Immediately contrite, he knelt before her, drawing her against him to smooth her soft back. “It’s all right, carina mia. Don’t be sad. It’s a mistake. Amanda isn’t going.”
“Truly?” she asked on a hiccup, her voice wobbling. “I don’t want her to go.”
“Nico,” Amanda began.
“No one wants her to go. It’s just a misunderstanding. Everything will be all right, I promise it. Meanwhile, would you like a nice profiterole? I heard—”
He came to an abrupt halt as he realized he was doing exactly as Amanda had said they all did with Carisa. When had it become a habit?
“Profiterole?” she asked with a line of worry between her pale brows.
Amanda took a step toward him. “Nico?”
He did not dare look at her, directing his attention only to Carisa as he brushed her cheek in a gentle caress. “We will discuss it, Amanda and I. While we do that, perhaps you and Aunt Filomena would like to take a walk? You could go as far as the sea.”
“Nico, please. Per piacere,” his aunt said in protest. Her look was imploring as she stood in the doorway.
“Allora, it will do you both good.” His answer was without pity, particularly as a watery smile of instant pleasure and anticipation bloomed across Carisa’s sweet face.
His aunt sighed then came to gather Carisa to her in a huge, soft hug. Speaking softly, she turned with her toward the hall, though she sent him a knowing glance over her shoulder before they disappeared into the hall. He could hear the two of them talking in low voices, explaining to his grandmother. A moment later, the voices faded away down the stairs.
Nico stepped to close the bedroom door. Holding hard to his temper, he turned slowly to face Amanda.
“That was well done,” she said before he could speak.
If it was meant to soothe his anger, it did not succeed. “I do have a concern for my sister. But you? You were going,” he said. “You were running away without even a civil goodbye for her. Or for me.”
“I don’t care to stay where I’m not wanted.”
“Oh, you’re wanted,” he said, moving toward her with deliberate steps. “What I would prefer is that you were not wanted so much.”
She retreated while moistening her lips with her tongue. “But you said—”
“I know what I said, but it’s too late. You’ve already made Carisa love you. My grandmother and my aunt not only enjoy your company but look forward to it. As for me—” He reached for her, catching her forearms to draw her against him. A shiver ran across his shoulders, beading his arms with goose bumps as he felt her warmth against his near-naked, water-chilled flesh. Then he lowered his head and took her mouth like a drowning man seeking the kiss of life.
She resisted for the briefest of moments, holding him away with her hands against his chest. Then she made a low sound in her throat and slid her palms upward, gliding them over his shoulders before clasping the back of his neck. He eased closer to nestle the solid length of him against her softness.
He felt bare skin against his thighs, realized the front of her light robe had parted as its tie loosened. Aching need vibrated through him. He released her arm, skimmed downward to slide his hands inside its open edges, spreading them wider. She was nude beneath it, he discovered, so gloriously naked that the exultation of it heightened his sense of touch to a painful edge.
He spanned the satin skin of her waist, spread his fingers and feathered them over her rib cage and upward until he cupped the tender weight of her breast. It nestled into his hand, so smooth, so soft yet compact and tipped by the endearingly hard berry of her nipple. Blood thundered through his veins and a fever of need spread from inside him, heating his body until he thought steam must surely rise around them.
~ ~ ~
Amanda gasped as she felt the gentle tug on her nipple, the delicate way he rolled it between his fingertips. The fiery sensation caught her by surprise as it spread through her, coalescing in the lower part of her body. She pressed against him, absorbing his heated hardness, the crisp texture of his body hair that rasped her thighs with exquisite friction, his strength that sapped her own until she felt boneless with pleasure.
Never, never had it been like this, such a maelstrom of sensations, each more fervent than the last: his mouth, the twining of his tongue and its insistent probe; the silky yet ravishing roughness of his chest hair against her breasts, and his hands, oh, his hands.
She should stop him, should retreat, but her will had vanished. In its place was mindless craving for more and more of him. His scent, a lingering intimation of his maddening cologne, the whiff of pool chemicals and his own warm male essence jarred her heart into a staggering beat.
With one hand he cupped her bottom before pulling her harder against him, while the other brushed down her abdomen, smoothed the damp curls at the juncture of her thighs and clasped her in firm possession. At the same time, he pressed a line of kisses from the corner of her mouth to the turn of her jaw and hollow of her throat, and lower until he reached the peak of her breast. He wet it, blew upon it, and abraded it with his tongue’s roughness as it knotted ever tighter. At last, at last, he took it into his mouth and suckled with slow and gentle adhesion.
A small cry left her. Her legs nearly gave way but stiffened again as he parted her soft folds and thrust a finger deep into her moist heat.
And then she heard the ragged sound of his breath as he inhaled. Slowly, he withdrew, gentled his hold, and began to ease away from her.
The muscles of her arms flexed to hold him. “No,” she whispered, “Please stay.”
“I can’t,” he said in soft reply.
To succumb in the heat of the moment might be easy. Was that not what she had said? She had been wrong.
To find words that signaled surrender and force them past the tightness in her throat was near impossible. It was difficult because she was not overwhelmed by the hot, passionate need that surged in her veins. Rather, she decided in that instant to seize what she wanted and might never experience again, yielding to it without regret or reservation.
“Please. Make love to me.”
He tilted his head to see her face. “You’re sure?”
“You said you would not refuse if I asked it.”
The words were only a breath of sound. As they lingered between them there in the afternoon stillness time ceased to exist. There was only the two of them and that vital moment.
“Nor will I,” he answered, the words soft yet as strong as a vow.
He slid her robe down over her shoulders, bent to lift her into his arms. A few steps, and she felt the mattress of the bed give beneath her, heard the thud as her travel bag that lay upon it was pushed aside so it hit the floor. His damp Speedo was dispensed with in an instant. Then he was beside her, denting the surface of the bed so she rolled toward him, gathering her close until she was pressed to him from her breasts to her ankles. She felt his hot, rigid flesh and reveled in its promise, pushing closer still. He whispered her name and other phrases against her hair while his arms hardened around her.
Then his mouth was upon her again, driving her mad with his careful attention to her slightest response. He made red moist peaks of her breasts, caused her stomach muscles to flutter with the heat of his breath. He blew into the nest of curls at the apex of her thighs, delved among them with his tongue, murmured such compliments for the pink tip of flesh he found there that she blushed. He applied incredibly perfect adhesion to it so she writhed, moaning as she came apart in his arms.
Swiftly, he rose above her, parting her thighs. His heated length sank into her liquid softness. He was still as she gasped, stiffening at the sudden fullness, the heat, the glory.
“Perfetto, d’accordo, tesoro mio?”
“Si,” she said on a gasping sigh, though she understood only one of the musical words he spoke against her hair. “Perfect.”
And it was; it was as he withdrew and filled her again and yet again, in a slow dance that stretched time and strained nerves, muscles, and good intentions. She moved with him, against him, sliding her hands over him, grasping his arms, his waist, his hips while her breathing grew labored and perspiration slicked her body and mingled with his, aiding their endless, endless glide.
They moved in wonder, in magic union , until the tension building inside her spiraled up suddenly, bursting in silent wonder, spreading such beneficence along her nerves that tears sprang into her eyes. Her body pulsed around Nico with powerful inner contractions. He groaned as he caught her to him in an iron grasp while his own orgasm broke from his control. Locked together, they savored the moment while straining heart to heart, body to body, mind to mind.
In time, he subsided beside her. He didn’t lie back, but propped above her on one elbow. With hooded eyes, he spread his hand on the surface of her abdomen, slid it upward to cup her breast, bent his head to taste the nipple, drawing on it a little so it beaded instantly under his tongue. When he straightened again, he sighed. “Ah, you are so lovely, cara mia, so responsive, that I forget myself.”
“Do you?”
“I do and I did, carissima. I used no protection, had none with me, mi dispiace.
Her smile was wry as she allowed her gaze to move over his face. “It never crossed my mind either.”