Innocent of His Claim

by Janette Kenny

  The air crackled with electricity, making each touch a sensual jolt that left him trembling inside. He was burning up with unquenchable need, and the beautiful blush kissing her cheeks, neck and the full breasts that heaved in tempo with his ragged breaths told him that she wanted this just as much. Wanted him.

  Yet he dragged out this long-awaited foreplay a bit longer by simply caressing her with his gaze. Knowing it would be sweeter in the end. Going as far as he dared, then pushing the boundary a bit more but finally taking her into his arms and kissing her, stroking his hands up and down her bare back.

  Her hands were just as busy, sliding down his sides, her fingertips skipping over the firm globes of his bottom. An avalanche of sensations zipped over his heated skin and he faltered, tossing his head back to gasp for air.

  “You are magnificent,” she said, clutching his length with small knowing hands that threatened to bring him to his knees.

  “Cara,” he said on a hiss, afraid to breathe, to move for fear she would stop. “You are killing me.”

  “Softly comes this death,” she said, kneeling before him, fingers still worshipping his sex.

  Then her mouth touched him there, the shock so electric he jolted. Perhaps cursed. Perhaps said a prayer as her lips trailed up and down his length until he wanted to howl with the pleasure thundering through him.

  He treaded his fingers through her silken hair, holding her close, straining for control that was fast spiraling away from him.

  This was sweet erotic torture, and it was something he never allowed for it put the woman in control. It stole the power from him. Stole rational thought and replaced it with earthy need.

  But he’d taught her this soon after they met, encouraged her to explore him because he’d thought it would loosen her inhibitions. It had to a degree, but she’d relished the control, her ability to give him pleasure while holding back giving her all to him in turn.

  That had begun the pattern of their intimacy that had kept them apart, that would throw up a wall between them now unless she totally surrendered herself to him.

  So he held back now, tense muscles jerking with the hunger for pleasure. His skin burned, too hot, too tight, certain to break if he didn’t find release soon.

  It would not be this way.

  That was the lone thought on his mind as he dug deep and found the strength to stop this sweet torture.

  “Not now.” He jerked her to her feet and dragged her flush against him.

  “But …”

  He silenced her protest with a kiss that conquered. Demanded.

  She hesitated. Stiff, caught off guard. Then a sound bubbled from the back of her throat and she met his kiss with equal fervor.

  He slid his palms over her sexy bottom and trailed his fingers down her thighs. The cool silk of her tender skin sent a shiver rocketing through him.

  His blood hammered so loudly he felt rather than heard her needy moan. But he gave her no rest, stroking the delicious curve of her hips, the lush fullness of her bottom, the slick seductive folds between her trembling legs.

  “Oh, God,” she said, clutching his shoulders, back bowing to push her bosom and sex closer to him.

  “Yes,” he said thickly, coaxing her on with deeper strokes of his fingers and trying like hell to hold his own desire in check.

  It was hell and heaven, extracting more stamina from him than he thought was possible. His limbs ached, his muscles knotted. Sweat poured off his brow and down his back. His sex throbbed, ready to burst.

  “Marco!”

  “Let go, Delanie. Let go like you did the first time.”

  “I can’t,” she said, voice cracking.

  “You can. Do it. You won’t regret it, cara.”

  He held her as passion warred with her fear, as her fingers dug into his shoulders, her gaze locked with his. Triumph surged through him as desire finally glazed her eyes, as her lovely body rippled in erotic surrender and his patience paid off tenfold.

  It had been too long since he’d enjoyed watching a woman reach her passion. Too long since he’d felt this sense of awe. Too long since he’d been gifted with Delanie’s full passion.

  Her fingernails dug into his flesh so hard she likely drew blood but he didn’t care. His lips curled in male satisfaction, chest puffing with the assurance that he’d been the one to give her such pleasure. That he’d gained the same just watching desire sweep her up in its honeyed maelstrom.

  The strength of her climax left her in sated bliss and he caught her, cradled her close. But what caught him by surprise was the swelling of his heart, the warmth that stole over him as he looked down at her, a rightness that was unlike anything he’d felt before, even with her.

  A thread of fear pulled through him and tightened his gut. He didn’t want to feel emotion this deeply. Didn’t want those tender emotions clawing at him, trying to burrow in.

  What he’d had with Delanie was history. This was their time to part amiably. To be adults and admit there never would be any future for them together. To savor each other and this moment.

  He blocked everything from his mind but the fact he was overly aroused and had a very naked, very willing woman in his arms. This was sex and he would make sure it was the best sex either of them had ever had.

  They would part without regret before the wedding. The past would be just a fond memory.

  “I can’t wait,” he said, setting her on the counter, the bedroom simply too great a distance in his condition.

  Her legs parted in invitation and her fingers dug into his shoulders. “Neither can I.”

  He pulled her forward and thrust into her, and a deep satisfied growl rumbled from him. Being in her wasn’t enough. He had to kiss her. Had to parallel the sensual assault with his mouth. Had to hold her and stroke her soft flesh.

  But he sensed no complaint. Nothing but sweet surrender.

  The last was something he never allowed in a lover. But this was Delanie. This was something that was reserved only for her. That he’d waited to experience for far too long.

  They were both lost in desire, their bodies moving in rhythm, knowing where to stroke, to touch, to bring the most pleasure.

  It vaguely occurred to him that they were equally dominant now. That they were in perfect sensual sync. He took, she gave, and vice versa.

  They were matched. Perfect together?

  That was the last thought on his mind as she climaxed and he gave over as well. The lone thought that locked his knees and kept him standing as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through him.

  She clung to him, limp, sated. He laid his face aside hers, his breath tortured as he fought to regain sanity after the little death.

  And he had lost his sanity, he realized, as he slowly eased from her. When had he been this irresponsibly horny?

  “Dammit,” he hissed, muscles taut with anger.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice having a drowsy, sexy edge that was making him hard again.

  “We—” He pursed his lips and made a slicing motion with his hand. “I didn’t think to use protection.”

  Which brought a whole host of what-ifs into play, foremost being what if he got her pregnant? The answer was obvious. He would not sire a bastard. No way. They would have to marry and pronto.

  Her hands slid around his hot, tense nape. “It’s all right. I’m on the pill and I assure you I’m clean.”

  His breath left him in a whoosh, taking the tight coil of tension with it. She was protected. Not trying to trap him into marriage.

  “That,” he said, kissing her forehead, her nose, “is very good to know.”

  “I thought you would approve,” she whispered against his neck. “That was bloody awesome. In case you’re wondering, once won’t be enough.”

  He tipped his head back and laughed, something else that he never did with a woman after sex. Delanie joined him, free, relaxed.

  No strings. No commitments. Just pleasure. That was all this was. So why did he f
eel a moment’s annoyance? Why was he a bit disappointed to hear she’d had the foresight to protect herself against pregnancy?

  He shrugged off the damned doubts that had no place in this moment. “This time, we will make good use of the bed.”

  This time, on legs that thankfully didn’t shake, he carried her into the bedroom and proceeded to show her how much he enjoyed every delicious inch of her.

  Delanie stirred, stretching like a lazy kitten. A twinge of discomfort streaked across her hipbones and she winced, stilling until the moment passed.

  It had been this way every morning for the past three days, each day and night spent in sensual wonder, each new day better than the one before.

  Last night had certainly been no exception. She pinched her eyes shut, face heating to an uncomfortable warmth as each delicious minute flashed before her eyes.

  They had made love well into the wee hours of the morning, not pounding urgent coupling but a slow, deep coming together that touched something in her she wasn’t even aware of. Sometime in the early hours of the morning they’d finally fallen into an exhausted sleep.

  She’d never felt closer to him. Never been so close to giving up anything and everything for him.

  Yet Marco had left their bed before dawn. Perhaps he was on the terrace drinking coffee.

  Or, she thought as she slipped from the bed, he was in his office working.

  She would have enjoyed indulging in a hot bath but she needed to find Marco first. Talk to him. Gauge his mood.

  In moments she was dressed in jeans and a lightweight sweater, attire perfect for a day spent here at the house. She padded to the door, wincing again at the tenderness between her legs and the abrasive rub of her lace bra against her nipples.

  Her nerves tautened as she stepped into the kitchen, where the doors were thrown open to let in a gentle breeze. Her gaze took in the open area and the salon beyond. No sign of him.

  Then, distantly, she heard the low rumble of Marco’s voice drifting to her on the breeze. He was outside, speaking to someone in Italian.

  She strode to the door and paused, catching sight of him pacing the length of the terrace, his mobile phone pressed to his ear. Words flew from him like bullets. Though Delanie couldn’t keep up with the conversation, she sensed by his clipped tone that he was upset.

  “Okay,” Marco said, free hand fisted at his side. “Tell her I will be there in a few minutes.”

  Her stomach knotted as much from the tension in his voice as the fact he would leave the villa soon. So much for expecting an intimate morning together.

  But then the timing of such things was rarely left to the mistress, she supposed. He would come in. Tell her about his change of plans and she would see him when it was convenient for him. Not her.

  She crossed to the kitchen and splashed coffee in a cup, needing the caffeine jolt to her system. Though she’d intended to adopt a cosmopolitan demeanor regarding their affair, she simply couldn’t do it.

  It wasn’t even a hard admission to make. She’d known from the start that she couldn’t regard sex with Marco as a casual thing, especially if she stopped holding part of herself back. But there was no graceful way out now.

  Her shoulders bowed as she walked toward the door, a smile trembling on her lips as she stepped out onto the terrace. A very empty terrace. Empty garden. Empty pool area.

  She frowned. He hadn’t come back into the house. Had he zipped off in his red sports car without a goodbye? Without a word to her?

  That was simply unacceptable behavior! She set her cup of coffee down beside his half-drunk one and rounded the house, thinking she just might catch a glimpse of him peeling down the winding drive in his sleek red auto toward the “she” who needed him so much. But the Bugatti was right where Marco had parked it last night.

  Baffled, she retraced her steps to the terrace. Just as she was ready to turn toward the door, she caught a blinding flash of white moving in the hills above the house.

  She shielded her eyes and focused on the figure.

  Marco? Yes, the more she watched the more sure she was of it. He was taking the trail upward and would soon be out of sight. Who was he going to see? Whose call had the power to send him out like this on foot?

  A female neighbor in need perhaps? A convenient lover?

  Delanie fisted her hands, welcoming the swift jab of anger that finally prodded her feet to move. She was well onto the track winding into the hills before it struck her that the wisest course was to fob this off and leave him to whatever lady had snared his fancy.

  But curiosity was a cruel companion to jealousy and both were playing hell with her emotions right now. So she struck out after him, determined to find out where he’d gone in such a rush that he couldn’t even leave her a note.

  Staying on the well-maintained trail took her to a lovely clearing a good two kilometers above Marco’s house. The stands of cypress and perfect lines of lofty poplars kept this little area well secluded, the perfect place to secrete away a mistress.

  Her gaze took in the small farmstead. Instead of livestock, which she hadn’t expected to find anyway, her gaze lit on several dozen medium-sized lanky dogs lazing in a fenced enclosure.

  A woman with a dog kennel was the last thing she’d expected to find. How odd she’d never heard more than a few barks in all the time she’d been here.

  She looked toward the barn, which she guessed was the heart of the operation, and just caught sight of Marco going inside. Without thinking that she was now trespassing or at the least spying on her lover, she struck out toward the barn as well.

  Her heart was racing like the wind long before she stepped inside a small room furnished with a half dozen utility chairs and a counter that looked suspiciously like a reception area of sorts. She followed Marco’s voice into the adjacent room where he knelt beside a tan dog. A woman of modest years with a stern countenance stood behind him with a perplexed look on her face.

  “How long has she been like this?” Marco asked, brow furrowed as he ran a gentle hand over the dog’s sleek coat.

  “I found her this way this morning,” the woman said. “The knee is completely displaced. Surgery might give her full range of movement again but at her age …”

  Marco flung the woman a glacial look that made Delanie shiver. “Then operate. I have made it clear that Rifugio del Cuccia was built for the animals and that means prolonging their quality of life as long as it is humanly possible.”

  “Very well,” the woman said. “I will operate on her this afternoon.”

  The woman walked off but Marco remained crouched by the animal. He stroked the dog gently and crooned so softly Delanie had to strain to hear the soothing melody, so rich and warm she pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle a sigh.

  But the old greyhound responded, giving a weary wag of her tail. The dog lifted her head once to look at him before moaning and lying back down with a contented sigh.

  Delanie’s throat tightened and her eyes misted. And her heart … Oh, God, her heart flooded with warmth.

  The animal loved him and he was clearly protective of the dog. Yet she never recalled him talking of animals the entire time she had known him. Just another slice of Marco Vincienta that he kept hidden from the world. A very compassionate side that she’d never seen to this degree.

  She eased back toward the door, feeling very shallow for the earlier negative thoughts that had consumed her, compelling her to follow him. Feeling far too weak-kneed as well.

  What she wouldn’t give if he would show that much love to her!

  But he couldn’t. Or wouldn’t.

  She’d known from the start that leaving him would hurt. That she still loved him.

  But she hadn’t realized until this moment that walking away from this wonderful man would surely kill her.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “YOU don’t have to leave,” Marco said, still not looking up. “I’m not going to bite your head off for following me.”

  Sh
e grimaced. Another second and she would have been gone. Instead she scrambled for composure and a steady tone.

  “No, you’ll just sic the dogs on me,” she said, aiming for a tease.

  To her relief he smiled, a boyish grin that made her heart thump harder. “There’s not a vicious one in the kennel, cara.”

  Again, she saw a different side of Marco as she crouched on the floor in a kennel making light conversation. The tension that had bonded to her suddenly came unglued. She shivered at the naked freedom of losing the encumbrance, of allowing herself to simply relax around him again.

  An odd thing to admit after the intimacies they’d shared last night. She chafed her upper arms and glanced at her surroundings.

  Kennels side by side down the perimeter, separated from each other by solid walls, had pet doors that opened into the fenced yard. A few dogs dozed in their cages but none as listlessly as the greyhound sprawled at Marco’s feet.

  “I didn’t mean to intrude on a private moment,” she said.

  “You’re not. I should have invited you to come with me,” he said. “At the least, I should have told you why I had to rush off.”

  But he hadn’t. His thoughts had been on the dog he obviously cared for instead of the woman he’d romanced all night.

  Yet she couldn’t fault him.

  “It’s all right. I take it this place is yours,” she said.

  He gave a crisp nod. “I bought this old farm several years ago and refurbished it into the dog kennel you see it today.” His hand stilled on the listless greyhound, his smile tender. “Zena was one of our first guests.”

  “She’s special to you then.”

  “Yes, but not like you think.” He continued to pet the dog, seeming in no hurry to move or avoid her questions. “She was a champion, setting records with the amount of races she won in four years and deserves a luxurious retirement.”

  She shifted, her smile fading. “I wasn’t aware you were involved in dog-racing.”

  Dark, narrowed eyes drilled into her and a muscle jerked along his jaw. “I never have been, at least not as a proponent of the sport. Their less-than-humane practices to the animals sickens me. The dogs earn billions for their owners yet are treated abominably. That is part of the reason I built this rescue shelter.”