What he’d taken as ingratitude had been nothing more than inbuilt self-preservation borne by necessity.
His own childhood had been markedly different. Although not affluent by any stretch of the imagination, what his parents lacked in riches, they made up for in love and affection. He had always known he was a wanted and valued member of the Capello family. If he fell, his mother had been there to pick him up and kiss his wound better. If he had been troubled, his father had been there with a wise word and a supportive arm.
Pippa had never had that. From the tender age of seven, her home life had been emotionally barren. And had he not seen it? Had he not felt some responsibility for her welfare because he sensed it missing from her father? He had just never tried to analyze it before.
For the first time he understood how she could have gone so spectacularly off the rails. It didn’t excuse her behavior, but it certainly explained it.
And now he felt like the biggest jerk in the world.
Talk about kicking someone when they were down.
The only defense he could offer in mitigation was self-loathing at how close he had come to losing control. For those few minutes, his desire had burned like a fever, possessing him.
No matter how hard he tried to justify his actions, he knew his excuses were hollow.
For the first time, she had dropped her guard. She had confided things to him—things that had eaten into him—and he had allowed his desire for her to overwhelm him. Yes, she wanted him too. The desire was mutual, of that he had not a single doubt. He also knew that if he hadn’t caught her at such a vulnerable moment, neither of them would have allowed anything to happen.
His physical response to her had stunned him. Frightened him. And so he had lashed out.
It was too late to undo what had been done. The genie was out of the bottle.
All he knew for certain was that trying to contain his need for her was akin to trying to stop an active volcano from erupting.
He needed to see her.
He…
He just needed to see her. Period.
As soon as he shut the front door, he stopped short. The acoustics in the music room had been designed to pipe into the living quarters. He could hear a piano solo chime through the system.
Marco strained his ears to hear more clearly. He owned many classical recordings but this beautiful tune was unfamiliar. Heart in throat, his feet carried him toward the haunting, melancholy sound.
He pushed the door open and there she was, her slender form swaying in time to the gentle tempo, her white-blond hair swinging over her shoulders.
Dumbstruck, he gripped the doorframe to steady himself.
He could hardly credit what he was seeing, what he was hearing.
Her words echoed in his head. I’m okay. Nothing special.
He’d had no idea, no idea that the headstrong, rebellious Pippa was capable of producing such exquisite music that reached right inside and pierced his heart.
Chapter Nine
The second Joycy had left the house to visit her sister, Pippa had swooped into the music room and lifted the lid on the Steinway. She’d needed release, needed to purge the despair racking her.
She wished she could feel her old friend, anger. For many years anger had been her default setting, but now the void was filling with an emotion too painful to contemplate.
In all the time she had been living under the same roof as Marco, she had tried desperately to keep a lid on her feelings, often clinging to the sides with the tips of her fingernails but somehow still holding on.
But now the lid had lifted and the genie had burst free.
She’d sat on the bench and ran her fingers lovingly over the cold keys. Her wrist was now fully healed. After a few moments’ hesitation she’d begun to play. Her strokes were tentative at first but soon she had forgotten where she was, letting the music drive out the emotions that were choking her heart: the love, the hate, the fear, everything.
She was so lost in the music flowing out of her fingers that at first she didn’t understand why the hairs on the back of her neck had risen.
She turned her head and her heart stilled when she saw Marco gazing at her from the doorway, his mouth still but his throat moving, his hand running through his hair.
Her fingers froze. She swallowed, trapped by eyes she no longer recognized, eyes that reflected the same loss and longing she knew mirrored in her own.
Her pulse began to race as he stalked toward her.
She closed her eyes.
His large bronzed hand enveloped her fingers, followed by a strong, warm body pressing against her back, sending her into meltdown. His voice hoarse, he breathed into her ear, “Please, cara, continue.”
Sensation careered up her spine. She shook her head, her throat catching. “I can’t,” she whispered. At that moment all her senses were fixed solely on him, the rest of the world blurred.
“You play like an angel sent from heaven.”
The tenderness and sincerity in his voice reached inside and touched her. When she opened her eyes, she found him searching her face with a hungry intensity that turned her blood into molten lava.
His hands clamped onto her shoulders, the warmth of his fingers burning straight through her skin.
Twisting her round so she faced him, he knelt and pulled her legs around his waist, and lifted her effortlessly. She made no protest. All she could do was gaze into those burning eyes and drink in the desire flooding out of them.
She wanted him. Lord help her, but she wanted him desperately.
She clung to him, her ankles hooked together around his waist, arms locked around his neck, trusting him as he moved her to the back of the piano and sat her atop as if she weighed no more than a bag of sugar. Using her arms to support herself, she leaned back, her sensitized chest thrust forward, breathing heavily as she drank in his virility. Lord, but he was beautiful.
He caught her head in his hands and ran his fingers through her silky hair, his touch sending shards of energy racing through her blood.
His mouth was inches from her, his breath warm on her face. Moisture flooded her mouth and she swallowed. A voice in her head was screaming at her to stop this right now but it was a soundless scream, its noise drowned out by the thundering beat of her heart.
“You’re in my blood,” he murmured, nuzzling her cheek with his nose. “I can’t fight it anymore. I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you.”
With those words she was lost.
Fight? Why was she even trying to fight something so powerful?
He was so close, his scent and touch dousing her senses. If she twisted her face a little, she would be able to taste him, that rich, masculine taste that still lingered on her tongue. The world was spinning away from her, leaving only Marco…
The first press of his lips on hers turned her bones into fondue. There was nothing tentative about it. He scorched her mouth with an almost brutal passion that Pippa, already taut with need, reacted to immediately.
All thoughts filtered away as she surrendered to the burning desire hurtling through her veins, the world shrinking until it was just the two of them. She looped an arm around his neck and pulled him closer, kissing him back with a savagery that sprang from deep within her. The skirt of her dress had bunched up high across her thighs, and when she parted them he stepped between them and pressed himself against her. She pressed back and groaned as the first physical evidence of his desire sent licks of sensation deep into her pelvis.
He pulled his mouth away and cupped her face, his deep eyes hooded and penetrating, his nostrils quivering hungrily. “If this isn’t what you want then tell me now, because if we start I don’t think I will be able to stop.”
Urgent desire rippled in his rich voice, making her belly contract and her lips tremble. She was at the cusp of something which if started could not be extinguished. There was no going back. Her body was screaming for fulfillment, for the sensual pleasure it had always in
stinctively known only Marco could provide.
In response, she reached a hand around to his buttocks and pulled him even closer, her eyes flickering as his arousal, strained and confined, pressed harder against her most intimate area, sending a massive rush of pleasure shooting through her. She kissed his neck, tasting the saltiness of his hot skin. “You know I want you. I’ve always wanted you.”
He speared her hair and pulled it back, gazing into her dilated eyes while tracing a finger down her delicate neck. “God, but you are beautiful.”
The spark ignited. Their mouths came together, hunger driving them into frenzy as their lips meshed. He ran a large hand down her back, leaving a trail of sensation that sizzled. His fingers slipped under her top, feeling the smoothness of her sensitized skin. When the tips of his fingers brushed her breasts, she reacted with a jolt, her nipples hardening as she writhed at his touch.
He tugged at the straps of her top and pulled the fabric down past her shoulders. Caught up in the fever of his kisses, she hardly noticed when he removed the tiny scrap of white cotton covering her breasts.
He broke away, drinking her in with his eyes, his chest heaving. “You’re perfect.”
“So are you.” Did that hoarse voice really belong to her?
Groaning, he dipped his head and took one full breast into his mouth.
The sensations were like nothing she had ever experienced. She arched into him, giving herself to the pleasure of his magical touch.
But she needed to feel more, needed to feel the warmth of his bare skin beneath her fingers. She tugged at his shirt and then, too impatient to undo the buttons, ripped them apart. He shrugged off the sleeves and threw it on the floor.
In broad daylight he was everything she had thought he would be and more, his skin darkly bronzed, a thick covering of silky black hair swirling around his chest and tapering down to the V where his jeans met the hardness of his stomach. Magnificent, she thought dimly before she pressed her mouth against his chest and inhaled deeply. He gave a powerful shudder and a surge of intoxicating power flooded through her. She wanted to touch him everywhere. Still planting kisses over his chest and nuzzling into the silky hair covering it, her fingers ran the length of his torso and down to the line of his trousers.
Impatient to release him, she pulled at his belt. He groaned and clasped her hands to assist. Together they unzipped his trousers and loosened them at the waist. She hooked her toes into the top of them and tugged them along with his undershorts down to his ankles. He stepped out of them, naked, his erection huge and looming in front of her.
Marco growled and pulled her to him for another, deeply erotic kiss. When he grabbed the base of her skirt and ran a hand up her leg, bunching the flimsy material up to her waist, she was certain she was going to combust. The ache between her thighs was now so deep that nothing but total possession would suffice. Their lips were still meshed together, fueling the flames further. She wanted—no, needed—to feel him inside her. When his hand slipped between her legs, she ground against him, helpless against the wantonness his touch provoked.
He slipped a finger inside her warmth. “You feel like silk,” he whispered raggedly into her ear, dropping kisses down her earlobe and neck as he moved the palm of his hand against her sensitive bud, his fingers slipping in and out of the sticky tightness. She shifted and curved in response, the need to be possessed stronger than any force nature could throw. That he felt it too, that he was sharing this fever, heightened the sensations. But she wanted more. She wanted to feel him inside her like she had never wanted anything before in her life. She grabbed his chin and kissed him with a frenzied urgency. “Take me,” she demanded.
He growled and nipped at her bottom lip. With one savage move he pulled at her white knickers and ripped them off, discarding them on the floor with the rest of their strewn clothing before placing a hand beneath her bottom and raising her thighs.
“I want you so badly you’re driving me insane,” he groaned, raining more kisses down her neck as he positioned his erection at the welcoming folds of her opening. With one sure thrust he was inside her.
The feel of him filling her, stretching her, becoming part of her, was almost too much, the pleasure too heightened for her to bear. For a long moment, they stood still, fused together.
He pulled her hair back and gazed at her with wonder.
His eyes were dark pools of desire. Her pelvic muscles clenched tightly around him as she began to drown in them.
“Make love to me,” she whispered, running a hand down his smooth, warm back. Who could have known the simple touch of skin could prove so intoxicating?
He brought his lips back down and kissed her with breath-taking possessiveness. He withdrew almost fully before slowly, inch by glorious inch, he moved back into her velvety warmth.
She clung to him, unable to believe the sensations riding through her. Never in her wildest dreams had she believed sex—making love—could feel like this, that she was capable of such wanton responses.
“Make love to me,” she repeated, her teeth tugging at his bottom lip, her voice filling with urgency. She wanted more, needed more.
At her words Marco emitted a ragged groan and moved with more desperation, bucking into her frantically.
The pleasure became so intense it felt as if she was having an out-of-body experience. Flesh upon flesh, earthy, sensual and oh so very erotic. She dragged her teeth across his chest, nipping at the hot flesh, needing the taste of him on her tongue, craving to crawl into his skin and be one with him.
She could feel him nearing his peak, could sense he was barely holding on. And then there were no more thoughts.
The pressure and intensity in her singing blood built to a crescendo. Her neck arched as the most intense pleasure rippled out from her core and sent her flying up and over the rainbow.
Almost simultaneously, he emitted a long, drawn-out groan before slumping into her, breathing raggedly into her hair.
Slowly, the colorful stars sparkling behind her eyes began to clear. Desperately, she tried to hold on to the magic, keeping her eyes closed and savoring this wholly new and delicious feeling permeating her entire being.
Reality came back into sharp focus when he withdrew, leaving a chill where his warmth had been pressed against her.
Meeting his gaze sent a further chill running down her spine. His eyes were empty.
…
Marco donned his briefs and trousers, unable to tear his eyes away from her.
Pippa still sat upon the piano, her eyes huge with a suspicious wariness, her cheeks flushing under his scrutiny. She pulled her skirt down slightly to give herself a little dignity and crossed her arms over her breasts. She was stunning, her lips red and swollen, her face flushed, her eyes as dark as the deepest blue ocean.
A spark of fire now flashed in those stunning eyes and she held his gaze with rising defiance. “Don’t you dare tell me that was a mistake.”
Suddenly, he could no longer bear to look. Retrieving her top, he handed it to her then concentrated on shrugging his arms into his shirt, trying to ignore her as she pulled the top on over her head and smoothed it down over her belly, trying not to notice the way her legs dangled until she crossed her shapely ankles together.
His stomach clenched.
The scent of their sex surrounded him.
“You’re regretting it already, aren’t you?” she accused when he had still not responded to her ridiculous statement.
Regrets? Mistake? Those words did not even begin to cover the tumult of emotions raging through him.
He had driven back to the house feeling as if a magnet were strapped to his chest, pulling him to her. It had never been his intention to make love to her. Not consciously.
He had known the chemistry between them was strong, that the spark between them had the potential to combust, but never had he imagined that pulling away from her would leave him feeling so dismally gray.
This was all wrong.
> They were all wrong.
But, dear God, it felt so right.
All he knew for certain was at that moment he wanted to scoop her into his arms, carry her up to his bedroom, and make love to her all over again, in a bed where he could worship her soft, beautiful body properly.
But he could not. He would not.
He tensed, his fingers freezing at the place where the buttons of his shirt should be, the buttons that were ripped away in the heat of passion. “My God, we didn’t use any protection.” He shook his head in self-recrimination. How could he have been so careless? He always, always used protection.
“Relax,” she muttered. “I’ve been on the pill for years to regulate my periods.”
“The pill can only protect against pregnancy.”
“Oh.” She froze. “You’re worried about disease.”
“With good reason.”
“Why’s that, then?” she said, her chin tipping up in challenge. “Do you make it a habit not to use condoms? Because I can assure you I do not.”
“I’m supposed to take your word on that?”
“Just like I’m supposed to take yours,” she pointed out. “And if you’re going to insult me again, the least you can do is have the courtesy of looking at me while you do so.”
Reluctantly, he met unhappy but unwavering eyes.
Dear God, she had felt so good.
He must not forget that beauty was only skin deep.
Pippa was a siren, playing to his soul, playing to capture it and then destroy it.
He closed his eyes. “It was not my intention to hurt you. I lost control and for that I apologize.”
“Excuse me, buster, but I think you’ll find we both lost control. The only difference is I’m not the one making excuses for it. We’re both adults. What happened between us was inevitable—it has been since the day I arrived here.”
Buster?
He raked a hand through his hair, trying to think of the right words to explain everything that was simmering within him.
She was right. It had been inevitable since the moment he had stood before her at the airport parking lot and been consumed with a hunger that refused to be sated. “All I’m saying is that nothing can come of this. My position hasn’t changed. There is no future for you and me.”
Tempted by Trouble Page 9
