Ti desideravo nelle mia braccia dal primo memento che ti vedi.
I’ve wanted you in my arms since the moment I met you.
He rolled back on his heels. Closed his eyes. Fisted his hands.
Ho bisogno di te.
I need you.
The last memory of what he’d whispered to her tore into him with a savage rip.
His breath whooshed out in a gust of rejection. “No.”
Pacing to his desk, he sat down, flipped through his messages, tried to push all the memories, all the emotions, all of her back into the box he’d labeled ignorable.
He found it impossible. Staring blankly at the data streaming on his computer, Marc saw only her. His charming Darcy. The small sprite who had enthralled him against his will. The lithe elfin who’d lured him into deep waters before he even knew he was in danger.
Dio. At least he could be thankful he’d confessed those words in his native tongue. He shuddered at the thought of how a woman could use those words against a man.
Ho bisogno di te.
No longer. He’d known it the moment he’d pulsed inside her. Known he had to put a stop to it even if he’d been in the thrall of the best orgasm he’d ever had. Even if last night had been the best sex he’d ever had.
Apparently the virgin act turned him on. This surprised him. His usual woman was inevitably experienced both in the bed and in the parting. It was what he wanted. Yet somehow, Ms. Darcy Moran had figured out his jaded appetite yearned for something fresh and new.
She’d played the act very well.
Played it so well in fact, it had sucked him into caring for her, feeling for her. Believing for a moment he was the only one she wanted or ever had wanted.
Last night hadn’t been only about the sex, had it?
There was the problem. One he was determined to fix.
His phone buzzed.
Glancing down, his mouth twisted in a wry smile. Momma. What excellent timing she had. Right on time to remind him of why this fixation with the nymph was a mistake.
“Si.”
“So surly,” his mother chided. “But of course, you must put up with that woman for a few more days, so I suppose it is understandable.”
“What do you want, Momma?” Her disparagement of his sprite drove a wedge of pure fury into his stomach. This was unreasonable of him, though. What did it matter what his mother thought of Darcy?
“I wanted to let you know about your brother.”
Sighing, he leaned back in his chair. “What has he done now?”
“Don’t use that tone about my Matteo.”
Always it had been this way. Her second husband and second son had always been her pride and joy. He and his father were second-hand goods. Her constant flattery and coddling had nearly destroyed his younger brother. Only after he’d taken charge, took him away from her influence, had Matteo started to turn into a man. Yet now his brother had spent almost a month in her orbit again. A recipe for disaster. Which he should have thought about when he sent him to Italy.
But he’d had a sprite on his mind instead.
“Marcus?” his mother snapped. “Are you there?”
“Si.”
“Your brother is doing fine, I’ll have you know.”
“I am all amazement.”
His mother huffed. “He’s doing an excellent job in charming Viola and her family. The wedding should go off without a hitch.”
Eight days. Eight more days with Darcy. Then he would be free to return to what he did best. Do business and make money.
An ache burned in his gut.
Eight days.
“I do believe my son is really in love this time,” his mother intruded, cutting off his confusion.
“Really?” His tone was riddled with sarcastic disbelief. Why his brother had only recently been in love with another woman. Mere weeks ago. A woman who declared her love for Matteo with passionate fervor. Where had that love gone?
The burn deepened, dug into his soul. The memory of Darcy’s fierce defense of his brother, her clear love for him shining in her eyes; he’d buried the memory. Buried it under the driving desire to make her his.
Which he’d done last night, hadn’t he?
Why didn’t he feel the elation of winning rather than this ugly anger at his brother’s apparent desertion of the sprite? Apparently his brother had moved on to the better option. Exactly as he’d been told to do.
Why wasn’t he congratulating himself on the success of his plan?
“Si,” his mother interrupted his thoughts and emotions. “I see it every time he’s with his fiancée.”
“I don’t care what he is feeling,” he snarled. “I only care that he keeps his word.”
“You are such a cynic,” she sighed.
“For good reason, right, Momma?”