by Dana Delamar
“Is that what you are?”
“Of course.” He reached up and wrapped his fingers around the hand she’d placed on his chest.
A lump formed in her throat. Nick was the kind of man Leandro would never be. She pushed past him, hurrying toward the hedge maze. It hadn’t rained in Blevio, but a light wind blew through her damp hair. She was being foolish. What was she going to do? Sit outside and cry all night?
At first she thought he hadn’t followed her, but she soon heard footsteps behind her, and he called her name. She kept moving, hoping he couldn’t see her that well in the darkness. But the moon provided a lot more light than she wished, and he caught up to her. “There you are,” he said as he came up beside her.
“Have you gone deaf? I want to be alone.”
“Something’s happened. Did something go wrong at work?”
She shook her head. “Work was fine. Parts of it.”
“And parts of it weren’t.” When she didn’t say anything, he continued. “But that’s not why you’re upset.”
She ducked around the cypresses that bordered the maze. Why wouldn’t he just leave her alone?
He was silent for a while, following her into the maze, then he said, “As far as I know, there are two things you desperately care about: getting that job, and not marrying Leandro. So if it’s not the job, I’m guessing something happened with him.”
She whirled around to face him and threw her hands in the air. “Yes! Are you happy now?”
“No, I’m not. Not when you’re upset like this.”
Nick’s voice was gentle, his hands in his pockets, his entire stance nonthreatening. Everything that Leandro was not. The lump in her throat came back, and hot tears pricked at her eyes, then they spilled onto her cheeks. She wiped at them and tried to take a deep breath, but she couldn’t. All she could do was stand there and try not to sob out loud.
He stepped forward, cupping her cheek and stroking it with his thumb. His hand felt so warm on her chilled skin. The tears came harder, and he pulled her into an embrace, murmuring soft words of comfort. After a while, he said, “Why don’t you tell me about it.”
She did, and all the while he stroked her hair, his heat soaking into her, his touch soothing her. When she finished, he kissed her temple. “You won’t have to marry that bastard.”
“You say that like it’s a fact.”
“It is.”
She laughed. “I wish I shared your certainty.” What if her plan didn’t work? What then?
“Trust me. It won’t happen.”
Something in her gut tingled. “How do you know?”
He shrugged. “I just do.”
She stared at him. He seemed so confident, so sure of himself. Perhaps too sure of himself. Too bad she couldn’t believe him. Too bad she couldn’t trust him to know the future.
Too bad he wasn’t the man she was supposed to marry.
Leandro’s visit yesterday plagued Delfina to the point where she couldn’t concentrate on any of the tasks Jacopo had assigned her. Any minute now, Gio was supposed to tell Leandro what had happened in the shed. What if Gio told him today, and he confronted Delfina alone after work again? What if he didn’t believe the story? What if he wanted proof? Nick didn’t remember a thing, and if a doctor examined her, it’d be obvious she was lying.
And then she’d be trapped.
She had to seduce Nick in truth. She had to. It was the only way to ensure her plan would work. But when would she have the opportunity? Since the guest cottage was bugged, getting Nick alone somewhere outdoors was the only option, and though it was sunny today and warm, it would be dark and chilly by the time she got off work.
Ironic. The job she’d wanted so badly was now standing in her way. She couldn’t possibly go home sick so early in her employment. Delfina sighed and let her shoulders slump. She’d just have to put off any hope of seducing Nick until the weekend. She’d call Gio, tell her to wait until Sunday. Though that was cutting it awfully close; Leandro would certainly send out the engagement party invitations by Monday at the latest.
Dio mio! She’d forgotten all about her parents. If Leandro sent the invitations and then broke the engagement because of her infidelity, he’d be sure to tell everyone why. She knew him; he was that sort. Mamma and Papà would be humiliated.
She couldn’t call Gio; she couldn’t put it off any longer. She had to seduce Nick today, and she didn’t have a moment to lose. But how was she going to get off work without getting fired?
“What’s wrong, cara?” Jacopo asked.
She straightened up with a guilty start. She hadn’t sorted the dresses in the storeroom, hadn’t prepared the fall catalogue mailing, hadn’t sewn up the half-finished pant-suit prototype yet. “Everything’s fine.”
His hazel eyes fixed on hers. “Does this have something to do with that handsome but scary fiancé you told me nothing about?”
Heat crawled up her neck and into her cheeks. “I’m sorry I put you in a spot last night.”
“Lucky for you, I pay attention. You stiffened like a scared cat when he showed up.” He leaned his elbows on her desk. “How about you tell me the gory details while we tackle the storeroom?”
She shook her head. “That’s my job. I can’t waste your time on that.”
He smiled. “Cara, a juicy story is never a waste of time.” He stepped back and held out his hand. “Come.”
She followed him to the storeroom, where they started organizing the mass of dresses they’d received from the vendors who had replicated the designs. Jacopo handed her a dress to place on her rack. “Spill.”
“It’s way too personal.”
He pretended to frown at her, and when that didn’t work, he put a hand on her shoulder. “Think of me as a priest. Not a word of this will ever pass my lips.” When she dropped her eyes to the floor, he added, “Confession is good for the soul, you know.”
She chuckled. “And when was the last time you confessed?”
He squeezed her shoulder. “Cara, I am a responsible person, and therefore morally obligated to stay away from church. My sins would set the confessional on fire.”
Delfina laughed. Jacopo was a man of the world; perhaps he could help her with her dilemma. “All right, I’ll tell you.” As they sorted the dresses by design and color, she told him everything that had happened at the party, including her pathetic attempt to seduce Nick, the plan she’d hastily hatched with Gio, and her worries about the plan’s possible failure. Jacopo took it all in silently, though he did raise a brow a few times and gave her an open jaw when she told him what had happened in the garden shed.
When she finished, he took a gorgeous cream dress with silver accents and held it up to her, as if fitting her for it. “What are you doing?” she asked.
“Picking out your wedding dress. You don’t strike me as a conventional bride, so you shouldn’t have a conventional dress.”
She gave him a withering stare. “Jacopo, this isn’t helping.”
He hung the dress up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. “You’ve dug yourself a huge hole, cara. There’s only one way out of it that I see.”
“Which is?” Maybe he had a better idea than hers.
“You’ve got to seduce your Nick. For real this time.”
She let her shoulders slump. “I know. But when? Gio’s going to tell Leandro any minute now, and I won’t have a chance until the weekend, which is four days away.”
“Call her and tell her to wait.”
“I can’t.” She pointed out the timing problem, which he grasped immediately. “So now what do I do?”
He pressed a hand against her forehead. “You seem feverish.”
She smiled. “I can’t get away with that.” She paused, giving him a hopeful look. “Can I?”
“Signor Morelli is terrified of the flu. He had it last year, and he was sick for weeks. But he also has a terrible fear of needles—ironic, no?—so he won’t get vaccinated. I think if I tell hi
m you’re not feeling well, there will be no problem.” He tapped the end of her nose with a finger. “Wait here, look sick, and I’ll be right back.”
She finished the sorting, her stomach in knots. If Jacopo couldn’t convince Signor Morelli to let her go early today, she’d just have to call Gio and take her chances, but the idea of giving Leandro that much power to rub her family’s name in the mud sent acid bubbling up her throat. She wanted to vomit. Papà would never forgive her. Maybe Mamma too.
What was taking Jacopo so long?
She heard a rustle behind her and was relieved to see him. “What’d he say?”
“Go home. He doesn’t want you back until you’re well.” He studied her face. “You really are pale, you know.”
She rubbed her stomach. “I can take the mailing home with me and do it from there.”
Jacopo smiled. “Enzo will appreciate your dedication.” He helped her carry the things she’d need out to her car, then sent her off.
Delfina made the drive in record time. It was around one in the afternoon, the sun high overhead, the sky clear and blue, not a trace of yesterday’s clouds.
Parking her car in the large garage behind the house, she headed toward the rear terrace, where Nick was reading the newspaper, his face screwed up in concentration as he poured over the Italian words, occasionally consulting the dictionary beside him.
He looked up as she approached and gave her a smile that warmed her heart and made her stomach flutter. “You’re home early. Everything all right?” he asked, setting the paper aside.
“I thought I was getting sick, but I’m feeling better now. In fact, I’m quite hungry. Have you eaten?”
He studied her for a moment, then shook his head. “It’s gorgeous today, maybe the last good day we’ll get this year. Want to make it a picnic?”
She smiled. He was reading her thoughts, making this easy, so far. “I’ve got just the spot.”
They put together a basket of food and wine and headed up the hill to her favorite place, the olive grove, its neat rows of silver green beckoning to her, as always.
She ducked under branches still laden with fruit, Nick following behind with the basket. Crouched over, she headed down the row nearest to the hedge that outlined the grove, then plopped herself onto the thick grass. She’d chosen the darkest corner of the grove, the one concealed on two sides by thick hedges. It was the place she sought whenever she wanted to be alone, and the place guaranteed to give them the most possible privacy.
Nick spread out the tablecloth they’d brought, then set down the basket and started laying out the food, while her stomach clenched up again. Was she really going to be able to do this? She had to. He opened the bottle of wine and filled their glasses, and she took hers, gulping half of it down while he eyed her oddly. “Why are you staring at me like that?” she asked.
“Something’s wrong with you. Did Leandro show up again?”
“No.” She looked away, her heart beating fast. “Can’t we just forget about him for a bit?”
“I’d like to. But can you?”
His gentle voice undid her. She couldn’t use him this way, could she? He didn’t deserve it. She started to rise, but he snagged her wrist in an iron grip.
“Don’t go, Delfi. Talk to me.”
She opened her mouth to say something, but no words would come. Instead a sob came out, and then she was crying. Again. Cristo, she was acting like a child.
He stroked her shoulder. “Don’t worry about Leandro. We’ll figure something out.”
She let herself collapse flat on her back. She wanted to confess, to tell Nick everything. To tell him the truth. But she couldn’t force the words out. Instead, she let him think the best of her. “Maybe.” She wiped her tears away and breathed in deeply to calm herself.
“We will.” He eased himself down next to her, propping himself up on one elbow, then placed a hand on her belly and splayed his fingers wide. She was overly aware of that hand, how warm he was, how large, next to her. The silence between them lengthened, eased, and aside from their breathing, all she heard was the trilling of birds and the clicking and whirring and buzzing of insects in the olive grove.
After a while, his fingers moved, making circles and patterns on her belly. Her mind traveled back to the night in the garden shed, how he’d touched her then, and she felt herself loosening up, going wet between the legs.
Rolling forward, he angled his body over hers, his mouth hovering inches above her own. His eyes, in this light the color of aged copper, a deep smoky green, searched hers, a question in them. Unable to stop herself, she brushed the dark brown hair off his forehead. He smiled, a grin both sweet and devilish, and she found herself returning it. That damn Lucchesi charm. Nick had it in spades, just like his father. His index finger traced her lips, making them tingle, making her want his kiss. Making her want everything he could do to her.
Without warning, he slid a hand under the base of her skull, drawing her up to him, their lips finally meeting in a kiss so tender, so sweet, Delfina could feel the tears about to start again. They couldn’t do this. She shouldn’t let it happen, not under false pretenses. She should tell him.
But she didn’t want to stop. Not ever.
If she just let it happen, would it really be her fault? He wanted this too, he was the one kissing her. If he started it, it didn’t count. Right?
His tongue darted out, flicking along her lips, making her want to open to him. Soon they were locked in a kiss she could drown in. A thrill shot through her, arrowing straight to her sex.
With a soft moan, she slid her arms around his shoulders, feeling the hard muscles under the fabric of his shirt, her fingers finding the short hairs at the nape of his neck. She pulled him to her, greedy for his kiss, his touch. When his mouth traveled to her neck, she let out a sigh, the sensation of his tongue, his lips against her sensitive skin making her think the most naughty thoughts. She wanted his mouth on her breasts, between her legs. She wanted—
No! She pushed against his chest. “We shouldn’t.”
“The damage has already been done, yeah?”
Delfina bit the inside of her cheek. Tell him. Tell him now. She shrugged. “I suppose.”
“Well then.” His hand slid under her blouse, his fingers gliding over her breasts, finding and rubbing against her aching nipples. Dio. What was she doing? She should stop this, she should tell him the truth, but he wanted this too. What did the truth matter?
“Let’s get you out of this,” he said, tugging on her blouse. She raised her arms and let him pull it over her head. His eyes widened as he ran his fingers over her bra. “Red lace, my favorite. Do the knickers match?”
She blushed. They did. He unclasped the bra, revealing her breasts. He took the left one in his hand and held it in place for his mouth. When he swirled his tongue over the nipple, she arched up and gasped. So good. So delicious. So wicked.
Delfina didn’t protest when his hand left her breast and traveled down to her right inner thigh, moving back and forth, but not up to her sex. Per favore, Nico. She parted her legs a little, not wanting to voice her frustration, not wanting to admit it. Not wanting to beg. He chuckled when she shifted beneath him. “Greedy little cat,” he whispered.
“As if you don’t want this,” she said, rubbing her leg against the bulge at the crotch of his trousers, a bulge that had grown steadily larger and more insistent.
“Oh I do. But I’m not afraid to show it.”
Her cheeks and throat flushed, the heat betraying her. Just then, his fingers hit their mark, tickling over the scrap of nylon between her legs. He slid a finger beneath the damp fabric, tracing her cleft. “You’re so wet,” he whispered as he rubbed over the entire area, his hand massaging her, the indirect contact with her clit making her squirm. Then he slipped a finger down, between her swollen lips, down into her well of moisture and then back up to circle her clit, not quite touching it, instead teasing her, taunting her, as he watched her face.<
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She closed her eyes, not able to meet his. “Look at me, Delfi,” he said. “Look at me.”
His fingers stopped moving until she complied. Then he grazed a finger over her clit, making her shiver and moan. He smiled, holding her gaze. “I’m sorry about our first time. I’m going to make it up to you.”
Pushing her skirt up over her hips, he bent his head. He pulled the thong to the side, his mouth finding her sex, his tongue replacing his fingers, and she thought she was going to die from the shame of it, from the sheer wanton pleasure that made her arch up to him and clutch at his hair, holding him to her as he licked and sucked until she cried out and came in a thrilling rush.
He planted a kiss low on her belly, then sat up, peeling off his shirt and revealing a hard, muscled chest that made her mouth go dry. Dio, he was beautiful. Sexy. Everything she’d ever wanted. Everything she could never keep.
Her throat tightened. He wasn’t hers. Even if her plan worked, he’d never be hers. Because it was a lie. Because he’d be forced to be with her. Sure, he enjoyed her body, he liked her, but he didn’t love her. And when he found out what she’d done, he never would.
But this wasn’t about love. For either of them. This was about lust, and she’d best not forget. She’d best remember. Between her and Nick, it was lust only; lust, and the fulfillment of her plan to escape Leandro. That’s what she had to remember. That’s what she had to concentrate on. Anything else between them was a dream she could never have. She swallowed hard and pasted a smile on her face. If all they ever had was this one perfect moment, she’d remember it always. She repeated that to herself, making a silent vow. Remember this moment. Remember him.
When he shucked his trousers, she learned that he wore black boxer shorts. Her favorite. Her smile widened, became something real. He was hers for now, and she couldn’t help her curiosity. Though she’d touched him in the shed, she hadn’t seen what she’d held. He shoved the trunks down, and his erection sprang free.
Madonna. Not that she had anything to compare it to, but it seemed too large to fit. Much too large. Her heart skittered in her chest. What was she going to do? She didn’t want to tell him, didn’t want to see his disappointment, his anger. But maybe—maybe she wouldn’t bleed? Maybe he wouldn’t notice?
