Fire Bound (Sea Haven Sisters)(115)

Something velvet soft slid up her thigh. Oh God. Her body wanted to melt into a small puddle of need. His tongue. Touching the insides of her thighs. Barely there, but leaving a long trail of fire burning up her leg straight to the scorching-hot channel that clutched emptily. So in need. She felt the rasp of his jaw, a sharp contrast to the whisper of his fingers and the velvet fire of his tongue.

His fingers dug into her hips and dragged her back almost savagely against his mouth. His tongue stabbed deep at the same time. That was all it took to have her tumbling over the edge, chanting his name, her body going wild. Over and over the waves came, swamping her, a strong quake there was no stopping or controlling. It went on and on. At the very height, the strongest of the contractions, he slammed into her, his body slightly above hers, giving him the best possible angle to go deep. He drove through tight folds, forcing his invasion, while her body clamped down on him like a vise.



He gasped. She screamed. Then he was pounding into her while flames seemed to consume her. There was no getting away from that rhythmic piston. She was helpless to do anything but take it as he gave it to her. There was no way to think, only feel. Only let the scorching fire take her, burn her clean, make her wholly his. She had no idea how many times her body convulsed around his before he finally emptied himself into her.

She would have collapsed, but his arms held her up, held her safe. It was Casimir who somehow found the strength to carry her into the bedroom, sheltering her against his body, holding her so tenderly she could barely believe he was the same man who had taken her body so savagely only a few minutes earlier.



He placed her in bed and came down nearly over top of her, his body to the side, but leaning over her as if he could protect her from everything. As if he would always keep his body between hers and any harm. Her body still rocked with aftershocks, and the more his mouth whispered gently over her face, took her mouth in tender kisses, the more of herself she simply surrendered to him. Giving him everything she was.

Her body sated, completely exhausted, her mind filled only with him, she drifted off, surrounded by his warmth, hearing the soft declaration of love whispered in her ear as she succumbed to sleep.





17



Luigi smoldered with anger. He hadn’t been able to grieve. All around him were wailing women, each determined to be more dramatic than the other. Louder. More annoying. Clinging to him until he wanted to pound them into the ground. When he wanted to knock them away from him. His stupid cow of a wife. Aldo’s beautiful but idiotic widow who knew all along he had a mistress, but clung to him anyway because she didn’t have a backbone. His own sons, weeping like children, following in their mother’s footsteps, although he’d tried to teach them to be men.



He needed to be alone. Away from them all. He had surrounded himself with incompetent bodyguards and idiotic soldiers. Men who cared more to beef up their bodies than their brains. It was necessary at the time. Now, he needed intelligence. More than intelligence, he needed cunning. An ally. Someone to take Arturo’s place. Giacinta could have been that person. She wasn’t male, but she was smart. So damned smart and loyal.



He called the one soldier he decided would make the best bodyguard, since he couldn’t have his niece. He called Tomasso and issued orders. He wanted Tomasso to come to his home and pick him up. He wanted to see for himself the man’s reaction to the fact that he had two homes, a wife. Sons. If Tomasso wasn’t the man he thought him, he’d kill the bodyguard and replace him.



Luigi prided himself on being a good judge of character. He had bested his all-powerful big brother. The chosen one. The one who had gotten the most beautiful woman Luigi had ever laid eyes on. Never once had Elizabeta looked at him. She had eyes only for Marcello. Luigi had been the one to tell Marcello about the beautiful woman he’d seen. Marcello had known Luigi wanted her, but he still went after her. He’d married her, and then his father left Marcello the family business. As always, Luigi had to protect Marcello simply because there was a birth order, not because Marcello was smarter. Hell no. He wasn’t and he never had been.



The best thing his brother and his bitch of a wife had done was to have Giacinta. Even then, Luigi had been smart, making a fuss over the baby, coming around often to take her places and make both Marcello and Elizabeta think he adored their child. It was easy enough to talk them into getting dogs and a dog handler. Of course Luigi would handpick the man. Now that he’d been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis, a brilliant, masterful move on his part, he was put in a position of consultant and could slowly ease his way to buying a much needed restful retreat at the edge of the sea, a good distance away.