"Bella," he objected one more time before he capitulated, his tongue sweeping around hers in an intimate dance.
She reveled in it, forgetting everything between them except this passion, this inferno. "Touch me," she begged. Take care of me.
With a choked laugh, he broke their kiss and looked at her. Dark and deep, his stare was filled with a fire not even the night shadows could quench. "Whatever you want, il mio amore."
My love.
Her heart soared, even though her brain rumbled in disbelief. All thoughts and feelings disappeared as one long male finger swept over her hip and slid into her other heart.
She gasped.
For the first time, for the only time, she experienced someone else's hand on the most intimate part of her body. No cotton or silk or wool stopping flesh meeting flesh. He held her gaze as he slowly moved his finger through the curls and into her wetness.
No more barriers. No more loneliness.
"So soft," he whispered. He threw back his head with a groan as if the mere touching of her sex drove him wild. The moonlight highlighted the blunt edge of his long nose, crested on his black brow, painted silver on his high cheekbones. In this moment, he was totally with her, totally hers.
His finger slid down, through her folds, to her entry.
Gasping, she arched into him, her hands tight on his biceps, her eyes closing at the ecstasy he gave her with one small, slight movement.
"You like that." His husky voice was filled with satisfaction.
His finger moved again and again.
She had never experienced this kind of heat in her lonely bed, with her own hand. The pleasure was indescribable, incalculable. Another finger played, and another, until she could no longer control her own body. The burning built inside her, the fire raging in her blood, threatening to devour her with its fever.
His mouth kissed her neck and then her ear and then her cheek. "Bella," he moaned. "How I adore the sounds you make."
Sounds? She couldn't talk, she certainly couldn't trail two words together in the midst of this pleasure. Yet through the dimness of her mind, she heard her soft pants, and when a finger hit just the right place, the mewling cry escaped from her open lips.
"Come for me." His command was taut with tension. "Now."
Electric heat pinged inside her at his words, his desire. His fingers zeroed in on the aching part of her. She couldn't stop the keening wail, until his mouth stifled the sound.
The pleasure softly subsided, and she sagged on him.
"Dio," he groaned. "What you do to me."
His panting breath was like a hot caress on her ear. His warm body curved around hers, protectively. One large hand smoothed across her tender skin. A muted thought came to her. She should touch him. Do for him, what he'd done for her. She should give him...
Dante raised his head and stared at her, his voice merciless with intent. "I have successfully caught you now. There can be no more doubt. You are mine."
Chapter 9
It had been a long day.
Sunshine splashed on the skin of Lara's arm and cheek as she turned north. The car window was open to the smell of dusty earth and salty air. Her grey Fiat made good time through the Tuscan hillside, away from Florence and back to her papa's house. Most of the time she didn't mind the trip back and forth, but today, it seemed endless.
The last couple of weeks had seemed endless.
She could try and blame the irritating city officials who were holding up her school's opening with their endless demands. Or she could pin the blame on the construction crew she'd hired who moved like molasses as they finished the endless details. Plus, there was always the endless, endless pressure to come up with more money and time to get everything done before the kids started coming every day.
However, none of those issues were the reason why her days seemed endless.
The reason was because of the nagging voice inside her. The voice castigating her, scolding her, reminding her of what she'd done. She couldn't escape it: not at home, not at the school, not in the car. The voice chanted its endless refrain no matter how fiercely she tried to focus on anything else.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
The voice was correct. She'd been stupid. Stupid to fall into Dante's arms. Stupid to get swept away in a passion so powerful she still had a hard time believing it had been real. Stupid to give him ammunition in his plot to have her.
You are mine.
The words rang in her head every day.
Right alongside the word stupid.
Grimacing at her thoughts, she eased the Fiat off the highway and onto the road leading to her papa's home. The time was a bit earlier than when she usually got here, but she'd needed some quiet to go through the school's finances. Better to do it in her father's charming garden than in the small windowless room at the school. A long tall glass of lemon soda, a seat in the sunshine, and her mind should have no problem focusing on expenses and profits and fundraising. The voice chanting the irritating words would be stilled in a wash of numbers. While reading had always caused her difficulty, especially in English, with numbers she was never stupid.
Stupid to let him be the one to give her her first orgasm with a man.
Stupid to still want him.
Stupid to dream of him.
During the last week or so, another chant had joined the chorus in her brain.
Stupid to wonder where he was.
"Shut up," she muttered to herself. Over two weeks had passed since she last saw him, standing tall and silent in the garden, watching her as she ran away. Again. Still, she'd had no choice. She hadn't the strength to fight his powerful draw. So, it had been a good decision to run.
Two weeks ago.
He hadn't followed her. Hadn't pursued her. Hadn't called or emailed or stalked her down.
Perhaps her final words had done the trick. The words whispered, yet still powerful. The words straight from her heart after he'd given her a beautiful gift with his body and then taken it away with his claim. Her whisper had echoed all the pain she'd experienced when she suddenly realized his kisses and touches were only about manipulating her. Not about giving to her, not about showing her himself-his passion, his desire, his need.
You are a monster.
He'd flinched. His mouth had twisted in a harsh grimace. And those black eyes had blazed with fiery intent. She'd ripped herself out of his arms before he could make it worse, infinitely worse, using his body and heat and sexual draw to try and claim her once more.
He'd let her go.
Relief. Utter relief.
Stupid to lie to yourself.
What was he doing? What was he thinking? Was it possible he'd finally gotten her message and given up on his relentless pursuit? Every day she'd waited. Waited with breathless anger and frightened hope for him to make his next move.
Nothing. Every day. Nothing.
She wrenched the car shift down and tried to stop the other bubbling mess of thoughts from escaping.
It was no use.
Maybe she'd disappointed him. Sexually. Maybe her inexperienced kisses and inattention to his needs had turned him off. Maybe after he'd thought about the whole encounter, he'd decided to end the chase.
A sudden wash of something suspiciously like depression ran through her.
She shook the emotion off.
Dante was out of her life. That was a good thing.
The odds of her seeing him anytime soon were slim. From now on, she'd stay clear of any large Casartelli gatherings, and limit herself to shopping sprees and girly gossip sessions with his sisters. She'd force herself to forget the way he made her feel when he sucked on her breasts and touched her between her legs. Eventually, she'd forget the mind-blowing orgasm he'd given her.
Eventually, right?
She sighed.
Right. Right.
That was what the voice inside her head should be chanting.
Pulling into her father's long driveway, Lara drove down the graveled road and stopped her car next to the antique fountain surrounded by bright yellow pansies. The soft splash of water against stone wafted into her open car window. She took a deep breath of air filled with the taste of sunshine and pine, trying to let the peace of home permeate her troubled thoughts.
The Derrick villa was not a showpiece, but a home. Her home.
Aged golden stones piled together over many years and many families created a feeling of permanence. Large windows overlooked the surrounding landscape. The house exuded warmth and welcome. Hugo Derrick had bought the lovely villa when he'd fallen in love with and married her mother, Mia. His family wealth allowed him to relocate from the UK with ease. Though he dabbled in stocks and bonds, his true love was his garden. So when her mother died of cancer when Laura was ten, there'd been no talk of moving to England. His home would forevermore be in his beloved Mia's country.