The Tuscan's Revenge Wedding (16 page)

It made him long to have her.

And why should he not?

It had been reason enough for vengeance of a most personal
nature when he’d thought Jonathan Davies had merely lured Carita into going out
with him and then put her life at risk. That he had impregnated her was twice
as bad, and that he had endangered both her and her unborn child was monstrous.
Which was the greater dishonor for him as head of his family, to ignore this
wrong or to trespass upon the unwritten laws of hospitality by seducing a
guest?

The answer was clear.

Equally clear, however, was that it could be no more than a
self-serving excuse. Seducing Amanda Davies had not been far from his mind from
the moment he met her. The urge grew in strength with every moment spent in her
company. At this particular instant, he could hardly remember why he had
decided he must not have her.

The campaign should not be rushed. He would proceed in easy
stages, for he required that she come to him as freely as Carita had gone with
her brother. He wanted her to surrender to him because she could not resist,
because she was overcome by desire.

What better time to begin than now, when they were no longer
under the roof of Villa de Frenza?

It required a place less in the public eye, however.

Nico glanced at the remains of their meal and the half inch
of wine left in her glass. “You are done? Shall we go?”

At her nod, he got to his feet at once and dropped euros on
the table. He moved to draw out her chair. Moments later, they were speeding
along the highway again.

A road sign announced the turn to a village he knew well.
Swerving into it, he thought ahead to a scenic pull over used often by tour
buses, one he’d passed many times with scarcely a glance. When it appeared, he
swung into it and shut off the car’s engine.

“What is it?” she asked with wariness clouding the gray of
her eyes. “Why are we stopping?”

“We are stopping,” he said, while the blood surged through his
veins with a force he’d never known, “because I have an uncontrollable urge to
have you in my lap, after all.”

Her lips parted and the gray of her irises disappeared into
the dark pools of her pupils. Before she could move, he leaned to slide an arm
around her waist to draw her close. The console was in the way, but he hardly
noticed. Spreading his free hand on the back of her head, he zeroed in on her
mouth and took it with his.

Warm, fragrant, flavored with wine, she completed him like
key into lock, plug into receptacle. She made a soft sound and he captured it,
swallowed it, groaned in his turn. Her softness enticed him with the need to
have her curves molded to him, her depths his to command. He swirled into her
mouth, twining his tongue around hers, urging her response.

The trembling that ran over her caused his body to stiffen
until his eyes burned with it. Shifting his hand upward, he placed his palm
between her breasts where her heart throbbed, and felt its pounding echoed in
his blood.

The crisp cloth layer of her blouse was an intolerable barrier.
He shifted yet again, tugged it from her skirt and slid his hand underneath.
Her bra was smooth, unpadded and plain except for its simple lace edging, yet
an enticement beyond bearing. He unfastened the front catch, pushed it aside
and captured the tender resilience and sweet weight of her breast.

It was perfect, filling his hand, budding against his palm
even before he brushed the nipple with his thumb. Her swift inhalation of
startled pleasure threatened his control. The need to taste her raged in his
head, tearing at his sanity. He wanted her naked and spread for his pleasure,
wanted to feast on her at his leisure, leaving no single inch of her
unexplored. He wanted her under him while she held him to her with urgent,
grasping hands and thighs. Or above him while he captured her curves in his
spread fingers. The need to sink into her heated depths twisted inside him, a
ravenous, mind-stealing hunger.

She seemed as lost as he was, almost boneless as she
shivered in his grasp. His heart tripped into a faster beat as she caught a
handful of his shirt, twisting it in her grasp. He wanted more of her, longed
to feel her along the entire length of his body, to revel in her heat against
his hot strutted flesh.

The console between them was the epitome of frustration.
With a growl low in his throat, he lifted her over it, holding her against him
while he fumbled for the lever that would send his seat backward. With more
space between them and the steering wheel, he shoved his hand under the pencil
slim hem of her skirt, skimming upward like a heat-seeking missile. Her thighs
were so firm, her skin as fine as silk. The need to see it was like an ache,
though he would not release her mouth to look. She was so sweet, so sweet.

She was also hot and damp, so ready for him that his heart
threatened to explode. He cupped her, soothing her even as he added friction to
increase her heat. Unerringly, he found the sweet small nub of her desire and
gave it his attention while wishing he could lave it with his tongue until she
unraveled in his arms.

He wanted her, had to have her, but this was so cramped and
awkward he cursed himself for bad planning. More than that, he heard the purr
of an engine drawing near.

That sound was followed by the slamming of car doors and
shouts of children. Amanda pushed at him, suddenly breathless as she dragged
her lips from his. All he could do was release her, slide down her skirt,
settle her once more where she belonged.

Where she belonged, yes, which was out of his arms, far away
from him and his virulent ideas. Vengeance was a poor reason to make love to a
woman like Amanda. He must have been insane to think he could have her once and
walk away. That would never be enough.

His hands were not quite steady as he started the car, put
it in gear and drove away. It was several kilometers down the road before the
wind whipping into his face cooled his blood and untangled mind. Before he
realized he was driving in the opposite direction from the villa.

8

What a sensual person she had turned out to
be, after all, Amanda thought as she watched, bemused, while Nico swung the car
in a tire-squealing half-circle in the middle of the road and accelerated back
the way they had come. A suggestion, a touch, a kiss and she went up in flames.
Why was it she had not recognized her true nature before?

How could she have been so disdainful of other women who
succumbed to the too potent allure of desire? She had never really felt it
until now, that was all.

If not for this trip to Italy she might never have known. If
not for Nico de Frenza she might have missed this wild elation that still
simmered in her blood.

She could not believe she had come close, so close, to
following wherever he led, to allowing him to make love to her in a parked car
like some hormonal teenager. And she could not blame it on the wine. She had
wanted the pleasure he could give her with a bone deep need that was
embarrassing now to remember.

She must be on her guard against it from now on. Not that
she thought Nico would want to pick up where they had left off. It was simply
best if nothing similar ever happened again.

Or was it? What if no man ever again made her feel the same
way? What if this was the only opportunity she might ever have to taste
complete fulfillment?

She glanced at the man beside her, at the stern planes of
his face and dark eyes narrowed against the wind that ruffled the waves of his
hair. He drove with single-minded concentration yet an expansive air, as if the
road had been made for his use alone. The blood of Caesars and Frankish kings
ran in his veins, was displayed in his classic profile. He was self-assured to
the point of arrogance; infuriatingly certain he knew what was best for her and
everyone else around him.

And no man had ever made her feel as he did. No man had ever
come so close to making her forget everything except being in his arms with his
mouth upon hers.

Would it be so terrible to go to bed with him? It need only
be once to satisfy this painful longing, to see what it was like to be the
focus of so much passion and power.

It was unlikely to go further than that, she was sure. He
had so many duties and responsibilities, too many for an affair of any
duration.

Soon Jonathan would be well enough to leave the hospital.
She would return to the States, regardless of what happened between him and
Carita. That would be the end of this Italian interlude.

Marriage would never cross Nico’s mind. If he sought a wife,
when he sought one, it would be someone who moved in his own exalted circles, a
polished and sophisticated woman of equal lineage, equal wealth. She would be
suitable, compliant and definitely Italian.

To take advantage of a woman under his roof was against his
personal code, and she didn’t believe he would go against it. Outside the villa
was apparently a different matter. Or perhaps not, perhaps he had also been
carried away by a sudden excess of feeling. Regardless, he had told her plainly
that she would have to come to him.

Come…

A shudder gripped her, shaking her to her toes. Could she do
that? Could she risk the possibility that today was a fluke, and he might no
longer want her once they reached the villa? To cross that line in the ecstasy
of the moment had seemed possible, even necessary, but to court it deliberately
was something else again.

She was not impulsive, seldom acted without good and
sufficient reason. A vagrant desire was not going to be enough to make her
fling off her clothes and throw herself at Nico de Frenza. She would have to be
very sure before she took the final step.

She was still thinking, still wondering, when the gates of
the Villa de Frenza appeared.

Carisa came running to meet them as they drew up on the
gravel court. Her face was bright with joy, and she had a drawing she had done
that she wanted to show them.

It was a delicate sketch of fairies using a toadstool for an
umbrella. A single glance at it showed Carisa’s lessons had included private
drawing instruction at some point. As Amanda praised the sketch and handed it
back, she met Nico’s black eyes over his sister’s head. Their expression was
sardonic, and she flushed a little as she realized she might have misjudged
him. He had apparently made some effort to engage his sister’s interests and
encourage her talent.

She was not wrong about everything, however. As they crossed
the entrance hall, with Carisa skipping along beside Nico swinging his hand,
she piped up with a sing-song string of questions. “Where is Carita? Why is she
not with you? What have you done with her? When is she coming home?”

His face took on a grim cast, and Amanda thought he sent a
frown in her direction before he answered his sister. “Carita has had a small
accident,
cara mia
. She will be home soon, so you must not fret.”

“Is it … is it bad?” The girl’s eyes widened until they were
huge while her face became pasty white, almost green. “I want Carita. I want
her now.

Amanda didn’t stay to listen. She was not a member of the
family, and it would undoubtedly be best if she was not present while Nico
explained. Let him handle the problem, she thought, since it was of his making
and he had so much experience at calming Carisa.

The day had turned sultry, with a heavy feeling in the air.
The villa drowsed in the heat, the warm currents of air in its cavernous rooms
scented with furniture polish and flowers. Nothing moved in this hour of midday
rest. The maids who came for the morning were long gone. Nonna and Aunt
Filomena, and even Erminia, were likely resting in their rooms. Carisa would soon
be napping, as well, though without Yolanda nearby as it was her day off. None
of them would reappear for hours.

Sleep was the last thing on Amanda’s mind. Her nerves
twanged with tension that needed to be released. She thought of the pool at the
bottom of the garden. It had appeared so cool and inviting, but she had no bathing
suit with her.

There were two or three in the collection of clothing
delivered to her room. None of them had a lot of fabric, but were mere
triangles held together by ribbons and chains of beads. The least revealing was
turquoise and lavender with mother-of-pearl accents and a matching sarong.

The suit she used now and then in the gym pool after work
was a two-piece, but nothing like these. Yet she longed for the coolness of a
swim and its promise of mindless exercise.

She could, just possibly, unbend enough to use a bikini. It
was only a small thing, after all — literally. The change would certainly be
welcome. She would not give her host the satisfaction of knowing it, but she
was heartily sick of her navy skirt and white blouses.