by Annie West
Life had taught her that happiness was rare. She determined to seize what she wanted now.
Raising her other hand, she bracketed his skull with her fingers and pulled herself up to plant a kiss on his mouth. His next words were muffled as she slipped her tongue between his lips and kissed him as he’d taught her.
Instantly desire became marrow-deep need. He was big and warm and luscious. She cupped his jaw. The texture of his roughened skin against her sensitive palms sent a jolt of fire to her womb. He tasted…perfect, like dark, bitter chocolate, rich and strong.
Alissa shifted, straddling him as she stretched high. She delved deeper, tongue stroking, till finally, with a rippling shudder of reaction that vibrated through them both, Dario came alive. His tongue tangled with hers, his head angled to access her mouth better. His hand slipped under the stretchy cotton of her nightshirt to mould bare buttocks with long fingers.
His other hand tugged down those silky boxer shorts and Alissa gasped as his erection rose under her. She squirmed and his hand tightened, holding her still as he deepened their kiss. Now his other hand covered her breast through the cotton, stroking, squeezing, then flicking across her nipple.
She groaned and gave herself up to the assault of pleasure. Energy roared through her, spiking with each caress of his hands and mouth. Yet she was filled with a weighted laxness that made her putty in his hands.
It wasn’t enough. She needed him. With a supreme effort she managed to co-ordinate her fingers enough to fasten on her nightshirt and drag it up. He grabbed the hem from her and ripped it over her head.
Alissa wanted to look down at him then. To see the desire in his crystal-grey eyes, to see his hunger for her.
Yet…would his need match hers? Or would it be tainted with pity? Pity he’d felt as she’d told him about her past and her grandfather’s abuse. Pity for the desperation she couldn’t conceal. He wanted her, but surely not with the soul-deep yearning she felt.
Coward that she was, she kept her eyes shut, telling herself it was only physical release she sought. Knowing it for a lie, but unable to face him. Not yet.
‘Alissa.’ The hoarse whisper, the light touch of his fingers at her breasts, almost cracked her resolve. She wanted again that connection, as if they shared their very souls, watching each other as they gave themselves.
But this was enough. It had to be.
With a whimper of pleasure she pressed close, absorbing his sultry heat, kissing him desperately. He matched her lips to lips, tongue to tongue, breath for breath. Her lungs were ready to burst, her blood pounding a desperate rhythm, when he lifted her up away from him. She made to protest but stopped as she felt the blunt, velvety nub of his arousal. She moved back and was rewarded by the feel of him sliding, long and powerful, against her.
‘Dario.’ It was a choked gasp, part plea, part wonder.
Strong hands steadied her, holding her safe as her legs trembled. She planted her hands on his shoulders, gripping tight as the tremor became a shudder of anticipation that shook her whole frame.
‘Come to me, Alissa.’ His voice was a throaty purr. ‘Come to me now.’ He urged her higher. Willingly she rose, felt him there, where she most needed him, then let his gentle guiding pressure bring her to meet him.
Her lips parted in a gasp of ecstasy as they joined. Even the first time he hadn’t filled her so completely. His power and sensuality stole her breath.
He moved and a cry of delight broke from her. Dario clasped her hips, urging her to move. Lights blazed behind her closed lids and spasms of greedy pleasure rippled through her.
‘Please, Dario.’ Her fingers curled into his flesh but he didn’t stop. His movements grew stronger, sharper, coiling the tension to breaking point till with a single smooth thrust he flung her into ecstasy.
Rivers of molten delight filled her, starbursts of sensation as she pulsed in his arms, completely lost to all the world but him. He surged up, higher than she’d thought possible, and flooded her with his warmth. The instant of mutual pleasure grew and expanded as they shared ecstasy.
Finally, shaking, he drew her down, wrapped his arms round her and held her against his juddering heart.
His lips moved against her hair, nuzzling her ear and a belated blast of sensation burst through her. She stiffened then collapsed, boneless.
Dario scooped her close, astounded by the perfection of what they’d shared. Sex had never been this good. Something about this woman was different—beyond his experience.
Alissa had turned to him. Even after what he’d done to her, taken her virginity to satisfy his lust, misjudged her in the most appalling way. That she should invite him so boldly was a wonder. He’d been hard-pressed to hold back long enough to give her pleasure in return.
Was it just stress, the need for comfort, that prompted her to seduce him? Or desire, strong as his own?
He remembered how she’d kept her eyes shut, as if she couldn’t bear to look at him, even as he pleasured her. Regret was a slow-turning stab of pain low in his belly.
Had she simply used him for the physical release he could provide? He couldn’t blame her if she had.
Yet he wanted more than a frantic coupling in the dark. He wanted her again, and, he realised with a certainty that stunned him, he wanted more than her body.
He wanted all of her.
This was utterly new territory. It defied every certainty he’d constructed for his life and he had no idea where it would lead.
Alissa shifted and his body stirred. That ripple of awareness so soon after satiation was unprecedented. But everything about her was different from previous experience.
This possessiveness was a new phenomenon. He’d never shared his lovers but nor had he felt such a primal sense of ownership. Was it because she’d come to him a virgin? He slid his hands over her curves, hauling her close.
The knowledge he was her first, that all she knew of physical intimacy she’d learned from him, fired his blood. He felt like a conqueror who’d won the best prize.
He wanted…His hand paused in its proprietorial sweep over her hip and thigh. Unseeing, he stared into the cool light of dawn as he realised what they’d just done.
Unprotected sex.
It was unthinkable. Unbelievable. He’d never in his life so lost control that he’d forgotten a condom. Never.
His jaw clenched and his groin tightened as he relived the pleasure of that release, hot and vital with no barrier between them. Pleasure such as he’d never known.
There was no danger of disease, but there was the risk of pregnancy. He waited for the inevitable sense of entrapment to surface.
Alissa sighed and nuzzled his neck. All he felt was satisfaction that he might have planted his seed in her.
What the hell was happening to him?
Three hours later Dario had showered, shaved and dressed while Alissa slept. He should tackle the mountain of work awaiting him, yet he didn’t leave. He sat in an armchair and pretended to read a report.
His gaze strayed to the woman curled in the centre of the bed. The curve of her bare shoulder and the spill of long, bright hair fascinated him, drawing his attention from fiscal details. Her face, so beautiful in repose, looked relaxed for the first time in weeks, though smudges of tiredness were visible beneath her eyes.
He watched her wake and stifled rising tension. How would she react? He’d given up all pretence of indifference. Somehow, without him understanding how, she’d become important to him. He needed her. At least till this…fascination wore off, as it eventually would.
‘Hello, Dario.’ His body responded to the huskiness of her just-awake voice. ‘I didn’t expect to see you here.’
Typically, she’d tackled the issue of his presence head-on. His lips quirked appreciatively. It wasn’t just her body he admired.
‘Good morning, Alissa. You slept well?’ He saw her cheeks flush. Remembering her high colour as she’d climaxed only a couple of hours ago, he felt his body harden.
‘Yes, thanks. About last night…’
He had the impression she chose her words with care. Tension dragged at his sinews, stiffening his muscles. He put the report aside and crossed his ankles, projecting an air of relaxed attention.
‘Yes?’ He watched her sit up, drawing the sheet over her breasts. The sight of her, tousled, pink-cheeked and naked beneath the fine linen, was disconcertingly provocative. He gripped the arms of the chair tight.
‘Thank you,’ she murmured, her blush growing rosier as her chin tipped higher. ‘I’m grateful.’
Grateful! She was grateful to him for making love to her? Unable to remain seated, he sprang to his feet. Of all the responses he’d imagined, gratitude wasn’t one he’d considered. He shoved his hands in his pockets and strode across to stare out the window.
‘There’s no need for gratitude,’ he said through gritted teeth. It had been his pleasure. All pleasure.
He didn’t want thanks as if he’d done a trifling favour. He wanted her to need him as he needed her.
‘Of course there is.’ Her sincerity made him turn. Her eyes blazed and she held his gaze without blinking. ‘I want you to know I’ll keep my part of the bargain. I’ll be your proper wife, as we agreed.’
Blue fire flashed in her eyes and he knew what she meant by ‘proper’ wife. His senses clamoured, knowing he’d have her just as he’d desired these long weeks.
But, searching her face, he discerned no excitement. She looked like a woman talking only business. No sign of passion. The realisation cut the ground from under him. Disappointment welled like blood from torn skin. Yet he wouldn’t refuse her offer.
‘Thank you, moglie mia,’ he said, summoning restraint. He had to go before he did something stupid, such as let her see how much he needed her. ‘I appreciate your reassurance. And now, forgive me but I have business to attend to.’
Unable to resist, he drew her hand to his lips, pressing an open-mouthed kiss on her palm. There was fierce satisfaction at the sound of her indrawn breath and the sight of her pulse racing at her wrist.
She was as vulnerable to this passion as he.
Yet gratitude had prompted her promise to share his bed. That shredded his pride.
Surely a flame that flared so bright must burn itself out soon. This was a temporary aberration. In time his reaction to her would dull. Then he could find a docile Sicilian wife to bear his children. To restore the Parisi family in fact as well as name—those goals had sustained him for so long.
That was what he wanted, the perfect life with no untidy emotions to trap the unwary.
Unless Alissa was already pregnant.
A thrill of possessive pleasure sides wiped him. Till he realised how slim was the chance she’d conceived.
He forced himself to drop her hand.
He ignored the whisper of conscience that warned he acted out of pride as much as need. That for the first time he desired a woman more than she desired him.
The notion was unsettling.
No, this was a matter of mutual passion. He would make amends for the wrongs he’d done her. He’d care for her as she deserved. And, he vowed, he’d give her more pleasure than she’d ever known until the time came to part.
Alissa stared at the closed door and her heart plummeted. When he’d kissed her hand with barely leashed passion heat had risen again between them. Hope had risen too. Hope that he felt that spark of connection.
But when he’d raised his head and looked at her with eyes like winter he’d doused her hope. Was the magic she’d felt with him one-sided? Had he felt nothing more than physical release? The sort of release he’d had with countless women?
His expression when he’d thrust aside her gratitude had been forbidding. But he’d saved Donna’s life and last night he’d offered Alissa the comfort of his embrace, no strings attached. He’d listened, he’d held her close and she’d felt as if nothing could hurt her again. She’d never felt so cared-for in all her life.
Had he no idea how special that was? How incredible and fragile was that tender bud of trust she felt? Apparently not. He’d refused to acknowledge her thanks.
Perhaps her gamble was sheer folly. After all, what did she know of intimacy between a man and a woman? Only what she’d learned with Dario. Maybe what seemed extraordinary to her was nothing of the sort.
Yet her feelings were so strong they couldn’t be denied. She’d turned to him this morning wanting comfort and that sense of belonging she’d discovered in his arms. His tender response was everything she’d wished for.
She’d made up her mind to continue their bargain, hoping that by the end of their allotted time she’d discover what these raw new feelings meant. Perhaps even discover that Dario felt them too. Despite his ruthless streak, she knew there was another side to him. A tender, caring, compassionate side.
She remembered how he’d pulsed within her and how, as she realised they’d forgotten a condom, there’d been no panic. Just acceptance and a thrill of pleasure.
Had she taken leave of her senses? Wanting to stay with the domineering man who’d disrupted her life?
It was crazy. It was asking for disappointment. Yet Alissa could no more keep her distance from Dario than she could ignore him.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
IT WAS early evening. The square of the tiny Sicilian village was packed when Dario gave in to the clamorous roar of the crowd and got to his feet.
Alissa watched him on his way to the gaily decorated dais where the mayor had already given a speech. Dario paused here and there at the tables to exchange greetings.
Her husband was the centre of attention. It wasn’t simply his superb looks, or the lithe grace of his ultra-fit body that held everyone’s gaze; an aura of power crackled around him like static electricity. Beaming faces, wrinkled and smooth, old and young, followed his progress.
Alissa’s Italian had improved in the months since their return from the States. She followed the mayor’s speech, littered with references to Dario’s vision in rejuvenating traditional local industries like olive oil and ceramics production in what had recently been a depressed area. How he’d endowed schools, backed cottage industries and offered work. To these people Dario was a hero. Nor was that new. Whenever she accompanied him to community events she was overwhelmed by the affection in which he was held.
Who was the real Dario Parisi? A civic hero? Absolutely. Plus he had the absolute devotion of his staff. They genuinely respected him.
He’d moved heaven and earth to save her sister and ensure she and David were financially comfortable. He’d been under no obligation to do that, but he had. Because he felt guilty for his actions? Perhaps that was why he grew stiff and formal whenever she attempted to thank him.
He loved children, shedding his formidable reserve whenever Maria and Anna were around, becoming tender, fun, the sort of man who made a woman dream of the future.
How did she reconcile his generosity with the coldly conniving man so obsessed with recovering his family estates? Who had, if the story was true, caused the death of a competitor? That man seemed no longer to exist. She saw few traces of him.
Alissa still didn’t understand what motivated him.
Sometimes she felt she was almost close enough to know him. When he made sweet love to her through the night, or just held her in his arms when her period started. He hadn’t known how desperately she’d craved his tenderness then. It was crazy, her disappointment when she had learned she wasn’t pregnant. She should have been thankful there’d be no baby from their marriage. Yet she’d felt bereft.
Even then he hadn’t chosen to sleep elsewhere. As if it wasn’t just sex he wanted. As if he too wanted more.
Did he feel that strong link between them?
Some days she was sure he did. Days when, to the amazement of his staff, he took a holiday from his all-consuming work and spent the day with her. They swam, explored local sights, or lay in bed and made love.
Yet whenever it seemed they were on the brink of an understanding, he withdrew. There was a barricade around him that no one breached. Except perhaps Caterina Bruzzone, the old woman who was as close to Dario as family.
Alissa’s gaze lingered on Dario, masculine perfection in a dark suit, holding the crowd in the palm of his hand.
The man who, she finally admitted, held her happiness in that broad palm too.
‘He is a fine man, Signora Parisi.’ A middle-aged stranger leaned close, nodding approvingly. ‘We are lucky in your husband’s patronage.’
Blindly she smiled and nodded, tears blurring her vision. She was too emotional these days. With the destruction of the defences she’d used to protect herself from her grandfather, and later, the man who’d bought her in marriage, she had no reserves left.
She watched Dario, stepping from the podium to rousing applause. Her heart swelled. With pride? Longing? Love?
She pressed her lips together to prevent a gasp. No, not love. Gratitude for saving Donna. And affection. After all, Dario had introduced her to wondrous physical passion. They said a woman kept a soft spot for her first lover.
She wasn’t so foolish as to fall for her husband. That would be disaster. He didn’t want love, would be horrified if his convenient wife became sentimentally attached.
‘It was a good day when he returned,’ the stranger continued. ‘We were doomed with old Cipriani in charge.’
Yanked out of her thoughts, Alissa turned and stared.
‘Old Cipriani?’ Bianca’s father? The one driven to suicide. ‘What was wrong with him?’
The stranger shrugged. ‘Best not to speak ill of the dead.’ Then he turned to shake hands with Dario, who’d forged his way back through the throng.
‘Are you ready to go now, tesoro?’ The rare endearment took her by surprise. Dario leaned close, the warmth of his smile encompassing her.
‘The celebration’s not over.’ She struggled to control her racing pulse and look unruffled.
He shrugged, spreading his palms wide in that habitual gesture which once had so annoyed her. Now she enjoyed the wry curl of laughter on his gorgeous mouth. ‘The party will go into the night. We can stay if you wish.’ He bent nearer. ‘Or we could go home and celebrate privately.’
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