The Tuscan's Revenge Wedding (18 page)

She would speak to Aunt Filomena to see if it was possible
for the chauffeur to drive her to a hotel without asking Nico’s permission. If
it was not, she would call a taxi or arrange a rental car. If all else failed,
she’d walk to the road and hitchhike.

Yes, it was better that she go before she got too involved,
before she fell headlong into an impossible relationship, before Jonathan was
allowed to hope too much, before she hurt Carisa instead of helping her.

She only hoped it wasn’t too late already.

9

Nico heard the scream when he was on his
fifty-seventh lap in the pool. It was faint, muffled by distance that he
thought it might have been a bird cry. His breathing was so labored from the
fury of his exertions that he held it as he paused to listen, treading water.

It came again.

Carisa.

He lunged to the pool’s edge, vaulted out and sprinted for
the house. He left wet tracks on the terrace, the tiles of the great hall and
on the marble staircase. His grandmother stood in the doorway of her bedroom,
her eyes wide with alarm. His aunt was on the landing at the head of the stairs.

“Where?” he demanded. He was painfully aware of their pale
faces but had no time to reassure them, couldn’t be certain it was possible.
Carisa’s shrill distress had a wild edge as it echoed through the villa, ringing
against the high ceilings.

Aunt Filomena pointed down the hall. “The American’s room, I
think.”

Nico’s heart battered against his ribs as he pounded in that
direction. A thousand images of blood and injury flashed through his brain,
half of Carisa, half of Amanda, none bearable. He crashed his fist against the
bedroom door that was half open, so it slammed against the wall.

Carisa stood rigid in the center of the room, her arms held
stiff at her sides and her fists clenched. Her small mouth was a round circle
of woe as she screamed long and loud then drew breath to scream again. Amanda
was holding her in a close hug as she spoke in soothing tones.

He noticed with some treacherous part of his mind that she
wore only a thin robe that clung damply to every luscious curve of her body.
Slowing his advance, he approached his sister with as much calm as he could
manage while his body pulsed with adrenaline.

“What is this, Carisa,
cara mia
? What has happened?
Are you hurt?”

“Nothing happened,” Amanda answered for his sister as she
gave another piercing cry. “She saw I was packing to leave. It seemed to set
her off.”

Packing?
A quick glance was enough to locate the
small carry-on that sat open on the bed. Beside it was the navy skirt and white
blouse he had come to both appreciate and despise. She had been getting ready
to leave, it seemed, meant to go without a word. Rage unlike anything he’d ever
known surged through him,

“Carisa, enough,” he said, swinging back to his sister.

The edge in his voice seemed to shock her into silence. She
stared at him with her eyes luminous with tears, nose running and small mouth
still open wide.

Immediately contrite, he knelt before her, drawing her
against him to smooth her soft back. “It’s all right,
carina mia
. Don’t
be sad. It’s a mistake. Amanda isn’t going.”

“Truly?” she asked on a hiccup, her voice wobbling. “I don’t
want her to go.”

“Nico,” Amanda began.

“No one wants her to go. It’s just a misunderstanding.
Everything will be all right, I promise it. Meanwhile, would you like a nice
profiterole? I heard—”

He came to an abrupt halt as he realized he was doing
exactly as Amanda had said they all did with Carisa. When had it become a
habit?

“Profiterole?” she asked with a line of worry between her
pale brows.

Amanda took a step toward him. “Nico?”

He did not dare look at her, directing his attention only to
Carisa as he brushed her cheek in a gentle caress. “We will discuss it, Amanda
and I. While we do that, perhaps you and Aunt Filomena would like to take a
walk? You could go as far as the sea.”

“Nico, please.
Per piacere,
” his aunt said in
protest. Her look was imploring as she stood in the doorway.

“
Allora
, it will do you both good.” His answer was
without pity, particularly as a watery smile of instant pleasure and
anticipation bloomed across Carisa’s sweet face.

His aunt sighed then came to gather Carisa to her in a huge,
soft hug. Speaking softly, she turned with her toward the hall, though she sent
him a knowing glance over her shoulder before they disappeared into the hall.
He could hear the two of them talking in low voices, explaining to his
grandmother. A moment later, the voices faded away down the stairs.

Nico stepped to close the bedroom door. Holding hard to his
temper, he turned slowly to face Amanda.

“That was well done,” she said before he could speak.

If it was meant to soothe his anger, it did not succeed. “I
do have a concern for my sister. But you? You were going,” he said. “You were
running away without even a civil goodbye for her. Or for me.”

“I don’t care to stay where I’m not wanted.”

“Oh, you’re wanted,” he said, moving toward her with
deliberate steps. “What I would prefer is that you were not wanted so much.”

She retreated while moistening her lips with her tongue.
“But you said—”

“I know what I said, but it’s too late. You’ve already made
Carisa love you. My grandmother and my aunt not only enjoy your company but
look forward to it. As for me—” He reached for her, catching her forearms to
draw her against him. A shiver ran across his shoulders, beading his arms with
goose bumps as he felt her warmth against his near-naked, water-chilled flesh.
Then he lowered his head and took her mouth like a drowning man seeking the
kiss of life.

She resisted for the briefest of moments, holding him away
with her hands against his chest. Then she made a low sound in her throat and
slid her palms upward, gliding them over his shoulders before clasping the back
of his neck. He eased closer to nestle the solid length of him against her
softness.

He felt bare skin against his thighs, realized the front of
her light robe had parted as its tie loosened. Aching need vibrated through
him. He released her arm, skimmed downward to slide his hands inside its open
edges, spreading them wider. She was nude beneath it, he discovered, so
gloriously naked that the exultation of it heightened his sense of touch to a
painful edge.

He spanned the satin skin of her waist, spread his fingers
and feathered them over her rib cage and upward until he cupped the tender
weight of her breast. It nestled into his hand, so smooth, so soft yet compact
and tipped by the endearingly hard berry of her nipple. Blood thundered through
his veins and a fever of need spread from inside him, heating his body until he
thought steam must surely rise around them.

~ ~ ~

Amanda gasped as she felt the gentle tug on
her nipple, the delicate way he rolled it between his fingertips. The fiery
sensation caught her by surprise as it spread through her, coalescing in the
lower part of her body. She pressed against him, absorbing his heated hardness,
the crisp texture of his body hair that rasped her thighs with exquisite
friction, his strength that sapped her own until she felt boneless with
pleasure.

Never, never had it been like this, such a maelstrom of
sensations, each more fervent than the last: his mouth, the twining of his
tongue and its insistent probe; the silky yet ravishing roughness of his chest
hair against her breasts, and his hands, oh, his hands.

She should stop him, should retreat, but her will had
vanished. In its place was mindless craving for more and more of him. His
scent, a lingering intimation of his maddening cologne, the whiff of pool
chemicals and his own warm male essence jarred her heart into a staggering
beat.

With one hand he cupped her bottom before pulling her harder
against him, while the other brushed down her abdomen, smoothed the damp curls
at the juncture of her thighs and clasped her in firm possession. At the same
time, he pressed a line of kisses from the corner of her mouth to the turn of
her jaw and hollow of her throat, and lower until he reached the peak of her
breast. He wet it, blew upon it, and abraded it with his tongue’s roughness as
it knotted ever tighter. At last, at last, he took it into his mouth and
suckled with slow and gentle adhesion.

A small cry left her. Her legs nearly gave way but stiffened
again as he parted her soft folds and thrust a finger deep into her moist heat.

And then she heard the ragged sound of his breath as he
inhaled. Slowly, he withdrew, gentled his hold, and began to ease away from
her.

The muscles of her arms flexed to hold him. “No,” she
whispered, “Please stay.”

“I can’t,” he said in soft reply.

To succumb in the heat of the moment might be easy. Was that
not what she had said? She had been wrong.

To find words that signaled surrender and force them past
the tightness in her throat was near impossible. It was difficult because she
was not overwhelmed by the hot, passionate need that surged in her veins.
Rather, she decided in that instant to seize what she wanted and might never
experience again, yielding to it without regret or reservation.

“Please. Make love to me.”

He tilted his head to see her face. “You’re sure?”

“You said you would not refuse if I asked it.”

The words were only a breath of sound. As they lingered
between them there in the afternoon stillness time ceased to exist. There was
only the two of them and that vital moment.

“Nor will I,” he answered, the words soft yet as strong as a
vow.

He slid her robe down over her shoulders, bent to lift her
into his arms. A few steps, and she felt the mattress of the bed give beneath
her, heard the thud as her travel bag that lay upon it was pushed aside so it
hit the floor. His damp Speedo was dispensed with in an instant. Then he was
beside her, denting the surface of the bed so she rolled toward him, gathering
her close until she was pressed to him from her breasts to her ankles. She felt
his hot, rigid flesh and reveled in its promise, pushing closer still. He
whispered her name and other phrases against her hair while his arms hardened
around her.

Then his mouth was upon her again, driving her mad with his
careful attention to her slightest response. He made red moist peaks of her
breasts, caused her stomach muscles to flutter with the heat of his breath. He
blew into the nest of curls at the apex of her thighs, delved among them with
his tongue, murmured such compliments for the pink tip of flesh he found there
that she blushed. He applied incredibly perfect adhesion to it so she writhed,
moaning as she came apart in his arms.

Swiftly, he rose above her, parting her thighs. His heated
length sank into her liquid softness. He was still as she gasped, stiffening at
the sudden fullness, the heat, the glory.

“
Perfetto, d’accordo, tesoro mio
?”

“
Si
,” she said on a gasping sigh, though she
understood only one of the musical words he spoke against her hair. “Perfect.”

And it was; it was as he withdrew and filled her again and
yet again, in a slow dance that stretched time and strained nerves, muscles,
and good intentions. She moved with him, against him, sliding her hands over
him, grasping his arms, his waist, his hips while her breathing grew labored
and perspiration slicked her body and mingled with his, aiding their endless,
endless glide.

They moved in wonder, in magic union, until the tension
building inside her spiraled up suddenly, bursting in silent wonder, spreading
such beneficence along her nerves that tears sprang into her eyes. Her body
pulsed around Nico with powerful inner contractions. He groaned as he caught
her to him in an iron grasp while his own orgasm broke from his control. Locked
together, they savored the moment while straining heart to heart, body to body,
mind to mind.

In time, he subsided beside her. He didn’t lie back, but
propped above her on one elbow. With hooded eyes, he spread his hand on the
surface of her abdomen, slid it upward to cup her breast, bent his head to
taste the nipple, drawing on it a little so it beaded instantly under his
tongue. When he straightened again, he sighed. “Ah, you are so lovely,
cara
mia
, so responsive, that I forget myself.”

“Do you?”

“I do and I did,
carissima
. I used no protection, had
none with me,
mi dispiace
.

Her smile was wry as she allowed her gaze to move over his
face. “It never crossed my mind either.”

“I can, if you like, arrange for your protection even now.
This I owe you.”

“You mean a morning-after pill.”