The Thrill of Temptation (The Fontaines Book 4)

by Ember Casey

  Luca walks further outside, still laughing deeply. I’m glad at least one person here is amused by all of this.

  “I didn’t know you were in the mood for an afternoon dip,” he says to Dante. “Usually it’s better to take your clothes off first.”

  “She pushed me in,” Dante says darkly, indicating me with a jerk of his head.

  Luca turns his eyes toward me. They’re golden-brown, like Orlando’s, but they’re missing some of that intense heat that makes Orlando’s so intriguing. The family connection is obvious, though.

  “Who are you?” Luca asks, giving me a curious perusal. Unlike Dante, he doesn’t sound particularly suspicious. Just curious.

  “She claims Orlando invited her here.” Dante hauls himself out of the pool with a grunt. “And then she pushed me into the pool when I tried to call the cops.”

  “Orlando did invite me,” I explain to Luca. “And I didn’t mean to push him into the pool. I just didn’t want to be arrested when I haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “She obviously broke in.” Dante gives a quick frown to the drenched phone still clutched in his hand. “She claims she’s working on Death and Deadly Night, and you know Orlando’s personal rules about these things.”

  “Orlando wouldn’t be the first person in our family to lose his head over a woman,” Luca says, grinning. “In fact, I’m surprised it hasn’t happened sooner. He always did have a romantic streak.”

  “You believe her?” Dante looks at his brother like Luca is insisting the world is flat. “You don’t even know her name!”

  “Maggie Blankenship,” I say, extending my hand to Luca. “From Atlanta.”

  “Nice to meet you, Maggie from Atlanta.” Luca shakes my hand. “I’m Luca. And this grouchy fellow over here is Dante.”

  “I know.” I smile.

  “Tell me, Maggie,” Luca says, slipping his hand into his pocket and pulling out his phone. “If I were to call Orlando right now, what would he say?”

  “He’d tell you exactly as I said. That I’m a guest here.” I glance at Dante. “If I were a stalker, why would I be in his pool? Wouldn’t I have gone up to his room to steal his underwear or something? Or waited for him naked in bed?” Come to think of it, the whole naked-in-bed thing might be a fun surprise for Orlando later. Assuming his brothers don’t have me arrested.

  “She makes a good point,” Luca says. “My stalkers are always much creepier. Did I tell you about the one who hid in the bathtub?”

  “I don’t make it my business to study how stalkers do or don’t behave,” Dante says stiffly. “I just make it my business to protect my brother and his home, which is all I was doing.”

  “Then we’ll just call him and settle all this,” Luca says. “Assuming he answers this time.”

  “He went to go see your father,” I tell them.

  “Well, that explains why he wasn’t answering my texts. We were on our way to the hospital ourselves and thought we’d swing by. He doesn’t usually ignore messages unless he’s in the middle of filming. But if he’s already at the hospital…” Luca casually pushes his hair away from his face, leaving it beautifully tousled, but his expression looks decidedly grimmer. Even the charming, experienced actor can’t hide his true emotions about their father’s condition.

  “That still doesn’t explain her,” Dante points out.

  “I think he wanted to make that visit on his own,” I tell them. “I told him I’d just entertain myself here until he got back.”

  “Well there you go,” Luca says. “If that’s the case, we can just be on our way.”

  “Just because she says that’s what happened doesn’t make it the truth,” Dante insists. “When was the last time Orlando trusted a woman enough to leave her alone in his house?”

  “Well, never,” Luca says. “But there’s always a first time for everything.”

  Just when I’m beginning to think this might go on all afternoon—and still end up with me being hauled off in handcuffs—I see movement out of the corner of my eye. For a terrifying moment, I’m convinced some other member of the family has appeared to make this even more awkward, but to my relief, it’s Orlando.

  “There he is!” Luca says, smiling again. “Just the man who can clear up this whole thing.”

  Orlando’s surprise fades to a frown as he takes in his brothers—including a still-dripping Dante. His gaze finally lands on me, but he doesn’t let it linger.

  “What’s going on?” Orlando demands.

  “Do you know this woman?” Dante asks, still glaring at me with narrowed eyes.

  Orlando stops right next to me. He looks absolutely exhausted, like he’s just climbed a mountain through the snow. I wonder how much sleep he actually got on our flight.

  “This is Maggie,” he tells his brothers, slipping an arm around my waist. “And yes, I know her. I invited her to stay with me.”

  “See? I knew she wasn’t a stalker,” Luca says as if he’d come to that brilliant realization himself.

  Dante just looks defeated. He’s still handsome, even drenched to the bone, and now that he’s realized he was wrong, he loses a bit of his severity. Like Orlando, he looks tired.

  “I apologize for the misunderstanding,” he says finally, though he doesn’t sound particularly sorry. “Perhaps if you’d answered your phone in the first place, Orlando, all of this could have been avoided.”

  “I was at the hospital,” he says.

  “We’re on our way there now.” Luca looks grim again. “How’s he doing?”

  “He was asleep the whole time I was there. I chatted with our mother awhile, but she practically ordered me to come home and get some rest. Rafe and Edie showed up just as I was leaving.”

  His brothers nod.

  “I’ve been in touch with Felicia at Celebrity Spark,” Dante says. “And I’ve approved the report they’ll be running tonight. We’ll be ahead of the story, at least. As long as we keep feeding Celebrity Spark exclusives, we can more or less control the rumors.”

  “Let me know if there’s anything else I can do to help,” Orlando says.

  “Of course.” Dante gives me another look, and I can see the questions in his eyes. But he must decide that this isn’t the time to ask them. “We should be on our way.”

  “Let me know if there are any more updates tonight,” Orlando says.

  The brothers bid each other farewell, then Luca and Dante depart, Dante leaving wet footprints behind him.

  Which leaves Orlando and me standing next to the pool.

  “I’m sorry about that,” Orlando says. “My brothers and I all have keys to each other’s houses, but I didn’t expect them to just show up and walk in on you. I would have warned you.”

  “That’s fine. Dante got the worst of it.”

  “I noticed.” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “What did you do? Push him in the pool?”

  “It was an accident, I swear! I was just trying to keep him from calling the cops.”

  He laughs, and though it brightens his face somewhat, the sound is still much hollower than usual. He’s drained in every sense of the word.

  Before I can ask him about his father, though, he surprises me. He grabs me, sweeping me up off my feet and into his arms.

  “You know,” he says, “seeing you in that swimsuit puts me in the mood for a swim myself.”

  He walks several feet to the edge of the pool, then before I can even throw my arms around his neck, takes a flying leap off the side.

  We both splash into the pool, and his arms release me when we’re underwater. I come up sputtering, too shocked to know how to react, but when Orlando’s head breaks the surface he’s laughing. This time the sound is brighter, freer. Almost real.

  He catches me up in his arms again, pulling me towards him.

  “I need you,” he says.

  His mouth descends on mine. He tastes of chlorine, but I don’t care. His tongue delves between my lips, his wet body sliding against mine, and
I kiss him back, clinging to his soaked shirt. I want to help him, to ease some of his pain, and right now this is the best way I know how. I don’t think I could have refused him either way—my body came alive the moment he touched me, and I don’t know how to suppress the need surging through me.

  My fingers move to the buttons of his shirt. I pull them open one by one as his hands roam over my body, caressing me from my breasts down to my ass. His lips slant across mine, his tongue pressing deeper into my mouth, but when I finally have his shirt completely open, he breaks the kiss. Together, we peel it off him and set it adrift in the water beside us, not caring where it goes. I only get a second to admire his muscled chest before his mouth comes down on mine again.

  His hands continue to explore my body. He grabs the strings on the back of my swimsuit top and tugs them open. Then the ones at the base of my neck. My top slides off my body and into the water.

  Orlando grabs me and pulls me around him, pushing my back up against the side of the pool without breaking our kiss. When he finally tears his mouth away from mine, it’s only to drop his face and kiss a path down my neck. His lips feel so hot against my wet skin, like the sun caressing me. He drops his head lower and lower—down my throat, across my collarbone, to the swell of my breasts rising above the surface of the water. He grasps one of my breasts and raises it, lifting it free of the pool, and then he drops his head to take my nipple in his mouth.

  “Ahhh,” I groan, letting my head fall back against the patterned tiles. My skin prickles in response to the variety of sensations—the cold water, the heat of his mouth, the cool breeze, the warmth of the California sun. Hot and cold, cold and hot… They all dance around me, coming and going in dizzying waves.

  “You taste even better than I imagined,” he tells me, lifting his face slightly and grabbing my other breast in his free hand.

  “I probably taste like pool chemicals.”

  He laughs. Every time the sound is lighter, more genuine. “Just a little. But I can taste you, too.” He moves his face to my other breast, giving it the same treatment as the first, and I sigh, curling my hands in his thick hair. My eyes fall closed, and I don’t even mind the friction of the hard surface behind my back. I could lose myself in these feelings, float away into pure bliss.

  I’m so absorbed in all the sensations that it takes me a moment to notice he’s pulling my swimsuit bottoms down over my hips. I drop my hands to the waistband of his pants. No one has ever warned me how much harder it is to undo someone’s fly underwater, but after a little bit of wrestling, I somehow get it down. And considering how completely and utterly distracted I am by the way he’s touching me, I’m pretty damn proud of myself.

  Somehow his hands feel even warmer underwater. Warm and gentle and rough and torturous. He raises his face again, kissing me soundly as one of his hands presses between my legs, urging my thighs apart.

  I’ve never done anything even remotely sexual in a pool before. Somehow this feels even dirtier than doing it in an airplane lavatory, and I am totally here for it. Releasing his pants, I loop my arms around his neck, meeting his tongue with mine, savoring the flavor of him as I hook one leg around his hips, allowing him easier access with his hand. His fingers touch me confidently, a practiced waltz of gentle caresses and torturous pressure.

  I don’t know how much longer I can take this. I can hear myself whimpering and moaning against his mouth, but it’s like the sounds are coming from someone else. From some other girl who still has control of her motor functions.

  When his finger slips inside me, I almost come on the spot. How can that be all it takes? What’s happened to me?

  He moves his finger in slow strokes, sliding in and out of me, in and out, until I feel as high as a kite. And then the pressure increases, my body stretching for more, and I realize he’s added a second finger.

  He tears his mouth away from mine.

  “Take off my pants,” he orders me.

  I obey. Unhooking my leg from him, I drop my hands and try to peel the wet fabric down his legs. The loss of his fingers from inside me creates an agonizing ache, but I’m able to bear it when I remind myself of what’s coming.

  He has to help me get his pants off. He pulls off his shoes, too—I don’t even want to think about how expensive those probably were—and tosses all of it up on the side of the pool.

  And then we grab each other again, our bodies snapping together like we’re two magnets, wet skin gliding against wet skin. I didn’t get nearly enough time to touch him and admire his body when we were squished together in that lavatory. Now, though, I don’t know if I can make myself take the time to explore him in the way I want. The ache between my legs is too strong, the urge to be with him too overwhelming. Our mouths devour each other. If we were ravenous this morning, we’re both just as starving now. Once wasn’t nearly enough to satisfy us.

  His hard length presses between my legs, and I spread my thighs again, my entire body throbbing for him. Let him take me right here against the side of the pool.

  One of his hands curls around the back of my neck, holding my head at an angle he seems to like, one that allows him to kiss me the deepest. His other hand guides his cock between my legs, positions it right where I want him most. But he pauses there. Tortures me at the very brink of pleasure.

  “Please,” I beg against his lips. He can’t do all this to me and then stop now.

  “Only for a moment,” he says, his voice so hoarse it nearly cracks. “I don’t have a condom here.”

  He’s right—no matter how much we want this, we can’t forget to be careful. But surely a few minutes of pleasure can’t hurt. Just a few minutes…

  I shift my body, urging him onward. He groans and thrusts his hips forward, entering me with a force that pushes me roughly against the side of the pool.

  Sheer physical joy rushes through me, and for a moment it encompasses everything else. The pool, the sun, even the rough surface against my back all disappear, buried beneath the sheer satisfaction of being joined with him again, this time with nothing between us.

  Orlando’s hand tightens on the back of my neck, and his other grips my hip, lifting me beneath the water. I help, wrapping both my legs around him, letting him push deeper into me until I can’t tell where my moan ends and his begins.

  Wrapped around him like this, I can feel just how tense all of his muscles are. I hadn’t thought about how strong he must be until this very moment, but now I wonder how it never crossed my mind. There’s so much power in his body that I swear I can feel the raw energy beneath his skin. And I can tell he’s holding back.

  My fingers grip his hair. He seems to understand the silent plea, and his pace quickens, his hands digging into my skin. His mouth is unrelenting, but I can still feel the tension in his body, the restrained force that means he isn’t giving me everything.

  When he releases my lips for a brief moment to take a breath, all I can do is gasp out a feeble, “Please.”

  His eyes burn into mine, and I feel like an earthquake is rocking my soul. People shouldn’t be able to do that with their eyes.

  In one swift movement, he grabs me by both hips and lifts me through the water, depositing me on the side of the pool. Then he pulls himself up beside me, showering me with hundreds of droplets of water. I reach up and run my fingers across his glistening skin.

  “Not here,” he rasps.

  He leaps to his feet, then reaches down and scoops me up as if I weigh nothing. He carries me inside, completely ignoring the fact that we’re both dripping all over his floor, and heads right to the stairs.

  I can’t resist kissing his bare skin as he carries me. My lips slide over his damp chest, his shoulder, and the base of his throat as we ascend to the upper floor.

  I’m not even aware we’ve entered the bedroom until he throws me down on the bed. It must be his bedroom, not the guest one where I’m staying, because he dives for the nightstand the moment he releases me.

  I prop myself u
p on my elbows, glancing around. But I don’t get the chance to take in anything before he pins me down again, pushing me back against the pillows. He doesn’t seem to care that his bed is going to be soaked. I don’t care, either.

  His body comes down on mine, burying me in heat. I wrap my arms and legs around him, caught up in pure need, eager to have him inside me again.

  He chuckles against my throat.

  “Don’t worry,” he murmurs. “There’s no need to hold back anymore.”

  He grabs my thigh and, with one shift of his hips, buries himself inside me once more. I gasp in pure pleasure, my nails digging into his back as my body welcomes him in.

  He doesn’t even give me a moment to revel in that feeling, not half a second to bask in the ecstasy of simply joining. I knew he was holding back in the pool, but I wasn’t aware of quite how much.

  When he moves, he’s like a man possessed. Everything else fades away around us. There’s only me and him and the sensations our bodies create together, the need that’s ever building between us. All I know is pleasure and heat and friction.

  His breath in my hair.

  His hands on my damp skin.

  His cock filling me, stretching me, stoking the ache between my thighs.

  Time has no meaning when I’m beneath him, when he’s burying himself in me again and again. Minutes or hours might pass—it’s all the same to me. But slowly, almost impossibly slowly, the throbbing desire inside me builds until it’s almost unbearable, and then my orgasm hits me like a stampede of wild horses, crushing me into the ground.

  I’m still coasting on the waves of ecstasy when Orlando stiffens and groans. A moment later, he collapses fully on top of me, and I close my eyes and enjoy the full feeling of his weight before he rolls over onto the bed beside me.

  “Wow…” I’m not sure I can find any more words than that, but my breathless tone must be enough. Orlando laughs, and he reaches over to lay his hand on my belly.

  “I agree,” he tells me. “Fuck, I needed that.”

  Only now do I remember how he looked when he first returned home, remember the exhaustion and worry in his face. He told me he needed me then, too, with a desperation that I’m fairly certain came from more than a physical desire.