How Not to Mess with a Millionaire (Mediterranean Millionaires)

by Kyle, Regina

  “Better?” She liked the sound of that.

  He worked one finger into the knot at her waist, loosening it. “I almost wish you had more clothes on.”

  “Why?”

  “So I could have the pleasure of peeling them off you, piece by agonizing piece.” He untied the knot completely, letting her belt fall away and her robe part. “But I suppose this will have to do for now.”

  She fought the knee-jerk urge to cover herself and let him have his fill, his gaze skimming the curves and dips of her body. She imagined his hands and mouth following suit, tightening her nipples into exquisitely painful points and vaulting her pulse into hyperdrive.

  “Are you going to sit there and stare at me all night or do something about that?” She pointed to his lap, where the head of his erection poked out from between the folds of his robe.

  He laughed again, the thick, throaty sound sending sparks skittering up and down her spine. “There’s that impatience again. So American. Always rushing from one thing to the next, never taking time to stop and smell the lilies.”

  “Don’t you mean roses?” she asked, surprised her lust-addled brain cells were functional enough for her to know one bloom from another.

  “Lilies are the national flower of Italy.” He traced a line with his finger along the freckles scattered at the top of her chest, like an erotic game of connect the dots. “Elegant. Stylish. Sophisticated. Like a fine wine. Or a fine woman.”

  His words made her weak in the knees. It was a good thing she was sitting down, or she would’ve been in a boneless heap at his sexy bare feet.

  Damn this man. This was supposed to be a quick, emotionless roll in the hay. A way for them to scratch a mutual itch. Now he was spouting poetry and acting all sweet and sensitive. How was a girl supposed to escape with her heart intact?

  Before she could ponder that disturbing thought further, his hands moved to her shoulders. With excruciating slowness, he inched her robe down her arms until it was bunched at her waist.

  “Lie back,” he growled.

  “Bossy, aren’t we?” He’d gone from Fitzwilliam Darcy to Christian Grey faster than you could say book boyfriend. Still, almost unconsciously, she complied, stretching out on the big bed.

  “Do you like that?” he asked, his voice raw and rough. “Taking orders?”

  “I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “I guess it depends on who’s giving them and what they’re asking me to do.”

  “Then we’ll have to play it by ear. If there’s anything you don’t like, tell me. We’re in this together. It will be better if we’re on the same page.”

  He stood to remove his robe, and she propped herself up on her elbows to enjoy the view. Sure, she’d seen him naked that first day. But then she’d been too embarrassed to do more than give him a way-too-quick once-over. Now she had license to ogle freely, and she intended to take full advantage of it.

  She drank him in—smooth, olive skin stretched taut over hard muscle, backlit by the moonlight streaming through the sheer curtains that covered the sliding glass doors. He was like a work of art, sculpted from living, breathing flesh and bone instead of cold, unfeeling marble.

  And for tonight, he was hers.

  Her gaze drifted predictably south to the area between his legs. His cock stood at attention, long, thick, and mouthwatering, pointing at her like some sort of divining rod. He took it in his hand and stroked it, readying himself for her, and she was suddenly struck by a terrifying thought.

  “Please tell me you have a condom.”

  He bent to retrieve his robe, fished his wallet out of the pocket, and rifled through it for what seemed like an eternity, finally extracting a foil packet.

  “Found one,” he said, holding it up like a trophy.

  “Just one?” she blurted out before she could stop herself.

  “Don’t worry.” He smiled as he ripped the packet open and rolled the condom down his impressive length. “There are other ways I can make you feel good.”

  Zoe’s previously only marginally functioning brain cells shorted out completely. Could a woman orgasm just from listening to sinful things spoken in a sexy, gravelly Italian accent? Not asking for a friend.

  She spread her legs and lifted her knees, her body subconsciously beckoning him to join her.

  “Later I’m going to take my time,” he said, climbing onto the bed and fitting his big, beautiful body against hers. “Savor every delectable inch of your skin with my fingers, lips, and tongue. But right now, I need to be inside you.”

  “Yes,” she panted, sucking in air that was thick and heavy with arousal. “Please.”

  “You don’t have to beg, carina. I’m right with you.”

  She dimly registered the new nickname, but any thought of what it translated to or what significance it might have vanished when he sank into her. The last few strands of her already shredded self-control ripped away along with it, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, encouraging him to go deeper, faster, harder. Her hands found their way to his chest, her fingers exploring the hills and valleys of his pecs and abs as he rocked against her.

  “You feel so perfect,” he said. “So tight and wet.”

  He pulled out and plunged in again, hitting that spot that made her moan with desire. Her hands shifted to his shoulders, holding on for dear life as he continued the delicious in-and-out torture. She needed something real, something solid to anchor her or she’d float away on a wave of pure pleasure.

  His pace slowed, and she moaned again, this time with frustration. “I’m so close. Don’t stop. For the love of all things good and holy, don’t stop.”

  He obeyed, picking up the tempo. One subtle swivel of his hips and she started to buck and shudder beneath him until she tensed in his arms, crying out his name. Within seconds of her release, he was shaking, groaning, finally collapsing on top of her and rolling to his side, taking her with him.

  They stayed that way, with him still inside her, as their heartbeats returned to normal and their breathing evened out. He brushed her sex-mussed hair out of her face and kissed her softly, gently, awakening a realization that shook her even more than the mind-numbing orgasm she’d just experienced.

  He wasn’t the only one in deep.

  Chapter Ten

  There were plenty of reasons guys woke up with morning wood. Dirty dreams. Sleep patterns. High testosterone levels. But Dante couldn’t remember the last time he had a reason who looked or smelled as good or who he’d shared as much with—and not just physically—as Zoe, with her ass snuggled against him and her lips curved into a satisfied smile that said she’d enjoyed their nighttime activities as much as he had.

  For a long moment, he stared down at her, barely daring to breathe for fear he’d wake her. She looked so damn beautiful and peaceful, like Botticelli’s Venus, her hair splayed in all directions and her pristine skin seeming to glow from his caresses.

  Not wanting to start something he couldn’t finish, he eased himself away from her. He needn’t have worried. The second he stirred, her eyes fluttered open, and she stretched one leg behind her, entwining it with his, trapping him.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “We had a busy night, and you were sleeping so soundly. I thought you might be worn out.”

  She reached up to run a hand across the early morning stubble dotting his jaw. “Do I seem worn out to you?”

  He turned his head to kiss her palm. “You seem ready and—how do you Americans say it?—raring to go.”

  “So do you.” She arched her back, pressing into him. “No regrets about last night?”

  He pressed back, sliding his cock between her ass cheeks. “Does this feel like regret?”

  “No.” She rolled over to face him, and the sheet slipped to her waist, exposing her breasts to his greedy gaze. “It feels like repea
t performance number four.”

  “Then I better get performing.”

  He stripped away the sheet, uncovering them both, and gave her a long, lingering kiss before sliding down the length of her body until his head was nestled between her legs. He put a palm on each thigh, spreading them wider.

  “Are you comfortable?” he asked. “Because you’re going to be here for a while.”

  She nodded, and he flicked his tongue over the skin below her belly button. She let out a sexy little hiss, and he licked lower, brushing the patch of golden curls above her sex. This time her hiss was longer, ending on a low moan, encouraging him to move lower still.

  He made good on his promise, taking his time with her, tasting her with long, leisurely licks that brought her to the brink of ecstasy before backing off and starting the whole wickedly torturous process over again. He’d had her this way last night, too, after they’d used their only condom and found more creative ways to enjoy each other’s bodies. But it hadn’t been enough, and he had the frightening feeling he’d never get his fill of her.

  She fisted her hands in the sheet and raised her hips, letting him know she needed release and she needed it now. As tempted as he was to delay her gratification, he didn’t have the willpower to postpone his own need to claim her, to feel her writhe and buck beneath him and hear her call out his name as she came.

  One of her hands moved to his head, grabbing a fistful of hair and yanking his face into her. He flattened a palm over her stomach to keep her still and gave her what they both wanted, slipping a finger inside her and working his tongue against her folds until she flooded his mouth, ripples of pleasure coursing through her body.

  When the tremors finally stopped, she released her death grip on his hair and let her head fall back onto the pillow, her eyes closed. “That was—”

  He kissed the inside of her thigh. “Outstanding? Unforgettable? Mind-blowing?”

  “Quite a way to wake up,” she finished.

  He crawled up her body and folded her into his arms, his cock, still rock-hard and wet with his arousal, brushing against her belly. She cracked one eye open and reached down to take him in her hand.

  “I have a confession to make,” she said on a whisper.

  “A confession?” Her words seemed far away, like she was underwater. It was hard to concentrate on what she was saying with her fingers wrapped around his dick.

  “I heard you.”

  Her hand squeezed, and his cock swelled even harder.

  “Heard me what?”

  “That night, after we kissed. I was out on my balcony and I heard you. In your room.” She ran her thumb through the moisture at his tip. “Touching yourself.”

  “Why, you little minx,” he growled. “Tell me, carina. Did you enjoy it? Did you picture your fingers replacing mine, circling me, stroking me, driving me insane with lust like you’re doing now?”

  “Yes,” she said. “And…”

  Her voice trailed off.

  There was more? He was almost afraid to ask. Almost, but not quite. “And?”

  “I touched myself.”

  He closed his eyes against the fire rushing through his bloodstream. Not just his dick, his whole body throbbed with heat.

  Zoe. Pleasuring herself. Her fingers white-hot blurs against her pussy as she edged closer and closer to climax, finally toppling into oblivion.

  Fuck, how he’d love to see that. But it would have to wait for another time. Now he wanted—no, needed—her hands right where they were.

  On him.

  He forced his eyes open and rested his forehead on hers. “Are you trying to kill me?”

  “Not before I get the chance to do this.”

  She followed her hand with her mouth, her warm breath teasing his aching dick, and his world stopped. The only thing that mattered was this moment, this woman, kneeling between his legs with her hand around the base of his hard-on and her lips closing in on the tip.

  “Zoe, per favore—”

  She flicked her gaze to his and their eyes locked as a wide, self-satisfied smile filled her face. “Who’s begging now?”

  He wasn’t too proud to grin back, but the grin disappeared the instant she sucked him in and swallowed him up, never losing eye contact. She swirled her tongue around his throbbing head and moaned, sending a jolt of electricity down his length to his balls. Her free hand came up to give them a delicious squeeze, and he swallowed a gasp, fighting the urge to bury his hands in her hair and thrust into her.

  For what could have been minutes or hours, the only sounds in the room were her slurps and his groans, with an occasional outburst of incoherent Italian. She was hot and hungry, relentless in her determination to return the favor and get him off. And he was powerless to do anything but lie there and accept what she so willingly, so beautifully gave to him.

  “Zoe,” he croaked. A tidal wave of pleasure began to crest in his groin, threatening to take him under. “I’m coming.”

  His hips jerked up and his fingers instinctively reached out to thread through her long locks as the wave swamped him, pushing him over the edge. When he was spent, Zoe eased off him and hopped out of bed like she hadn’t just completely wrecked him.

  “In a hurry to get away from me?” he drawled, still too stunned to move.

  “Coffee.” Her eyes darted around the room, eventually landing on her long-ago discarded robe draped over the back of a chair. She snatched it up and shrugged it on, pulling the belt so tightly he thought it might cut off her circulation. “I need caffeine. Stat. I don’t suppose this room has one of those fancy cappuccino makers?”

  He raised himself up on one elbow. “Carina.”

  “Heck, I’d settle for a Keurig.” She paced from one side of the room to the other, like a tiger in Turkish cotton.

  “Carina.” He swung his feet over the side of the bed, found his own robe crumpled in a ball on the floor, stuck his arms in the sleeves, and stood, tying the belt.

  “Or even one of those crappy hotel coffee machines.”

  “Carina.” He stepped in front of her and put both hands on her shoulders, stopping her. “Stop. Talk to me.”

  “I’m sorry.” She stared at his chest, not meeting his gaze. “I suck at this whole morning-after thing. I mean, the morning sex I can handle, obviously. But I’m never sure how to act when it’s done. Do I grab my stuff and call a cab? Or cook breakfast?”

  She was babbling again, and it was fucking adorable. She did that when she was nervous, he’d learned. And he liked that she was a little nervous now. It was nice to know he wasn’t alone in this, that the last twenty-four hours had knocked her for a loop, too.

  He curled a finger under her chin, tipping her head up until her eyes met his. His heart gave an unexpected lurch at the uncertainty he saw there. “I don’t want you to call a cab or cook breakfast. But I know a cafe in La Piazzetta that bakes the best breads. We could stop there for some cappuccino and cornetti.”

  “Cornetti?”

  “Like croissants, but sweeter.”

  “They sound delicious. But—” She bit her lip.

  His brows knotted. “But what?”

  She took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a split second, like she was gearing herself up to deliver bad news. When she spoke, the words tumbled one over the other like circus clowns piling out of one of those tiny cars. “But what about after?”

  “We catch a ferry to Positano. The storm has passed, so they should be running again. Maybe pick up a couple of caprese sandwiches for the ride back.”

  She pushed at his chest, and he stumbled backward, surprised by her sudden outburst. “Are you being deliberately obtuse, or are you really this stupid? I’m not talking about food or ferry rides. I’m talking about when we get home. I mean, back to the villa.”

  Fuck. She was right. He was an idiot. Ch
alk it up to post-coital haze. But the fog was clearing, and he finally understood what was bothering her.

  “Never mind,” she huffed, obviously mistaking his silence for rejection. “Forget I said anything. We’ll go back to business as usual, avoiding each other. Me in my room with Houdini, you alone in yours.”

  She grabbed her pile of freshly laundered clothes from the chair and headed for the bathroom. He blocked her path again, determined not to let her go before he could set the record straight.

  “Is that what you want?” He ran his hands down her arms, taking her smaller, more delicate ones in his. “Because it’s not what I want.”

  Her eyes blazed with a fire that he wished was desire but suspected was outrage. He consoled himself with the fact that she hadn’t released his hands. That had to mean something, although he wasn’t sure what. He wasn’t sure of much where Zoe was concerned. Off-balance seemed to be his normal state when she was around.

  He held her gaze, hoping she’d see the sincerity in his expression.

  “What do you want, then?” she asked. “I’m not a mind reader, and you’re not the most communicative guy on the planet.”

  Nicole had had the same complaint. He felt a twinge of guilt at the memory but shoved it down deep, needing to deal with the very real, very angry woman in front of him.

  “Simple.” He stepped closer so their bodies were almost touching, their faces inches apart. There would be no misunderstanding this time. “I want you.”

  The anger in her eyes drained away, replaced by a softness that stunned him like an uppercut to the jaw. “I thought maybe this was a one-and-done thing.”

  “Don’t you mean four and done?”

  “You know what I mean.” Her pale cheeks flushed a pretty pink. “I thought—”

  “Stop.” He put a finger to her lips. “No more thinking. Just feel.”

  “My grandmother used to say only a fool is guided by his feelings.”

  “And mine says feelings are sometimes more important than facts.”

  “So where does that leave us?” she asked, a little breathless.