Her tongue caressed the inside of his mouth, lazily duelling with his. She liked the feel of his hands, strong and warm at her back. A little moan escaped her. What she didn’t know about him didn’t matter, only what she did know: he’d saved her, protected her, provided for her, pleasured her and never once pushed his advantage.
Nolan’s mouth moved to her earlobe, and she knew a moment’s regret as she issued the words, ‘We have to go.’
He whispered one word before giving her up to reality, a sinful smile on his lips. ‘Later.’
‘I like the sound of that.’ Later was a promise, a future and in the immediate bliss of the moment, she was willing to contemplate that possibility.
Dusk had arrived when they exited the church. Even in winter, Venice was beautiful this time of night. It would be a while before she’d see the city again like this. Gianna felt a lump rise in her throat, reality hitting her hard now that the decision was made. She was leaving the only city she’d ever known. In the frustration of having her original plans thwarted, of having to readjust her strategies, the rush to redeem the diamonds and the jewel case, she’d not allowed herself to think about what this all meant, perhaps because she could do nothing about it. As long as the count was here, Venice wasn’t safe. Gianna hesitated for a short moment, looking up at the Rialto Bridge as they passed.
‘You’ll be back some day. The count can’t live for ever.’ Nolan’s voice was at her ear, his arm about her, drawing her close. ‘Fresh starts often require fresh places. It will be all right, Gianna.’ But she made mental pictures of the places they passed anyway as they made their way to the hotel: the Doge’s Palace, Piazza San Marco with its cafés, the gondolas bobbing at the lagoon pier.
* * *
At the hotel, Nolan paused outside the entrance, uncharacteristically hesitant. ‘Why don’t we just leave now? Forget everything inside. My friend can pack our things and bring them later.’
‘The case,’ Gianna protested. ‘I couldn’t leave it behind.’
Nolan’s jaw set. His right arm gave a slight twitch, feeling the comforting presence of the hidden blade, as he scanned the steps of the hotel. ‘I’ll go up. You stay in the lobby.’
A wave of fear gripped her belly at his caution. She tried to brush it aside. ‘The count isn’t here.’ But saying it didn’t make it true.
Nolan shrugged and stood his ground. There would be no arguing him out of this. ‘I don’t want you upstairs where you could be trapped in a small space, where there’s no one to witness anything.’ She understood his reasoning. In the lobby, she’d have room to run, she could scream. She’d have resources.
‘I’ll arrange a boat to the mainland.’ She had to be useful or she’d go crazy waiting for him, imagining enemies everywhere.
This was crazy, madness at its finest. Nolan took the stairs with quick strides, his mind already racing through the room. He’d grab the case, a change of clothes, his stash of winnings. He would give himself no more than three minutes. He hadn’t wanted to come in—intuition had warned him against this, but he couldn’t deny Gianna her request. The count had taken so much from her already.
Nolan cautiously opened the door to the room, half expecting the room to have been burgled, half expecting to be attacked by a lurking intruder. The count couldn’t be far behind them. He had to know Gianna wasn’t coming back. He would also know where to look for her. The room was untouched, however. Good, they were still ahead of the bastard. He’d feel better once they were on a boat and Venice was behind them. Not that it solved anything. The count would know they were headed to Padua, to her brother.
He heard the scream before he reached the bedroom. Nolan raced back to the hall and peered over the railing, taking in the scene below him in the lobby. The count had Gianna about the waist and was forcefully, awkwardly, attempting to drag her from the lobby. It was an ignoble scramble, Gianna fighting him for every inch, kicking, screaming, clawing at him.
Nolan raced for the stairs, his knife flashing in one hand, his pocket pistol in the other. He should have listened to his gut—they should not have come in. Why was no one helping her? Did Venetians not recognise an abduction when they saw one? Everyone in the lobby had withdrawn to the corners, some racing for the exit.
Nolan scanned the area from the vantage of the stairs, the height giving him a full view. Ah, someone had tried to help. There was the prone, bleeding figure of a man by the concierge’s desk. The count had brought help, then. His wicked paramour, Romano Lippi, perhaps? Nolan saw him now, a dark-haired man with a blade holding the desk clerk at knifepoint to ensure no more interference, as if the bleeding body wasn’t deterrent enough.
A cold, calculated calm settled over Nolan. He would take the dark-haired man first, use him as leverage against the count. He would use his pistol on the dark-haired man. He’d save his knife for the count. ‘Let her go, or I do your man!’ Nolan let his voice carry through the lobby, forceful and loud. Volume intimidated, unstoppable movement intimidated. Pistol raised, he advanced on the count’s accomplice.
‘I’ll have the desk-clerk’s throat slit before I die,’ the dark-haired man countered with a snarl.
Time to bluff. ‘I don’t care. I am interested in the girl,’ Nolan replied in bloodless tones. It wasn’t true. He’d rather not have anyone else harmed. He had three shots, the small pistol sporting a secret third chamber. He fired the first one, narrowly missing the man, letting the bullet embed in the thick wood of the counter. The man went pale.
Nolan advanced, gun still held high in active position. ‘It’s easy to throw around such braggadocio about your willingness to die, but in the end it’s not so easy to actually do it. Is this how you want to go? Shot down in a hotel lobby?’
The man was wavering. Nolan had no doubt the man was malicious, had a cruel, torturous streak, but that didn’t make him any braver than the next man. That bravery was being tested now. Nolan could see it in his eyes. At his core, this man was no different than the card sharp in Dover.
‘Don’t worry, Romano, he hasn’t got another shot.’ The count was edging closer, dragging Gianna with him, still struggling. Nolan grinned. This was what he wanted; the count and Gianna closer to him, farther from the door. The risk had been that the count might be selfish enough to let his paramour die while he escaped with Gianna.
‘I do have a second shot.’ Nolan clicked the second chamber.
‘You’re bluffing.’ The count scowled. ‘He’s bluffing, Romano.’ But Nolan noted Romano didn’t look convinced.
‘I’d be hesitant to make that wager, Minotti,’ Nolan said in cold tones. ‘You didn’t do so well the last time you wagered a person. You lost her as I recall. Let her go.’ It was time to end this. He didn’t like bloodshed, wasn’t proud that he’d partaken in it on more than one occasion, but sometimes blood was what it took to be understood. ‘I will count to three. You let her go or I’ll shoot and we can test your two-bullet theory.’
The flash of a look passed between Romano and the count. ‘One...’ Nolan began. ‘Two...’ He readied himself. He did expect the count to relent. He did not, however, expect the count to play fair.
‘Agoste!’ Romano Lippi’s voice held a desperate edge.
‘All right!’ the count growled. He shoved Gianna forward, straight into Nolan. It was meant to catch him off balance, but Nolan was ready. He sidestepped and charged the count, showing no quarter. The goal now was to gain the entrance and go. He didn’t want to be here when the watch, or whatever they called it in Venice, showed up.
Nolan took a swipe with his knife, catching the count across the cheek with a vicious slash, sending the man reeling backwards, his hand clutching his torn face. ‘Go, Gianna!’ he yelled. Romano looked uncertain, his gaze darting between their fleeing prey and the wounded, screaming count. Nolan backed towards the door, making the decision for him. He fi
red his second shot, catching Romano in the shoulder. Only then, with both of Gianna’s attackers disabled, did he pocket the gun and grab her hand. He wanted to get out before anyone in the lobby decided he was the guilty party.
Nolan raced down the pier, hailing a boat. He didn’t wait for the boatman to reply. He grabbed Gianna about the waist and swung her on board. ‘Take us to the mainland as fast as you can.’ Nolan reached in his pocket and drew out a wad of bills. He stuffed them into the stunned man’s hand. It didn’t matter how much was there, only that the man take them. ‘Go!’ He made wild a gesture with his hand towards the open water. The man glanced at the money in his hand, then at Nolan.
‘No questions and there’s more when we arrive,’ Nolan promised. He assumed a positive response and strode to the rail. It would be harder for the boatman to disagree now and he didn’t. The boatman threw off the moorings and steered them out into the lagoon.
‘Are you all right?’ It seemed he’d spent an inordinate amount of time asking that question since he met Gianna. He wanted never to have to ask it again. He wanted to know that she was all right, always.
‘I’m sorry.’ She drew her cloak around her against the wind off the water or perhaps against the post-rescue shock that was sure to come. ‘We have nothing. How will we get to Padua now?’
Nolan laughed into the wind. ‘That’s the easy part. I’ll find a card game.’
His confidence made her smile. ‘Do you ever lose?’
‘No, only when I want to. Sometimes losing can be more beneficial.’ He felt her relax beside him, her mind wanting to concentrate on something other than the gory moments of blood at the hotel.
‘How do you do it? How can you manage to win so often?’ She leaned on her elbows at the rail, letting the wind take her hood and push it back from her hair, the rising moon catching the profile of her face in its light. She looked like Tintoretto’s Madonna: strong, and yet there was kindness behind that strength along with fierceness.
Nolan covered her hand with his, their fingers interlacing. She had him spinning, as Brennan liked to say. She had him fleeing cities, stealing jewel cases, going after blind brothers, and he hadn’t even slept with her. Now, she had him telling her his secrets—more of them. The first had been to ease her way in sharing her own. But these were secrets he was sharing without provocation.
‘I can see the cards. Not literally. I can see them in my mind. Once they’ve been played, I remember them.’ He’d told his father about it once when he was eleven in an attempt to win his father’s favour. That had been a mistake.
‘That’s incredible.’ Gianna breathed her awe. ‘How much can you remember? How many cards?’
‘Four or five decks. I usually don’t have to remember that many except for vingt-et-un.’ He’d not told her to impress her, he’d just wanted to take her mind off other things.
‘That’s quite a gift.’
Nolan snorted. ‘My father didn’t think so. Growing up, I thought it was a gift from God. I thought he’d be impressed—my father, that is, not God. But he thought it was the devil’s curse instead.’ He paused, looking out over the water. He hadn’t meant to tell her that. Now that he had, he might as well tell her all of it. ‘My father decided to beat it out of me and when that didn’t work he decided to starve it out of me. I never mentioned I could count cards after that.’ He turned his head sideways to take in her reaction. ‘You’re not the only one who wanted normality and didn’t get it. You got the count and I got saddled with a puritanical father who was obsessed with his religion.’
Gianna’s only answer was to squeeze his hand and curled her fingers around his even tighter. Sometimes silence spoke louder than words. This was one of those times.
Nolan paid the boatman and found them a carriage and driver willing to take them a little farther down the road at night. He’d had to pay dearly for it, though, using up most of his cash, but the distance would be worth it even if the inn they arrived at shortly before midnight wasn’t. He’d thought he’d put rough Italian inns behind him when he’d arrived at the Danieli—apparently not. It made no sense to continue—accommodations were not likely to get better the farther they got from Venice, and Gianna was tired. This was probably the best they could hope for. There was a room available, and Nolan took it, too weary to barter the exorbitant price.
‘It’s not the Danieli,’ he said wryly, showing Gianna into their new quarters. He shrugged out of his greatcoat and jacket. ‘But you’ll be safe here tonight. There’s a bar for the door.’ From the looks of the customers downstairs, that bar probably saw a fair amount of use. He wished he had somewhere better for her, for himself. There was only the one room and he wasn’t looking forward to bedding down in the common room. He was getting soft. The Danieli had spoiled him.
‘It’s enough.’ Gianna tested the bed with a hand. ‘The bed will do. We may be a little cramped, but we’ll manage.’ She furrowed her brow at his hesitation. ‘What?’
‘I’ll sleep downstairs. You’ll have plenty of room. I probably won’t sleep much anyway. Maybe I can get a card game together, make some money.’ He gave her a ‘don’t-worry-about-me-I’ll-be-fine’ smile, but she wasn’t having it.
‘That’s ridiculous. You’re as tired as I am. You are not going to sleep downstairs where we both know you’ll have to sleep with at least one eye open most of the night. Besides, those people down there didn’t seem like the card-playing types.’ Gianna threw back the covers to check the condition of the bed linens. ‘These are surprisingly fresh. It would be a shame to let them go to waste.’
Dear Lord, she would tempt a saint and he was miles from that. Did he have to spell it out for her? Did she understand just how dangerous it was for them to spend a night together in that bed? It was smaller than his positively kingly bed at the Danieli and they both knew how that had ended; with his head between her legs, the two of them panting their pleasure through the walls. It was time to remind her. ‘Gianna, what exactly do you think would happen if I stayed?’
The question changed the room, the powerful something that existed between them surging to life. Gianna stood from her inspection of the bed, eyes locking on his in hazel solemnity. ‘What should have happened a long time ago.’ She raised both hands to her hair in a provocative gesture that threw her breasts into relief against the tight bodice of her gown. She pulled the pins, letting her hair fall in a dark cascade, Godiva and Eve rolled into one intoxicating woman. ‘It’s past time. Take me to bed, Nolan Gray.’
Chapter Nineteen
Gianna moved into him, her arms about his neck before he could refuse. Truth was, he didn’t want to refuse. She was right, this should have happened already, but the circumstances of their acquaintance had prevented it. Now, Nolan no longer cared about circumstance and motives. They had moved past that, moved beyond being two strangers who had been thrown together. They were more now, although what that ‘more’ was had yet to be defined: friends, lovers, sensual co-conspirators...
Her mouth moved over his, and he did not protest the press of her lips. He loved her mouth—every taste he’d had of it left him wanting more, wanting it back where it might have been that first night if he’d allowed it.
‘Let me undress you,’ Gianna murmured, her hands already working free his cravat, the buttons of his waistcoat. ‘Tonight, I am your valet.’
‘I thought I was taking you to bed,’ Nolan quipped, enjoying her feminine attentions too much to truly complain.
She gave him a sly glance. ‘You are, but first there is this.’ This happened to be a very erotic shirt removal. No tailor or valet had ever undressed him like this; nails trailing an arousing, barely there touch over his nipples; her fingers drew feather-light lines down his breastbone, across his ribs, coming to rest on the waistband of his trousers. ‘You’re beautiful, all planes and hard ridges,’ she whispered at his ear.
Her hand dropped to the hardest ridge of them all, cupping him through his trousers, the bowl of her hand lifting him, shaping him to her fingers. Her mouth nipped his earlobe, eliciting a groan, her hand around the hard, aroused contours of his cock elicited more than that. This was exquisite pain, exquisite pleasure wrapped into one. ‘You will have me beyond the point of self-control in a moment.’
He hoped she wouldn’t test the truth of that statement. It was probably a lie. He thought he was already beyond that point. He couldn’t recall the last time a woman had made the effort to prime him for sex. It was usually the other way around, a given that he was ready. That Gianna did not want to take that for granted was a potent aphrodisiac in itself. He did not exist to serve her pleasure solely. They were to be partners in this. ‘Be careful you do this for the right reasons, Gianna.’ When had she decided she wanted this? Last night? Was this no more than misguided emotions from the harrowing afternoon? Men wanted, even needed, the outlet of sex after battle. Was this merely her rendition of post-battle coitus or something more?
Gianna looked at him, her hand still on him. ‘This is for me, for us. This is not about owing.’ She released him and took a step back, her eyes moving over him in slow, raking perusal. ‘Take your trousers off. I want to see you, all of you.’
He’d been right. She was willing and able to take charge of her pleasure and of his. This promised to be a most wicked night. Nolan let his lips curve into a wolfish half-smile full of sexual promise. ‘As you wish.’
She was going to pay for that in glorious pleasure, he would see to it. He didn’t merely take off his trousers, he made it into a tantalising taste of masculinity the way a good appetiser sets the stage for the main course. He held her eyes, his fingers flicking open the buttons of his trousers one by one with languid dexterity. He was purposely in no rush. He watched her for the minutest of reactions, his own eyes darkening in response to the rising desire he saw in her. She made no attempt to hide it, didn’t want to. Good. Lies and obscured truths had no place between them. Tonight was not about those sorts of games. Tonight, sex would be honest.
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