Ever so gently, he pushed, watching her face intently as she responded to his lovemaking with little sobs of delight and cries of disbelief that her body had such a capacity for pleasure.
“Harder, Alessandro!” she begged, clutching at him and forcing him down so she could feel the weight of him on her.
He was transfixed by her. He had no idea, until now, that she’d never done this before. He was her first lover. The knowledge made him desperate not to hurt her.
“More!” she cried, instinctively knowing he was holding back.
“Are you sure?” he asked tenderly.
“Yes!” she rasped.
The hunger in her voice inflamed him. She loved being loved by him. That was obvious. She was more beautiful than any woman he had ever known and she wanted him. The knowledge made him feel almost superhuman and he swelled inside her, immediately provoking a purr of satisfaction deep in her throat.
No woman, and he had known many, had ever responded like this. She was completely natural and unselfconscious and he knew he’d never be loved so well by anyone else.
With an almost animal growl, he gave in to his instincts. He thrust deeply and slowly, watching with satisfaction as she writhed beneath him, delighting in his power.
“I can see you’re enjoying this,” he whispered.
“More than anything!” she laughed, amazed that lovemaking could be so utterly, completely wonderful. That Alessandro was, as she had always suspected, a god.
“Bella!” he cried, as she smiled adoringly up at him.
His own body seemed magical to him, a source of unimaginable joy and pleasure for both of them, it was obvious. With rising passion, he was acutely aware of her growing ecstasy and, when she cried aloud as yet another ripple of bliss flooded her whole being, he gave in to his own overpowering need with a triumphant growl. They clung to each other as wave after wave after wave of heart-stopping sensations swamped them, their fingers entwined, limbs in a tangle, bodies bathed in each other’s sweat.
For what seemed an eternity, each clutched the other until their heart-beats slowed to a normal rate again, until the slowly diminishing wavelets of pleasure began to ebb.
“That was wonderful!” he rasped, his body exhausted, his mind afire with the memories of all the sensations she had provoked.
When Annabella did not answer, he looked down at her, where she was cradled in his arms. She was fast asleep, her breathing as relaxed as a child’s, a rapturous smile on her lips.
What had he done?, he asked himself. He’d never be free of his obsession for her now. How would he ever stand by and watch Umberto Esposito marry her after the night they’d had? How would he attend the church and allow him to slip his ring over her finger, then walk with her down the aisle and into the sunshine, sunshine that would last forever for the lucky man who was her husband? How would he survive the honeymoon night, when the fair-haired doctor was, perhaps for the first time, tasting the unearthly delights he’d just delighted in?
He sighed so deeply she stirred against him, calling his name sleepily and nestling her turned-up nose into the dark matt of hair that outlined his pectorals.
He’d have to go away. Or he would go mad, he was sure of it.
Alessandro didn’t have the heart to wake her. He lay naked against the warm leather of the seat, savouring every second of her deep sleep. Her hair lay like a shawl across his shoulder and over his back, her soft body moulded into his as naturally as a key fits a lock.
The bright dawn light, flooding into the car, made her stir and she gradually surfaced to consciousness, although she made no attempt to untwine her fingers from his nor to move away from his rock-like chest.
She half opened her limpid eyes and gazed up at him sleepily, then her eyes widened in disbelief when she realized where she was and with whom, simultaneously taking in the fact that they were both completely naked and that the man against whose body she was reclining was again aroused.
For a moment he read sheer panic in her eyes, then glad acceptance of their circumstances.
“I … I thought I’d been dreaming,” she began. “But, it was real, wasn’t it? It really was like being in heaven.”
“It must never happen again,” he told her gruffly, willing his betraying body to calm down.
“I think you want it to,” she said cheekily, sliding her hand down proprietorially.
“No,” he bit out, forcing her to ungrip her fingers. “I don’t want it. Not rationally. Last night was…” he stammered, desperately seeking the words with which to lie to her when the truth was burnt into his very being.
“Fabulous,” she supplied, her eyes full of tears.
“No. It was just a way of passing the time. And now we must get dressed and find our way to the nearest village so we can buy some petrol.”
“But last night you…” she stammered helplessly. He had already begun to dress, pulling on underwear, trousers, socks, from the jumble of clothes strewn everywhere.
He handed her her bra, wordlessly.
As she fastened it, she became angry. He had enjoyed last night. She was sure of it. The endearments he’d whispered during the intensity of their passion, the gentle kisses and licks, the lazy, loving way his tongue had caressed the whorls of her ear, the tenderest places of her body. And she’d given herself to him utterly, holding nothing back. How dare he toss all that back in her face!
“You stay. I’ll walk for the petrol,” she said, flinging open the car door and stepping outside, still only half dressed. “I want to be alone.”
“But you don’t know where you are,” he protested, not wanting to be parted from her, although he would never admit it.
“I think you’re the one who’s lost,” she retorted.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“I’m not letting you go alone,” he replied, throwing on his shirt but neglecting to button it.
She caught her breath at the sight of his flat, muscular torso, the dark chest hair that emphasized his strength. It was impossible for her not to recall in every perfect, minute detail what his body had only just finished doing to hers and the recollection sent a tremor of pleasure through her, causing her to blush under his scrutiny.
“Are you all right?” he asked gruffly. “I don’t want to have to carry you as well as the petrol on the way back to the Bentley.”
“Of course I’m all right,” she snapped. “But you won’t be if you don’t put on your shoes. For one thing, Tonia will kill you for ruining an expensive pair of silk socks. For another, I don’t want to have to carry you either, when you cut your foot on a rock.”
He stopped in his tracks and looked at her full in the face before saying, “Let’s not snipe at each other like this. It’s childish and I don’t believe either of us is feeling in the least bit childish right now. If you’ll kindly wait for me, I’ll get my shoes and we will find a service station together. Then we will drive to Casa dei Fiori and I will pack my belongings and leave. I think it’s best we don’t see each other again. Not for a while anyway.”
She gulped and bit her lower lip to prevent hot, angry, confused tears from spilling down her cheeks. Was it so dreadful last night?, she longed to scream at him, knowing only too well he would be lying if he denied how wonderful it had been.
“Why must you go?” she asked in a small, bewildered voice.
He stared at her. Was she stupid or merely insensitive? “How can you ask that?” he barked. “I’ve seen you and Umberto Esposito sharing tete a tete meals together at the villa – the villa that was until recently my home. I’ve seen you link your arm in his and smile up at him with your big green eyes fixed on his. And yet you are so duplicitious you fell into my arms at the slightest opportunity. I know now that you planned it all. Perhaps you even made sure the car had a half-empty tank so we would be stranded somewhere. You intended to seduce me so that the only honourable thing for me to do would be to leave my birthright and let you do what you will with it, unopposed. Well, you suc
ceeded, Annabella. Congratulations. I hope you will be very happy.”
“Al!” she sobbed, now not attempting to hide her distress. “It wasn’t like that at all! How can you believe such an awful thing of me? I’m not a schemer like Claudia Silvestro.”
“No? Yet you managed to dash crazily in front of my horse during the Palio, when I was in the lead. You are destroying the de Rocco name, second cousin, and living up to your own convict roots.”
“How dare you!” she flung at him. “How dare you speak like that to me! Do you know why my father’s grandfather was a convict? Because he stole bread to feed his starving children. Well, I’m proud to be descended from a man like that. I doubt you would care if your children were hungry. You are a heartless toad.”
“Let’s stop trading insults, shall we, and get on with finding petrol?” he said evenly, although she could see that a nerve in his jaw was hammering insistently.
Her anger evaporated as suddenly as it had flared and she nodded her agreement. It was impossible to be cross after a night such as they’d shared, no matter what he might profess to think about it. Her whole being was satiated with glorious, sweet memories of him. Was it because of this that the morning seemed even more wonderful than usual – the sky a pearly, golden-pink, the olive grove on one side of the road a flashing silver that rippled in the light breeze, the forest on the other side a dark emerald green in which the amethyst of wild cyclamen shone. Were the birds really singing more tunefully than ever and was the sun warmer today than on any other day?
Alessandro climbed back into the Bentley to retrieve the shoes that he had no recollection of flinging off. The mixed scents of leather and walnut in its luxurious interior had always reminded him of happy things – his great grandfather, joyous rides down to Fortezza Rosa with him, trips to Florence to see some of his favourite art shows or to enjoy the opera, holidays to Siena to spend time with Mario and his family. But now these perfumes were even more redolent of pleasure. A deep pleasure, the like of which he had never known and had never even suspected existed.
His sigh shuddered through his whole body as he told himself brutally that it would have been better to have never known such joy than to realize he would never experience it again.
He put on his shoes slowly, forcing himself to be calm and reasonable. Soon, he would leave Casa dei Fiori. The torment would be over, eventually, when he finally forgot her. But how many decades would it take? He had the sinking feeling that he would be an old, old man before the memories of last night began to fade.
Finally, he emerged from the car into the sunshine.
“Come on, then,” Annabella said, bossily. “Let’s go and get some petrol.”
By unspoken agreement, they walked down the winding lane rather than up it in the opposite direction. But even the perfection of the morning could not brighten their spirits and they trudged in silence, neither noticing the beautiful vistas that spread themselves out before them like unfurling, freshly-painted canvases. After about an hour, they did begin to see that the farmhouses and cottages seemed to be becoming more numerous, and they realized they were approaching a small village, its church spire rising above the oak trees.
“I need to eat first,” Alessandro growled, his tummy rumbling on cue.
“Me too,” Annabella agreed.
Both knew that their hunger was due to the previous night’s lovemaking, but neither wanted to acknowledge the fact. At the entrance to the village, there was a small roadhouse which advertised by means of a rusty, crooked sign, that it served coffee and panini, the delicious, crusty bread rolls which were eaten at any time of the day and filled with cured meats, cheeses and the salty tomatoes that tasted better in Tuscany than anywhere else.
“Come on,” he said, striding ahead.
The proprietor, an old, bent, balding man who was sweeping the steps leading into the roadhouse, greeted them in surprise and smiled broadly when Alessandro explained in Italian that they had broken down the previous evening and had had to spend the night in the car. The man openly appraised Annabella, looking her up and down as a connoisseur might examine a sculpture, and, winking at Alessandro said, under his breath, “I should be so lucky!”
“We need food and petrol,” Alessandro insisted, ignoring the man’s remark.
“Si, si,” he muttered. “Venite, come, come.”
Before long, they were seated at the one tiny formica table in the road house, a steaming pot of espresso between them and a plate piled high with rolls. A brimming jerry can was at Alessandro’s feet.
“Now that we’ve ordered breakfast, I’m not all that hungry,” Annabella confessed. With her second cousin opposite her, she felt too brimful of emotions and sensations to be calm enough to eat.
“We’ll have to at least try to eat some of this,” Alessandro urged. “It would be rude not to.”
“You’re right,” Annabella agreed, chastened. “Besides, do you realize this is the first time we have sat down for a meal together since I arrived in Italy?”
It was Alessandro’s turn to feel repentant. Whatever he felt about last night, he had to admit it was miraculous. That Annabella was miraculous. He had taken blissful pleasure in her body yet his cavalier attitude to her had ensured he hadn’t made her feel in the least welcome at Casa dei Fiori. Although, he remembered sourly, Annabella herself had turned down Signora Ferri’s invitation to eat with them after the Palio, preferring the company of the young doctor.
His conflicting thoughts chased each other around and around in his mind and were interrupted by her voice asking, “Coffee?”
He nodded and watched as she poured, taking advantage of her eyes being on the percolator to study her beautiful face. He knew he’d never grow tired of looking at it and that even in very old age it would still be lovely, thanks to the high, wide cheekbones, the proud chin, the huge eyes set wide apart over the lovable, girlish upturned nose.
Feeling his eyes on her, she carefully set down the pot and, turning her gaze on him, smiled. Before he could remember all the reasons why he did not want his second cousin in Italy, let alone in Tuscany, he smiled back. Then, his guarded frown returned and they finished the meal in a frosty silence.
They hardly spoke on the walk back to the car nor even during the drive to Casa dei Fiori, which they reached at almost lunch time. As Annabella had expected, Tonia flew out to greet them on hearing the thrum of the Bentley’s big engine. But there was no look of relief on her face. Rather, she was wringing her apron in anguish.
“It’s Eduardo!” she cried, dashing out to the car and shouting her news before Alessandro had had time to turn off the engine. “He won’t eat and says he wants to come home. They’re very worried about him.”
Alessandro leapt out of the driver’s seat and ran towards her, putting his hands on her shoulders in an effort to calm her.
“Tell me slowly what has happened,” he said resignedly.
“Eduardo wants his great-grandfather. He can’t understand why he hasn’t been to see him for so long,” Tonia began. “So he says he won’t eat until the old man comes to fetch him. And he has let nothing pass his lips for three whole days!”
“Tonia,” Annabella said, concerned for the person whose name was Eduardo although she had no idea who he was. She didn’t know anybody else who could claim Alessandro senior as their great-grandfather. “Who is Eduardo?”
Tonia looked, stricken, up at Alessandro, her eyebrows raised questioningly.
“He is my brother,” Alessandro told his relation, his voice low, accepting.
“Your brother?” Annabella was amazed. Nobody, not even her mother, had ever mentioned a brother.
Alessandro nodded. “He was born with slight brain damage and he lived here until our parents were killed. Then, it was impossible to care for him as he needed to be cared for, with special exercises and therapy. Our great grandfather and Tonia tried very hard for two years, but he seemed to be going backwards. So the old man travelled to Florence to
find a good home where he could live and receive the nursing he required. That was just before you and your parents came to Casa dei Fiori when you were a child. Do you remember the salamander? It was Eduardo’s, but he wasn’t allowed to keep it in the convent where he’s lived ever since, so I took it and looked after it until it died of old age.”
“But why is his name never mentioned?” demanded Annabella, outraged. “He’s still your brother, no matter how ill he is.”
Alessandro nodded, crestfallen. “I know. But, with my parents dying and Eduardo having to leave as a result, there was so much sadness and, yes, I admit it, guilt, that it always seemed easier never to bring him up. Even our great-grandfather felt like that. Eduardo looks very like our mother and the old man could barely look at him when she was killed. Eduardo himself moped around like a whipped puppy, looking for her and calling her name every day. He could never understand that she was buried up on the hill, that she wouldn’t be there in the morning to help him with his hot chocolate.”
His voice was harsh and Annabella could see the unshed tears that only pride and willpower preventing spilling down those tanned, lean cheeks.
“I understand,” she whispered, moved. “But he can come back now. I can care for him.”
“You don’t understand how ill he is,” Alessandro protested.
“He’ll be worse if he does not eat,” she countered. “Let’s go and get him and bring him back, even for a week. Please, Alessandro.”
“I think Bella’s right, Alessandro,” Tonia urged. “He’s your responsibility now, as the only male de Rocco.” She squared her shoulders determinedly as she added, “You must leave now.”
This time it was Alessandro’s eyebrows which were raised – at the housekeeper’s audacity. But Tonia had always treated him like a child, he remembered, and loved him as if he were hers. He hadn’t the heart to reprimand her, nor to disobey her. Eduardo was painfully thin the last time he visited him, just before Annabella’s arrival on the scene. It didn’t bear thinking about to imagine him with even less flesh on his big bones.
Loving Venus (Sally-Ann Jones Sexy Romance) Page 12
