by BETH KERY
“Will it be ready for tomorrow?”
“If Vanni has his say about it,” Mrs. Denis said with a smile before she poured some tea for Emma. “And he does, so that means the race will go on.”
When she’d finished a light breakfast, Vanni was still on the phone, so she went upstairs to shower. She was sitting on a stool and applying some lotion to her legs, when a brisk rap sounded on the door. Vanni stepped into the room, looking both casual and chic in a pair of dark blue shorts and a white short-sleeved shirt with a single dark blue stripe across his powerful chest. His somber expression made her freeze.
“Is the damage to the course bad?” she asked.
“It isn’t good,” he admitted. “But it’ll be fixed in time. There are crews there now working on it. We’ll stop by and inspect it on the way back from Niki’s. Are you almost ready to go?” he asked, checking his sports watch.
“Yes. I just need to dress.” His gaze flicked down over her when she stood. She wasn’t wearing anything but a towel. His mouth hardened slightly and he started to leave the bathroom. “Vanni?” she called out abruptly. “Is everything . . . okay? Are you all right?”
He nodded once, unsmilingly. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
Then she was staring at the back of the door.
Chapter Thirty-three
During the drive to Nice in a convertible Montand sports car, Vanni pointed out highlights of the area and gave her a general idea of points on the racing circuit. Still, Emma recognized as they left the car in a lot at a private boating club and walked toward the sea, the things she’d said about Cristina out on the dock that morning continued to simmer inside him. No one could fault his manners, but she felt his withdrawal. She wanted to apologize for upsetting him, but didn’t quite know how, given his reserve. Besides, she wasn’t sorry she’d spoken up. It’d needed to be said. She was just regretful of his reaction and worried about him.
Niki had a small motorboat waiting for them at a dock at the club. Already there were Simon and Estelle Fournier, whom she’d met last night at dinner, in addition to three other people. One was an attractive American racer named Joe Hill that she’d met briefly last night at the Hôtel Le Maj. The other two were a couple—a stunning dark-haired woman named Vitoria Franco and her husband—also a racecar driver—Miguel. The couple was from Brazil, and seemed friendly enough, although Emma could have done without Vitoria’s sharp, assessing glance and tiny, knowing smile when she shook Vanni’s hand. Vitoria had been sunbathing on the dock while they waited for Emma and Vanni’s arrival and had greeted them with sublime nonchalance even though the bikini she wore was so tiny, she might as well have been naked. Fortunately, the reserve and preoccupation Vanni had displayed all morning was not just for Emma. He was cool but polite in both the voluptuous Vitoria’s greeting as well as Estelle’s warm kisses and lingering hand on his arm as she queried him about the crash that morning.
Emma had learned last night that Estelle and Simon were on the racing committee. When they first got into the motorboat, the drivers, Simon, Estelle, and Vanni all talked about the accident and the extent of the damage, Vanni filling in details in regard to repairs. As they exited the harbor, Vanni pointed out Niki’s awaiting yacht to Emma. She just stared in incredulity at the approaching one-hundred-foot-long, many-tiered behemoth. Did one get that degree of wealth from being one of the best racecar drivers in the world? she wondered as they began to disembark a moment later. I don’t think so, she thought as Niki greeted them, looking every bit the prince of his small floating kingdom despite the fact that he was wearing only a pair of khaki-colored swim shorts, flip-flops, a deep tan, and a flashing smile. She thought it because of that hard-to-define grace he possessed—the ease of an aristocrat—an elusive quality that Vanni also seemed to embody without conscious thought. There was a confidence that came from money, and there was one that came from power, and there was perhaps another, deeper assuredness that ran in the blood. That was the quality she sensed in both Vanni and Niki, but had also recognized in Cristina without previously putting it into words.
Niki led them to a flight of stairs on the yacht, looking over his shoulder and talking to Vanni the whole time about the wreck he’d witnessed that morning during practice trials. Emma hardly listened to him. She was distracted partially because she was busy gaping at the lush interiors they passed as they rose up the yacht—a sumptuous living room on one level, an indoor saloon on the next—but mostly because Vanni had taken her hand into his. It’d been the first time he’d touched her since their interrupted, torrid clench on the dock that morning. Had he noticed how awed—and anxious—she was in these decadently luxurious surroundings in the company of all these beautiful people? She thought that might be the case. Either way, she was thankful for his touch.
They rose at last onto the upper deck that was open to the sky. It was enormous, featuring a sun-bleached wood-planked floor, multiple cushioned lounging chairs and deep sofas, a bar and dining table. A Jacuzzi and shower were located on one end, while on the other the bridge was located, within a glass compartment. Emma could see that someone captained the yacht, a convenience for Niki, she supposed, who was hosting the party and wouldn’t have to think about piloting. Niki led them over to a group of lounging people.
“Emma, you met George last night and this is Cici, her friend, and my cousin, Ari,” Niki said.
Emma blinked the brilliant sun out of her eyes as she greeted the two women and the man, who were lounging on cushioned chairs, their feet on ottomans. “Hello,” she said, her voice a little high because of surprise. Both women sunbathed topless, and they were disgustingly gorgeous. The man was yet another specimen of Mediterranean beauty. Ari was drying off a broad, naked chest with a towel. She thought she saw a trace of Niki’s charm in his smoky dark eyes and smile as he greeted Vanni familiarly and Emma with warmth. As for the females, it was the strangest feeling for her to witness such an opulent display of nudity while standing next to Vanni, knowing he was looking at the same thing. No one seemed to think twice of it. Georgia stood when Niki put out his arm for her. Emma was very relieved when she shrugged on a beach tunic and walked with them under the shade of the canopy.
“We’ve got food and plenty to drink, so get whatever you like,” Niki said generally to everyone, but looked specifically at Emma as he took her hand, leading her over to the bar. She smiled her thanks at his warmth. She appreciated his trying to make her comfortable. She was a fish out of water, and everyone must see it. Georgia, too, took pains to draw her into conversation as the bartender served ice-cold champagne and martinis to the newcomers. Emma doubted she could ever feel any sense of true friendship toward the statuesque blonde—her cool aloofness seemed impenetrable—but Emma appreciated her efforts.
The small party took their seats on the open deck, sipped their drinks, and ate delicious, light appetizers. The captain headed the yacht out to sea, keeping the coastline in their view. When they sat, Vanni urged Emma to a sofa that was shaded. He must have realized that despite the sunscreen she’d applied earlier, she’d burn like bacon on a griddle all too soon in the glittering Mediterranean sun. She was as white as a ghost compared to the group of sun-bronzed gods and goddesses. Even Joe Hill, who was fair-skinned by nature, had a good base tan.
Maybe it was the relaxing movement of the boat and sea beneath them or sitting next to Vanni on a couch while his long leg brushed against her thigh—or possibly it was the two glasses of champagne she drank—but she started to feel a little more comfortable. By the time they’d all finished eating, she had drawn up her feet onto the couch and sat leaning against Vanni, his arm draped loosely around her. He’d taken off his shirt, but thankfully the women had kept on their beach wraps while they ate. She felt a little drowsy from the sun and the champagne, and pressed her check against Vanni’s warmed, hard chest. She looked up when he pushed his fingers into her hair and rubbed her scalp. It felt delicious.
“Sleepy?” he asked quietly while the others talked.
She smiled and shook her head.
“Come over to the rail and I’ll show you some of the coast?”
She nodded, wishing he wasn’t wearing sunglasses so she could better judge his mood. He helped her up and they stepped away from the chatting party, hand in hand. They stood at the railing a good distance from the others while Vanni pointed out the picturesque mountainside town of Villefranche-sur-Mer, where a good part of the road circuit meandered. Niki brought them both glasses of champagne after a while, but didn’t stay. Vanni’s arm came around her as they sipped champagne, and the stunning landscape of Monte Carlo began to unfold. She glanced up at his stark profile as he stared toward shore and wondered if he was finally starting to calm after what had happened on the dock this morning.
She was so lulled by Vanni’s company that when they returned to the gathering, she’d nearly forgotten her discomfort. It made a lunging comeback, however, when she saw that all of the women in their party—Estelle, Vitoria, Georgia, and Cici—were all lolling about lazily in the sunshine, topless once again, their golden-brown, smooth skin gleaming in the hot sun. Niki looked to have fallen asleep in a lounger near Georgia, although it was hard to tell since he wore sunglasses. Simon, Miguel, and Joe were talking quietly. Vanni guided her over to a cushioned double chaise lounge that was near the rail and several feet away from the others.
“Did you put on sunblock this morning?” Vanni asked her.
“After my shower,” she replied.
He nodded and sat, patting the cushion next to him.
Self-consciously, she whipped the tunic she wore over her head. She felt like it was flashing a neon sign in everyone’s eyes, she was so pale. Certainly Miguel and Ari glanced around. Wearing just her bikini, she came down next to Vanni. She noticed the handsome Ari smiling at her from across the deck. Determined not to show her awkwardness, she lay back and closed her eyes, pretending to soak up the sun with as much regal insouciance as the rest of the party.
Chapter Thirty-four
Emma said she’d put some on sunblock, but he grew concerned looking at her flawless, smooth skin as she lay next to him with her eyes closed. Even with his sunglasses on, she looked vulnerable to the ruthless Mediterranean sun. He could even see a few delicate blue veins just below the pale skin at her exposed hip bone. And the skin on the plump upper swells of her breasts—the skin that rarely saw sunlight—looked especially pale and creamy. He thought of how she’d looked this morning on the dock while he’d held her beautiful breasts in his greedy, dark hands, the mouthwatering pink nipples poking between his pinching fingers.
In a flash, all of his anguish, all of his lust reared up like a striking snake. His cock stiffened. He jerked his gaze off of her and stood. He knew Niki kept an assortment of sunscreens and oils in a cabinet in the bar area. It wouldn’t hurt to put more on her. He didn’t want to see her burned and uncomfortable, but it didn’t seem fair to insist she stay in the shade on such a gorgeous day. Emma opened her eyes and shielded them with her hand when he returned and lay back next to her.
“I’m worried about you,” he murmured, holding up the bottle of sunblock.
“Are you?” she asked softly. He glanced into her face while in the process of pouring some of the white lotion into his hand. “That’s funny, I thought I should be worried about you.”
He reached, rubbing the lotion onto a smooth, sun-warmed thigh. He found himself staring at the small, red triangle of cloth covering her mound. “I’m fine,” he muttered.
“Really?”
“Do you think I’m going to burn?” he asked dryly, glancing up into her face. He looked away when he saw her slight annoyance and worry at his flippant reply. As he rubbed lotion into her other thigh, he glanced up and saw Ari Carboni watching him with fixed intent as he massaged lotion into Emma’s hip. Lecher.
But what could Vanni expect, really? Ari carried the Carboni hot blood. He was a relation to Cristina, after all.
He gritted his teeth at the reminder of the things Emma had said that morning, doing his best to ignore his swelling erection. It annoyed him, but he understood perfectly why the men were either glancing their way or staring, in Ari’s case. Emma looked more naked than the other women, somehow. There was an illicit quality to her bikini-clad, lithe, curvaceous body, like the jolt that went through a man when he accidentally caught the sight of a woman undressing. The other women were beautiful, yes, but there was no mystery to their gilded skin and exposed breasts, no challenge. Whereas Emma’s innocent beauty held some secret, some sexual enigma he couldn’t quite grasp with words.
He knew firsthand what it was like to thirst for the answer, though, aching to find it in her deep, warm depths.
He glanced up and saw Ari’s rigid expression as Vanni cupped her waist and rubbed lotion along the sweet swell of her hips that he prized so much . . . that his cock adored.
“Vanni?” Emma asked, her voice just above a whisper.
He glanced up at her face. She blinked in surprise. He realized he’d been snarling a warning at Ari.
“Yes?” he asked, forcing his face into impassivity.
She bit her lip in a gesture he recognized as an anxious one. “Should I take off my top?” she whispered.
He blanched, his gaze unerringly lowering to her breasts. Her nipples were erect against the relatively insubstantial fabric of the bra. Was she growing as aroused as he was, touching her? Or did she enjoy Ari’s attention on her? The thought scalded him. He poured more lotion onto his hand and began to apply it to her arms.
“Do you want to?” he asked evenly, rubbing up and down on both her upper arms at once, the rhythmic movement striking him as sexual. Everything was striking him as sexual. His cock swelled tighter. Damn it. What was wrong with him? The hot summer air surrounding him suddenly felt thick and electrical. He couldn’t get enough oxygen in his lungs.
“I don’t know. I just feel . . . so American.”
“You are American,” he replied drolly.
“I’ve never equated the word with feeling like a Puritan until now,” she said under her breath.
“I like your Americanness just fine,” he said stiffly, rubbing some lotion on her chest, “but if you want to go topless, do it. As you see, it’s the custom.”
He didn’t know what was wrong with him. Why didn’t he just tell her to take off the top? He’d sunbathed with girlfriends going topless hundreds of times while he was in the South of France, never thinking more of it than Niki did about Georgia.
Emma was no different.
The emotion he’d been tamping down since this morning threatened to swell higher. He gritted his teeth. She was different. He liked everything about her. He adored her freshness and sexy sweetness and otherworldly wisdom. So how come he wanted to punish her for those things she’d said this morning? How come he wanted to hurt her a little for hurting him? He knew she hadn’t meant to cause him distress. He knew she was kinder and just . . . better . . . than anyone he’d known since he was an adult.
Ever known.
But he still wanted to see her undone, just a tad anxious . . . not to mention writhing with excitement, whimpering in pleasure.
His fingertips brushed across the tops of her firm, thrusting breasts. He felt the pulse in his cock. In the distance, he noticed Niki get up and ask everyone if they wanted refreshers on their drinks. He didn’t look around even when his friend called, “Van? Emma?” Vaguely he was aware of Emma shaking her head. He stared fixedly at the pales mounds of her breasts as he rubbed them with his fingertip. Her nipples were growing more and more erect beneath the fabric. He glanced up to her face and saw that her lips were parted as she stared down at him. She was so exquisite.
Too exquisite. She was a threat, somehow.
He reached up abruptly and untied the strings at her neck. “I
t’s not a big deal,” he lied. He lowered the fabric, exposing her creamy, firm breasts and tight nipples. The vision taunted him. They looked so delicate . . . so naked. In the periphery of his vision, he noticed Ari start slightly and place his hands on the arm of the lounger as if in preparation to spring up. Every muscle in Vanni’s body tensed.
“Fuck,” he muttered savagely, jerking the strings back up around her neck and tying them off hard. He’d been willing to expose her to assure himself it didn’t matter . . . to convince himself she didn’t matter.
“Vanni?” Emma asked, clearly bewildered by his actions. He flung himself off the lounger and grabbed her hand. She rose and he headed with a single-minded purpose toward the stairs. He ignored the others when they looked around. They didn’t exist. Only Emma did, and this strange, boiling need inside him that was about to erupt.
* * *
Emma’s gaze skimmed across the others’ startled faces as Vanni pulled her to the staircase. Estelle whipped off her sunglasses and followed their progress across the deck with a livid scowl. Her husband, however, looked pleased.
“Van?” Niki stood at the bottom of the stairs, holding a bag of ice. He looked from Emma’s dazed expression to Vanni’s rigid, furious one. “Oh,” he said, blinking in amazement. “Downstairs, first door on the right.”
Heat flooded her cheeks when without another word, Vanni pulled her down the next level of stairs. Emma looked back at Niki.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
A strange expression broke over Niki’s handsome face. He looked pleased. “Don’t be,” he said emphatically.
Vanni marched across the living room, a man on a mission. Her heart was about to pop out of her chest, it was thundering so fast against her breastbone when he pulled her into a room and slammed the door shut behind her. The snick of the lock in combination with his burning gaze sounded ominous . . . thrilling.
