by Annie West
‘What do you mean, wrong?’ His voice rasped.
Molly swallowed hard but forged ahead. ‘You’re understanding and supportive. You’re sexy and strong, and it feels like we’re connected. And then, suddenly and completely, you withdraw from me, like you did tonight outside the restaurant. As if you don’t want anything to do with me. As if you’d rather be somewhere else.’
Molly hated the betraying hint of a wobble on that last word. She dragged in a quick breath, and then another, aware that her heart beat too fast and her breaths came in choppy gasps.
Aware that she’d all but told him she wanted him.
Pietro’s face froze in stark lines that accentuated the proud jut of his chin, that uncompromising nose and those narrowed, shrewd eyes.
Then, to her astonishment, his mouth split in a wide grin and a shout of deep laughter reverberated around the room.
White teeth gleamed against olive skin and his eyes sparked with life.
‘Is this your way of saying you want me?’ Pietro’s voice roughened to a sandpaper growl that scratched and teased the soft skin at her nape, her breasts and belly. And lower, down her inner thighs.
Stunned at her response, Molly stiffened, feeling abruptly vulnerable before a man who now seemed anything but diffident. There was something in his stare and the curve of his lips that made her feel like a small animal staring up at a prowling predator.
Pietro hadn’t moved, hadn’t even tugged his fists from his pockets, but he suddenly seemed much closer, his heat, his essence, wrapping around her, leashing her to him.
Molly blinked. It was absurd. She wasn’t frightened of him. She wanted him. And yet she had the unnerving feeling that the careful balance of their relationship had shifted. That she was somehow poised on the brink of danger.
Pietro’s expression changed, grew thoughtful. His smile remained, though now it had a sharp, hungry edge.
Slowly he pulled his hands from his pockets. It was a mundane gesture, the sort you saw every day without even noticing. But there was something deliberate about this movement. Molly focused on those big, beautifully shaped hands. The innate strength in them. The way they flexed, fingers spreading.
A phantom heat rippled through Molly and that scrape of arousal spread up to the apex of her thighs. Her internal muscles tensed then softened in a telling signal of feminine readiness so blatant, it shocked her.
Molly swallowed as Pietro paced towards her. It wasn’t that she was scared, she told herself again. But, though her body hummed with awareness, part of her brain was frantically trying to process physical and emotional signals that, however natural, now seemed devastatingly new and unfamiliar.
Face it, Molly. You can’t remember sex, even if you’ve imagined it every night since you came to Pietro’s house. As far as memory is concerned, you’re a virgin.
‘I just need to know what’s going on.’ Her voice was uneven. But, given the way she trembled, that was no surprise.
‘What’s going on is that I’ve had the devil’s own time keeping my hands off you. Giving you space to feel comfortable with me.’
He stood before her now, so tall she had to angle her chin to hold his gaze.
‘Really?’ Relief made her wobbly knees even weaker. So there wasn’t some horrible, dark secret? Was it simply that he found it hard to keep his distance too? ‘Is that all?’
‘All?’ His mouth twisted into a grimace. ‘Isn’t that enough?’ He shook his head, his eyes never leaving hers. ‘You have no idea.’
His voice dropped to a low rush of liquid syllables she recognised as Italian. They curled from his tongue, running into each other, forming a velvet ribbon that danced around her, enticing, caressing and coaxing, delving low across her abdomen, drawing tight around her hips, teasing as it flicked her budding nipples.
She swayed a little, coaxed by the lyrical sound. Then he lifted his hand, cupped her chin and cheek with one big hand and Molly sank into his touch. Something inside her sighed in recognition and relief. Yet, even as it felt like home-coming, the connection ratcheted up the beat of her heart and the thrumming, insistent need that pulsed between her thighs.
Did it really take so little to turn her on? To make her tremble with anticipation?
The answer was a resounding yes. With Pietro it was that inevitable.
‘I want you, Molly.’ His voice didn’t just waft to her ears but hit a low note that throbbed through her belly. ‘I’ve missed you. I was scared I’d never find you again.’
Instinctively she pressed her fingers to his lips, stopping the words.
It hit her, a skewering thrust to her insides that, while she’d been busy bemoaning her memory loss, she’d spared little thought to the anguish Pietro must have endured.
She recognised it now in the raw, aching echo of his words.
‘But you did find me.’ She’d finally prised more detail from him—about how he and his staff had scoured the country round the clock for her, not just Rome, but the whole of Italy, and Australia too when the initial search had proved fruitless. Molly knew that even if he hadn’t been rich enough to have staff help search for her, if he’d been one man alone, he’d never have given up looking. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’
She dragged her fingers from his face and anchored them around his broad shoulder, revelling in his sure strength.
His other hand closed on her waist, long fingers splaying towards her hip, the thumb reaching up her ribs. His touch was deliberate, perfect.
Molly shivered at the rush of sensation, the heady craving for more. She leaned into him till her breasts brushed his chest and the fierce heat of his body engulfed her.
‘No, you’re not. I’m never letting you go again, Molly. You’re mine.’
It sounded like a vow. She felt it with every atom of her being and didn’t doubt it for a second.
Emotion coiled in on itself, filling Molly to the brim.
She’d wanted to belong, hadn’t she? She’d wanted certainty. And here it was. Stronger, more overwhelming, than she’d thought possible. Briefly she wondered why she hadn’t recognised and responded to it sooner.
‘No,’ she whispered, her gaze locking with his. ‘Don’t let me go.’
Deep down, Molly knew she could look after herself. That she was independent and capable, despite her amnesia. But to be loved like this. To be...vital to someone...and to feel that answering compulsion to wrap him close and keep him with her... Surely that was the most precious thing in the world?
‘Love me, Pietro. Please.’
His response was instantaneous. A low growl of pleasure from the back of his throat drew every fine hair on her skin upright. The tightening of those hard hands against her made the blood sing in her veins. His tall body stiffened against hers.
‘I held back because you clearly needed time.’ The molten glow of his eyes mesmerised her. Or perhaps it was the deliberate quality of his voice. ‘But now...’
It was as if a switch had been flicked on. From complete stasis, he surged into movement. One arm wrapped tight around her, hauling her up against him till her toes barely touched the floor. That unconscious demonstration of his superior strength made her feel flagrantly feminine. His other hand speared through her hair, dislodging the pins that secured it in the sophisticated style she’d tried for their dinner out. He cradled the back of her skull as his mouth slammed into hers.
The passion of Pietro’s kiss stunned her. Sheet lightning flashed behind eyelids that had flickered shut. Surely thunder rolled nearby as he parted her willing lips and his tongue thrust hard and deep, making her shiver with delight.
His taste was addictive, like dark honey laced with whisky. Eagerly she lapped it up, fusing her lips with his, craving him in a way she’d never thought possible, even after that first kiss they’d shared. Each touch, each taste, each muted sound of pleasure ma
de the need in her peak higher and higher. As if the days they’d spent together had primed her to a point of complete addiction.
Molly grabbed Pietro’s shoulders with both hands, hanging on as he bowed her back over his arm and devoured her.
Eagerly she met his questing tongue with her own, angling her head to allow better access, digging her fingers into taut muscle in an ecstasy of need.
This wasn’t just a kiss. It was a prelude to much more.
Her whole being burst into heated readiness for his, fire igniting and spreading to engulf her body.
Molly felt the solid weight of his erection against her belly and shifted, trying to climb his frame to ease the throb of yearning in her womb.
The hand at her back shifted down, grabbing her rump and hoisting her higher.
Molly’s knees opened, spreading wide, as Pietro hauled her up to exactly the right place. Where the sensation of his arousal against the apex of her thighs was perfect. Or as perfect as possible while they were both fully dressed.
Had he read her mind?
Molly was aware of movement, of Pietro walking, but she didn’t open her eyes.
Moments later the kiss broke and she felt soft cushions at her back, then Pietro’s weight above her.
Molly’s eyes flashed open. Above her was the shadowy ceiling of the sitting room and Pietro’s face. He watched his hand skim her breast, closing on it and showering her with sparks of pleasure. She arched high, her breath a swift suck of astonishment at how right that felt. Even better, she realised, with Pietro’s body hemming her in.
Yet her brow crinkled in a frown. They were lying on one of the long, cream sofas. And Molly knew, with a certainty that belied her loss of memory, that it wouldn’t take much for her to combust. Already a running flame licked through her, intensifying where the bulge of Pietro’s erection jutted against her core.
As if attuned to her thoughts, Pietro’s eyes met hers. His mouth rucked up at one corner in a tight approximation of a smile. ‘Sorry, tesoro. The bedroom is too far.’
There was a hand clap of shocked silence. As if she’d never entertained the idea of sex outside a bed.
Then Molly stopped thinking about everything except what Pietro was doing.
He levered himself up to kneel between her legs, his knees pushing hers further open. That small movement pulsed excitement through her. Or perhaps it was the touch of his hands on her bare legs, skimming the skirt of her dress higher and higher.
Air wafted across her thighs, hips and belly as he bunched the soft material round her waist.
Instead of fighting the urge to cover herself from his greedy gaze, Molly was aroused as his eyes heated and his movements grew urgent. She liked him stripping her bare, she discovered as he reached for her lace knickers.
Not like, she thought dazedly as there was a ripping sound and his knuckles scraped damp, swollen flesh. She adored it. Adored his ruthless single-mindedness as he tossed her ruined underwear aside.
Molly shuddered and cried out as he touched her there again, deliberately this time, his fingers slipping between slick folds and making her eyes roll back on a surge of eager pleasure.
‘Pietro.’ It was a hoarse gasp, a soft plea drowned by the thunder of her pulse in her ears.
Her eyes focused again as she felt his palm slide up to her belly. There was an extended moment of breath-taking stillness. Molly read jubilation in those golden eyes as they fixed on his hand, splayed possessively over the spot where their unborn child was cradled.
Pietro’s eyes met hers. Something arced between them. Something so profound she had no word for it, no explanation, just an awareness that the bond between them was of the most primitive, unbreakable sort.
Then Pietro’s hands went to his belt, tugging and flicking it undone, reefing open his trousers and pushing the dark fabric down.
A tiny part of her brain noted they were both still dressed—sort of. That she still wore her high-heeled shoes and they might rip the sofa material.
Then she saw his erection, naked and ready for her, and extraneous thought disintegrated. Her mouth dried, not in fear, but eagerness. She would have reached for him then, curious to touch, but there was no time.
Pietro came down onto her, his body covering hers, that proud erection nudging between her legs.
For a heartbeat he waited, his gaze searching hers. Then, with one slow, sure movement, Pietro thrust. Molly felt muscles stretch and widen, felt the impossible fiery heat of him invading her. But it was an invasion she craved. The silky power cleaving inexorably deeper and higher was beyond anything she knew.
She panted, unable to catch her breath. Stunned by the reality of them together.
Pietro’s features, hovering above her, looked different, honed harder. His mouth drew back in a white grimace. His breath expelled in a rush of warm air from flared nostrils. Molly inhaled the scent of male skin, the tang of sweat and something else that made her insides clench and pulse. Arousal.
‘Lift your knees.’ That raw whisper didn’t sound like Pietro. But she’d seen his lips move. Now she felt his hand gently draw one of her knees up beside his hip. Instantly that stretched-too-far feeling eased. She wriggled her other knee up, pressed between Pietro and the back of the sofa. Now he sank even deeper. So deep, she felt him at the centre of her being.
Molly opened her mouth to say something, for the wonder and joy of it was too immense to keep in.
But then Pietro moved, holding her eyes as he withdrew, then thrust back hard and sure, and the breath shunted from her lungs in a rush of excitement. The pulse between her legs quickened. She pressed her heels down and pushed up against him, reinforcing the friction of his movement.
Molly grabbed his shoulders, fingers clamping through the fabric to the curve of muscle beneath. His flesh rippled beneath her touch, proof that the power of their joining wasn’t all on his side. As if his taut features and laboured breath weren’t proof enough.
Another withdrawal, another thrust that had her biting her lip to hold back a moan. It felt so good, so impossibly perfect.
Again Pietro withdrew just enough to plunge back with an erotic force that sent shock waves through her. The edge of her vision blurred. Something was happening to her, skin growing tight and tingling, and where they joined...
This time when Pietro pulled back he slid his hand between them, his thumb to that sensitive bud, pressing a caress there as he surged back to fill her.
Molly caught the glitter of triumph in his bright eyes as she exploded in a wash of gold stars. They wheeled and glittered through her body and across her vision. She arched, straining against him, as he prolonged that moment of ecstasy till nothing existed but the sheer rapture of them together.
On and on it went, till Pietro’s body jerked in climax too, a pulsing, powerful judder that brought her again to that peak.
Molly was bombarded by sweet sensation. By the detonations of rapture still quaking through her febrile body. But beyond that was the sight of Pietro, strong neck arched back, teeth bared, shuddering with the force of an orgasm that she felt at the centre of her being.
Dimly, through the haze of pleasure, Molly felt her heart squeeze at the sight of him in the throes of the same compulsion.
For the first time since she’d woken in hospital they were equal.
Molly didn’t understand quite why that was important. But there was a smile on her lips, and her heart felt full to overflowing. She pulled him down to her, palming the back of his head as he collapsed against her, his big body shivering with aftershocks.
CHAPTER NINE
HOURS LATER PIETRO woke in darkness, wondering what felt wrong. No, not wrong, but unfamiliar.
Even as he registered the sensation the answer came to him.
Molly. Sprawled across the bed and him. Her silky hair tickled his chest. Her breaths w
ere tiny puffs of air that shouldn’t have been arousing yet somehow were. Or maybe it was because her limp hand rested so close to his groin.
Arousal was inevitable. He’d woken hard.
Hell, he’d woken hard ever since Molly had moved from the hospital into his apartment.
Languidly, deliberately eschewing the urgency burning in his bloodstream, he stroked her hair, then swept his hand down her shoulder to her hip. She arched like a cat, pressing her breasts into him, and mumbled in her sleep.
Pietro smiled. He could get used to this.
He hadn’t slept with any woman since Elizabetta. And that included Molly. Oh, he’d shared his bed for sex, but no lover was ever invited to spend the whole night.
His ex-wife’s duplicity cast a long shadow. He enjoyed sex but there was no way, before this, that he’d give any woman cause to believe he wanted more from her. He refused to tangle emotions with carnal pleasure.
That was what had gone wrong with Elizabetta. He’d let other emotions get mixed up with satisfaction at her robust passion. Enough that he’d taken her at face value. Or, no, if he was honest that had come when she’d told him she was pregnant. He recalled her charming enthusiasm tinged with uncertainty. His excitement. He hadn’t planned children with her but it was exactly what he wanted—a family of his own to care for and cherish. To grow old with.
To give meaning to his life.
Despite his aunt and uncle, who’d done their best for him when he’d been orphaned, Pietro had never stopped missing the family who’d been wrested from him. His mother with her wide smile and gentle touch. His father who’d always made time for him, despite the demands of the family business. Even his younger sister, who’d been a pest in the early years, but who’d begun to turn into someone he liked.
His aunt and uncle had struggled with a boy who’d abruptly changed from outgoing and well-behaved into surly and destructive. In the end they’d sent him away to boarding school, hoping the staff would have better success with him.
Pietro stared up at the dark ceiling. They’d been right. The regimen of school, and the kindness of a couple of the teachers, had turned him around. But that time away meant that, though he now had a good relationship with his aunt and uncle, there was no real intimacy between them. To his joy, he’d begun to develop something like that with his two younger cousins now they were adults.
