He locked his jaw, anger cresting inside of him for a moment before he brought his thoughts back to Maddie. She had secrets of her own, of that he was certain, but it didn’t matter. Secrets were only dangerous when you came to rely on someone. To trust them. And Nico wasn’t looking for anything more than a bit of fun: Sex. Laughs. Food. Wine.
Bliss.
And at the end of the summer, he’d walk away without a backwards glance.
“You’re okay with this?”
Nico thumbed his finger towards the motorbike and a thrill of anticipation lifted inside Maddie.
“It would be another first for me,” she said slowly, her head tilted to one side. She’d left her hair loose, flowing in long blonde waves around her face and in deference to the balmy summer’s evening, she’d chosen a flowing maxi skirt and a skimpy singlet top. The collection of bangles she’d added at the last minute took up a good two inches on either arm, and they jangled when she moved her hands, which she tended to do a lot in conversation.
“I can call a car—,”
“No, no,” she demurred. “That’s fine. I feel like living dangerously.”
He moved closer, wrapping an arm around her back and drawing her close. “I’ll drive carefully, I promise. You’re safe, remember?”
Maddie wasn’t sure it would matter. Her heart was slamming into her ribs in a way that was unlikely to alter whether they walked, drove or skied to dinner. Her racing pulse began and ended with her proximity to Nico. It had been too long. She’d woken up craving him the morning after they’d slept together. His note had brought a smile to her face but it had been little solace to a body that had begun to reverberate at a frequency only he could answer.
She’d tried to focus on her book, but the words had been as stubbornly resistant to fall from her fingertips as they had been any other day for the past few weeks. So she’d walked, and she’d swum, and she’d eaten leftover soup and thought of him, remembering every detail of how he’d prepared it, of how comfortable he’d seemed in the kitchen, how completely at ease. And she found herself smiling, because he’d been so uber-masculine even as he’d insisted he wanted to feed her.
Michael had never made more than toast for Maddie, and even then, only in the beginning. It hadn’t taken long before she’d become responsible for all the domestic chores. You’re home through the day, Madeleine. It just makes sense.
And he was right. She was home. But she was supposed to be working from home, not doing his laundry or bleaching his bathroom, nor planning elaborate meals that slowly yet surely failed to earn his praise and which eventually received only his criticism.
“Here.” He’d moved towards the bike – it was big and a gleaming black with shiny silver details – and was holding a helmet in his hand.
She lifted one brow. “Protection?”
He grinned. “Always.”
He slid the helmet onto her head, clipping it into place and checking it was snug before nodding with satisfaction, before pulling his own in place. Her stomach rolled. He swung a leg over the bike with ease, then turned to her.
“Jump on.”
She nodded, moving to the back of the bike. He was a good foot taller than she was. For Maddie, it was slightly less graceful but she couldn’t really focus on that with Nico Montebello squeezed between her thighs.
“Hold on tight.” His voice was muffled by his helmet, and hers, but she got the gist. Her hands clamped around his waist, her fingernails digging into his chest, just a little. The engine roared to life beneath her, like some kind of wild animal, and an answering rush of feral, primal need thundered through her body.
“Where are we going?” But her words were swallowed by her helmet and the engine. There was nothing for it but to hold on and wait. She clung to his body – his warm, hard body – as the bike sped down the narrow road that connected La Villetta to the town of Ondechiara. He drove the streets as though he’d created them, leaning the bike into tight corners, his manner was confident and skilled, so within a few minutes, Maddie forgot she’d always been half-way terrified of motorcycles and started to enjoy herself. There was something incredibly elemental about the feeling of the bike rumbling beneath her and the wind ripping past her. Even the excessive noise was like an echo chamber so somehow, despite the volume, all she could hear was the thundering of her own pulse in her ears.
He drove the motorbike through the town and towards the water. Here there were shops and cafés, bistros and restaurants – she remembered her joy exploring this seafront when she’d first arrived. Beautiful little stores brimming with artisanal items, restaurants that smelled amazing, even from the distance of the footpath. It was a perfect holiday town, and yet it wasn’t swarming with tourists.
Nico kept driving, until the bike ran out of road and instead landed on the sand. She held on tighter, but there was no cause for alarm. It was patently obvious this was a drive he’d done often before. A little way along the beach, Maddie saw a glow coming from a series of caves. She craned forward, trying to get a better look. But it wasn’t until he’d slowed the bike to a stop that she saw the caves were restaurants, dainty lights hanging from the edges, tables set up right to the edge of the cave, so that at high tide, the water must surely come close to diners’ feet.
He slowed the bike to a stop and removed his helmet. She did the same, holding it in her lap for a second, before realising he couldn’t easily get off the bike until she did. She wriggled off one side and straightened her skirt then finger combed her hair. A second later, he was standing in front of her, his eyes appraising her with undisguised interest, taking in everything from her tousled hair to pink cheeks, to a body that she was sure must show obvious signs of arousal. She couldn’t help it – desire had been stirred to life inside of her and she didn’t know how to shut that off.
“Do you like seafood?”
She bit down on her lip, trapping her smile, and nodded.
“I’m glad.” His finger lifted up and smudged her lower lip, then his hand dropped to the small of her back, guiding her away from his bike.
“Don’t you need to park that?”
“Valet will take care of it.”
She lifted her eyes heavenwards. “Right, of course.”
Ten stairs, carved from stone, led to the first cave, where a man was waiting to greet them.
“Ah, Signore Montebello, what a pleasure it is to have you back,” he spoke in Italian. Nico responded in English.
“Thanks. You’ve reserved a table?”
“Naturally, sir. This way.” He guided the way through the restaurant. Crisp, white-linen tablecloths were set with fine crystal stemware and highly-polished cutlery and at the centre of each table there was a candle, so the overall effect was that the restaurant glowed with a warm, calming gold. Beyond them, the ocean rolled, bringing towards them the fragrance of salt and the rhythm of the sea. Their table had to be beyond compare. At the furthermost point of the restaurant, it offered panoramic views and it had been set aside from the other tables sufficiently to ensure a degree of privacy during conversation.
“Can I get you a bottle of your usual, sir?”
Nico turned to Maddie. “Would you like to see the wine list?”
She was floored. It wasn’t fair to make comparisons between Nico and Michael, but at the same time, it was almost impossible not to. Where Michael had always ordered their drinks – and oftentimes their food – Nico instinctively consulted with her, asking for her preference. Maddie’s heart turned over in her chest and heady on the rush of power – which academically she knew to be normal rather than anything special, she nodded. “Please.”
A moment later, a book at least fifty pages thick was brought out. The names were all foreign to her, but she could read the euro signs well enough. The prices were exorbitant.
“I usually get the Chateaux Gaushaul,” he offered, after she’d spent a few minutes frowning at the wine list. “It’s earthy and rich without being overwhelming.”
<
br /> She nodded. “That sounds…” her eyes caught the price and she jerked her gaze to his face. True, he was incredibly wealthy, but that didn’t mean she was comfortable with him ordering bottles of wine that cost more than a week’s rent. “Um, maybe just a mineral water for now.”
She caught the frown that flicked on his face and butterflies – not the good kind – spread through her belly. He was annoyed with her. Impatient.
“Sorry,” she offered. “I just didn’t want to take out a second mortgage for a drink.”
“Naturally, dinner’s on me.”
“That’s not necessary.”
At that, he laughed, just a soft sound accompanied by a small shake of his head. “You are unique, Maddie Gray, do you know that?”
She shifted her shoulders. “Why?”
“Because I invited you to dinner, I chose the restaurant, and because, frankly, I can afford to pay. Would you like a glass of the Gaushaul?”
She shook her head. “Really, I’m fine.”
He lifted his shoulders and turned his attention to the waiter. “Mineral water for two.”
“You don’t have to do that. Have whatever you usually do.”
“It’s fine.” He smiled, relaxing her immediately, so she wondered why she’d felt even a hint of anxiety. Nico wasn’t Michael. No one was. Besides, Michael was in another country, far across the ocean. He had no idea where she was. She was free.
She looked away, towards the sea, and her soul relaxed even further. “This place is like heaven on earth.”
“Or better?”
“Possibly,” her smile was crooked. “I take it you’re a regular here?”
“If I don’t feel like cooking,” he agreed.
“It’s kind of fancy for that.”
“Is it?”
She laughed. “Come on, you’re not that out of touch with the real world, are you?”
“It’s tables and chairs set up in a series of caves.”
“But the caves,” she lifted her hand and rubbed it over the wall beside them. It only came up to the same height as the tabletop; it was cold and uneven beneath her fingertips, and damp in that way stones by the sea always are. “Are spectacular.”
“The grotte have a long history,” he said with a nod. “There are dozens along the sea here. Some, further south, were used to shelter townspeople in the renaissance. They lead to a long rabbit warren of tunnels that cuts through the hillside. There’s an entrance to one in Monte Verde.”
“That’s miles away!”
“Nearly seven,” he nodded.
“Wow. Have you ever explored them?”
His smile cracked something inside of her. It shone with so much beauty and mystique. “As a boy, I spent as much time as I could losing myself here. I’ll never forget the first time I made it to the other side.”
“In one day? How old were you?”
“Eleven.”
She lifted her brows.
“I got to Monte Verde but didn’t make it home.” He grinned. “Someone called Yaya and told her they’d found me. I was grounded for a week.”
It was easy to return his smile. There was something contagious about his happiness, the ease with which he told his stories.
“My grandfather was proud though. He’d undertaken the same journey as a boy. I think he secretly saw it as a right of passage.”
“Surely he could have prevented you from being grounded?”
“He left Yaya to raise us,” Nico shrugged. “It wasn’t until we were older and he was preparing to pass the business on that he began to spend time with us. He wasn’t good with children, he used to say, but young adults he could tolerate.”
“Were you close to him?”
“Si.” Something shifted in his expression. “He might not have been able to tolerate us, as children, but we adored him.”
“You spent a lot of time with him?”
“We lived with Yaya and Gianfelice until we went away to school.” Something inside of her bristled – a warning flag. She knew school to have been where he met Michael. The subject immediately felt dangerous, like volcanic lava she was best avoiding.
“Why? Where were you parents?”
“In Spain.” A hint of derision curled his lips, though it was smothered quickly enough.
“In Spain?”
The waiter appeared with a small platter of amuse bouche. “Are you ready to order?”
“I haven’t even looked,” she apologised.
“A few more minutes.” Nico was relaxed, no hint of the sharp emotion she’d seen in his face when he’d mentioned his parents.
The waiter left them alone once more and Maddie made a concerted effort of opening the menu and scanning the dishes. “Would you prefer to see it in English?”
“On the contrary – I told myself I’d be partway fluent in Italian by the time I leave Ondechiara. I’m taking every opportunity to practice.”
“So I should be speaking to you in my language?” He asked in Italian. It took her a moment to decode the words but not because they were beyond her, so much as hearing his tones in his own tongue was musical and addictive. She dug her fingernails into her palms in an attempt to curb the rush of her desire.
“Yes, absolutely.” But her own response was husky, imbued with sensual need, and he heard it. She saw the way his eyes widened a little, his gaze dropping to her lips, and her stomach punched.
“So Spain?”
He made a noise of agreement. “They have a house just outside Barcelona.”
“But you didn’t live there?”
“We moved to live with Yaya when I was four.”
“So little?” She frowned. “Was your mother ill?”
He laughed softly. “She is the picture of health.”
“Then why…?”
“My parents were not particularly interested in being parents. We lacked structure and routine to our lives and our grandfather was old fashioned. He felt our childhood was predisposing us to become lazy, happy to live off the family fortune without any goals and ambitions of our own. He wanted to make sure we didn’t turn out as his sons had.”
“Why? What’s wrong with them?”
“Nothing,” Nico’s expression showed a hint of consternation. “How come I find myself wanting to tell you things I’ve never told another soul?”
She dipped her head to hide her smile but he reached over and pressed a finger to her chin, lifting her eyes to his.
It was clear he was expecting an answer, but she had none. She couldn’t explain it, just like she couldn’t explain the way she felt safe with him when she barely knew him. It was all so out of character, especially for two people who claimed to be lacking in trust.
“Growing up knowing your birth right is an enormous trust fund is demotivating. Neither my father nor uncle ever had any interest in working, and as a result of that, they never learned what they enjoyed, what they were good at, besides attending parties and enjoying life.”
“But that can’t be so unusual, with people like you?”
“People like me?”
She pulled her lips to the side thoughtfully. “Seriously filthy rich people, yeah.”
His words held a suppressed laugh. “Oh, that’s what I am, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“And I guess a lot of people like you grow up not wanting to work, not needing to earn their keep.”
“True,” he murmured. “But not us. Gianfelice blamed himself for how his children had turned out – he swore we wouldn’t be the same. His father’s legacy was to be protected, not squandered away by heirs who didn’t know how to tie their own shoes.”
She mulled this over. “Still, for your parents to have agreed…I mean, you were so young. That must have been very hard on you, hard on your mother?” Inwardly, she couldn’t believe any mother could willingly give up their children! And a four year old, little more than a baby. How difficult that must have been for both of them, but especially for the boy Nico had
been.
His eyes moved out to sea but she saw the way his facial features tightened, as though he was fighting a war within himself.
“It was hard. In the beginning, I missed my parents, but I had my cousins and brothers and Yaya wrapped us in so much love it was, at times, almost suffocating. And as I grew older, I understood.”
“Understood what?”
“They’d wanted their trust funds more than they’d wanted us.”
She gasped. “He bribed them?”
“He forced them to make a choice. Join the company and start working, contributing – and raise us – or take the trust fund and live as they had been, but surrender parental rights to him.”
She sipped her water, her eyes huge in her face. “That sounds a little…extreme.”
“You don’t build an empire like ours without being a little extreme,” Nico pointed out. “Gianfelice was determined we would grow up to be entirely different to our fathers. And we are.”
She swallowed, the truth of this hard to conceptualise. “Still, that must have been hard.”
“My parents devote their lives to enjoyment. My mom still doesn’t think it’s a party without a couple of rows of cocaine. Gianfelice did what he knew we needed.”
Maddie contemplated that, nodding slowly. “At least you got to grow up surrounded by brothers and cousins. It must have been fun?”
“It was noisy,” he grinned. “And rough.” He reached for his shirt, lifting it up a little to reveal his eight pack of an abdomen, pointing to a scar she’d obliquely noticed the other night – but been far too carried away by sensation to comment on. “This I got as an eight year old. Gabe, my brother, pushed me and I fell, landing on a sharp rock.”
She winced.
“Were you badly hurt?” Her fingertips ached to reach across the table and drag over the scar, over his chest, over him.
“It was a deep cut.”
“And was he grounded?” She couldn’t resist teasing.
“We both were. Yaya had told us not to play outside – it was dark and she knew what we were like.”
“She must be a strong woman to have raised so many children. So many boys.”
Billionaire Brides: Four sexy cinderella romances Page 52
