“Let me see.” Giorgio held his arms open wide and crooned to them in sweet Italian, almost as if he were talking to a human baby. Renata’s heart melted as the baby swam to him, chittering at ultrasonic pitches.
“Okay, so now you’re the Dolphin Whisperer?”
He laced his fingers through hers and pulled her close. “Italian dolphins like to hear their native tongue. Here, you try.”
Holding her wrist with his as if she were a small child petting a dog, he glided their hands along the dolphin’s skin. It was slick and rubbery but warm and vital. She let out some chirps and her whole upper body vibrated like the lid of a grand piano during a powerful chord.
Mamma dolphin bumped Giorgio, his testosterone obviously undiluted by the seawater. He grabbed her dorsal fin and she sped away with him, Giorgio’s delighted laughter echoing back to her.
The sailors hooted, as well, talking excitedly among themselves. “Giorgio!” she yelled, panicking before she remembered that baby was still with her.
Giorgio looked like a Greek god, frolicking with the dolphin. He was perfectly at ease with the female dolphin, splashing and smiling as she towed him around the cove. He was young and carefree, much as he probably looked before the weight of substitute fatherhood and ruling a whole country fell onto his shoulders.
“Renata!” he yelled gleefully. “Have you ever seen anything like this?”
She shook her head. No, she sure hadn’t. Of all the wonderful things she had seen since coming to Italy, he was the most wonderful. In a fancy suit, swimming, or naked, she loved it all. Her heart gave a funny thump that had nothing to do with the baby dolphin butting her in the chest for attention.
Her smile faded into more of a grimace. She was in big trouble. She’d known he was someone special since laying her lustful little eyes on him, but his fine qualities went deeper than his smooth, tan skin.
He blew her a kiss and her heart thumped even faster before sinking. Three more days and she would be winging her way back to New York as—what was that musical theater song? Oh, yes, as the proverbial sadder but wiser girl. Well, she needed to wise up and fast. Starting to fall for one of the world’s most reputed eligible bachelors was definitely one of her stupider ideas.
He came whizzing back to her, towed by the dolphin. He glided to a halt, still laughing with joy as the dolphin bumped him in salute before gathering her baby to follow the rest of the pod.
“Ah, Renata! That was so amazing. It was like flying. I’ve never felt anything like that.” He pulled her into his arms for a thorough kiss that earned more catcalls from the crew. He laughed and waved to them before turning back to her. “Okay, I have felt that way with you. Free and happy, without any worries. But not with anyone else.”
Oh man, was she sunk. She pasted a smile on her face.
He didn’t notice her strained expression as he wiped the water off his face. “I think the baby liked you, too. Did you have a good time with him?”
“He was very sweet, but I thought for a second his mom might drag you out to sea without me.”
He wrapped his arm around her waist, his eyelashes clumped together to frame his sparkling green eyes. “Renata mia, I would never leave you. I would swim all the way back from Sicily if I had to.”
“You’re such a charmer,” she scoffed. “My mother warned me about men like you.”
“I’m not this charmer you think I am. I spend too much time at my desk worrying about work. The rest of the time I am cutting ribbons for grand openings of senior citizens centers and dog pounds.” He laughed. “My friend Frank says I should get dog fur and slobber all over my good suit so I can appeal to women.”
He needed more sex appeal like the sun needed a flashlight. “Your buddy Frank doesn’t know much about women, then.”
“I leave that up to him. He can keep his puppy paw prints and I will stick with you.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “And you are turning a bit pink right here. Shall we head back to the yacht? I don’t want you to get too tired out here in the water.”
“I’d hate for you to have to give me mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.” She kissed him back.
“That’s for later, not in front of the help.” His tone was aristocratically arch, the effect spoiled by his quick grin.
She swam toward the boat, her arms and legs heavy from the unaccustomed exercise. Giorgio kept to her pace, making sure she got back safely.
He climbed the ladder first and helped her up, wrapping her in a big towel warmed by the sun.
“All right.” She padded along the hall with him. He opened the door to their stateroom and bowed her inside like a fancy restaurant’s maître d’.
She gave in to an impulse and caught him around the waist. He held her in his arms and rested his chin on her head. They were a perfect fit together. It was just a hug, but it was at the same time much more than a hug as his heart beat under her ear, his chest hair tickling her cheek.
They stood there contentedly for what seemed like minutes. Renata wished it would never end, but she shivered involuntarily.
He pulled away, his face serious. “Come, Renata mia,” he murmured in her ear. “Let me wash the salt from your beautiful hair. Then we will rest.”
She followed him quietly into the bathroom, where he helped her into a hot shower. He shampooed her hair, his strong fingers rubbing the salt out of her hair. She tried to think of some snappy comment about high-class shampoo boys, but her smart mouth failed her.
It was sensual without being blatantly sexy, and Renata was afraid she would break the quiet companionship that came from Giorgio just taking care of her. Not so he could grope her, because he wasn’t. But just because he had noticed she was getting tired and sunburned swimming in the ocean. Because he had noticed she was cold and shivering and needed to wash her hair.
He quickly washed his own hair and got out first, wrapping himself in one of the white terry cloth robes. He grabbed a thick towel and held her hand as she stepped out, as if she were alighting from a carriage.
Renata stood passively as he squeezed the water out of her hair, buffing her body dry until she was glowing. He finished and tucked her into a matching robe. “One last drop.” He rubbed his thumb across her cheek.
“No one’s ever done that for me.” Made her feel so safe and secure, as if she were fragile and precious.
“Taking care of you is my pleasure. Always.”
She yawned suddenly, overcome with fatigue from their swim and a bit heavy in the head from a day of the strong Mediterranean sun bouncing off the waves. “Oh, sorry.”
“Come to bed. It’s time to rest anyway.” He straightened the rumpled sheets and tucked her in, kissing her forehead.
“What about you?” He didn’t make a move toward the other side of the bed.
He shook his head. “I’m not tired. I need to check with Alessandro if anything needs my attention. Later, you will get my whole attention.”
“Good.” She took his hand and squeezed it. “Go take care of your business now so you can take care of mine later.”
He threw his head back and laughed, his solemn mood disappearing. “Ah, Renata. I cannot believe how much you make me laugh.”
“It’s good for you.”
“You are good for me.” He kissed her fingers. “Look at you, yawning again. Don’t worry, I’ll wake you up so you don’t miss dinner. I will always take good care of you.” He slipped his hand free and closed the door quietly behind him.
Renata tried to think about what his unusual mood earlier in the shower meant, but her mind kept wandering to what he meant when he said he would always take good care of her. That always was only for a few days more, wasn’t it?
13
RENATA HOPPED OUT of bed after another late night and pulled her robe around her naked body. It had been a couple days since they returned from their cruise and she was scheduled to leave the day after tomorrow.
She didn’t want to think about it. She shoved her hands throug
h her hair and padded out of the bedroom to look for Giorgio. It was almost an automatic thing, needing to find him, wanting to know where he was. Not exactly the cool, detached Brooklyn girl she’d always prided herself in being.
Mooning over a guy—Flick would laugh to see Renata right now.
She shook her head. “Giorgio?” she called.
The apartment was silent. She poked her head into the living room and small kitchen, but she was alone.
Suddenly the walls pressed in on her. Since coming to Italy, she’d developed a real fondness for being outdoors, even if it was only to sit at the trattoria and eat focaccia while she and Giorgio watched the sunset.
She opened the door to the terrace and flopped down on the canvas-covered chaise lounge. The terrace was private on three sides due to the curve of the hill and had a wooden arbor over the top covered in lush flowering vines. Not much of a difference from lying in bed, but the air was fresh with all sorts of different scents—the salty, fishy ocean, the explosion of red, pink and yellow flowers from baskets and window boxes, and…coffee?
“Giorgio!” She jumped off the chaise and ran to him.
He waved a white bag and a cup holder with two white carryout cups. She ignored the food for the time being and tossed her arms around his neck.
“Hey, hey.” He laughed, spreading his own arms to avoid spilling on her. She gave him a big smooch and his mouth quickly changed focus from laughter to sex. No, not sex, more like…affection?
She broke the kiss as quickly as she’d initiated it. “Good morning!” she said cheerfully.
He staggered back slightly as her weight came off him. “And buon giorno to you, too. I have to admit, I didn’t think I’d get quite this welcome just by bringing our morning meal. Come sit. Eat.” He made sure she was comfortable again on the chaise lounge before passing her a caffe latte and pastry. Fresh as always.
“You know, I’ll miss this when I go back.”
“They are good.” He licked a smear of sugar off his finely shaped lips, which distracted her from her thoughts for a second. “But I am done.” He set his half-eaten pastry to the side and ate a slice of cantaloupe instead.
“I’ll take that if you don’t want it.” He handed her the pastry and it was just as good as hers had been. “I mean, I won’t just miss the food.” She gestured to their terraced surroundings as they relaxed on side-by-side lounge chairs. “The whole atmosphere—la dolce vita,” she announced. “The sweet life.”
“And if I remember correctly, New York does not have la dolce vita.”
“New York is more of a vida loca place. It’s crazy. I get up, grab a granola bar and a cup of instant microwave coffee.”
He winced. “Not even a caffe latte from one of those chains?”
“Stop running down coffee chains. I buy one of their overpriced drinks when I can afford it. I drink it on the way to work then switch to water there so I don’t spill on the fabric. For lunch I eat a cup of ramen noodles or peanut butter crackers. For dinner I microwave a frozen entrée and try to figure out the bookkeeping and financial software. I work at the shop every day except Sunday when I work at home drawing up new designs or sewing sample dresses for display. Aside from a couple days off at Christmas and Thanksgiving, this is my first vacation in three or four years.” She wound down, embarrassed at both her outburst and at how grim her life sounded. More like la vita suckola.
“I am sorry you are always so busy. I am not the man to ask about how to slow down and lighten the load. You and I both need to stop and smell the coffee, eh?”
She smiled and made a production of lifting her coffee to under her nose. “Ah, delizioso.”
He reached over and took her hand which had been holding the pastry. “Ah, dolce.” He raised her fingers to his lips and sucked the glaze off them. She wiggled her eyebrows at him as he nibbled at her.
Dropping her hand from his mouth, he laced his fingers through hers. “I know I speak for Stefania when I say she would not begrudge you any extra advertising or publicity in regards to having her as a client. I believe she wants to keep everything a secret until she and Dieter make an official announcement. They haven’t set a wedding date yet, although she’ll likely choose June next year. The gardens at the cathedral are in full bloom then, and she loves the roses there. After that, you’d be welcome to promote your business as an official vendor to the Royal House of Vinciguerra. It may not mean as much to your American clients as it would to some Europeans, but perhaps it would help increase your sales.”
“I think Americans are more impressed with royals than the countries that actually have them.”
He snorted.
“Oh, I didn’t mean it like that.”
“No, it’s true. In Vinciguerra my so-called subjects treat me as a nephew who needs to be watched closely and talked to sternly whenever necessary.” He rolled his eyes. “Don’t ever tell anybody this, but my nickname in Vinciguerra was Giò-Giò.”
“Jo-Jo?” This tall, elegant prince was called “Jo-Jo”? She fought back a snicker.
“Yes. With a g.” He spelled it out for her. “Apparently I had trouble saying r’s when I was quite small and the local papers picked up on it. It lasted much too long and my father finally made an announcement on my thirteenth birthday that the Crown Prince would be going by his given name in order to preserve the dignity of Vinciguerra. Nobody wants a grown man named Giò-Giò running a country.”
“A circus, maybe.”
He grinned. “Look at the politics of any small country and tell me it’s not a circus. I am the ringmaster.”
“Do you enjoy it? I mean, it’s not like anybody ever asked you what you wanted to be when you grew up.”
“No, that is true. Fortunately, running Vinciguerra is what I’m born to do. Although some people tell me I’m bossy.”
“You don’t say.”
“And certain redheaded ladies enjoy my bossy side.”
“Do tell.”
She got an attack of the giggles and flopped back on the lounge chair. Quick as a wildcat, he pounced on top of her, nibbling her neck and pulling open the lapels of her robe. “I thought so. Nothing on underneath?”
“No.”
“Good. How about una sveltina?”
“A what?”
“La sveltina. You never heard of that fine Italian custom before? Along with afternoon naps and evening walks, la sveltina is practically a national institution. As you Americans call it, a quickie.”
“Geez, Giorgio. Well, come on—you know where the bedroom is.” She pulled her robe together so they could walk back inside.
“I want to take you right now.” He undid his shorts, releasing his erection from the fabric. He held his penis in his hand. “To continue your Italian vocabulary lesson, this is my cazzo. My cazzo likes you very much and is often a cazzone when you are near—a nice, big cazzo.”
She giggled but squeaked, “Here?” and glanced around. “We’re outdoors.”
“No one can see us. We’re back away from the railing and at one of the highest points in the village. And we have a roof over us.” He rubbed his cock on her bare thigh. “I’ve wanted to do this outdoors ever since we kissed in Central Park.”
“Oh, me, too.” She quickly opened her legs to cradle him.
“This is your fica.” He ran a finger over her already-wet folds. “I can tell your fica likes me because it is always succulenta around me—nice and juicy. And this is your grilletto.” He rolled her clit between his finger and thumb. “That means ‘little trigger’ in Italian. I can make your little trigger fire easily, don’t you think, Renata?”
“Si, Giorgio.” Her head lolled back on the chaise as he thumbed her clit and slid his fingers into her pussy—or fica, if today was Authentic Italian Sex Day. Seemed like every day should be that day.
He slid down her body and opened her robe with his strong, white teeth. They did have good royal dentists.
“Ah, molto bene.” He gazed raptly at her b
reasts, but then he was a breast man as well as an ass man. She was one lucky girl, having plenty of both.
“What do you call them, signore?” she asked coyly.
“Bellissimas.” He nuzzled between one and then the other, his hand still working her fica. “Ti voglio succhiar le tette. I want to suck your tits.” He captured a nipple between his lips, tugging gently.
She clutched his head to her breast, running her fingers through the silky black hair. It curled slightly over his ears and felt like heaven against her skin and especially between her thighs. His eyes were closed as he sampled her, licking and sucking one nipple then the other leisurely until she closed her eyes, too.
He sighed against her skin and moved back up. Adding protection, he slid into her without any more foreplay, but she was ready and more than willing.
“Ah, Renata. You feel so good around me.” He started moving inside her, resting his elbows on either side of her head.
She hooked her ankles around his calves. “Just…because no one can see any body parts…doesn’t mean they can’t…tell what we’re doing.”
“I know. Doesn’t that make you hotter?” He laughed as her body agreed, clamping down on him. “It does, you little exhibitionist.”
She couldn’t help blushing.
He laughed again. “Even your pretty tits are pink now. Oh, poor Renata. So shy—but your fica is in charge now.”
She couldn’t disagree. Her body was totally the boss of her, but who cared?
He dug his legs into the chaise for better leverage and thrust in and out, sweat running down his temple. His body was taking over for him, too.
She lifted her knees to allow him even deeper access. He grunted with pleasure and fitted himself to the hilt, filling her completely.
For a second, he stopped and gazed up into her eyes. “Renata, this is perfect. I never want to leave you.”
She wrapped her arms around his broad, strong shoulders. “Then don’t.”
He groaned and buried his face between her neck and shoulder. “No, no, I won’t.”
Renata clung tighter. If only that were true. But enough time later to wonder why she wished for that so much. Falling into his embrace, she kissed his cheek, his earlobe, wherever she could reach as he made her his, really his.
Royally Romanced Page 15
