by Joan Kilby
“Oh my God! I can’t believe it.” Layla leaped to her feet, too excited to sit still. Then she sank onto the bed. “What about Giorgio? He hasn’t changed his mind, and it doesn’t look as though he will.”
“I don’t care.” Layla could imagine Tina tossing her mane of dark hair. “I’ve got an idea about how to get around his stupid rule if he continues to be pig-headed. I’m prepared to go to the mat for you.”
Layla rose again, a hand pressed to her chest. Her dream was coming true. “You won’t be sorry, I promise you.”
Giorgio was going to flip his lid when he found out Tina was giving her a contract despite his opposition. She was under no illusions that the past couple of days made any difference to the way he felt. He’d been gorgeous, considerate, and attentive, but his priority was his family and his business. End of story.
“I’ll see you tomorrow for lunch,” Tina said. “Angela, Francesca, and I will be down early to talk to Giorgio. I’m going to give him one last chance to make some changes in our organization. If not, then too bad for him.”
“What are you planning?” Layla asked. Would Tina be able to stand up to her brother? Was she even legally able to do this?
“You’ll find out. I don’t want to pre-empt any agreement we might come to tomorrow before I issue an ultimatum. But don’t say anything!”
“I won’t.” She hesitated. “I’m thrilled, of course, but couldn’t you wait until Monday to confront Giorgio? It might spoil his birthday.”
“And let him dodge us again? No, this is our chance to get the issue of our autonomy settled before the expansion into Asia.” Tina gave a short laugh. “Don’t tell me you’re advocating for him.”
“No, it’s just that…well, he’s really enjoying himself.” She hesitated. “I think he blames himself for the accident that killed his brother and is punishing himself.”
Tina sighed. “He wasn’t even driving. And it couldn’t have been Leo’s fault, either. He was a good driver, sensible and dependable, always obeyed the road rules. No, it was simply a horrible accident.”
“And your father’s heart attack?”
“Papa was wonderful father, but he didn’t look after himself. He smoked, never exercised, and he ate too many of Mamma’s cannoli. He was a heart attack waiting to happen.”
“I just think it’s a shame Giorgio has to do business on his birthday,” Layla said.
“I know, but this will be the only time we’re all together,” Tina said. “Next week, I’m starting a new business venture with Fabio. But don’t tell Giorgio that, either. This has nothing to do with the Borlenghi Group, and I don’t want him interfering.”
“Okay,” Layla said dubiously. A new venture? Did this have something to do with Tina giving her a contract? “I know it’s none of my business but are you sure about Fabio? Do you trust him?”
“Implicitly,” Tina said with finality. “I’ve got to go. See you tomorrow.”
Layla said good-bye and went topside where the candlelit dining table was set for two. A romantic sunset painted the horizon, and Giorgio was waiting for her with a bottle of champagne. It reminded her of the first time they’d shared bubbly, but this was vastly different. Then he’d been tense and angry; now he couldn’t be more relaxed. But as on the other occasion, he was wholly focused on her.
“This is the perfect end to a perfect day,” she said, raising her flute to clink with his.
“To today,” he agreed and sipped, his gaze holding hers.
She felt a flutter in her stomach at the intensity in his dark eyes. They had the rest of today and tomorrow but then…
No, she wasn’t going to ruin this weekend with wishing for what she couldn’t have. She’d gone into this with her eyes open.
They ate fresh seafood and salad. Giorgio was charming and attentive and the conversation flowed as if they’d known each other for years instead of days. Their knees bumped together, and he reached below the table to stroke her thigh.
“You’ve changed since we’ve been here,” she said when there was a lull in the conversation. “When you go back to Rome will you make time to relax more?”
“Possibly, when this deal is completed.” He captured her foot and started to massage. When he pressed his fingers into her sole she felt it all the way to her core. It was all she could do not to moan.
She wanted to tell him about Tina’s offer. It didn’t feel right to share intimate moments with him and keep secrets. But she couldn’t, not until after the party. Then everything would be out in the open. It would be a relief in a way.
Layla toyed with her wine glass. “I envy you your close-knit family. I always wanted to have a sister. You’ve got three.”
“They plague me to death. Like little hens fussing over the chick. Except I am the cock, and I rule the roost.” He thumped his chest, self-mocking. Then his smile faded. “I’m very worried about Tina. The more I find out about Fabio—”
“What have you found out?”
“He had a run-in with the law in France. Apparently charges were laid but he left town before a trial could take place. I’m waiting for more information from the detective,” Giorgio said. “Then there’s his womanizing. The detective emailed me incriminating photos of him with a model.”
“You need to tell Tina.” It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him about Tina’s business venture with Fabio, but she’d promised not to.
“I told her about the other woman. She didn’t believe me. She accuses me of trying to deflect attention from her bid for more autonomy for the House of Borlenghi.”
“I hope you work things out with her. Your family adores you. I’m glad they’ll be here for your birthday.” Layla squeezed his hand. Whatever else Giorgio was guilty of, there was no doubting his devotion to them. She just hoped tomorrow didn’t end in tears.
Giorgio pushed away the empty dishes. “Shall we go below?”
She nodded. That morning at breakfast she’d promised to do a burlesque piece for him. At the time it seemed fun and flirty. Now, after the intimacy they’d shared in conversation and lovemaking, and with the end of their time together looming, the sexy dance just for him took on added seriousness and importance.
Back in his stateroom, he dimmed the lights and put on soft music. Then he lay on the bed fully clothed with his arms behind his head, waiting with uncharacteristic patience. Maybe they’d finally worn each other out. She’d lost count of how many times they’d made love today. In her room, in the grotto, on the beach, in the shower before dinner…
But as she stood there, thinking how to approach this, her body came alive again under his gaze. She turned away, giving him only a glimpse of one breast in three quarter profile. Shutting her eyes she stretched languorously, arms arcing above her head, feeling the tug of her sunburned skin and the loose warmth of muscles that had been well used. Then she slid her hands sensuously down, cupping the back of her head, shaping her shoulders, lingering on her breasts, then skimming her ribs and dipping in to her waist before lovingly fanning her hips.
She shifted from one foot to the other, slowly gyrating her body in time to the music. She’d never danced quite like this before for any man. It wasn’t burlesque, it was a love poem to Giorgio. His image shone clear and sharp behind her closed eyelids. He was so beautiful that he made her feel beautiful. His desire made her feel desirable. Thinking about him watching aroused her and made her movements slower, heavier, and more sensual.
She lifted her arms again to unzip the back of her dress, letting the sides fall silkily to cling to her hips, revealing her strapless push up bra in pale pink lace with apple green satin trim. Now she turned, and caught her breath at the dark gleam in his eye.
He rolled off the bed and stood next to it, ten feet from where she stood. He made no movement toward her, just slowly undid the buttons of his shirt. The crisp white polished cotton contrasted with his hands and the growing V of tanned chest. Giorgio wasn’t one to sit idly by when he could participate.
He was going to strip in tandem with her. That was so hot.
He opened his shirt, revealing a hard sculpted chest and abdomen that sent heat and moisture between her legs. One corner of his expressive mouth curled in self-mockery before he turned around and let the shirt slip down over his impressive shoulders inch by inch. She smiled, loving that they shared a sense of fun about sex. Finally, he slung the shirt to one side and slowly revolved, arms out and palms up, offering himself for her delectation. Then he tucked his thumbs into his belt, waiting for her next move.
The space between them was charged with electricity. Layla ran her hands up her bare midriff to cup her breasts and press her thumbs against the erect peaks of her nipples through the sheer bra. Then she undid the last inch of zipper and let the dress puddle around her ankles before stepping out of it, toward Giorgio. A growl erupted low in his throat and his gaze devoured her. From her upthrust breasts in the sexy bra to her matching panties and legs made longer by high heels, she’d never felt so sexy or so desired. She’d never wanted any man as much as she wanted this man.
After his gaze had roamed her body he locked eyes with her, gauging her every response to him. Slowly he undid his belt, drawing her attention to his hands. Elegant, strong, sexy. Just thinking about the pleasure those hands would bring her made her wet. Not a word had been spoken, but their eyes were in intimate conversation and their bodies communicated in explicit language. Now Giorgio pushed down his pants, revealing black silk knit briefs that barely contained his enormous erection. The head protruded, engorged and beaded, above a veined pulsing cock that surely had a life and a will of its own. He stepped out of his pants, one step closer.
Over to her.
The sexual tension was palpable, a direct reflection of their growing arousal. Layla’s belly was tight and hot, her breasts tingling and heavy. Pressing her thighs together sent tiny jolts of sensation outward from her core. It took all her self-control not to cross the remaining six feet and press herself against him. Instead she turned away and unhooked her bra, cocking a hip for a couple of beats before facing him, her crossed arms holding the bra cups against her breasts. She dropped the lacy garment to cup her breasts, offering them to him with a sultry glance. Her cheeks were heated and a flush had spread across her chest. The tip of her tongue peeked from between her lips. As she squeezed both nipples a moan escaped her. She took another step closer.
Giorgio was getting impatient now, clenching and unclenching his hands, his expression strained. Even his toes curled and uncurled with the effort of remaining in place. As soon as she stepped forward, he yanked down his briefs and flung them aside. His pulsing, jutting cock led the way as he took a giant step forward, bringing him almost within arm’s reach of Layla. He tried reaching a hand to her, fingers straining for but not quite touching her breast.
If she bent forward she would be in his grasp. Heat and sex radiated off him in tangible waves. But although she longed to speed things up, she took a perverse pleasure in torturing both of them by dragging out the last movement of the dance. Slipping her fingers down her panties she cupped herself and undulated against her hand as she slowly turned her back to him. When she bent over and pushed her panties down below her crack, her butt came up against his cock. Giorgio gave an agonized groan. She half-expected him to seize her and thrust into her, which brought on a gush of heat and wetness and the urge to push back into him. But he had ironclad willpower.
She was close to losing hers, however, along with her mind. Straightening, she faced him again. The panties still clinging to her hips were soaked with her own juices. Her breath was coming faster and his was harshly audible. He was so full of testosterone he looked ready to either do battle or explode. His gaze was riveted to the juncture between her thighs as she slowly slid her panties the rest of the way down over a neatly trimmed thatch of auburn curls. More strangled sounds emerged from his throat. She dropped the scrap of satin and lace to the floor and stepped over it. And into his arms.
With an animal growl he picked her up and settled her around his hips, his cock a hot pulsing rod between their bellies. After the slow build, lust took over and they came together in a frenzy. Their open mouths joined hungrily, nipping and sucking. Teeth clashed and bit. Tongues plunged and withdrew. He laid her on the bed and with trembling fingers sheathed himself. Her hips lifted and he sank into her with one strong thrust, his huge cock stretching and filling her.
He rolled them over so that she was on top and he was sitting up. With their gazes locked and every sweat-sheened muscle rigid and pulsing, they moved together in intense, perfect rhythm. His hands gripped her hips, hers clung to his shoulders. The tension built with each rocking thrust. She was lost in his dark gaze, so melded to him it was as if they’d become one in mind and body. And heart. The tension built and became unbearable. Then the wave peaked and crashed over her and she dissolved, turning to nothing but pure pleasure. With their bodies still trembling and clinging to each other he rolled them onto their sides. She was utterly spent, her orgasm so cataclysmic there was nothing left for aftershocks.
For a long time she lay there, just listening to the sound of his breath in her ear and his heart against hers. Gradually the bubble enclosing them became permeable to outside sensory input. The subliminal hum of the generator, the rumpled bed linen, distant music on another yacht, the scent of gardenia from the bouquet on the coffee table, a scratch on Giorgio’s back where she’d dug her nails in.
He drew back a little, still inside her, and kissed softly on her swollen lips. Her gaze held his. She couldn’t speak. Didn’t want to break the fragile cocoon surrounding them, keeping them as one, in a stretching moment of stillness. Somewhere out there was a busy world that would claim him all too soon. But for right now, in this perfect moment at the end of a perfect day, he was hers. He didn’t speak either, as if speech would diminish the moment.
She touched his face lightly, tracing his winged, black eyebrow out to his temple where a vein ran beneath olive skin, curving back along the high ridge of his cheekbone, up across his strong nose and down to the deep bow in his sculpted upper lip. He captured the tip of her finger, sucked it briefly, and then let it go on its journey along the bottom lip to the slight cleft in his chin and up the steep angle of his jaw. He had a classic face. She’d seen his likeness all over Rome in marble statues hundreds of years old. And yet he was unique in every tiny detail. As she studied him, he looked so somber that she smiled.
He touched the uplifted corner of her mouth. “What’s funny?”
“You are.” He wasn’t, really, but the most awesome orgasm of her entire life had left her filled with a bubbling, jubilant euphoria.
“I am not.” His mild outrage made her laugh. That galvanized him into action. He tickled her under her armpits, making her squirm and squeal.
She tried to escape by rolling off the bed. He leaped after her and flung her back onto the bed, pinning her down to tickle her some more. “Uncle!” Breathless, she tried to fight back but collapsed into giggles. “Stop, I mean it. No, really.”
He hovered over her on all fours, his expression mock stern. “Am I funny now?”
Another attack of the giggles overtook her. “You’re hysterical.”
He growled and kissed her a hard smack on the lips then rolled onto his back next to her. Idly he pulled her discarded bra out from under him and was going to toss it onto a chair when he switched on the lamp next to the bed to examine it more closely. “Did you really sew this yourself?”
“I sew all the lingerie myself.”
He got up and went to a drawer in his desk and brought out a magnifying glass. Coming back to the lamp he examined the garment more closely. “Aha!”
Layla lay back on the pillows, lazily watching him with a smile on her face. “What?”
“The stitches are amazingly tiny and exactly the same size. They’re also perfectly evenly spaced but the odd one is just a fraction of a millimeter out of alignment. You would never notice
with the naked eye.”
“Oh, dear. I’ll have to try harder,” she said, amused.
“No, I’m relieved. I was beginning to think either you’d done this on a machine or else you were a machine.” He turned around and subjected her to the same close scrutiny he’d just given her bra strap. “You are very impressive.”
“I’m not just a pretty face,” she said. “Precision sewing is the one perfect thing in my messy world.”
He came back to bed and stretched out beside her to run his fingers through her hair. “Why is your world so messy?”
“Not my world. Me.” She looked into his eyes, only inches away. It was going to be hard to say goodbye. “Emotionally messy. I tend to fall in love with inappropriate men.”
“Like Richard.”
Layla gave a small smile. She’d meant Giorgio. “Yeah, like Richard.”
“What else is messy in your life?”
“Let’s see.” She frowned, thinking. “I already told you I never finished college. I forget to pay bills. I can play the piano by ear, but I can’t form a marketing program for my designs.”
“Marketing is easy.” And lying there, naked, he reeled off half a dozen things she should be doing but wouldn’t have thought of on her own.
“That’s amazing. I should write that all down before I forget.” She sat up. “Have you got a pen?”
“Relax, I’ll email it to you.” He pushed her gently back down to the pillow. “With your talent you should be able to get a contract with another fashion house.”
“Oh, yeah, sure,” she said, instantly deflating. Even though he thought her work was amazing he wouldn’t break his code and give her a contract. She waved a hand like it didn’t matter. “I’ve had offers before but they all want me to lower my standards in some way, like not hand stitching all the garments to cut costs.”
“There’s a simple solution—form your own company.”
