The Wrong Sister(66)

“Your key to paradise, I hope, Signorina?”

She smiled and slid it into the lock. When the door swung open, she gasped with pleasure.

The room was large, high-ceilinged, and appeared to be furnished in a style that was centuries old, although a quick inspection of the attached bathroom and the generously-sized bed soon assured her it was luxury all the way. The walls glowed dusky copper, the ceiling was darkly timbered. Lavishly embroidered cream curtains danced at the open doors to their private balcony.

Christian pushed the fabric aside and beckoned her out into the sun. Together they leaned on the surround and watched the water-traffic in the canal below.

“Another useful railing?” he suggested, raising a wicked eyebrow.

“We might end up in the water,” she countered, thinking back to the night they’d embraced so passionately on the cottage terrace. “And even in the wee small hours, far too public, I suspect.”

“Whereas,” Christian suggested, drawing her back into their room and pulling the doors closed, “this is both dry and private.” He settled her against him so their bodies notched together.

“We’re made to fit,” she whispered as his lips started a leisurely exploration of her face. He kissed her eyelids as they fluttered shut, progressed over her cheekbone, and then outlined the bow of her sensitive top lip with the tip of his tongue.





Fiona moaned with pleasure. The endless frustrating months without him had all been worth it if this was her reward. She’d ached for the warmth of his kiss and the scent of his body and the sound of his voice. Their five-day affair had been incandescent. This extra night of love was a precious unexpected gift.

Her lips curved against his smile.

“I want to take you slowly,” he said in a husky whisper. “I want to turn you on so thoroughly you’ll remember this for the rest of your life.”

I’ll remember you forever, Christian.

The butterfly brush of his mouth moved gently on her swollen sensitized lips. She tried to increase the pressure but he drew fractionally away, teasing her with tiny nips and nibbles as he slid his hands to the waistband of her denim skirt and released the fastenings.

“Christian,” she breathed. “You’ll kill me. I’ve been waiting so long...”

And still he proceeded with the utmost restraint, holding her close as he worked her skirt down past her hips; not allowing her to hurry him.

In desperation her fingers grabbed for the buttons of his shirt, fumbling them out of the buttonholes so she could run her fingers—and then her lips—through the soft mesh of hair that covered his chest.

Christian groaned, cupped her face in both hands, and lifted it away from his flesh so he could dispense with his shirt. He toed off his shoes and turned aside to close the curtains. Fiona stepped out of her skirt and sandals. Dim seclusion shrouded them.

“You’ve been in the sun,” she said, enjoying his darkly tanned chest and shoulders as she backed toward the bed, eyes intent on his.

“It’s been a good hot summer. But so cold without you, Blondie. Take your top off for me. A sexy little strip-tease...?” One dark eyebrow winged up before he unzipped his jeans, pushed everything down, and kicked the bundle away. He stood there buck naked and beautiful, cock damn near vertical. Fiona’s mouth watered as she eyed the plump succulent tip. Her lips and tongue longed to close around it, and suck and slide until he surrendered. She grasped the hem of her T-shirt and began to peel it off, gathering the soft fabric up to reveal the flimsiest of bras.

“Very nice.” His voice was hoarse.

“Chosen specially...”

“Take it off.”

“You do it,” she challenged, tossing the T-shirt aside.

Christian bent his dark head to her breast and slid his tongue under the edge of the lace to her barely-covered nipple. She sucked in a sharp breath.

“Christian...”

“My Blondie...” He eased the straps off her shoulders. “Hell—forget what I said about doing this slowly,” he added, tipping her backwards onto the big bed and dragging her tiny panties off as she wriggled and giggled beneath him.





Much later, they enjoyed the sumptuous bathroom, hands running over skin, soap sliding, mouths meeting as they embraced together under the hot cascade of the shower.

“Time to dress for dinner,” he finally said, turning off the water.

“Where are we eating?”

He smiled. “Right here in our room, Blondie. We have things to discuss. I want you all to myself.”

He enfolded her in a thick towel and began the enjoyable task of rubbing her dry.

“And I want you in this,” he added a few minutes later, reaching into the wardrobe and lifting out Marielle’s sexy red dress. “Be my scarlet woman? Just in private, for me?”