Her Italian Millionaire (34 page)

This was not Dan. And this was no dream.

Her eyes flew open. She stiffened. “Wait. Where am I?”

“You're in bed with me,” Marco said, his voice rough. “If you wanted the bed, why didn't you say so?”

“I didn't. I wanted...”

 “Yes?” His voice held a smile and she shivered with anticipation. “What do you want,
cara mia?”

She meant to say she'd come to his bed to get some sleep. But that wasn't what she wanted anymore. She wanted to be seduced. By his voice, his deep sexy voice, his remarkable hands, and his lips. She wanted to make love to Marco. She wanted to make him feel the way she did, alive and aroused and ultimately fulfilled. She turned to face him, brushing against his naked body. His eyes were heavy, sleepy, and filled with desire. His head was propped on one hand, and he was looking at her with so much heat in his gaze her skin felt scorched.

His eyes might look sleepy, but his magnificent body was wide awake. He moved to pin her to the mattress with his hands. She reveled in the strength of his hands on her shoulders. His face was so close, but not close enough. She remembered his question was still hanging in the air.

“I want...I want...”

“I know,” he said.

He did know. He knew everything. He knew how to make her forgot to wonder how many women he'd made love to in how many hotel rooms. He made her forget that she knew almost nothing about him, including what he did for a living. It didn't matter. All that mattered was that it was her and him, at this moment in time. A moment he might forget, but she wouldn't.

His mouth came down on hers, slowly, tantalizingly. When their lips finally met she felt the heat and tasted the fierce desire that matched her own. She closed her eyes and matched his kisses one by one. Her tongue met his in a dance that mimicked the love-making to come. The tension built and their tongues merged and she was frantic to have more. To have his mouth move down her body, to have him kiss her everywhere...anywhere.

But he broke the kiss and paused for a long moment. His eyes were glazed with desire.

 “This is what I wanted,” he said, his mouth so close to hers, she could almost taste his words; his voice low and raspy. “This is what I dreamed of - to make love to you in a bed. Since the first moment I saw you at the hotel. I wanted to rip off those American clothes of yours and make love to you. It was good yesterday - the sun and the grass and you under the trees. But today, in this room, in this bed, it will be even better.”

“No bees,” she murmured.

“No bees. Just you and me.”

His mouth trailed hot kisses down her throat then, down to her breasts. He kissed them, tasted her nipples, sucked them until they quivered and her whole body pulsated.

“Marco,” she whispered. Her voice shook. Her arms and legs trembled. Every nerve called out to him to come to her.

He rolled on his side, bringing her with him. He put his hand between her legs and he smiled into her eyes when he felt the slick dampness there.

“Yes, oh, yes,” she murmured as his fingers explored and stroked the petals that guarded her most secret, erotic place. The sensations built and built like waves against a shore until they crashed with a huge crescendo and she fell apart - physically, mentally and emotionally. She grabbed his shoulders and she held on for dear life. She sobbed uncontrollably.

He wiped the tears from her face with his gentle, callused fingers. When she stopped crying, she managed a small smile.

“Now,” she said
. Now I'll show you what I wanted to do from the first moment I saw you. How I wanted to rip off your Italian clothes and see what was underneath.
She couldn't say the words, but she could show him.

“What?” Marco needed to make love to her. He needed to come into her slick, waiting body. He needed to be part of her. He needed her to make him whole.

When she began trailing kisses down his body, he thought he could stay in control, but his whole body was so hard with wanting her, he ached inside and out.

“E bastare,”
he pleaded.

“Sorry,” she said softly. “I don't speak Italian.”

“That's enough. Stop,” he said, reaching for her.

Her answer was to take his penis in her mouth. His whole body shuddered as he felt her wet mouth around his organ. He tried to sit up but fell back on the sheets, gasping for breath. His heart was pounding and his head had disconnected from his body.

When she began stroking him with her tongue, it was enough to send him over the moon. He wanted to wait. He wanted to get her down on the mattress where he could... where they could... But if he didn't do it within the next millisecond, he was going to die, because this was more than any human could take.

With a superhuman effort he rolled over and she opened her legs and he entered her, and with one gigantic thrust that must have shaken the whole second floor of the house, he exploded.

She burst into tears again. She buried her face in his chest and she sobbed. He held her and in Italian whispered words of comfort, words of love and tenderness that he was glad she couldn't understand. He wouldn't want her to mistake what happened here for anything but what it was. Incredible, earth-shaking sex.

He kissed away the tears. He held her tightly until she stopped shaking and his heart had settled down to somewhere near normal. Though he wondered in the back of his mind if he'd ever be normal again. Ever be able to enjoy casual sex with casual women again.

Whatever happened, whatever he would have to give up, it was worth it. This morning, this bed, this woman. It was all worth it.

After an eternity, after she was calm and peaceful, he got up to open the French doors to the balcony. He stood outside and let the morning air cool his overheated bare body. He felt Ana Maria's gaze on him, like a soft breeze, and he turned to see her standing there in the middle of the room. She was no longer naked, but wearing the silk nightgown with the tiny straps that begged to be slipped down her shoulders. Her nipples poked at the fabric. The look in her eyes was half shy, half bold and told him if he wanted to... if he needed to...if he wanted her...

But there was someone out there who wanted the diamond as much as he did. Whether it was Giovanni or his assistant or his rival, it didn't matter. He had to call Silvestro. He had to stop giving in to his instincts and remember why he was here and why he couldn't trust her.

He walked past Ana Maria, picked up his clothes and told her he was taking his shower first. She blinked, bit her lip, then quickly arranged her face to hide whatever feelings she had. Shock, hurt, surprise, and maybe even anger. He couldn't blame her. He was hiding his true identity from her. But then, wasn't she hiding a diamond from him, hiding her relationship with Giovanni from him?

“Of course,” she said. “I'll get dressed. We don't want to be late for the crush.”

“Yes, the crush,” he said.

He called Silvestro from the bathroom.

“Where in God's name are you?” his boss asked.

“A small town. Does it matter?” he asked.

“Since you're supposed to be in Rome, yes.”

“I'm on my way to Rome.”

“How, by donkey? It's been many hours since I've heard from you.”

“I have everything under control. The woman, the diamond...everything.” Everything but his libido, everything but his lust.

“That's good to know. Because the word is that Giovanni is out of the loop. There's a new contact. An American.”

“My American?”

“Your American and another. They're working together.”

“What about Giovanni?” Marco asked.

“He's being squeezed out. He must be angry, and when he's angry he's dangerous.”

“He has a temper,” Marco said. Damn, if Ana Maria had really double-crossed Giovanni by giving him his yearbook with nothing but a note “Gotcha” inside, then he was after her now to get even and find the diamond. The diamond which Marco now believed was under that fake, cheap stone on her finger.

“She could be in danger,” Silvestro said. “But when you play with fire...”

“I'll make sure she gets to Rome in one piece with the stone,” Marco said. Remembering the second sense that told him somebody had tried to get into their room last night, he decided he shouldn't even take a shower without her. Which wasn't a bad idea. While Silvestro talked, he imagined standing in the small glassed-in stall with her. Her smooth, soapy hands on him. She'd lean against the wall, water cascading between her beautiful breasts. He'd kiss her while the water ran down her face. He'd taste her lips, her skin...Silvestro kept talking, but Marco's mind was somewhere else.

 He heard himself say he'd be on his way immediately.

“Call me when you get there.”

Marco agreed and repeated that he'd keep Ana Maria in sight. But when he got back to the room, she was gone.

As Marco threw his clothes on, he called himself every name he could think of -
scaricatore de porto
, asshole, fool, and worse. He'd walked out on her after mind-blowing sex without a kind word, and what did he expect? Did he think she'd sit there waiting for him to come back and ignore her again? She had pride. She had guts. And she had no patience with him. The worst part was that he usually knew better than that. He knew women wanted pillow talk and he easily gave it to them. But Ana Maria was not his usual woman.

He ran down the stairs and out onto the street. He followed the crowd and the noise to the town square and the huge vats where the townspeople were stomping the grapes. The sun was bright, the air was full of cheering from the spectators and the earthy smell of ripe red grapes.

He scanned the crowd and finally he saw her in the center of one of the wooden vats. She was laughing and jumping up and down on the grapes in the middle of a noisy crowd. She was holding hands on both sides with men who looked like villagers, right out of a tourist's dream. His muscles tensed. She was so vulnerable. He should have been in there with her. He should have been stomping grapes and holding her hand. He should have been laughing with her. But he wasn't.

He smiled in spite of himself at her high spirits, picking out her laugh in the din, wishing he didn't have to take her away and put an end to her fun. What if she wouldn't come? What if she insisted on staying here, to flirt with the locals and go to Rome on the bus without him?

When she saw him, she stopped stomping and stared at him until he clenched his fists in frustration. Then she turned away, continued her work, and laughed even louder. She made it very clear she didn't need him to have a good time.

He left her there, went to the garage, and told them he had to have his car. They said the fuel pump hadn't arrived. He said he'd come back another day and get it, but he had a have a car now, any car. The best they could do was to rent him one of their old tow trucks.

“Will it get me to Rome?” he asked. He was in no position to bargain; he was also in no mood to take the bus.

“Certo, signore,”
the owner said.

Marco held out his credit card, signed the papers, and went to find Ana Maria. She was still there, stomping and laughing. This time he walked up to the vat and called to her.