Grill Me, Baby

by Sophia Knightly

  Michaela was beyond rational thought; her whole being ached for deep, sexual intimacy with Paolo. She pulled his lean hips toward her with urgent hands and wrapped her legs around him. His erection pressed against the cradle of her pelvis.

  “Now, Paolo, now.” Her body arched upward, eager for his penetration.

  “Not yet, linda.” Paolo’s voice came out in a guttural rasp, his face dusky with passion and neck muscles strained as he turned her over, lifting her hair from her nape.

  Michaela bit into the pillow and moaned when his damp lips touched her sensitive nape and bit her ever so lightly. Exquisitely torturous moments passed as his greedy mouth traveled along her spine, nipping and kissing the summit of her buttocks, the back of her thighs, down her calves to her tingling toes, before he turned her over again.

  Unhinged and beside herself with desire, she reached down to caress him, but his steely hand formed a manacle around both of her wrists, holding them captive above her head as his passionate kisses turned to gentle love-bites, alternately kissing her, driving her wanton and wild as he pleasured her. Michaela’s head thrashed from side to side. She squirmed and whimpered, out of her mind, desperate for release. Just when she was about to climax, he let go of her wrists and slowed down to tenderly stroke her breasts, his callused fingertips rubbing the tips.

  “Don’t slow down…don’t stop! Please!” she urged shamelessly.

  “Qué bella,” Paolo said, his voice thick as molasses. “So beautiful.”

  His molten gaze held her transfixed. At that moment, Michaela was his—completely. Holding her hostage at the sweet threshold of release, Paolo worked his magic. He brought her to the edge, prolonging the exquisite pleasure-pain again and again until every pore screamed to let loose and threatened to implode.

  And just when she thought she would die, she climaxed with lusty, shuddering cries—twice.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Waking up with a raging hangover was the least of Michaela’s problems as she tried to piece together last night’s events. She blushed when she reread Paolo’s note left on the pillow beside her scrawled in his large, expressive handwriting. As if everything about the man wasn’t large and expressive, she thought, her heart racing at the scribbled evidence of last night’s salacious lovemaking.

  Sorry I had to run off, but Claudia needed my help with Mikey. I’ll be back for seconds. You are delectable, querida.

  Michaela closed her eyes and tried to remember all that they had done. Erotic, carnal images came rushing back of Paolo making love to her, wringing out one shattering response after another until she lay limp with pleasure and shamelessly spent. All she could remember was that she had never felt so close to a man in her entire life—or so uninhibited. She put her hands to her hot, flushed face, trying to visualize the moment when they’d had intercourse, but she couldn’t seem to. Had they fully made love, she wondered?

  She searched the room for a condom wrapper. Finding none, she ran into the bathroom and checked the little garbage pail—empty. She was not on the pill, so he’d better have used some precaution. Panicking, she suddenly felt more like an irresponsible teenager than a femme fatale.

  Michaela fell back on the bed, clutching her throbbing head with both hands. She prayed to God that Paolo had used protection, but she wouldn’t know for sure until she asked him. The prospect of having to ask him worsened her king-size headache, that and the fact that her sheets still held the sexy man’s scent. She tried to banish self-defeating recriminations as she massaged her temples. Clearly, he hadn’t forced himself on her; she had been more than eager to participate. She had even begged for more, she recalled with mounting embarrassment. They had been quite intimate, but she still had no recollection of actual intercourse. Had she been that far gone from the champagne not to remember the final act with such an amazing lover?

  She inhaled deeply of Paolo’s manly scent lingering on her pillow. Closing her eyes, she relived the opulence of being held in his strong arms. She rolled onto her belly and covered her head with the pillow as erotic images invaded her mind and taunted her senses. Her position dredged up vivid recollections of Paolo kissing her as she lay before him, a bare banquet of curves and valleys. In the privacy of her bedroom, she flushed from head to toe, remembering the sexy things he had said and done, caressing and kissing her into a pleading wild woman, but for the life of her, she still couldn’t remember if they had gone all the way.

  Why oh why did she and Paolo have to be rivals for something so important to both of them? He drew her like no other man had. Generous, passionate, tender, masterful…all the things that were making her long for him again. But the timing was wrong—very wrong! She had allowed herself to cave just as the dizzying effects of way too much champagne had taken over. Yet in all fairness, it wasn’t just the champagne that had unleashed her inhibitions; it was Paolo who had drugged her with his potent allure and he’d been insatiable when it came to her body!

  Paolo’s passionate lovemaking last night had fed her spirit with hope. Jeff had never shown such passion. He was the only guy she’d ever slept with and their lovemaking had been tepid at best. Deep down, she had always worried that she wasn’t very good in bed and that she had a low libido. She had blamed herself for not being sexy enough to captivate and hold on to the tennis world’s superstar. That was before she had learned he was a sexual addict. But after receiving Paolo’s ardent lovemaking and responding to him so keenly, she was surprised and flattered that she was sexy…at least to Paolo.

  Nevertheless, she had to be prudent and never drink too much alcohol again when she was with him. Was she such a lightweight that getting drunk meant letting go wantonly? This had never happened to her with anyone but Paolo. He must have noticed she was far gone on the champagne. As hot and irresistible as he was, she had to remember to steer clear of him physically from now on, because the moment he started kissing her, all ration left her brain and her body took over. Yet she couldn’t really blame him. Michaela remembered she had been dancing and singing and slugging down the champagne as if it were iced tea on a hot summer day. But what else could she have done? She had been celebrating fresh hope for what she’d thought was a lost cause.

  Michaela pushed herself to sit upright. Miami Spice loomed before her like a blinding pot of gold. She swung her legs over the edge and contemplated her next move and tried to summon the discipline that had gotten her so close to her goal. Yesterday, she had been given another chance at winning and she would not allow herself to spare another second obsessing over what had happened with Paolo. From now on, she would concentrate solely on winning and somehow put her feelings for him out of sight, out of mind. Except she couldn’t really do that until she clarified one pressing, screaming question: Had they had unprotected sex?

  Cringing at the thought, she trudged to the kitchen, straight to the espresso machine. Only a double shot would clear her fuzzy head and give her the nerve to question Paolo. Once she got her answers, she would avoid him no matter how much he drew her. She could not afford to be distracted; especially since she’d been given another chance to do a solo show—all by herself. This time she had to pull out all the stops if she wanted to win. Paolo was a formidable opponent, a charming and charismatic personality quite comfortable before a camera and live audience.

  Michaela grabbed her phone and nervously punched in Paolo’s cell phone number. She was surprised when Claudia answered with a groggy, “Hello?”

  “Hi, it’s Michaela. Hope I didn’t wake you.”

  “Hola,” Claudia said on a loud yawn. “Don’t worry, you didn’t wake me up. I’m so glad you called. When are you coming to visit us?”

  “Um…I’m not sure.” Given the turn of events, the last place Michaela wanted to go was Paolo’s apartment. “How is Mikey?”

  “He’s doing well. He is a cutie, but he doesn’t sleep very much and he always wants to eat.” She yawned aga
in. “We haven’t been getting much sleep around here.”

  “Oh, I’m sure that’ll only be temporary,” Michaela said soothingly even though she wasn’t sure about anything anymore. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m hanging in there,” Claudia replied dispiritedly.

  “Just hanging in?”

  “Well, I’m feeling a little homesick and Mamá can’t seem to get a visa.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear it. Has Paolo found anyone to help you with Mikey?” Michaela asked, concerned about the desolation in Claudia’s voice. She wondered if Paolo had been able to reach Bobby.

  “There’s a lady down the hall, a widow, who sometimes watches him so I can get ready for the day.”

  “That’s good. I’ll try to stop by this week when Paolo isn’t in,” Michaela said kindly.

  “Yes, please do. But I’m sure Paolo would like to be here when you visit.”

  “Is he there now?”

  “No, he already left for work. He forgot his cell phone again.”

  “Does he have a habit of leaving it behind?”

  “Sometimes, but you can’t blame him. Mikey and I have turned my poor brother’s place into a nursery. You can only imagine how his life has been flipped upside down. Try reaching him at the restaurant.”

  “Okay, I will.” Michaela paused. “Claudia, if I can help you in any way, please let me know. In the meantime, try to get some sleep whenever Mikey naps.”

  “I’ll try. I can’t wait for your visit,” Claudia said, sounding wistful.

  “Me too. See you soon. Take care.” Michaela hung up with a heavy heart. She felt bad that she dreaded going to Paolo’s apartment. She was dying to see Mikey and give Claudia whatever support she could, but she was in danger of getting too close, too involved. It made her sad to have to distance herself from them.

  Paolo hid a smile as Michaela stood before him, hiding behind big sunglasses that covered half of her glowing face. He had wondered what was so pressing when she had called him earlier to say she would be stopping by the restaurant and needed to talk to him ASAP.

  Lurking at the back door of Ristorante Bella Luna, Michaela glanced over her shoulder before she asked, “Are we alone?”

  “Yes, only Gil is inside. But what kind of a greeting is this? Don’t I get a kiss first?” Paolo chided, noting her impatience. He leaned forward to kiss her, but she turned her face and his mouth landed on her soft earlobe instead, giving him a jolt of pleasure. Last night he hadn’t been able to get enough of her and damned if he didn’t want to have her sweet surrender now, while she was sober. Everywhere he had stroked and kissed her last night, her pale skin had turned pink as if she were blushing from his touch. Incredible.

  Michaela stood rigidly before him, her pretty face struggling for composure. “I want to know just one thing and then I’m going to leave,” she proclaimed, her chin jutting forth as she articulated her words. She was acting so high-strung, it was obvious she needed to get something urgent off her chest—a rather beautiful chest, he reflected, smiling at the memory.

  “Come in, linda.” Paolo placed his hand on the small of her back and nudged her inside. “We’ll talk there.”

  She took a step sideways, shaking off his hand. “No. I’d rather talk here.”

  “Okay, fine,” he agreed, wondering at her prickly mood. “What’s up?”

  “I want to know the truth.” Michaela’s face turned salmon pink before she blurted out, “Did we have sex…I mean intercourse…last night?”

  So that was it. She was filled with morning-after regrets after getting naked with him and allowing him to pleasure her, welcoming his lovemaking with wild abandon. This mortified her?

  “Don’t you remember anything?” he asked in amazement.

  “Only parts of it,” she admitted, her voice muffled.

  “Querida, my ears are still ringing from your cries of ecstasy.”

  “Lower your voice, Paolo,” she hissed, looking around as she blushed again. “Please answer my question.” She bit her lower lip and waited for his response. “I’m not on the pill!”

  Paolo took pity on Maki; her torment was so palpable. She was clearly worried about getting pregnant. Little did she know that a baby was the last thing he wanted at the moment, given his lack of sleep since little Mikey had entered his life—and his apartment.

  “We played a little last night. That’s all.” He smiled and shrugged, not making a big deal out of it so she would relax.

  But the opposite happened. Michaela clenched her jaw as she tilted her face upward. She whipped off her sunglasses and sent him a scathing look. “You call that playing? You haven’t answered my question. Did we have unprotected sex?” she articulated between clenched teeth.

  Paolo looked into her sparking eyes. “We did not have intercourse,” he stated, smoothing a lock of hair from her cheek.

  “Ohhh,” she breathed, sputtering on the word. She searched his face earnestly. “Are you telling me the truth, Paolo?”

  “Yes, of course! You were too far gone on the champagne for me to go any further.”

  “I am not touching that stuff for a long time. Especially around you,” she vowed. “I mean, thank God, we didn’t…you know.”

  He leaned in close. “Believe me, querida, when we do, and we will,” he growled low into her ear, “you’ll be sober and willing. And you will remember every delicious detail in Technicolor.” His fingertip traced her delicate jaw line. “I promise.”

  Michaela’s mouth dropped open and the muscles in her throat worked before she croaked, “That is all I needed to know. Good-bye.” She turned to leave, but Paolo grabbed her slim waist and pulled her close. She stiffened in his arms, as if his touch scorched her. “Please don’t do that, Paolo.”

  “Why not?” He kissed her warm neck, inhaling deeply of her rose scent, loving the silken softness of her skin.

  Michaela heaved a shaky breath and pushed at his chest. “No more playing. We are competitors and can’t be anything else. My ultimate goal is to win Miami Spice. Now please let go of me.”

  Exasperated, Paolo’s hands dropped to his sides, releasing his hold on her enticing body. Too bad last night’s temptress had turned into a laced-up businesswoman. “So, we’re back to that, are we?” He ran his fingers roughly through his hair in exasperation.

  She lifted her chin. “Yes. And nothing you can say or do will change my mind.”

  “Too bad we started with dessert and never got to the main course,” he said, thinking the “main course” would be the best he’d ever had. “But I’m patient. For now, I’ll concentrate on my gimmick and you can work on yours.”

  “You bet I will.” Michaela pushed her sunglasses back on her upturned nose.

  Paolo grabbed Michaela by the shoulders and held on to her despite her struggles. He wanted to kiss her senseless, to make love to her until she couldn’t walk, to make her realize the futility of denying them pleasure. Instead, he kissed the tip of her snooty nose, turned her around and gave her a playful swat on her bottom. “Better get started then.” He chuckled. “And lay off the booze.”

  “How dare you!” If she could have turned any redder, she would have caught on fire. Michaela whirled around with her slim arm raised to slap him, but he ducked and she swung at the air instead. “Beast!”

  He mouthed a kiss. “Bella.”

  “You are impossible.” Michaela turned on her heel and stomped away with her fists balled at her sides.

  From the doorway, Paolo watched her get inside her car and slam the door. Michaela had a flaming temper to match her hair, but she was delusional if she thought she could turn off their attraction, just by ordering it. He would bide his time until they taped their respective shows. After that, there would be no stopping him; he would come after her like a tornado.

  In the meantime, he had to get a hold of
Bobby. He had tried reaching him at the email address he had discovered in Claudia’s online address book, but it had come back as undeliverable. He must have changed his account. Paolo felt bad for his little sis. She was feeling down and lonely, housebound with Mikey. He was a newborn, too tiny for her to take outside on walks yet. Claudia needed friends and family surrounding her, celebrating the arrival of her new baby. Unfortunately, Mikey was colicky in the evenings and seemed to be feeding on his mom’s moods, along with her milk.

  If Bobby didn’t come home soon and accept his responsibilities, she might sink into a depression. Paolo had tried to research post-partum depression online last night when he had arrived home after Claudia’s frantic text. But he’d fallen asleep at the laptop, only to be awakened by Mikey’s wailing cries for his next feeding. The kid was turning out to be a little glutton, he thought wryly, shaking his head at the irony.

  “Paolo, your sister’s on the line,” Gil called out, ending Paolo’s musings. Gil covered the phone’s mouthpiece and held it out to him. “She sounds upset,” he confided when Paolo reached his side.

  Paolo nodded and took the phone from him with a feeling of impending doom. “Claudia, is everything all right?”

  “No. Bobby’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Woodbridge, were just here. They want to take Mikey away from me!” she cried. “I don’t know how they found out where I live.”

  Claudia’s words made Paolo see red. After they reacted with displeasure after hearing about Claudia and Mikey, Paolo had written them off as pompous and rude. So now they were coming around to take Mikey away and not provide support or love for Claudia too? What a worthless pair!

  “Over my dead body,” Paolo vowed. “Don’t worry, Claudia. I won’t let it happen.”

  Paolo consoled her as best he could, and then hung up aggravated by the Woodbridges and agitated over his present limited resources. Adding to the huge medical bills, it looked like he’d have to get a lawyer to protect Claudia and Mikey from the Woodbridges.