His lips caressed her cheek, then her lush mouth, dipping in to taste her unique combination of sweetness mixed with sensual promise. Her hands slipped into his hair, tugging him closer.
"You need to sleep," he managed.
Her kiss cut off further protests, her moist lips nipping and sucking on his, tasting him with a silent need that called to his sex.
"Lara … "
She tugged once more, and he found himself lying on the bed, half over her, his chest pushing on her soft breasts, heating him further. She murmured, "you're so warm."
He rasped a chuckle. "More like hot for you."
Her quiet laugh echoed his. Searching fingers smoothed along his neck and down his spine, sending shivers of lust shooting through his nerve endings. But the door stood open and he heard the faint clatter of the steward moving in the small kitchen close to the bedroom. The flash of a white light illuminated the bed before the shift of a curtain cut it off.
"Bella." He pushed himself off her reluctantly and sat on the edge of the bed, trying to gain his breath back. "You could tempt a saint."
"And you're assuredly not that." Her tart tone descended over the atmosphere with an errant clash.
His blood immediately cooled.
Ah.
The honeymoon might have ranked as a success for him, yet his wife apparently still held onto a portion of her anger. He still had work to do. Why was he surprised? He swallowed his disappointment and regret.
"Sorry." Her voice softened. "I shouldn't have said that."
Waving her words away, he began to stand.
"Wait." She grasped his arm. "I am sorry."
"You have nothing to apologize for." He stared straight ahead, not wanting to look at her face. What would he see there? Condemnation or regret? Disgust or acceptance?
A wisp of a sigh came from the bed. "Dante-"
"I am not a saint. You are correct in that." He made himself glance at her. Yet the dim light gave him few clues to what she was feeling or thinking.
"I didn't mean it the way it came out." Her hand smoothed on his arm, but he'd lost the desire to pursue this.
Not now. He needed to regroup and rethink. "Go to sleep."
She sighed again. "I can tell by your stubborn look I'm banging my head against a stone wall. All right. I'll drop it. I do have a couple of questions, though."
He clasped his hands between his thighs and waited, hoping for easy questions and easy answers.
"First, when do we land?"
Easy. "In about three hours."
"Are we going directly to the villa?"
Not as easy. He'd hoped to postpone this discussion since he had no idea what his wife thought of the Casartelli villa. Perhaps she already thought of it as her home and wanted to immediately take possession. But his instincts told him this was not the case. So he'd made decisions.
He sighed inwardly.
Without asking her.
Which never made her happy. He'd learned that much during the course of the last few weeks.
Merda.
"Dante?"
Clearing his throat, he started with caution. "No. I thought it best to stay at least one night in Florence."
"Where?" Curiosity rang in her voice.
"I have an appartamento in Florence."
"You do?" She laughed lightly. "I don't know much about you, do I?"
"You know more than most." The truth of the statement filled him with more vague unease.
Her hand continued to glide over his arm, warming his skin against his will. "So, we'll be staying there for only one night?"
"Uh." He paused. "I thought we might make it our home base and use the villa for the weekends."
"Really?"
He rushed through his decisions to his reasons. "I thought with your school and my work in Florence it might be easier-"
"What a good idea."
Stopping, he took a breath. "Good. I am glad you agree."
"And if I hadn't?" Her tone turned wry.
He peered at her, hoping she could sense his sincerity. "Then we would discuss it and come to some other solution."
Her hand stopped on his arm. "Wow," she said. "I'm stunned."
He stared at her. "Why?"
"There was actually a nod to compromise in your words."
He wasn't used to her teasing even now, yet he'd gotten better at spotting it. A slight grin eased his tension. "Grazie for noticing my effort."
"Where is the apartment in Florence?"
"On one of the hills of Settignano." The exclusive building he'd commissioned and built provided amazing views of the city as it lay in splendor in the valley below. There'd been no trouble selling the other deluxe suites, but he'd kept the top floor for himself. The place had become his refuge and retreat. Away from the clamor of his family, the demands of his business, the home he'd created was entirely his own: the paintings, the furniture, the actual layout. The place soothed him. Lara would be the first woman he'd ever brought to the place.
Dio, would she like it?
"I won't be able to walk to the school from there," she mused, her soft touch continuing to smooth across his arm. "Though I can take the bus. Then I won't have to worry about parking for my car."
A jolt of pure amazement ran through him. His wife? Taking a bus? The thought was complete foolishness. "You will certainly not be taking a bus."
Her hand stilled once more. "What do you mean? I can easily take the bus."
"My wife will not be seen on a bus," he said, his emphatic statement slicing through the sudden tenseness lying between them. "Plus, the security team would never okay the action."
Her hand dropped from his arm. "The security team?"
Had she been blind to the added protection he'd provided her the moment they became engaged? Had she not noticed the couple of men discreetly walking behind them anytime they left the exclusive gardens of the Barbados hotel and went into town? He gazed down at her shadowed face in disbelief. "Protection. For my entire family."
"I don't need protection."
He couldn't stifle a laugh. "Si, you do. You are married to one of the wealthiest men in Europe. It is stupid to think I wouldn't provide protection for you."
"You think I'm stupid." Her voice frosted at the edges.
"No, no." His hands clenched. "Listen. I understand this is a new lifestyle for you. One that will take some getting used to. However, eventually, you won't even notice them following you."
"What?" she gasped. "There are going to be people trailing me? All the time?"
"There already have been."
"No!"
"Si, bella. Since the moment of our engagement." Why the hell had he even brought this up? If she hadn't noticed the security before, perhaps she never would have noticed it. That was ultimately perilous, though. She needed to understand and cooperate with her new circumstances in order to be safe.
The heat of her angry glare burned into him. "Tell them to stop."
"I will not."
Her breath grew heavy. "I don't want them."
His temper edged toward igniting. "I won't let you be kidnapped or burglarized. Anything could happen to you. My duty is to keep you safe."
"I am perfectly capable of keeping myself safe." She slapped her hand on the bed. "I've been doing it quite well for almost thirty years."
Little did she know she'd been watched and protected for all the years she'd been in England. Not at the level she was now, of course. She hadn't been married to one of the wealthiest men in Europe at the time-much to that man's regret. But there was no way he was ever going to let her know any of that.
"Not any longer." He stood and paced to the door, wanting to end this discussion before he lost the tight rein he held on his temper. "I am responsible for your safety now."
"You make it sound as if I'm five-years-old."
"You are behaving that way." The angry words were out before he could stop them. Dio, here he was again: every button pushed, every wild word expressed.
Silent condemnation emanated from the bed. "Good to know how you feel about me, Dante."
All of the muscles in his body was as tight and taut as the strings of a violin. "This discussion is closed. The matter is decided."
"Because you say so."
"Correct," he yelled, tired of trying to explain what was obvious and logical. "Because I say so."
She rolled over, her back to him in rigid rejection. "Please leave."
Walking out the door, he slammed it behind him.
Idiot. Fool. Moron.