by Joanne Rock
She shuddered with the force of it, never having experienced anything close to the kind of pleasure he'd wrought.
And they hadn't even made love yet.
When the last aftershock faded away, she knew her legs would never hold her. Luckily, they didn't have to. Vito anchored her to him with one arm while he unearthed the condom from the soap dish and slid it on.
Bracing himself against the shower stall with one hand, he lifted her against him with the other. Still dazed from the surge of blood through her veins to all points south, Christine clung to him, content to let him take charge of her body since he obviously understood it a hell of a lot better than she ever had.
Only when he lifted her thigh high against his did she understand what he wanted. Her back against the stall wall, she held tight to his neck while she wrapped her legs around his waist. His strong arms supported her while she reached between them to guide him just where she wanted him.
With one roll of his hips he was pressing his way inside her, reawakening every nerve ending. He filled her completely as she held herself very still, waiting for her body to accommodate all of him.
And then the rhythm started.
More seductive than any pulsating stream of water, Vito moved inside her with the slow, steady motion of a man who knew how to pace himself.
Heart slogging in her chest, she cupped his chin in her palm, staring into his eyes in the moonlight as the cooling shower water poured over them. The heat in his gaze matched the gathering inferno inside her. She had only a split second to process all the dark emotion churning in his eyes before his mouth captured hers, his kiss tangling with hers to mirror the way he moved deep inside her.
Fingers sinking into his wet hair, she held onto him for dear life as the storm swelled inside her all over again. He brought her to the precipice of that mind-blowing moment again and again until at last he buried himself even deeper within her, sending her hurtling over the edge in one blinding instant.
His cry echoed hers this time, neither one of them possessing the wherewithal to hold back their shouts. Her heart pounded so loudly she couldn't even hear anything else. Her body was wracked with sensual shudders while Vito held her tightly against him.
She could have fallen asleep right there, sopping wet and exhausted, if he hadn't turned off the cold water raining down on them. Blinking herself out of the orgasmic bliss she'd just experienced, she slid her feet to the floor of the stall.
For a moment she thought maybe the fling was over when Vito walked out of the shower. But she only had a second to panic before he returned with the dry towels she'd left out.
She might have recovered her distance a little better if he'd just tossed her the towel and let her dry herself off. But he slung his around his neck and unfurled hers for her and then wrapped it—and his arms—around her. Slowly releasing her, he guided her back inside the workshop, holding the door for her as she ducked under his arm.
"We can sleep or we can start thinking about round two." He flicked a damp strand of hair from her eyes as he dried her off. "And just let me make it clear that whichever you choose, it's taking place in my bed."
* * *
Vito didn't mean to pressure her, but he couldn't let her go yet. Not after he'd just uncovered the wild side of his earthy goddess of home and hearth. What he'd perceived as shy had been her attempts to avoid him because she wanted him, too.
The revelation still rocked him as he stared down at her in the warm yellow light cast by the wall lamps.
He'd never pictured himself as a guy with a big Madonna complex, but maybe he hadn't realized a woman could possess such domestic instincts and still be so spontaneous in the shower. That didn't make him chauvinistic, right? Just clueless.
"Your bed?" The hesitation in Christine's voice jolted him back to the present.
"I've got four more condoms on deck, remember?" He let go of her long enough to wrap his towel around his waist. And then hesitated when he saw she wasn't getting dressed yet. "Would you prefer your bed?"
"It's not that." She hugged her towel tighter, looking way too damn vulnerable with her shoulders exposed, revealing the tan lines from the tank top she wore while she worked.
He expended considerable effort not to trace those pale lines with his finger. Even more effort not to lean down and trace them with his tongue.
"That'll set a record for the fastest fling ever if you're thinking about walking away already." And it would set an even bigger record for blows to the ego.
Shaking her head, she scooped up her sundress and tugged it over her head. Once it was on, she reached beneath the hem and yanked the towel out from underneath. A magic act of dressing that made sure he never got so much as a peek at her naked.
"I'm just wondering if we should draw certain boundaries regarding this … new facet of our relationship." She seemed to get distracted as she stared at his bare chest. Then tossing him his discarded T-shirt, she looked him in the eye. "You know, to help us maintain a sense of no expectations from one another?"
Dragging on the shirt, he nudged her toward the door. Maybe if he kept her distracted with talk until they got inside, he could maneuver her into his bedroom before she got too serious about the whole boundary idea.
"I thought we were allowed a few expectations." Holding the door for her, he peered around the dark backyard to make sure there weren't any lurking neighbors taking a late-night stroll.
"In a fling?" She sounded scandalized.
"Sure. I expect you to let me touch you all the time and you can expect me to give you as many orgasms as you want." He was only half kidding as he watched her walk, her hips swishing her skirt in a tantalizing rhythm.
"Maybe we should have initiated more discussion about this before we jumped into anything." She cast him a wary look while he hurried around her to open the door to the house.
"That would be a mistake." He ushered her into the kitchen where the night-light on the range hood cast a dull glow in an otherwise dark house. "If you start dissecting it and drawing too many parameters around it, then it won't feel like a fling anymore. I think a fling is supposed to be sort of spontaneous." Unable to resist those pale tan lines of hers any longer, he leaned forward to kiss one. "Fun."
"And I suppose you are an expert on the subject?"
Her clear blue eyes demanded the same honesty that she'd always given to him. It caught him off guard.
"No." He backed up a step, wondering if he should have taken her up on the boundary-drawing idea while he had the chance. He hadn't expected to need them.
"You're not an expert?" She leaned against the kitchen counter, skepticism etched in every facet of her body language.
If this had been a media interview, he would have walked out. For the most part, he didn't care what conclusions other people drew about him. But he owed her better than that.
"I'll admit that I've waded into the waters of uncommitted relationships before." Far less often than she seemed to think, but he didn't know how to convince her of that. And worse, it worried him that he really wanted to convince her. "But I've never actually had a fling that successfully remained spontaneous and easy. Any time I've tried it, somehow it turns complicated by the end."
Ducking into the refrigerator, he pulled out her perpetually refilled container of lemonade and poured them both a glass.
He didn't know how she'd react to his past, but it seemed important to be straight with her. Handing her a drink, he waited to hear what she had to say and hoped like hell she wouldn't use this as an excuse to end things between them already.
Taking her lemonade from Vito's long, warm fingers, Christine wrapped her hands around the tall, chilly glass and tried to focus on the discussion at hand.
She should be glad that he'd been with other women like this, right? That meant he must be good at walking away once it was over.
Funny, the knowledge didn't seem to soothe her.
"Maybe your relationships turn complicated because
women in your past haven't been honest with you about their expectations." Sipping the sweetly tart drink, she assured herself that wouldn't be the case for her and Vito. "You won't have that problem this time because I'm not nursing any secret desire to glom on to you or your fast-paced lifestyle. I'm happy in my new business venture and I've got big goals for myself that don't include any man."
So there.
She could almost hear the snippy sentiment behind the words. She hadn't meant to let the conversation ruffle her feathers, but even she could hear the defensiveness in her voice.
"What if I'm not the jet-setting player you seem to think I am?" His hazel eyes glittered dark and hot in the dim light of the kitchen. Vito's dark hair lay sleek and wet against his scalp, the strong features of his face rendered all the more prominent.
The desire to touch him lingered. If anything, her need for him had only intensified since the shower encounter.
She couldn't help but smile. "You drive a Ferrari. I don't think I can be too far off base on this."
"That's different. I happen to have fallen into my profession because I love cars." Placing his empty glass in the sink, he leaned on the counter beside her. Reminding her how vulnerable she was to his mere physical presence. "You wouldn't have thought I was such a jet-setter in my 1970s Chevelle that I drove while my brothers and sisters were growing up."
She tried to picture Mr. Continental in his silk T-shirt squiring around his troop of younger siblings while still so young himself. Her oldest brother Seth had taken on a ton of responsibilities after their father had walked out, but their mom had always been around to take care of the day-to-day stuff.
Vito had probably been about the same age as her or maybe a little younger when he'd stepped into the shoes of a parent. Could she have taken on that kind of challenge successfully? The notion sobered her when she considered all the trouble she was having just getting a business off the ground.
"How did you support all your siblings? Did you work?"
Rolling his eyes, he leaned away from the kitchen counter and started going through the cabinets as if searching for something.
"Hell, yeah, I worked. But since I hadn't even finished my own college degree at the time, I just took over my father's cabinetry business. My brother Renzo loves that kind of stuff, but I was never cut out for spending the whole day with a saw in hand. Or a measuring tape."
Digging through the cabinets, he unearthed a box of sugar cookies and set a stack in front of each of them.
Munching a cookie since she wasn't getting what she really craved, Christine tried to imagine what it would be like to be stuck laboring in an unwanted job.
"It's important to love your work." Which accounted for why she was so determined to make her landscaping business successful. Since her starry-eyed dreams of romance had failed to lead to any kind of real relationship, her work was her whole life.
"You're not kidding. To this day, the smell of sawdust makes me cranky. But at the time, I just did what I had to do."
Christine studied him in the intimate quiet of the half-dark kitchen, admiring him for the sacrifices he'd made for his family. Maybe he wasn't quite the globetrotting player she'd first thought. After raising his siblings at such a young age, the guy surely deserved some time to indulge himself however he saw fit.
But even as the realization made her understand his need to drive fast cars and live his dreams of racing, she didn't feel quite so magnanimous about his other forays into uncommitted relationships. Since when did having a few responsibilities in life excuse a man from being faithful?
As much as both of her brothers had driven her crazy growing up, she had to admire their staunch commitment to their wives. Even her brother Jesse, who'd been a notorious bad boy, had finally seen the wisdom of staying with one woman.
Frowning, she stared across the countertop at Vito. "I'm not suggesting it's any of my business or anything, but I'm curious about what you've got against relationships. Is it too hard to stay faithful in your line of work? Women throw themselves at your feet?"
"Hell, no." He readjusted the towel still slung around his hips. "Show me someone who uses their career as an excuse to cheat and I'll show you someone who doesn't ever deserve to be married. I'm just not ready to get serious with anyone because I've been having too much fun catching up on all the stuff I missed out on when I was younger. I wouldn't ever want to mislead anyone."
For a moment, her inner romantic let out another heartfelt sigh that Vito was the kind of guy who still believed in the sanctity of a committed relationship even if he didn't opt to have one himself. And then she woke up and heard the message behind his words.
He didn't want to mislead anyone.
Meaning her. He didn't want her to get any wrong ideas about them because he wasn't ready to be serious about anyone.
Swilling down the rest of her lemonade, she set the glass on the counter with a thud.
"Well you don't need to worry about that with me. I've got the ground rules memorized. Fun. Spontaneous. And at the end of my time here, we both walk away happy." And nobody gets hurt, damn it.
She didn't need to worry about his concerns because she wasn't going to be one of those women in his life who couldn't let go. No matter how phenomenal the sex was, she wasn't ready for a real relationship in her life, either. She had a career to get off the ground and a new cynical streak to balance out the damn romantic lunatic who'd been running her life before Rafe.
Now she could handle a guy like Vito Cesare without getting burned. This fling would be a success.
"Excellent." Brushing the crumbs from their cookies into the sink, he straightened. "So what do you think, Christine? Are you bailing on me already or do I get to haul you off to my lair and have my wicked way with you again?"
* * *
8
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She'd said yes.
Vito couldn't believe how willing Christine had been to toss aside the more traditional conventions of romance simply to explore the chemistry between them.
A week later he made her breakfast while she slept a few extra hours. A fair trade considering he'd kept her up half the night, unable to get enough of her. The woman was amazing, by turns sexy and sweet. Sometimes she tantalized him with surprise caresses under the table at dinner or while he talked on the phone to his slew of Italian relatives who needed directions to the house since they would all be arriving for the wedding next week.
Other times she floored him with how generous she could be, delivering all of Mrs. Kowolski's specialty orders one day when the neighbor's truck broke down. And just last night Christine had spent two hours helping Mrs. Hollenbeck rearrange a flower bed near her front door to better showcase the new porch she'd added on to her house.
Carefully folding his first attempt at an omelette in half, Vito double-checked the cookbook instructions to be sure he had it right. He'd need about six more omelettes if she was half as hungry as him. Their shared late nights were giving him a hell of an appetite lately.
He was rooting around the refrigerator for more eggs when his phone rang.
"Hello?" Cradling the receiver against his shoulder, he spied another dozen behind a mountain of fresh lemons.
"Hey pisan." His sister Giselle's voice rolled across the line, her normally suppressed Italian accent coming across full steam now that she'd taken up temporary residence in Naples while her journalist fiancé worked on a story nearby. "I'm starting to panic about planning the whole wedding from afar. Please tell me you're taking care of getting the house ready so I don't have to worry about that once I get in next week?"
"I've got the house covered. And thanks to Giuseppe hiring the landscaper, the property is going to look better than it ever has. All the neighbors keep dropping by to get ideas for their yards."
Although he'd be willing to bet Mrs. Hollenbeck's teenage son had only dropped by to get a better look at Christine's legs.
"Giuseppe swears he's found your mate for
life, you know." Giselle giggled as she whispered to someone on the other end of the phone, then turned her full attention back to Vito again. "He kept Aunt Sophia on the phone for half an hour last night raving about the gardener he'd hired. Christine, right?"
Sliding his omelette out of the skillet and onto a plate to keep warm in the oven, Vito debated how to answer his sister without raising suspicions or giving credence to Giuseppe's matchmaking efforts.
"She's really talented." He'd just keep his comments focused on her professional skills. No need for anyone to know she'd rocked his world on every possible personal level, too.
"Giuseppe says she's also a total babe."
"I'm not even going there, so don't ask." Cracking more eggs into a bowl, he peered down the hallway toward Christine's bedroom. She had embraced the idea of a tryst in the shower and a quickie on the dining room table, but she'd drawn the line at spending the whole night in his bed. Every night before dawn she slipped from his room to seek the privacy of her own.
"Oh, good. If you're not interested in her, I'm sure Marco will be. He was just saying the other night he needs a date."
Vito spilled an egg on the floor. "Damn it, Giselle, I know what you're trying to do and it won't work. Christine is about ten times more mature than Marco." Even if she was closer in age to his youngest brother than him. Something about Christine's down-to-earth practicality made the age difference between her and Vito irrelevant.
"No need to be prickly about it. I don't have to introduce her to anyone if you don't want me to. It just seemed a shame to let a woman who's talented and a total babe slip away."
"I'm in the middle of breakfast here, sis." It took a great deal of effort to talk through clenched teeth. "Did you want anything or can I get back to my omelette now?"
Out of the corner of his eye he spied a flash of yellow. Turning, he found Christine at his elbow, helping herself to a juice glass in the cupboard.
He stared at her, determined to cut his sister off before Christine could leave the kitchen.
