned harsh. “Please illuminate your point.”
“My point is there is no bond between us.”
“You are deluding yourself.”
“This sexual thing—” She waved her hands in dismissal, trying to appear nonchalant, as if she discussed sex with a man every day of her life. “This sexual draw—”
“Ah.” His voice turned husky. “At last, you admit there is something between us.”
“Nothing of importance.”
“Sex is not important?”
“Not for me.” She struggled to find the words that would keep her secret while still successfully getting him to stop coming at her. “I’m not interested in sex.”
“You seem very interested whenever you are in my arms.”
“Which is why I don’t want to ever be there again.”
“He really did a number on you, didn’t he?”
His soft, low voice did not eclipse the hard, brutal truth.
“All right.” She braved a straight look at his face. “Let’s say he did. That doesn’t change the facts. I’m not interested.”
“This is not going to get any easier. And I am here to help you get over it.”
“How nice of you.” Another desperate laugh escaped her. She hoped it sounded practiced and experienced. She hoped the inflection in her tone and the laughter hid her secret well. “But no thank you.”
“Almost two years is a long time.” He straightened from the wall, his body still appearing relaxed. Yet his words pulsed with intent. A quiet, lethal purpose. “A relationship with me is exactly what you need.”
“I believe I’ll pass on your offer of sexual healing.”
“Do you think sex is the only thing I’m offering you?”
She knew it wasn’t. He’d made it clear. But discussing sex, even though that was hard enough, was much easier than talking about what he wanted. “That’s all there could be between us.”
“I disagree.” He paced slowly toward her. “There is much more for us.”
“I don’t want anything more.”
“So, the only thing you want from me is sex.” His deep, dark voice swirled, seduced, made her dizzy.
“I don’t want anything from you,” she cried. “Why can’t you let this go?”
“It is not in my nature to let things go.” He kept coming at her with his words, his intent. “Not when I see so much potential. What we have is an opportunity here.”
There it was once more. His cold dispassion. How could he ever think she would want a man like this? “Potential? Opportunity? You make it sound like we are going into business together.”
“In a way you are correct.” His stare never strayed from her face. “I believe it is worth exploring the possibility.”
“You told me you didn’t want to get crazy. You’re bordering close to that right now.”
His broad shoulders jerked, but he didn’t step back and he didn’t stop his barrage. “Is it crazy to acknowledge the sexual connection between us?”
“Stop—”
“Is it crazy to realize we have many things in common?”
“We have nothing in common.” Her heart beat in double time.
His stare never wavered. “Is it crazy to think of what we could create between us?”
“What could we possibly create between us other than anger?”
“What do a man and a woman together often create?”
Sucking in a shocked breath, she stared at him, stunned. “You can’t mean—”
“The thought has crossed my mind that neither of us is getting any younger.”
“My God. You are crazy.” She straightened, the realization stunning her, although it shouldn’t have. For all his I want yous and passionate kisses, what he actually wanted was a breeder.
Dante was not only crazy. He was cold to the core.
“Not in the slightest.” His mouth tightened and his brows furrowed. “I’m practical.”
“We’re not talking about a business. We are talking about—”
“It has also not escaped my notice you like and enjoy children.” His words cut her off as if what she had to say was of little importance.
Her gut churned, a mix of potent anger and hurt.
Dammit.
Hurt.
He didn’t want her. Not truly. He only wanted someone to give birth to his children.
His hands slipped into his pockets. “As do I.”
A vivid memory of her shock as she watched him with his nephew at the wedding reception hours ago flew through her mind. She hadn’t expected it, hadn’t believed it. Yet it had been right in front of her, impossible to ignore. The easy way he held the boy. The slight softening of his grim features. The way the boy laughed up into his uncle’s face with complete trust.
Dante would be a good father, she’d thought.
Struggling past the memory of what she’d thought at that moment, she tried to marshal her resources. “I don’t want children.”
“That is why you are opening a school for dozens?”
“I’m not ready to have children. Certainly not your children.”
“I believe there’s a saying in your adopted country.” Irony crept around his words.
“I’m sure there’s nothing I can say to stop you from telling me.”
“The lady protests too much.” The complete confidence in his voice was maddening.
“Dante,” she blurted out. “I am not going to marry you. Ever.”
Silence fell.
Finally, his black brows lifted. “I believe it is customary to wait until you are asked before giving your answer.”
“Opportunity. Potential. Customary.” The words rushed out of her, in an agitated wash of frustration at his insistence on labeling anything with emotion as merely a formality. “Are you alive in there? Do you have a heart anymore?”
His dark eyes blazed with a sudden flash of fury. “Keep putting me down. You only make me more determined.”
“That’s supposed to scare me? Impress me?”
“I won’t give up.” Moonlight spilled across the flinty muscles in his face. “I won’t stop.”
Relentless. Persistent. Stubborn.
A terrible exhaustion hit her. She stumbled to the other side of the tree and tried to still the thudding of her heart and head.
“I have decided.” His voice was velvet over steel. “You are mine.”
“Your decision? Yours only?” With a bang, her exhaustion flew away in the soft night air. The violent urge to push him until he exploded was more than she could resist. Turning, she pinned him with her glare. “A decision that involves me? And I’m suppo
sed to go along with it?”
The dusky shadows of the night filtered around his broad shoulders as he stood still.
“Let me guess,” she continued to prod. “You make the decision and I submit.”
He stiffened.
“You make all the decisions, and they’re always the right ones, aren’t they?”
A disparaging sound came from his throat.
“I shouldn’t worry my silly little head about anything. I should coo and giggle and do just what you tell me to do.”
“Dio santo,” he groaned. “You drive me crazy.”
“Right. Exactly right. And it’s not what you want, is it? You said so yourself.”
“I won’t let you do this,” he muttered. “I won’t let you do this to me.”
“Ditto. I won’t let you do this to me either.” She stepped away, one step towards escape. “I won’t let you put me in a tidy little box you control.”
His hand slashed in an arc of rejection. “That is not—”
“It is.” Another step away. “We are bad for each other. In every way.”
“Is that so.” With one stride, he was upon her. Grabbing her arms, he pulled her into his heated body. “Not in every way, damn you.”
His head came down, his lips pressed on hers. His tongue dove into her mouth, pushing her, pulling her, coaxing her into his stormy need. In the dim regions of her mind, Lara heard a voice, laughing, taunting her...this is what you wanted, isn’t it?…this is what you pushed for, wasn’t it?
Was it? Was this what she wanted? The cold man now hot with need. The cool customer now panting with desire she’d created inside him. The haughty aristocrat brought low by his uncontrollable lust for her.
A shiver of delighted horror ran through her. Because she knew the truth. In an instant.
Yes. She wanted this. She wanted him.
Her mouth softened, then sucked him in.
He groaned in response and with one swift turn, he had her pinned to the rough bark of the tree. Yet all she felt was the heat pouring from his skin. All she felt was the air around them burn with passion. All she felt was her heart and body open to him.
To Dante.
Skidding his lips down, he nipped her chin before licking the side of her neck. A pure zip of adrenaline flooded her nerves and blood and body. Gasping, she tried to find a foothold, something to stop herself from falling completely under his spell.
But she found no help. Only him.
His hands tightened their grip on her. “Abbracciami,” he husked.
Hold me.
His heated demand shot through her and before she could process it in her brain, her arms settled on his warm, wide shoulders.
“Sei bella.” His breath rasped along her neck and cheek and then he covered her mouth. His tongue swept over her lips, slipping past her teeth and sliding across her own. He lifted her into him, pressing his erection on the most sensitive part of her.
She panted as the heat and power of him flamed against her.
And she lost the last lingering desire to keep herself from him.
Her hands moved across his neck into his hair. The softness was surprising after the hardness of his muscled shoulders. She weaved her fingers through the beginning of curl, her dazed sight watching the moonlight casting a glint of silver on his dark locks. Smoothing her hand down, she touched the warmth of him, the moisture gathering on the skin of his neck before she hit the top of his shirt.
The man burned, burned for her.
“Lara,” he moaned. His hips pressed deeper into her, pinning her to the rough bark as both of his hands moved forward to gently cup her breasts.
She wore no bra underneath her simple silk dress. The tiny straps over her shoulders wouldn’t allow for any kind of proper bra. This fact, combined with the heat of the day, had made her go without, needing only a short-sleeved cotton jumper for the church. Yet never in her wildest imaginings would she have thought of him touching her breasts and how wonderful it felt as his fingers slid on the thin silk.
His palms covered her, lifting the weight, plumping the curves closer together. The warmth of his skin penetrated the silk, heating her flesh. He softly plucked and played with her nipples. The electric zip she experienced made her arch.
Asking for more.
His groan broke through the mist of her mind for a moment, but then he flicked one of her straps down her arm and bared one breast. Before she could gather a thought, his scorching, wet mouth was on her, sucking and licking. She lost control of her thoughts, her body. He played for a long time, far longer than a ruthless businessman should have time for. Finally, he slipped the other strap off and concentrated his formidable attention on her other breast.
Sexual lightning crackled through her bloodstream.
She closed her eyes, allowing herself to relish the feel of a man tugging on her nipple, touching and smoothing his hand on the roundness of her breast. In her imaginings over the years, never had she understood the depths of the pleasure a man, this man, could bring to her body. The momentary thought popped into her brain: she’d never experienced such bliss. Before she could analyze this amazing discovery further, though, he slid one hand across her hip, under her dress, and into the vee of her legs.
She lost focus. She only felt.
“So hot. So wet.” His deep voice slipped across the skin of one breast and tickled her nipple.
She couldn’t swallow the moan of pure pleasure. The man was an artist. He played and dallied, and took his time as if he were sipping a vintage wine or contemplating a Michelangelo masterpiece. She hadn’t expected this. None of this. She hadn’t…
His head abruptly reared up and his mouth took hers and she was pulled into the flow of passion, her thoughts scattering into the still Italian night. Her eyes dimmed as his demanding tongue touched her own. She only heard the beat of her heart and blood as it heated her skin. Her focus narrowed to the man standing between her legs, pushing his hard erection into her, and then easing off. Then moving on her again. Only the thin silk of her thong and the smooth wool of his pants separated them.
The sound of her thong ripping jerked her head up. “Dante.”
“Shhh,” he breathed against her skin, licking her, tasting her essence. “Let me take care of you.”
Sudden tears blurred her sight. In all her dreams of sex, all her long nights alone in bed over the years, she’d run through thousands of images. Of him. Dante naked and wanting, his body next to hers. Loving her and taking care of her needs.
Let me take care of you.
Not an adult taking care of a child. Or a controlling husband taking care of an incapable wife. No, she’d dreamt of a man taking care of his woman. She’d dreamt of this and now it was a reality.
His lips brushed across her cheeks and he stilled his fingers on the soft curls between her legs. “Lara?”
“Don’t stop.” She moved her hips in an instinctive feminine twist.
He didn’t listen to her, taking a step away. “Why are you crying?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Mio Dio.” His hand left her aching as he reached for her arms slung around his shoulders, apparently intent on stopping what was happening between them. “Certainly it matters.”
A frantic, fierce desire stormed through her. Jerking herself from his grasp, she lifted her hands and fisted them in his hair, bringing his mouth to hers. Using skills she didn’t know she had, she tasted him with her tongue, rubbed her bare breasts on the sleek feel of his shirt. He burned, the silk damp with his need. No longer cold. No longer distant.
“Bella,” he objected one more time before he capitulated, his tongue sweeping around hers in an intimate dance.
She reveled in it, forgetting everything between them except this passion, this inferno. “Touch me,” she begged. Take care of me.
With a choked laugh, he broke their kiss and looked at her. Dark and deep, his stare was filled with a fire not even the night shadows could quench. �
�Whatever you want, il mio amore.”
My love.
Her heart soared, even though her brain rumbled in disbelief. All thoughts and feelings disappeared as one long male finger swept over her hip and slid into her other heart.
She gasped.
For the first time, for the only time, she experienced someone else’s hand on the most intimate part of her body. No cotton or silk or wool stopping flesh meeting flesh. He held her gaze as he slowly moved his finger through the curls and into her wetness.
No more barriers. No more loneliness.
“So soft,” he whispered. He threw back his head with a groan as if the mere touching of her sex drove him wild. The moonlight highlighted the blunt edge of his long nose, crested on his black brow, painted silver on his high cheekbones. In this moment, he was totally with her, totally hers.
His finger slid down, through her folds, to her entry.
Gasping, she arched into him, her hands tight on his biceps, her eyes closing at the ecstasy he gave her with one small, slight movement.
“You like that.” His husky voice was filled with satisfaction.
His finger moved again and again.
She had never experienced this kind of heat in her lonely bed, with her own hand. The pleasure was indescribable, incalculable. Another finger played, and another, until she could no longer control her own body. The burning built inside her, the fire raging in her blood, threatening to devour her with its fever.
His mouth kissed her neck and then her ear and then her cheek. “Bella,” he moaned. “How I adore the sounds you make.”
Sounds? She couldn’t talk, she certainly couldn’t trail two words together in the midst of this pleasure. Yet through the dimness of her mind, she heard her soft pants, and when a finger hit just the right place, the mewling cry escaped from her open lips.
“Come for me.” His command was taut with tension. “Now.”
Electric heat pinged inside her at his words, his desire. His fingers zeroed in on the aching part of her. She couldn’t stop the keening wail, until his mouth stifled the sound.
The pleasure softly subsided, and she sagged on him.
“Dio,” he groaned. “What you do to me.”
His panting breath was like a hot caress on her ear. His warm body curved around hers, protectively. One large hand smoothed across her tender skin. A muted thought came to her. She should touch him. Do for him, what he’d done for her. She should give him...