Red Hot Lovers: 18 Contemporary Romance Books of Love, Passion, and Sexy Heroes by Your Favorite Top-Selling Authors

by Milly Taiden

  The good doctor was a little old man with thick grey hair. He stood shorter than Tracy and spoke no English, but gave her a universal thumbs up after examining the bump on the back of her head. He gladly inspected the abrasion covering her right butt cheek, leaving her a tube of ointment and a special dressing that wouldn’t stick to the skin.

  Vincent translated their conversation and was forced to recant several very embarrassing stories of Vincent’s youth. Vincent rolled his eyes as if he’d suffered through the same stories a dozen times. He escorted the doctor toward the front door. She could’ve sworn Vincent blushed when the doctor snickered counting on his fingers stating Watch her all night. No sleeping until bedtime. And no vigorous activities for a few days.

  “You need to scrub the abrasion with soap and water,” Vincent stated quietly joining her in the kitchen. “Which room is yours?”

  She frowned warily, wrinkling her nose and shaking her head. “I don’t wanna do it.”

  Up until this point in her life, Tracy remained blissfully unaware of the pain caused by road rash. She watched her brother John suffer through it after taking a few significant spills while cycling. Taking one look at the remorse covering his face, Vincent knew how excruciating this was going to be. Tracy rose to her feet, securing the torn pieces of the silky material of her shorts in her fist so they didn’t fall off.

  “Let’s get you in the shower.” He assisted her down the hall, stopping outside the bedroom. She could only nod, giving him permission to come in her room. He helped her into the bathroom and started the shower. “Can you get undressed?”

  “I think so.” Her quiet voice resonated against the large marble tile.

  “I’m going to wait right here.” He nodded toward a chaise at the foot of her bed. “I’m leaving the door cracked, just yell if you need help or if you start feeling faint or nauseous.”

  The warm water brought relief to her aching body, until the spray reached her raw skin. It hurt so badly she could scarcely breathe. She winced standing under the rain head of water, waiting for the stinging and burning to subside. Her shoulders pulled upward, gathering tension in her neck and shoulders, setting of another dull ache near the lump at the back of her skull.

  Tracy whimpered washing the sweat and grime from her hair and body, praying the burning sensation would feel better in a minute. The pain only intensified. Missing pieces of frayed skin was not the only problem. Small rocks and pebbles lodged into the open abrasion. Each pass of her hand over the flesh brought another dry sob from her throat.

  Nausea rolled in her throat. She backed away from the spray of water taking several deep breaths, filling her lungs with oxygen. It hurt so badly that tears freely flowed.

  “Vincent?” she called in a shallow whimper.

  His shadow moved outside the frosted shower door. “Si`. Are you okay?”

  “I…I have a problem.” She sniveled, pulling a large white towel over the stall and gingerly wrapping it around her body.

  Tracy slid the door open, crying as she stepped out of the shower. Concern splashed across Vincent’s face.

  “I have rocks stuck in my ass.”

  “Awww. Come here, don’t cry.” Vincent hauled her close, settling her outpour.

  “I hurt all over. I feel silly crying like a baby, but what the hell? I have rocks stuck in my butt.”

  A vibration of laughter shook in his chest beneath her cheek.

  “Who does this happen to?” she questioned mockingly. He eased her away from his frame as his fingers made a pass over her wet face, wiping her tears. She continued her rant through a deluge of snivels. “Oh and I’m naked! I mean really? If I’m going to be naked in front of you, I could think of much better reason than rocks in my ass!”

  “I could get undressed if it would make you feel better.” His eyes glinted with amusement.

  She considered saying Yes, but grumbled, “I’ve never been so embarrassed in all my life.”

  “You have nothing to be embarrassed about.” One brow lifted raking an appreciative gaze down her body, followed by a heart-stopping smile. “Sei molto bella.”

  She didn’t feel very beautiful, stretched out face down on her bed, weeping into the towel as Vincent plucked gravel from her butt, one pebble at a time. He assisted her back into the shower. Standing nearly naked, she used only a hand towel to cover her breasts. Facing the wall, she leaned against the cold marble as he gently scrubbed the last bit of embedded dirt and grim from her cheek.

  Tracy found something more than tears and pain and embarrassment, under the cascade of water. Inhaling the scent of him, a clean masculine sweat, wet from the spray of water, triggered something. A new sensation. A sensual responsiveness to Vincent. A desire she thought was lost to a star-filled night in Greece so long ago, ripped through her heart with each touch of his hand.

  Being so close to him in such an intimate, nurturing manner sparked an internal strength, a subtle confidence. The barrier she built around her heart, a security system she implemented after a thief snuck in and stole her heart, lifted in the veil of steam.

  She had vowed never to be weak again. However that promise also kept her from finding the one true thing she hoped to find in life. Love. There was something about Vincent that compelled her to trust him. She wanted to find the courage to trust him, but she feared getting her heart broken again.

  He turned off the water and held open the towel. They both remained silent avoiding each other’s glance. Tracy was nervous. He nodded toward the tube of healing ointment and strips of breathable dressing, indicating without words for her to bend over.

  She grimaced, mumbling anxiously, “This puts me in a precarious position.”

  Vincent sat on a bench. His eyes widened in agreement holding back a grin. “Si`, very precarious.”

  Filled with embarrassed discomfort, she squirmed wordlessly under the bright lights. He blessed her with a warm smile of reassurance. Tracy leaned over, her body fully exposed from the back. Her breathing came in short raspy gasps of air and she rested her elbows on the marble countertop. The ripping sound of the package being opened, filled the quietness.

  The carnal tension was thick between them. She needed to break the growing silence. Two things hung around her neck like a twenty-five pound barbell, the fact she was practically naked with only mere inches between his gorgeous mouth and the throbbing pulse in her inner thighs, and the thought of him touching another woman that had stabbed at her for the last few days.

  “So, how did your date go?” Tracy dared to ask. She intended on saying it casually, but the words spouted from her mouth in an abrupt stutter.

  Their gazes locked in the mirror.

  “My date went exactly as I expected.”

  A cold painful ache of jealousy slipped itself around her heart and squeezed. Any blood that was left in her face, drained. His reply hurt far worse than chunks of missing flesh ripped from her butt. Tracy shifted her gaze, attempting to hide the torment of emotions stuck in her throat. Vincent tilted his head, acutely watching her every move as she struggled to swallow.

  “We didn’t fit together years ago—“ His tone gentled, resigned as though responding to something hidden in her eyes, “and we still don’t. We are entirely different people.”

  Her shoulders slumped in relief, releasing the big breath of air she’d been holding. Tracy moistened her lips nervously. Heat gathered in his eyes tracking the movement of her tongue in the mirror as it slipped over her lips.

  “That’s unfortunate.” The pitch of her body swayed, adjusting her balance. Vincent’s fingers clasped to her bare hip, steadying her movement as he applied a strip of medical tape over the wound.

  “Not really. Life is too precious to spend your time with someone you know isn’t right for you.” A small sneer tugged at the corner of his mouth. “And it wasn’t a date. If you wouldn’t have bolted out the door so quickly, I would’ve asked you to join us.”

  “Oh. I thought...” Her words trail
ed off. Between her irrational behavior and frazzled emotions, a glowing hue of bright pink dusted her cheeks.

  “I would’ve welcomed your good conversation. Guilia and I have known each other since we were young. She stops by to see me, in between marriages. To be fair, her mamma probably berates her to try again.” The touch of his hand slowed, into a gentle caress, brushing over her calf. A sexy grin blazed full. “She asked me about you.”

  He ripped off another piece of tape and laid it over the last section of shredded skin, and lowered the towel over her butt. Tracy turned to face him. She was going to ask what he told Guilia, but lost all train of thought staring into his pale grey eyes, drowsy with lust.

  Longing tingled over the surface of her skin like a fine shower of mist, overpowering her common-sense. Tentatively, she wrapped her arms around his waist. “Thank you for helping me.”

  He held her carefully, stroking her back reassuringly, as if he understood the risk she took in that very moment of vulnerability. Vincent pressed his lips to her forehead. “You’re welcome.”

  She relaxed against him, laying the side of her face to his chest. His heartbeat turned unruly beneath her cheek. The rigid strain in his limbs, fell slack. Tracy’s fingers inched up the dense muscles on each side of his spine. Weak with need, she molded herself closer to the hard planes of his entire body. They stayed that way for minutes, compressed together, swaying slightly. Tracy took comfort in the feelings of pleasure stealing over her.

  Vincent gripped lightly, coasting his hands up her arms and neck, cupping her jaw in his palms. Humor washed from his face. “Maybe you should get dressed. I don’t know how much more of the towel I can take.”

  The tips of his fingers ran along the edge of her plush towel, laying a trail of sparks where their skin touched.

  She closed her hands over his. “I can take it off, if you’d like.”

  His eyes rolled back as he pressed a long kiss to the back of her hand. “The doctor said no vigorous activities.”

  Pushing through the dull pain in her muscles, she ventured to her toes, placing a soft kiss near the hallow at his throat. Unable to stop herself, she flattened herself against his strong powerful form. Her hips hitched upward reveling in the pressure and hardness.

  Licking the salt residue from her lips, she whispered, “I would be gentle.”

  “I will not be able to be gentle.” His lashes, thick and dark, cast shadows on the thin skin beneath his eye. He murmured an Italian curse word. Vincent curled his fingers around the tips of her shoulders, squeezing with the flawless amount of pressure, drawing a small whimper of pleasure from her throat. “Not gentle enough to keep from causing you pain.”

  Tracy’s lip twitched, shocked by her own unbearable craving to take him.

  “Your body is in shock. You need to heal first.”

  A frown worked across her forehead. Frustration and embarrassment flooded over her. Hurt feelings pooled in her eyes and she dropped her gaze to the floor.

  “Tracy, you are torturing me.” His voice low and hoarse. The heel of his palms clutched the sides of her neck, tilting her face upward with his thumbs. “I want you, probably more than anything I have ever desired in my life, but I would never forgive myself if I hurt you.”

  Looking at his handsome face only intensified her need. Once she gave herself the green light to trust Vincent, to enjoy him, she couldn’t stop the honest emotions from spilling out. “I haven’t let myself get close to anyone in a very long time. I like you. A lot. I’m not sure why.”

  He chortled raising one brow.

  “I mean, of course I know why. I meant I don’t know why it’s taken so long. That’s not true. I know why I haven’t dated in so long. It’s just…” She paused irritated by her own confused state of rambling. “I really want to kiss you.”

  “Shhh stop thinking so hard. You’re going to hurt the lump on your head.”

  His hot sweet breath tickled her ear. Her heart jumped and a tremor of nerves shivered down her neck. His fingers swept beneath her jaw, lowering his mouth over her hers. Vincent kissed her, tenderly shifting from one lip then to the other. Her lips parted, tasting him, breathing in the soft taste of his kiss, rich and drugging. Their breath mingled as he cradled her face, caressing with utter sweetness, the silken stoke of her tongue maddening.

  The gentleness of his kiss disarmed her and she wanted more. Her fingers stole to the dips and contours of his taunt obliques, falling lower onto his hips. Vincent broke the kiss, dragging his mouth, placing soft kisses to her nose, eyes and forehead.

  Tracy heard a murmur in Italian above her head, something about being able to ravish her properly.

  “That is all I can offer you until I take a very long cold shower.”

  *

  Tracy nearly praised God the moment Vincent put his clothes back on. She had tossed his things in the washing machine while he showered, forced to endure his towel clad body for the next hour and a half. His torso cut into bricks of well-defined muscle, tapering into a trim V-cut waist. She likened it to visiting a world class bakery, cases of glass filled with yummy Italian cookies, and then remembering she was on a strict diet. Or worse, the kind of starvation you were made to suffer prior to surgery or there would be stiff repercussions.

  If that wasn’t tortuous enough, the man loved to cook. Tracy’s skill set in the kitchen started with making coffee and maxed out at baking cookies. Vincent made himself at home retrieving a bottle of Sangiovese from the cellar, rummaging through the pantry and refrigerator for ingredients to make soup. She observed quietly from the high counter, watching in fascination as he prepared a sashay of herbs wrapped in cheesecloth, garlic sauce, and a puree of beans. A light dusting of dark hair covered his forearms, dense muscles flexed as he used the knife chopping onions and garlic.

  “Where did you learn to cook like this?” she croaked, sifting through lust-filled images triggered by each small movement. The pounding in the back of her head didn’t compare to the beating of her heart.

  “My mamma, she was never blessed with a girl. It is relaxing for me.” He continued conversationally, “It gives me something, other than wine, to put my love into.”

  I’ve got something you can put your love into. She damn near said out loud merely watching him chop vegetables. She could feel heat rising on her face. Tracy officially wanted to fuck his brains out. She’d never really noticed a man in such a lustful regard, so completely enamored she would’ve laid out right there on the counter and done anything he asked of her.

  The soup didn’t take long to cook. She couldn’t find the bravery to move from her seat, fearing her knees would buckle. A tug-of-war loomed inside her, exhaustion, pain and hunger pitted themselves against ravenous gritty desire of a whole new magnitude. Sitting lopsided on a barstool in nothing but black leggings and a coral colored oversized sweatshirt, Tracy squeezed her thighs together fighting off the pleasant clenches in her lower abs.

  Resting her elbows on the granite counter, she buried her face in her hands. The tips of her fingers rolled over her eyelids in a circular motion, breathing shallow through her nose.

  “Headache come back? Do you need some more Ibuprofen?”

  Tracy buried her brazen grin.

  “No.” she said softly, barely shaking her head. “Just trying not to hurdle the counter, throw myself at you, make a complete fool of myself.”

  A deep throaty chuckle simmered at her side. “Take a taste.”

  Butterflies fluttered in her belly, spinning his words in filth.

  Tracy swiveled the chair to face him, blowing gently on a spoonful of steamy broth. Sounds of appreciation hummed in her throat. “This is delicious.”

  “I’ve got to get you all better.” His fingers brushed over her upper arm fixing the placement of her sweatshirt.

  “So you can ravish me properly.” Breathless, she sat there turning crimson red repeating the words he muttered a few hours earlier.

  A slow burn of a smile lifte
d at one end of his mouth into a wry grin. Vincent sipped his wine, his eyes never faltered from her face.

  “You speak far more Italian than you let on,” he remarked eventually.

  Lights played in his eyes and his thick dark hair curled tightly near the collar of his t-shirt. Vincent placed the bowl of soup on the counter, moving closer, wedging between her legs. Mesmerized by his rugged handsome features, Tracy had no words. Her eyes fluttered as his fingers played up her shoulder with unbearable lightness. Her gaze fell to the stubble on his neck, longing coiled through her.

  “You feel for me?” he asked in whisper. The tips of his warm fingers dipped into the draped neckline of her sweatshirt, covering her heart with his palm.

  Drawn to him like a magnet, she straightened her stance, lifting her chest. Her breasts ached with need, the tips pulled taunt agonizing against the fuzzy piling of her sweatshirt. She wanted him to touch her, to put his mouth on her breast, but he held steady. Tracy thought waiting would bring gratification, but it seemed more like torture. Forcing a small smile, she answered softly, “Yes. Very much so.”

  “I feel it too.” His breath fanned across her cheek, the elusive sweet scent drawing another zing to her center as he kissed the corner of her mouth.

  Cautiously, he took more, parting her lips, opening and tasting, easing his way to the other corner. His hot breath surged unevenly, rugged and refrained, gradually slipping his tongue deeper. The long, unrushed intimacy of the kiss clouded her mind.

  Tracy melted into the drugging sweet taste of him, adjusting her curves to the hard, flat planes of his body. They molded together, tongues penetrating further with the soulful purpose of baring emotions. Vincent slowly and tenaciously took exactly what he wanted, her heart, and with great controlled determination. She trembled, knowing how incredible sex would be, erotic and sensual, possessing her one deliberate movement at a time. Tears stung the corner of her eyes from the raw sentiment sweeping through her.