by Sofia Tate
I put my hand over his. “Thank you, Detective. For everything.”
He nods, then slaps my father’s back. “Come on, Jimmy, I’ll give you a ride home.”
Davison and I watch as everyone leaves the room. I’m alone with him for the first time. He crouches down to look at me at eye level.
“You should go home too, Davison. Take a shower, change clothes.”
He shakes his head. “Not a chance. I’m going to be here when you get back.”
“What about work?”
“It’s a good thing I hire smart people to work for me. And I have everything I need here,” he says, pointing out a large carryall. “My mom brought it over for me. She’s so relieved you’re okay. She wants to see you too.”
I smile at his mother’s thoughtfulness. “Tell her thank you for that.”
Mindful of the doctor and orderly waiting outside, I pull Davison closer to me, placing a warm kiss on his mouth until the pain from the pressure forces me to stop.
“On second thought, don’t shave,” I whisper. “That scruff does something to me. Now, roll me out of here, Harvard.”
“Yes, Venus. At your service.” He grins at me wickedly.
Chapter Twenty-One
Thankfully, I was released from the hospital the following day. I went home and recuperated with two overprotective male nurses seeing to my recovery—Papa and Davison. Once I felt stronger, I started going stir crazy and insisted on leaving the apartment. But some photographers were still lurking outside, waiting to get a shot of me. So I had to wait another week until I could escape.
Now I’m sitting in my favorite place in the world—on the floor cushions in Davison’s living room eating dinner, both of us in Harvard sweats. I’m watching him dunk his spicy tuna roll into a dipping bowl of soy sauce. As thoughtful as ever, he’s also ordered my favorite sushi rolls—mango shrimp and salmon avocado.
Once we finish, I swallow the last of my Sapporo beer and climb into Davison’s lap. I gently run my fingertips over his stubbled cheeks. “Hi, Harvard.”
“Hey.” That’s all he says, accompanied by a quick smile, without that glint in his eyes that usually signals the start of a sexy night.
Moving my hands around to the nape of his neck, I lean in and start to suck on it, breathing on his hot skin as I repeat, “Hi, Harvard,” but this time in a lusty whisper.
Nothing is happening. I pull back. “Okay, something is obviously bothering you and I want you to tell me what’s wrong,” I demand.
“I’m really angry with you,” he murmurs under his breath.
I rear back in surprise. “For what?”
“For not telling me about Tony stalking you before Carlo took you.”
I pull myself off his lap and take a few steps from him, attempting to absorb what he just told me.
“I didn’t want to worry you. I thought I could handle it.”
“Well, you thought wrong!” he shouts.
“Jesus, Davison, what is your fucking problem?” A thought crosses my mind that makes me grow livid. “Wait, were you this pissed at me when I was gone? Did you think this was my fault?”
Davison shoots up from the couch, his eyes ablaze, his jaw clenched. “Of course not! What kind of person do you think I am? Christ, Allegra, you know me better than that! And now that I know what that fucking bastard was going to do to you…” His eyes blaze with a fury I never thought possible. “I failed you! I wasn’t there to protect you! Goddamn it!”
My heart stops, my eyes widening in shock at his revelation.
He heard me? Oh my God!
Fuck. Shit. Fuck.
“You heard me tell Leary? Why didn’t you—”
Before I can finish my thought, I watch frozen as a shattering howl of pain roars from Davison’s mouth. He grabs the crystal vase sitting on the coffee table and hurls it across the room, hitting the wall and shattering into a million tiny pieces.
He sinks to his knees, his hands covering his face as his body shudders in anguish. I run to him and fall onto the carpet next to him. He latches onto me with his hands. I hold on to him as tightly as I can.
“I’m here, Davison. I’m here. I’m safe,” I swear to him, tears streaming down my face. I never wanted him to know. I never wanted to see him in pain. And I never want to see him like this again.
“I thought I’d lost you forever,” he breathes into my neck, his voice deep and raw. “I felt so helpless. I just wanted you back.”
“Baby,” I tell him softly. “The only thing that kept me going was the thought of seeing you once more. Of you holding me in your arms.”
Davison finally looks up at me, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. He straightens his back and takes a deep breath, cupping my face in his hands. “I love you, Allegra. I love you so damn much.”
In this moment, with those words, I have never felt more safe or alive in my life.
I look directly into his eyes. “I love you too, Davison. More than I ever thought possible.”
I can see both need and something primal blazing back at me in his beautiful green eyes. He brings his lips to mine, and I open my mouth, ready to welcome the familiar taste of his tongue. I suck on it like it’s my source of life. We kiss each other fiercely, holding each other’s heads, desperate to plunge our tongues in as far as they can go. He pushes me back onto the floor, still attached to my mouth. Then he pulls back, and I watch as he strips off his sweatshirt in one swoop, flinging it to the side. With his help, he yanks me up and removes all my clothes in a frenzy.
I lie back down, boring my eyes into his.
“Touch me, Davison.”
He covers his body with mine and starts to move over me, his lips licking my flesh, his nose taking in my scent. He takes an erect nipple in his mouth, sucking on it gently at first, then more insistently. I hear him murmuring, “I adore you. I need you. Need you so much,” as he moves to my other breast to continue his ministrations.
I run my hands through his silky hair, mewling my pleasure, reveling in his ardor. “Don’t stop,” I whisper.
“Never, baby. Never,” he vows to me.
He travels down to my belly, leaving a trail of kisses. He reaches the apex between my thighs, spreading my legs farther apart. As he reaches inside my slit with his fingers, I hear him moan.
“Ahhh. So wet. You’re ready for me, aren’t you, baby?”
“I’m always ready for you. I need you inside me. Now,” I beg.
“Just one thing first, my love.”
My back arches as I feel his tongue inside my pussy, then on my clit when he starts to lick it. He plunges his fingers inside me again, moving them in and out, over and over.
I’m on the precipice about to come apart for him, but I want it to be with his hard, beautiful cock inside me, not his tongue.
Moving my hands down his body, I reach underneath the waistband of his sweatpants and squeeze his rock-hard ass.
“This…you…” I pant. “Now, Davison. Fuck me now.”
I hear him grunt as he pulls his mouth away from my sex, lifting himself up and sliding his long, solid, sculpted body over me until he’s covering me completely.
I pull down his sweats as he lets out a growl, impaling me in one quick thrust.
“Ahhhh, God, yes!” I yell. “Do it, Davison! Fuck me hard!”
My body moves with his as we start to build a mutual rhythm, the hard carpet underneath my back burning my skin. The heat from the burn radiates around my flesh, our bodies growing slick with sweat. He moves faster inside me, with my hands gripping his ass, pushing him, demanding him. I want everything from him. Every grunt, every thrust, every drop of his cum.
My orgasm crests and I scream Davison’s name in release, milking his cock with my cleft. His entire body shakes as he comes right after me with a ferocious grunt, collapsing onto my chest. Our breaths pant at the same rate. He raises his head to look at me. I flash him a wide smile as he gives me one in return. He lays his head down in the crook o
f my neck as our heartbeats cool in tandem, my hands around his waist and his cradling my head.
* * *
The feel of Egyptian cotton sheets tickling my chin wakes me up the next morning. I open my eyes, finding myself lying in Davison’s bed with him next to me, smiling from ear to ear with that glint in his eyes that I’ve been so desperate to see.
He won’t stop staring at me. “Morning, beautiful.”
I smile. “Morning, Harvard. Got a question for you.”
“Which would be?”
“How did we get here? The last thing I recall is lying on that very uncomfortable carpet with you in your living room.”
“Around midnight. I carried you in here,” he informs me.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
I feel so alive, so grateful for this man. My heart is practically leaping out of my chest cavity. “I need to ask you something now.”
He raises his eyebrows in curiosity. “What?”
“I’m going to start seeing my therapist again. I’ll have solo sessions, of course, but would you consider having joint sessions with me? Dr. Turner is amazing, and she’s—”
“Okay.”
My eyes widen at his quick answer. “Really?”
He nods. “We need to heal from this, and I want us to do it together. If she’s good enough for you, that’s all I need to know.”
I lean in and kiss him. “Thank you, my love.”
“But do you think we could wait to make an appointment with her until after?”
A wave of chills sweeps over me. “After what?”
With my hands still in his grip, he sits up and pulls me to him, a sly smile now plastered on his face. “It’s your turn, Venus. I want you to do something for me.”
I narrow my eyes, wrinkling my nose. “Hmm, you’re smiling, so I’m thinking whatever it is, my answer is going to be ‘yes.’”
“I’ve been thinking about this all morning. I want us to go away. We need a break, and—”
I jump into his lap. “Yes!”
He laughs as I cover his face in kisses. “I haven’t even told you where I want us to go.”
“Doesn’t matter,” I tell him breathlessly. “I’ll go anywhere with you.”
He suddenly pulls back, his hands on my shoulders. His eyes hold a concerned look. My heart drops at the sight of how serious he’s become. “I just realized something. Maybe it’s too soon after everything that’s happened. The paparazzi might still hound us, especially if someone tips them off. The paps in Europe are just as nasty as they are here. I can find someplace more private—”
I clamp my hand over his mouth. “Stop talking. I have something to say.”
He nods, his eyes now anxious.
I drop my hand. “I’ve been to hell and back twice, first when my mother was murdered in front of me, then for twenty-four hours with the scum who killed her. I compartmentalized my entire life into this box where I kept myself hidden, afraid to step outside it because of the potential for more pain and sorrow the world might hold for me.”
Davison keeps focused on me as I continue, my heart soaring knowing what I’m about to tell him.
“But I’m not afraid anymore, and that’s because of you, Davison. I was so scared to even consider the possibility of being with you, and then I realized that I didn’t need that box anymore. You’ve been so patient with me, so caring, so tender. I never thought I would meet a man like you, who wants to be with me in spite of all of my baggage.”
He reaches out to stroke my face. “I do, Allegra. I do want to be with you. And your past makes you who you are. You understand that, right?”
My eyes moisten as I nod my head. “I do. I finally do. And the media and the paps can go fuck themselves. They won’t keep me from you anymore. You’re worth the risk, Harvard.”
He cups my face and leans in, kissing me firmly. “I love you so much, baby.”
My eyes and heart soften from both his touch and his words. “I love you too. I am yours, and you are mine.”
Davison leans his forehead on mine. “We’re shatterproof, Orsini. You and me. Now and always.”
He falls back with me onto the mattress, both of us still kissing each other and holding on to one another tightly as we begin to make love, releasing the pain and anger that have been holding us captive for far too long.
Chapter Twenty-Two
A wind of salty air whips through my hair as the private water taxi Davison and I are sitting in speeds down the Grand Canal. I turn up the collar of my red trench coat and press my capri-clad legs together to keep myself warm, even though the heat from his body pressing into mine is doing a sufficient job of it already. Wearing a black suede jacket, a charcoal-gray long-sleeved V-neck sweater, jeans, and black driving shoes, he smiles widely, his black aviator sunglasses hiding what I know is a glint in his eyes. I nestle closer into him, his grip around my shoulders tightening. I feel his lips curve in a smile as he presses his lips to my hair and kisses me.
When he first mentioned he wanted to take me to Venice, he hesitated because he didn’t know how I would react with everything that had happened to me, knowing Italy was where Carlo was going to take me. But Italy is my motherland, and just the fact that he was concerned enough not to book anything until I consented proves to me how kind a man he is.
Once I agreed, he made all of the arrangements. His private jet flew us into Aeroporto Marco Polo, where the boat he’d hired for us was waiting for our arrival.
The greatest surprise came when he told me where we would be staying. The only time I’d ever been to Venice was when I was a child, and my parents and I stayed at a pensione in the Dorsoduro district of the city. But this time, I would be spending my vacation in Venice at a fifteenth-century palazzo on the Grand Canal, thanks to my generous boyfriend. I had expected us to stay in one of the luxury hotels like the Danieli or the Cipriani. I even told him that he didn’t need to rent an entire building; just an apartment would have sufficed for me. But he insisted, telling me he wanted to make our trip as magical as possible.
The boat starts to decrease in speed, pulling up to a dock in front of a building, its copper walls glistening in the morning sun. There are balconies on every floor, covered in dark green awnings.
“Ecco Il Palazzo degli Innamorati,” the driver announces.
I raise my eyebrows, turning to Davison. “Ahem…”
“What?” he asks, playing the total innocent.
“The Palace of Lovers? Really?”
“What about it?”
“How the hell did you find a building on the Grand Canal with a name like that?”
“I have connections,” he smirks.
“I’ll bet you do,” I reply, rolling my eyes.
I watch as our driver removes our suitcases from the boat and places them on the dock. An older man with white hair dressed in a black suit stands by the luggage, holding out his hand to me.
“Buongiorno, Signorina Orsini. Allow me.”
“Grazie.”
The man then does the same for Davison, addressing him as “Signor Berkeley.”
With the both of us now on the dock, the man formally greets us with a slight bow. “Welcome to Venezia. I am Vincenzo Santarno, the concierge for the Palazzo. We are so pleased to have you with us. Please allow me to show you inside.”
Davison links his hand with mine, and we walk inside. My breath escapes me as soon as I enter, my hand tightening in his. I have never seen such a beautiful building before in my life. This magnificent structure and every object it holds must have so much history, so many secrets attached to them, and I yearn to know more.
The high ceilings make me feel so small. Chandeliers made from the finest Murano glass hang from above. The furnishings, everything from the carpets to the cabinets, look antique and precious. I recognize the work of the Italian masters in the paintings that adorn the walls—Canaletto, Botticelli, Titian. I feel as if I’ve been transported to a differ
ent time. It is overwhelming.
After meeting the staff who will be with us during our stay, Vincenzo leads us to a marble staircase, leading the way to the second floor where the master suite is waiting for us. He opens the double doors, allowing us to walk in first.
I take a few steps inside and freeze on the Persian carpet. The room is just as sumptuous as the downstairs. Our bed is covered in crimson red Fortuny silk fabric. The bed itself is so tall that it has a small step ladder on either side in order to get into it. Another Murano chandelier, this one dripping in red crystals, hangs from the ceiling.
A small sculpture of an intertwined couple kissing in each other’s embrace sits on a credenza against the far wall. In fact, as I look around the room, I notice that most of the art in the room is erotic in nature, from a painting of a naked woman lounging on a chaise to the sculpture of the couple that I first spotted.
“Umm, am I missing something?” I wonder aloud. “There seems to be a theme to this room. Not that I’m complaining, mind you.”
“Mi scusi,” Vincenzo says. “I thought you knew about the Signora.”
“The Signora?”
Davison comes up behind me and holds me around the shoulders. “Vincenzo, if it’s all right with you, I’d like to be the one to explain the history of the palazzo to Miss Orsini.”
He nods. “Certamente. I’ll have some food brought up for you. If you need anything at all, please do not hesitate to ring the gong for the staff.”
“Grazie, Vincenzo,” Davison thanks him.
Once the door is shut, Davison grabs me and slams his mouth over mine. I hold on to him with my hands fisting his jacket.
“What was that for, Harvard?” I ask as my breath pants.
“Nothing gets past you, baby, and that makes me hard.”
I laugh huskily. “Good to know. What was that about the Signora?”
“Come with me.”
Taking my hand, he leads me onto one of the balconies that overlooks the Grand Canal. My eyes widen at our view, spotting the spire of the bell tower, the Campanile, of St. Mark’s Basilica, which marks the location of Piazza San Marco in the distance.
