Compromising Positions(4)

At least not in any language she could understand.

“I’m sorry.” She sighed deeply and raised a hand, resting it on Marco’s sleeve. “That was totally out of line. I’m nervous and it’s making me a bitch.”

Mina watched Marco’s face and was relieved to see some of the hardness fade from it. She could imagine the wheels turning behind his eyes and wondered just what he was thinking.

“You should not say such things about yourself,” he said. His voice was mild but Mina knew he was serious. No one got away with talking that way about someone he cared about. Not even if it was about themselves.

“I’ll stop saying it when it stops being true.” She straightened her shoulders and looked him in the eye, daring him to argue. “I realized this afternoon at the museum that I’d been letting things get to me. I mean, I knew coming here was going to be awkward, but I didn’t realize how much it was going to bother me.”

Hardness crept back to the edges of Marco’s face and Mina felt his hands still on her shoulders. “How much what was going to bother you?”

She couldn’t think of a way to explain--the homesickness, the fear that people thought the only reason she got the collection was because she was sleeping with him, the hurt she felt from being closed out by his mother… even how the time they spent together was limited by her work with the collection and his work’s demands. It all bothered her.

“Yesterday when I was talking to Giovanni…” Her voice trailed off and she couldn’t find the words to explain without sounding like a baby. “Oh just forget it,” she said, her eyes dropping from his. “It isn’t important.” She turned back to the mirror and reached up to straighten an earring. Marco was staring at her reflection, his eyes dark, the sharp edges of his cheekbones casting dramatic shadows on his face.

“It is important. You are not happy.” It wasn’t a question and Mina didn’t answer. It wouldn’t have made any difference. “I want you to be happy.”

Marco slid his hands down to rest on her hips possessively, and Mina felt the heat of his touch through the fabric.

“I can make you happy.” His voice dropped an octave, and Mina felt it resonate in her bones.

It was amazing, this response. Never in her life had anyone been able to make her feel--truly feel--the way Marco did. It was as if every nerve in her body was electrified; her skin, her eyes, her ears… they were all hardwired into some previously unknown sexuality that he had awakened with his kiss like some carnal Sleeping Beauty. She struggled for breath, not because he was holding her too tightly, but because it felt so right. It took her breath away.

Marco pressed himself against her, the studs of his shirt shockingly cold against her overheated skin, and she fought to regain control of the situation.

“I am very happy,” she said, but Marco wasn’t listening. His hands had moved, and he wrapped strong arms around her, one above her breasts and the other below, his breath warm and soft in her ear.

“You say that, but there’s a wrinkle between your eyes,” his voice was deceptively gentle, and as he went on his arms tightened, “and I can feel the tension in your body.”

Mina tilted her head back, watching their reflection in the long mirror. Blonde curls cascaded down her back in wild disarray, and her eyes reflected the deep blue of her dress. A dark hand had crept upwards, wrapping lightly around the long column of her throat, feeling her pulse as it pounded there at its base, as the other splayed down over her stomach, pressing her ever more tightly against him.

“I don’t think,” she started, but he cut her off, his voice dark and full of promise.

“Good. Don’t.” Marco’s mouth dropped to where his hand had been just before, savoring the fluttering of her heartbeat against his lips. “Feel. This isn’t something you can plan or organize.” He nipped at her earlobe and she arched back further into his arms, her breath a faint hiss in the quiet room. “This is just you, and me, and how I can make you shiver and sigh with pleasure. It’s about letting yourself lose control until all you can do is clutch at my arms and scream my name.”

Her glossily manicured nails did just that--digging into the silk of his shirt and holding him tightly, as if she was afraid he’d disappear if she let him go.

“Marco,” his name came out more breathily than she wanted and he nodded to her in the mirror, “Please.”

“Yes, Mina mia,” he said. “I please.” His eyes were hot and he looked almost feral. Her insides liquefied at the predatory tone in his voice, and she stiffened for an instant in his hands, the power he had over her both terrifying and tempting. Temptation quickly won out, though, and she squirmed as the newly familiar heat spread through her body melting her resistance like a snowflake in a furnace.