A Sicilian Seduction

by Michelle Reid

  Had it worked? Giancarlo was asking himself tensely as he turned to watch the lift doors open. Had he managed to keep her mind so totally focused on him all day that she would not be able to think of any other man?

  One look at her flushed, slightly guarded expression as the lift doors opened, and he had his answer.

  Dio—yes! he exclaimed on a silent hiss of triumph that made his heart vibrate. She was his, those darkened eyes were seeing no other man but him, thinking of no other man—wanting no other man.

  And this one wanted her with a craving that was threatening to take him over. She looked sensational. All fire and light and simmering senses, he expanded on a hot sense of masculine pleasure for the way those eyes were looking at him. Eyes that did things to him no other pair of eyes had ever done. The eyes, the hair, the wonderful skin, he listed. The body inside the sensually moulding fabric of her dress that brought vivid pictures to mind of what was going on unseen and did things to his libido that actually shocked him.

  And then there was the mouth, he came to finally. It was a mouth to revel in, lose himself in, a mouth he had acquired a hungry taste for and intended to taste over and over again very soon.

  In fact his driving impulse was to leap the gap between them and devour her right there and then in the lift on the way back upstairs. But there was also an overriding desire burning in him that simply wanted to enjoy watching her long legs bring her towards him.

  His, all his, he claimed possessively. And stepped smoothly forward to gallantly take hold of her hand. ‘Buona sera, signorina,’ he greeted softly. ‘Non è bello quel che è bello, ma è bello quel che piace…’

  Somewhere in the background the concierge was watching all of this with smiling indulgence. Neither of them seemed to notice. Giancarlo was too engrossed in what was happening to her eyes again, and Natalia was trying to come to terms with the way his voice in its native Italian had affected her. She felt hot and stripped and touched all over!

  ‘What did you say?’ she asked, wary in case she was responding this violently to some bland remark about the time!

  ‘Loosely translated?’ he asked. ‘Beauty is not for the one who is beautiful, but is beauty for the one who it pleases,’ he huskily supplied.

  She blushed; he smiled and caught her hand. ‘You could reply here that I am good to look upon also,’ he teasingly suggested.

  But she shook her head. ‘I’m not even going to try and compete with an Italian male speaking his own language,’ she refused, then she smiled too, ruefully. ‘You could have been telling me about the weather,’ she confessed. ‘It would still probably sound just as—sensual,’ was the only word she could come up with.

  The way his fingers moved around hers told her he’d liked her choice of word. ‘Let me assure you, then,’ he said, turning them towards the exit. ‘No Italian male worth his salt would talk about the weather to a beautiful woman. It would be seen as a crime, believe me…’

  Oh, she believed him all right. Didn’t they say that the Italian male came out of the womb knowing the art of seduction?

  ‘Where are we going?’ She changed the subject. And tried not to notice how his body was brushing lightly against her own or inhale the same clean scent that had been tormenting her all day.

  ‘Somewhere we will not be hovered over by an anxious compatriot,’ he said with a dry clip to his tone as he pulled open one of the plate-glass doors and politely stepped back so that she could precede him through it.

  He didn’t relinquish her hand though. ‘He was nice,’ she defended the proprietor of yesterday’s lunch. ‘And the food was nice too.’

  ‘I prefer to give my full attention to the woman I am with,’ he replied, walking her across the pavement to where his car sat squatting on double yellow lines.

  He opened the door, saw her inside and settled before walking around the long, low bonnet of the car to the driver’s side. And through it all, Natalia was acutely aware that the ordinary conversation and the polite way they were treating each other were all just a front to cover up what was really happening here.

  Giancarlo settled himself in the seat next to her, and she couldn’t resist watching him as he did what was necessary to set them in motion. The suit was black, silk sheened and so obviously stylish that she didn’t doubt for a second that it had begun life in the gifted hands of some famous Italian designer. In profile his face was even more attractive than it was full on—which surprised her when she thought about his less than perfect nose.

  He turned his head, caught the intent way she was looking at him. ‘What?’ he asked curiously.

  ‘Why didn’t you come up?’ The question came out as a low and husky quaver.

  His eyes grew dark. ‘You know why,’ he replied. ‘For the same reason I did not allow myself to do this, in the foyer.’ Then he leaned across and kissed her.

  It was the most beautiful moment she had ever experienced with him, nothing forced, no fighting—with herself or him—but a kiss conveying a promise she knew she would not attempt to resist when the moment finally came to her.

  Their tongues touched, just once, then he was drawing away again, his eyes warm on hers as he brought up his hand and gently rubbed his thumb pad over her still parted, slightly pulsing lips, once, twice, three times, then he kissed her again.

  ‘I prefer the taste of you to your lipstick,’ he murmured when he drew away a second time.

  After that she sat there while he drove, quietly coming to terms with the knowledge that something had just changed between them. She didn’t know what it was, she only knew that she liked it.

  He parked the car in a side street not far from his apartment, then took her in through a discreet door that led down into a basement club with low lighting and the kind of rhythmic blues music that kept pace with the throb of her pulse. They were shown to a table over in a corner with barely no more light than the candle in its centre where they ate seafood pasta from a plate they shared together, followed by chicken in a creamy sauce made in heaven.

  And they talked, softly—carefully at first until they learned to relax with each other a little, their faces shrouded by a darkness lit only by the candlelight but no less alluring, because the mood was like that. Maybe the wine he insisted she have helped, even though he thoughtfully diluted it with sparkling water.

  ‘I’m driving.’ He smiled when she showed surprise to see him watering down his wine too…

  But they both knew there was much more to it than that. He wanted her fully conscious and aware of everything they did tonight. He wanted no misunderstandings as to why she was going to allow him to make love to her. It was too essential to his plan that she came to him openly and willingly to place it in jeopardy by plying her with alcohol she had already admitted she didn’t have a head for.

  Then—hell, he thought. It was essential to him that she came to him clear-headed and knowingly!

  ‘Let’s dance,’ he said on impulse, drawing her to her feet before she could argue.

  He wanted to feel her close, run his hands over her body. He wanted to hold her into the cradle of his hips while they danced to something slow and easy, feel her moving against him, and just lose himself in the smoky promise in her eyes.

  And he wanted to feel the sweet sting of desire build and build until neither of them could stand it any longer, then relieve the tension in hours of mind-blowing passion that would meld her to him so completely that she would never want him to let go of her again.

  So he led her across the room to a tiny dance floor in front of the live blues band supplying the music, turned her into his arms and felt the instant tremor of electricity begin passing from her to him then back again.

  It told him enough—for now. On a sigh that conveyed his pleasure in having her close, he used a hand on her waist to bring her against him, then began moving them to the swaying pulse of the music, with the feel of her breath on his throat, and his hands stroking the silk-covered framework of the most desirable wo
man he had ever held in his arms…

  What made it all so much more sweetly tortuous was that she loved being this close to him. It was utterly intoxicating—more so than any mere glass of wine when the music seemed to throb to a beat she felt was being generated by the two of them rather than the live band on the podium.

  She could feel the need in him talking to the need in her. It was all so compelling, even the way she let her fingers glide from his breastplate to his shoulders was an act compelled by a force she had no control over.

  The action stretched her body, arched her back into closer contact with what was beginning to happen to him. Yet he didn’t attempt to ease her away, and they swayed like that for what seemed like for ever, until she couldn’t stand it any more and lifted her face up as he was lowering his to look at her.

  What she saw written there held the air trapped in her lungs. It was desire, pure and simple, hot and tight.

  ‘Let’s get out of here,’ he murmured, and even the rough-toned command had an arousing effect on her.

  ‘Yes,’ she answered. That was all, and she found herself being guided back to their table where he helped her into her jacket then walked her towards the exit, pausing only long enough to pay the bill.

  Outside it was dry but cold and she stood shivering while he unlocked the car and helped her inside. He drove them away in silence, and headed for his apartment in silence. The fact that she wasn’t voicing a protest told them both everything they needed to know.

  The car swooped down into the basement then into its reserved bay. The engine died, he didn’t look at her and she was glad because she didn’t think she had the courage to look at him.

  This kind of situation was so very new to her. She might not be a complete novice, but neither was she versed in the kind of artistry she suspected was required of sophisticated affairs.

  And that was exactly what this was going to be, she told herself firmly—a sophisticated affair into which both partners entered knowing the eventual outcome.

  A glorious time of loving, then the sad farewell.

  She could do it; she knew the rules even if she had never played by them before! And those were the rules she wanted to play by. She had no choice. She could not allow herself to ever hope there was another choice.

  He opened his door and climbed out. She did the same on the other side of the car. Then they walked together—yet oddly apart—into the waiting lift, and rode it all the way up to his apartment without either uttering a single word as to what was about to happen.

  Strange, Natalia decided, understanding her own need to stay quiet in case she said something that would show him just how nervous she was feeling about this. But his silence worried her, for surely a man with his experience knew how important it was to keep the mood alive?

  Yet he was standing there, frowning down at his feet as if something was bothering him but he didn’t know how to voice his concerns.

  Had he changed his mind? she wondered suddenly. Had the simple act of getting her to come here with him freely and willingly killed whatever it was that had been driving him to get her to this point?

  The lift stopped; the doors slid open. Neither of them moved. Then he looked up—directly into her wary eyes. ‘This is no game we are playing here, Natalia,’ he said very seriously.

  It made her frown because there hadn’t been a single moment since she’d met him that she’d thought any of this a game.

  ‘I am a very possessive man. If you stay with me now, you will belong to me. I will not tolerate anything less than your full commitment to me for as long as this thing lasts between us.’

  He was talking more than a one-night stand here—which was a relief because she hadn’t been sure, not when their feelings had been running so hot and fevered from the beginning.

  And ‘as long as this thing lasts’ suited her perfectly. Better than a one-night stand, but also better than a fear of something deeper developing. For that could never happen—could not be allowed to happen.

  ‘I understand,’ she said.

  Relief tautened the flesh across his chest muscles. But it did nothing for the silent war he was having with himself. One part of him wanted to just tell her to go, get out of here while she still had the chance to leave relatively unscathed.

  But another part of him was yelling at him not to be a bloody fool! Take what was on offer and let the future sort itself out!

  He didn’t understand himself, didn’t understand what had suddenly altered inside him from the moment he’d begun the drive home. He wanted her, for goodness’ sake! So, what was the problem?

  Inviting her to leave the lift in front of him, he watched her body move with that sensual grace he had been watching for days now with a tightness around his loins.

  Get yourself together, man! he told himself angrily. Then, ‘Natalia,’ he said.

  She stopped, then turned. His heart skipped a beat, then began pounding in his chest. She looked frighteningly uncertain all of a sudden. He didn’t blame her for feeling that way after the stupid performance he had just put on.

  And why had he done that? He no longer knew because he was looking at that sensational figure draped in the same colour as her eyes, and the heat that went whistling through him put his mind right back in focus.

  ‘The white,’ he drawled lazily, relaxing his face muscles into a more seductive expression.

  ‘White?’ she repeated blankly. Then she caught on and blushed.

  ‘The black was too provocative and the red was too—hot, so it has to be the white.’

  Refusing to answer him, she turned away and stalked off towards the sitting room with her cheeks still on fire.

  He was on fire again. He was even grinning as he paced after her. Without a word, he diverted into the kitchen, saw the champagne waiting in its bucket of melted ice, and the grin grew wider because he was perfectly happy again.

  Edward didn’t matter. Her feelings for Edward didn’t matter—if that was what had been bothering him so much back there…

  Natalia removed her jacket and draped it over one of the white leather chairs, then began pacing the sunken area with a tension that showed in her face.

  She shouldn’t be here with him. His strange attitude before had tugged a bit of sanity to the fore. It was wrong. It was dangerous. He belonged to the enemy camp. What happened if Edward ever found out? What would her being with Giancarlo Cardinale, of all men, do to him?

  She should leave, she told herself. Now, while she had the chance to do it without having to explain herself. He’d disappeared, she didn’t know where. She could just pick up her things and run.

  Then what? asked the voice of reason. What happens tomorrow—do you hide away in your little house so he can’t get you, and lose your job in the interim? How would you explain that away to Edward on his return without making Giancarlo look like the bad guy in all of this, when in actual fact it’s you who is being bad here?

  And—do you want him or don’t you want him? she then asked herself impatiently. For those are the only two questions which should really count. After all, you can’t go on for ever running your life to suit Edward’s feelings. Especially when Edward was not willing to run his life according to yours!

  So—do you want Giancarlo Cardinale, or don’t you want him?

  He appeared in the opening. He had done it again, was the first disturbing thing she thought. His jacket had gone, so had his tie, and the top two buttons on his shirt had been tugged undone. The wretched man had a habit of half undressing in her company that always managed to shatter her composure.

  Or what bit of composure she ever possessed around him, she wryly expanded, noticing that he was also carrying the bottle of champagne and two fluted glasses which acted as yet another trigger, flipping her mind like a coin from one face to another.

  Yes, I want this man, the new face said. Yes, I need this man! I can do this. I can love him and leave him when the time comes! I can—I can!

  CH
APTER SEVEN

  ‘HOLD that thought, whatever it is,’ Giancarlo murmured lazily as he came down the steps to join Natalia.

  He was smiling and relaxed, but the closer he came, the more tense she became, because, now it came right down to it, she didn’t think she could carry this through with the savoir-faire he was probably expecting.

  Maybe he sensed it, because there was a curious expression in his eyes as he came to stand beside her, and, although his attention was mainly involved in putting the two glasses down on the marble table so he could begin pouring champagne, he kept on sending her the odd glance, as if he couldn’t quite make his mind up what it was that made her tick inside.

  She wished she knew herself but sadly she didn’t, or she would know how she should be behaving. Was she supposed to indulge in some light conversation to bridge the gap between this moment and the one where they moved on to the bedroom? Or should she be making certain moves on him to encourage along that second stage?

  It didn’t really matter because neither suggestion was possible for her right now. She felt too out of her depth, too tongue-tied by too little experience and especially with a man like him.

  Picking up the two frothing glasses, he turned to hand one of them to her. She took it, eyes lowered now because that seemed the easiest way to get through these next few telling minutes.

  ‘Sip,’ he commanded.

  Obediently, she sipped while he watched with a new kind of stillness that brought the colour streaking into her cheeks. The champagne tingled on her tongue, then did the same all the way to her stomach.

  ‘Again,’ he said and received mute obedience a second time.

  He waited until she had made her second swallow, then his hand came to gently lift her chin—and he was no longer smiling. ‘Last chance, cara,’ he murmured quietly. ‘I must be sure that this is what you want.’