He flicked the tip of his wet tongue lightly against her, swirling around her hard, aching nub in a circular motion. Then he spread her wide, lapping her hungrily with the full width of his tongue. She felt wet, so wet. She gasped as he eased a finger inside her.
Sweet agony built inside her, higher and higher. Her hips started to lift off the bed. A low cry came unbidden from her lips as he worked her roughly with his tongue, and his expert fingers teased her. Gripping his shoulders, she screamed, blinded by the bright explosion of pleasure.
He did not wait. With a low growl, he pulled her upright and yanked off her flimsy T-shirt, leaving her completely naked beneath him.
Her body was still boneless and satiated as he fell beside her on the mattress, rolling her over him, so she straddled his hard, naked body, her belly huge between them. With her knees over the hard planes of his hips, she felt the intimate press of his rock-hard body. He was enormous.
Her swollen breasts were angled toward his mouth. Lifting his head, he suckled each one greedily in turn, causing her to gasp and arch her back with the new sweet sensation of his lips and tongue and teeth. With her legs spread wide over his hips, she slid against him on instinct, her body tightening as she felt him press against her slick core, demanding entry.
He lifted her, positioned himself, then slowly thrust inside her, filling her inch by inch, filling her to the hilt.
She moaned as she felt him push deep inside her. Her hips moved, swaying, quivering around him. He was so thick, so hard. So deep-
Hearing his intake of breath, she looked down at his face. His eyes were closed, his expression rapt, and she suddenly realized that if he had power over her, she had power over him.
Slowly, she began to ride him. As his lips parted in a soundless gasp, she rode him harder and faster, her breasts swaying with the rough movement.
Tension coiled and built inside her, even higher than before. She leaned forward, gripping his muscled shoulders with her fingertips. She felt him tense beneath her, heard his gasp. She felt him try to draw back, to slow down-
But she wouldn't let him withdraw. She rode him hard, pushing him until his body started to shake beneath her. She heard his rising growl and felt him explode inside her. Only then did she let herself go, and as she heard him cry out, her own world exploded into a million sparkling colors, before going black with the savage intensity of their joy.
CHAPTER SEVEN
AWARENESS CAME SLOWLY to Vin. It seemed like hours later when he opened his eyes.
Blinking in the darkness, he remembered they were in the guest room of the villa. Scarlett moved in his arms, warm and soft. His woman. His hands tightened on her as she slept.
He'd deliberately teased her, intending to make her insane with desire, to make her love him. But she wasn't the only one who'd lost control.
Setting his jaw, Vin stared up grimly at the ceiling.
What if his lie about the possibility of falling for her hadn't been a lie?
Could he really be starting to care?
No, he told himself fiercely. No way. He enjoyed having Scarlett in his bed. It was sexual pleasure. That was all it could possibly be.
But this place was messing with his brain. All of it. Italy. This villa. Being around family again. It all reminded him of who he'd once been, when all he'd wanted was to have a real home, to be loved.
But Vin had toughened up since then. Smartened up. Home could be anywhere. He owned more houses than he could keep track of, mostly as investments but also for his convenience. They were all decorated the same, modern and Spartan in stark black and gray, devoid of many personal details or clutter. That was always how he liked his relationships, too. In his opinion, "love" was a fancy decoration, as tacky and inappropriate as pink flounces or Victorian chintz.
He put his hand to his forehead, feeling a sense of vertigo. He couldn't let himself return to the vulnerable, tenderhearted boy he'd been. The boy who'd actually cared. The boy who'd felt things. Who'd hungered for things that had nothing to do with money-
It was this place, he thought angrily.
No. He looked at Scarlett sleeping so trustingly in his arms. It was her.
He couldn't let himself lose his head. He had to keep it together. Stay cool. Stick to the plan.
They would be married soon, he told himself. All he had to do was make her love him enough to sign the post-nup. That was all.
But it was hard for Vin to keep his vow.
It took four more days, not three, before they were able to wed. The Borgias had been wrong. Even with the town mayor expediting paperwork, even with copies of their birth certificates-Vin's listed paternity a glaring lie that set his teeth on edge-there were certain formalities that had to be completed, and not even political connections or deep pockets could completely circumvent them.
Four days.
Four days of spending every moment with beautiful, intuitive, keen-eyed Scarlett and the wonderful people who believed themselves to be his family. Four days of listening to Maria prate on excitedly about her plans for their wedding. A required visit to the American Consulate in Florence turned into a pleasurable day of sightseeing with Scarlett, gawking at the Duomo followed by lunch at a charming café in the Piazza della Signoria. Four days of taking long walks in the Tuscan sunshine, eating glorious food.
Four days of talking to Scarlett, of learning about her, of finding new things to admire. One rainy afternoon by the fire, she'd suddenly set down her book and on impulse offered to show him the intricacies of picking a pocket.
He appreciated the lesson and, in return, offered to teach her how to fight. "My dad already showed me," she said primly. "I tried my punch out on Blaise in New York."
"I bet you did," he said, grinning at her. "All right. Here's how to use your own body weight against an attacker who grabs you from behind. Bet your dad didn't teach that."
Vin still smiled, remembering how pleasurably those lessons had ended-in bed together.
Such a strange way to live, Vin thought. He wasn't accustomed to such a luxurious squandering of time. He usually spent eighteen-hour days in the office, and that was what he should have been doing now, nailing down the details of the upcoming Mediterranean Airlines deal.
Instead, he sent his assistant on to Rome without him. He told his staff to handle everything, promising only that he'd arrive in Rome for the face-to-face meeting required by the other company's CEO, Salvatore Calabrese.
He'd spent the last twenty years focused on work. He told himself he'd be justified to take a few days off, but this was no mere vacation. He had a clear goal: making Scarlett love him so she'd sign the postnuptial agreement giving him the permanent control he needed to protect his son.
At least that was what Vin told himself as he spent hours walking with Scarlett through brilliantly colored autumn fields, on footpaths laced with cypress trees, holding her hand as they talked about everything and nothing. Hours of lingering together over meals, midday picnics beneath the golden sunlight, evening dinners inside by the fire. Vin found out why Scarlett was such a bad cook. "The day after my mother died, I tried to cook a can of soup over an open stove and nearly burned the house down." She smiled. "My father declared he'd be in charge of meals for safety reasons. My job was to keep the house clean and focus on school, when I was able to go."
She smiled about it now, but when Vin broke down the many sources of pain in that sentence-her mother died, they had to cook over an open stove, she wasn't always able to go to school-he marveled at her resiliency. He admired her strength.
That didn't stop him from arguing about what they'd name their son. He wanted a simple name like John or Michael. She wanted an Italian name from his family. "Like Giuseppe," she'd suggested hopefully. Vin had shut that idea down fast.
But he was afraid his emotions were starting to be compromised after four solid days of getting to know her mind and heart. Four nights of utterly exploring her body.
He'd spent hours kissing Scarlett, running his hands over her lush curves and overheated skin, as they'd set their bedroom on fire. They'd made love in every possible way as he'd explored every possibility of giving her pregnant body the deepest pleasure.
All in all, they'd been days and nights he would never forget. He was almost regretful to see them end.
But his plan was working. He could see it in Scarlett's green eyes when she looked at him now.
Against her will, she was starting to love him.
Perhaps Scarlett would have fallen in love with him anyway, without him trying so hard. Most women did. It was not something he was vain about; it was simply a fact. They could not resist his sex appeal, his raw power and the underlying attraction of his billions in the bank. He didn't have to try with women. It was usually the opposite. He would be cold to them, and they stunningly and stupidly loved him for it.