The Tuscan's Revenge Wedding (4 page)

It made life rather flat.

He should be able to work now that Amanda Davies was asleep.
Her tears, the difficult breaths and attempts to stop them had affected him as
no noisy sobs ever could. Not that it was her intention, he saw that easily
enough. She felt no need to burden others with her emotions, it seemed, but
preferred to keep them to herself.

Did she hide her joy in the same way?

What a pity if it was so. Joy, like sorrow, was better
shared.

Not that it was any of his concern. He didn’t need or want
the job of blotting the wetness from under her eyes, or perhaps kissing away
her tears. Though he had been on the point of offering his handkerchief or
perhaps his shoulder when she finally slept, it had been merely to gain much
needed peace. That was all.

Yes, he should be able to work now. He needed to catch up
after his lengthy absence from the Florence office, to pull together facts and
figures from his marathon round of conferences and conventions. It would surely
be easier as she rested after the blow she’d received and the battle with her
emotions and her fears.

Surely.

He tried, he really did, as afternoon melted into evening.
He flipped report pages, studied statements and looked at spreadsheets until he
was half blind. He rested with his head back against his seat, and then tried
again.

It was useless. Finally, he gave it up.

Instead, he succumbed to instinct. He allowed his gaze to
rove over Amanda Davies once more, from the unconscious grace of her long legs
in their inexpensive hosiery to the enticing curves of her breasts under her
plain white blouse, from her softly sculpted mouth to gold-tipped lashes that
had dried in spikes from her tears.

What would it take to break through the cool reserve she
wore like armor, to make her gaze at him with longing, clamp her legs around
him, writhe against him as she moaned his name? If driven to the teetering edge
of desire, would she accept his whispered demands or defy him even then?

It was a challenge he might have accepted under other
circumstances.

That was her appeal, no doubt, her lack of interest in him
as a man, her self-possession and the challenge it represented. He was jaded
with having women offer themselves so blatantly no effort was required of him,
no chase necessary and therefore no thrill of conquest.

He avoided the women who hovered on the edges of society,
hoping to sleep their way to a permanent place in it. He also steered clear of
the eager young things paraded by ambitious mothers. Sometimes he saw this or
that woman for a few weeks or months, took them out to dinner or escorted them
to galas or charity events. But they were widows, divorcees or career women who
knew his situation and had no wish to change their own.

Marriage of the kind he had once expected seemed so unlikely
he’d ceased to think of it. Work and duty were his solace, the two things which
consumed him.

That was why it perplexed him to be so aware of Amanda
Davies. She was nothing like the women he knew. She did not defer to him, nor
did she signal in any way that she might be open to invitation. The unseen
barriers she erected intrigued him. He wanted to know why they were necessary,
also what lay behind those defenses, whether only carefully monitored responses
or the passionate siren he suspected.

He would never find out. She was not the kind to indulge in
fast sex or casual affairs. Something more than her libido would have to be
engaged before she went to bed with a man. She would, without doubt, require
friendship, deep affection, possibly some promise of a future together before
making love.

He would marry one day, he thought with a wry grimace. His
wife would be someone of his own kind, a woman willing to produce a child in
exchange for the De Frenza name, the De Frenza wealth. It would be a practical
arrangement on both sides, a matter of legal contracts and low expectations.
This was all his many responsibilities allowed.

Meanwhile, he could rest his gaze on Amanda Davies parted
lips and fantasize about how sweet they would taste, how it might feel to sweep
his tongue between them, to be met with the warm and sinuous twining of hers
while she hummed her welcome. Yes, and while he tested the soft fullness of her
bottom lip with his teeth. He would slide his hand under the skirt of the
severe suit she wore, seeking tender warmth and moisture, tending her pleasure,
making her ready for him. She would open her thighs to his touch, his sure
exploration—

A curse feathered his lips as he realized where his too
ready male imagination had taken him. He was harder than he’d been in months,
maybe even years, pulsing with the accelerated beat of his heart.

Setting his laptop aside with a thud, he pushed folders and
papers to the floor. Surging upright, he stalked to the back of the plane. He
stripped off his shirt as he went, making for the small shower in the bedroom’s
en suite
bath. He hoped the wait in Atlanta’s summer sun hadn’t warmed
the plane’s water reserve too much.

~ ~ ~

The smell of freshly brewed coffee dragged
Amanda from sleep. The attendant was just sliding a tray onto the table in
front of her, down from where her feet were propped. Upon it was a silver
coffee service, cups and saucers rimmed by a line of the same blue as the
plane’s décor, a pair of chilled salads and a stacked silver server holding
small sandwiches.

“Did I wake you? I’m so sorry, but Signor de Frenza ordered
a light dinner for this hour.”

Amanda sat up straight, clearing her throat that was husky
from sleep and tears. “No problem. I’ve probably napped long enough.”

“It should be something more elaborate,” the woman said with
a small yet anxious shrug. “We left Florence on such short notice there was no
time to supply the plane as usual.”

The bread appeared fresh-baked, and the fillings of
paper-thin slices of roast beef and Parma ham smelled delectable. The salads of
fresh tomatoes and rounds of soft mozzarella sprinkled with chopped basil and
drizzled with olive oil made her mouth water just to look at them. Amanda could
not imagine how anyone could find fault, and said so at once.

Relief lightened the attendant’s face. “I’ll bring the wine
then.”

She almost told her not to bother, but realized that
Nicholas had probably ordered that as well as the food. He would expect to see
it when he returned from wherever he’d disappeared while she slept.

Unfastening her seat belt as the flight attendant returned
to the forward area where the galley must be located, she got to her feet. She
was stiff from sitting, and in need of a restroom. There being no sign of such
a thing in the sitting area, she made her way back toward the sleeping area
that had been pointed out to her.

It was actually more of a bedroom, one that was in near
darkness. Not only were the window shades pulled down, but the daylight had
been lost as they flew east into the night.

Her impression was of a luxurious space, softly carpeted,
with the bulk of a full size bed in its darker back depths. As no lights
burned, she assumed Nicholas must have decided to rest there.

A rectangular glow indicated the door of what must be the
bathroom. She eased toward it as soundlessly as possible. The last thing she
wanted to do was disturb him.

She heard the subdued buzz of a small motor just before the
door swung inward. It was too late to stop it.

Nicholas stood at the wash basin, using the mirror above it
as he ran an electric razor over the stubble on his chin.

He was spectacularly naked.

A sharp breath rasped in her throat as she took in the
sight.

He turned, his eyes resting on her face as he lifted a dark
brow. “There is something I can do for you?” he asked.

“No!” she exclaimed in strangled embarrassment while hot
color poured into her face. “I’m so sorry. I just wanted—”

Her brain could not assemble her need and the words to express
it into a coherent sentence. Nor could she seem to drag her gaze from the
sun-burnished musculature of his chest with its lyre shape of fine, dark hair,
his flat, hard abdomen, the sculpting of his arms and shoulders, his long
straight legs with their well-defined muscles. As for his groin, the impressive
length springing from a starburst of fine dark hair seemed ready to oblige in
any way she might require.

“By all means.” He reached for a towel and whipped it around
his waist, tucking in the ends. Standing aside, he gave her a small bow as he indicated
she was to enter.

“I can come back later.”

“No, no. Please.”

What could she do except accept his gesture? At least she
could breathe again now that he was covered, even if at a faster rate than
normal. She sidled past him while keeping her gaze glued somewhere in the
vicinity of his chin, the only semi-safe place on his body.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I thought you were asleep.”

A short laugh left him. “I thought the same of you.”

“Sandwiches and coffee are ready.”

“And you need to wash your hands, I understand,” he said in
smooth understanding. “Don’t hurry.”

He no doubt meant he would be getting dressed in the bedroom
during that time. Interrupting him in that process would not be a good idea. “I
won’t,” she said fervently.

He made no reply, but closed her into the bathroom with a
gentle snap of the latch. But she thought she heard a low laugh before he moved
away from the other side.

So he was amused by her discomfort, or perhaps her naiveté.
Well, to the devil with him! He might be used to parading around in front of
women in naked magnificence, but she didn’t make a habit of walking in on
unclothed men.

Not that he was the only one she’d ever seen, of course. She
and Jason, a stockbroker who owned a house in the country and drove an
environmentally correct sedan, had been engaged for almost two years. For all
his staid, buttoned down image, however, Jason had been as much of an
adrenaline junkie as her father and her brother; it was just that playing the
market excited him instead of risking his life. Amanda tormented herself for
weeks, trying to decide if that and his selfish sex were reasonable excuses for
breaking it off. He’d saved her the trouble then by falling for an exotic
dancer with bleached hair, artificial cleavage, multiple piercings and yards of
tattoos.

No, she was stunned by the sight of Nicholas without his
clothes, but that was all. It was hardly going to affect how she reacted to
him. They had no future together, but would go their separate ways once they
landed. And if she might forever compare any man she happened to see in the
nude to the masculine image now seared into her brain, it would be her secret.

The bathroom smelled of soap and a men’s cologne so
tantalizing that she breathed deep in the need to identify it. She had never
come across it before she was sure, not even in the most exclusive men’s
boutiques. He might have had it custom blended, she thought, but it could also
be that it was inextricably mixed with his distinctive male scent.

In any case, it was intoxicating in close quarters. It made
her feel almost light-headed as she used the facility, washed her hands and
face, ran her fingers through her hair and pressed her lips together to add
color.

And she refused to think that it might have been the man who
wore it that caused her dizziness. It was the last thing she needed.

~ ~ ~

His guest emerged from the bathroom as
Nicholas was pouring wine. He had topped off his glass that he had been
drinking while waiting for her, and now reached to fill hers.

“None for me,” she said as she regained her seat.

He sent her a brief look, but she refused to return it. A
veil of soft color lay across her cheekbones.

A wry smile touched a corner of his mouth. She was still
embarrassed then. It was unexpected, for she could hardly be an innocent, must
be in her late twenties if he had to guess. Of course, Americans were not as
comfortable with nudity as most of his countrymen. Perhaps that was it.

At least she was no longer quite so oblivious of him. It
pleased him that he could shake her composure. Purest machismo, of course, but
he had enjoyed the look on her face, her wide eyes and parted lips, the soft
rose flush of awareness and, yes, reluctant arousal.

These things completely destroyed the effect of the cold
shower he’d just taken, but what did it matter? They were worth it.

Nico wondered what it would take to provoke that reaction
from her again. And winced inwardly at what the thought of getting naked in
front of her, say for a mutual shower or midnight swim, did to his straining
body.

3

They went directly from the airport to the
hospital in spite of the predawn hour. The decision was made by Nicholas, but
was exactly what Amanda wanted. She was grateful for his highhanded action this
time, glad that she had no need to press for it.