The camisole top was trimmed in golden lace. Daring to the extreme, it showed almost everything. She smiled into the mirror.
Dante said he liked her breasts too.
It was a good thing the dress came with a jaunty gold jacket. She could button it up as she walked through the lobby, and then discard it immediately when she got to his office. Confidence began to grow. She was going to come at him with everything he liked about her highlighted and spotlighted.
The assistant produced golden high heels with a strappy band that curled up her ankle. An instant vision of herself sauntering down a long stretch of carpet towards his desk made her shiver. He'd be watching. How could he not?
Rolling up the shimmery stockings that ended with a lace edge, she finally bought into the plan. She could do this. She could seduce her husband.
"Siete bei, Signora Casartelli," the attendant gushed as Lara strutted out of the dressing room.
"Grazie." Flashing a smile, she turned and took one last look. Yes. She was sex personified.
Her husband was in for a surprise.
* * *
He was tired.
Dante rubbed a hand across his jaw and then yanked his tie down. He'd been working non-stop for days on a business deal with an Australian firm that at long last was coming together. He should be ecstatic, elated. This deal would launch his company into a whole new stratosphere of success.
He couldn't care less.
When his phone buzzed, he sighed and answered, issuing a series of commands to correct the situation presented. Dropping the phone, he leaned back in his leather chair and stared out the window at the Florence sunshine.
He'd barely been at home, barely slept. For days, he'd operated on automatic pilot, going through the motions, unwilling to confront reality.
Which was not like him.
All right.
He'd shied away from it for too long. The reality was, it was for the best. Lara pushed him too far, made him feel too much. This caused him unease; an unease he did not want in his personal life. Plus, she apparently wanted out of their marriage.
It would be better for both of them if he let her go.
A crushing agony flashed through him. Closing his eyes, he willed it away, even though he knew, he knew ultimately he would have to confront this as well, along with the reality the marriage did not suit either of them.
I needed some freedom.
Her words crashed inside him, churning his damned emotions. He immediately swept the memory out of his mind, flattened it with the brutal concentration he'd learned to use over the years.
Eventually, he would have to let her go.
However, not yet. He couldn't accept reality yet. He needed only a few more mornings, watching her as she got ready for work. He needed only a few more nights watching her as she slept. He needed a few more times listening to her talk, watching her eyes turn from dark to light gold, looking at her as she walked towards him.
Was that too much to ask? Was it too much to ask that he have these few more stolen moments until the time came when he let her walk away for good?
The buzz of the intercom intruded into his torment.
"Si," he muttered.
"Signora Casartelli is here to see you." His PA's voice was filled with curiosity. Which was not surprising, since his wife had never come to his office before.
He jerked up. Was something wrong? "Send her in."
The double doors eased open and Lara stepped in.
The sight of her stopped his breath. She was dressed as a siren, a brilliantly colored, gold-edged invitation to every male who ever walked the earth. The skirt was shorter than any she'd ever had on before. The jacket was decent yet fit her like a glove, showing the dip of her waist, the lushness of her curves above and below.
What the hell was his Lara doing dressed like this in the middle of the day? She was far more comfortable in jeans and T-shirts when she went to the school, and frankly, he liked that. Why advertise what he had to every other male in the vicinity?
Today, however, she'd gone over to the other side, dressing like a mistress instead a wife. Her clothing destroyed his concentration, destroyed the command he had on himself.
Dannazione.
Behind her, his PA smiled brightly. "Would you like me to bring some refreshments in, Signore Casartelli?"
"No." Lara swung around, looking behind her. "I need a moment of privacy with my husband."
"Certamente." His PA nodded as the door closed on her interested face.
His wife glanced over her shoulder at him and turned the lock.
The clicking sound shot across the room and straight to his groin.
No. No.
There had to be some explanation for her arrival other than the one his riotous libido brought to his all too eager imagination.
Trying to assert some command on his raging hormones and his unexpectedly purposeful wife, he rose. He was glad he still had his suit coat on. The clothing shielded his blatant interest from her stare. "Is something wrong?"
"Does something have to be wrong for me to come visit you at work?" Her long, elegant fingers started to unbutton the jacket. Since the jacket was the only part of her dress that was reasonably conservative, he desperately wanted her to keep it on. He had little self-control with her as it was. The last few nights had been a nightmare. Smelling her soft skin, even though he'd turned away from her. Hearing her soft breathing as she slept. Imagining her body, warm against his.
But he'd been adamant with himself. If he was going to have to let her go, he had to do it in stages. The first stage was to subdue this driving need to be inside her. Then he would be able to pull away further. One step at a time.
"Lara," he rasped. "Wait."
It was too late. The last button came undone and with a womanly gesture as old as time, she slipped it off, letting it fall to the floor.
The dress was outrageous. It was scarcely decent as lingerie, much less street clothes. The short skirt, rippling around her thighs, had been enough of a trial on his libido. The camisole was far worse-the lace hid nothing except her nipples. Even from the distance across his vast office, he saw her nipples were peaked, hard. Ready for his mouth.
Taking a deep breath, he sat back down in his leather chair, trying to ignore his rioting body. "I'm busy."
Her provocative chuckle curled around his cock, just as surely as if her hand had slid into his pants. "I'm sure you are."
"If there's nothing wrong, I don't have any time." Staring at the computer was the only action he was capable of. At least it kept him from the temptation of looking at her. "What is it you want?"
"There's a question."
He felt her, felt her move across the room. He heard her, heard the swish of the silk on those impossibly long legs. He caught the whiff of her rose perfume that always, always stirred him. And the smell of her beneath. The subtle smell of woman, uniquely hers.
The scent always made him desperate to be inside her.
With grim determination, he put his numb fingers on the keyboard and began to type a response to an important email. The words were gibberish, of course. Yet she didn't know that, and this was what counted.
The light touch of her finger on his neck nearly rocketed him from his seat.
Still, Dante Casartelli was not a man easily swayed from his purpose. Not by a woman, certainly. Not even if she was his wife, a woman he wanted with every cell in his body. A woman who currently was dressed in so little he could have her naked and on his desk in seconds.
The image of her spread across his large glass desk, all of her exposed to his gaze, his touch, was a blinding flash of torment. It made him want to howl. But she would know then. Know what she was doing to him. Clenching his hands in utter despair was not an option either. She would see it and know.
He kept typing.
The chaos of his thoughts blurred his reactions. Before he could process it, her warm, wet mouth moved across the line of his shirt, licking at his neck before, suddenly, nipping at his ear. Her hum lanced directly to his straining cock, nearly pushing him over the edge.
"Lara." He managed to punch the word out with force. "I don't have time for this."
She ignored him.
Completely.
Her tongue slipped along the crevices of his ear, sending tingling spears of pure lust up his spine. She did even worse. Draping herself across the back of his chair, her soft hands smoothed over his shoulders and onto his chest. The thin silk of his shirt could not cover the hardness of his nipples, the flexing of his muscles. His siren of a wife laughed softly as she rubbed the tip of a finger across his aching nipple.