The Italian's Forbidden Virgin (Mills & Boon Modern) (Those Notorious Romanos, Book 2)

by Carol Marinelli

  ‘You’re insufferable, Ariana.’ He strode over and took her bare arms. He wanted to shake some sense into her, but even as he scolded her Gian actually understood her anger more than she knew.

  Ariana was only ever given half-truths.

  Or a quarter.

  Or an eighth.

  The Romanos were masters at smoke and mirrors and Ariana had grown up stumbling blind through their labyrinth of lies, and he loathed it that he was only giving her a tiny sliver of the truth now.

  ‘I’m trying...’ He held on to his words, because if he said one thing more it might well be too much. ‘I’m trying to ensure that this night goes well.’

  ‘Have you delivered Mia this pre-function lecture?’ Ariana goaded. ‘Have Stefano and Dante been summoned too? No!’ She answered for him. ‘Because you don’t trust me.’

  ‘No, because I—’ Gian abruptly halted himself, because he didn’t want to admit, even to himself, that he cared about Ariana more than he wanted to. ‘Because I know how you feel about Mia, and I also know that you want the night to be a success.’

  ‘Then we want the same thing,’ Ariana replied tartly.

  They did indeed want the same thing and now they were face to face in no way that could be construed as professional.

  She looked up at him through narrowed eyes. She wanted to exit in a huff, but his hands were on her bare arms and she liked the odd comfort of him, of someone, the first person ever, pulling her back before she went too far.

  They were both breathing hard, as if they had just kissed.

  Ariana looked at his mouth and unshaven jaw and felt his fingers holding the top of her arms. He turned her on so easily that she could feel the heat at the top of her legs, and the ache of her breasts in her flimsy bra. She knew he was hard, she just knew, the same way she did not need to look at the sky to know it was darkening.

  ‘Ariana,’ Gian said in a voice that sounded a touch gravelly, ‘if there are any issues tonight, then you are to come to me.’

  She always did, Ariana realised.

  Whether it was stolen chocolate, or her father’s widow showing up, she always leaned on Gian, yet she could not when it came to the urgent matter of her heart, for he was the one who was quietly stealing it.

  ‘I need to get on,’ Ariana croaked.

  ‘Of course,’ Gian politely agreed.

  ‘And you need to shave.’

  When she had gone, Gian opened up the safe and took out the black box and envelope.

  He would not break his own rules and deliberately did not look inside.

  He would go and get ready and then drop off the gift to Mia, and then get through this night and once that was done, hopefully he wouldn’t have to see Ariana for some considerable time.

  Except that was easier said than done. First he had to dance with her and hold her and for the first time ever he found he wanted someone in his life.

  And so he reminded himself of all the reasons why he did not want someone in his life.

  When he should have been meeting with the barber in his apartment and then seeing to the final preparations for this important night, instead he took out the official papers he did his level best to avoid.

  It was all there.

  The drugs, the debauchery, the findings... The absolute hell of love.

  For he had loved them.

  Even if his parents had not wanted him.

  And he had loved his brother Eduardo, even if it had been safer to stop caring, to detach and close off his heart.

  To refuse all drama.

  And Ariana really was pure drama.

  ‘Gian?’ Luna knocked on his door a long time later and found him sitting almost in the dark. ‘Should you still be here?’

  ‘No,’ he admitted, and stood. ‘Luna,’ he said, ‘can you...?’ He was about to hand over the papers to shred. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ Gian said, and returned them to the safe in case he ever needed another reminder of why he refused to let someone into his life.

  And, by and by, the Romano Foundation Ball was here.

  CHAPTER TEN

  ARIANA WORE BLACK.

  A simple black velvet halter neck and the diamond studs her parents had given her for her eighteenth.

  She put on her red lips, though, and lashings of mascara. There was a ridiculous pit of anticipation building at the thought of dancing with Gian, for she was still floating from the encounter in his office and getting her hopes up as she made her way down for the ball.

  His warning, however poorly she’d taken it, meant that Ariana was at least slightly prepared when her father’s widow made her entrance. And what an entrance. Mia was standing at the top of the stairs in crimson! Her blonde hair was piled up, and heavy diamond earrings glittered at her ears as she made her way down. Ariana saw red—as red as the dress that Mia wore.

  ‘So much for the grieving widow,’ she hissed to Dante.

  She was, in fact, grateful to Gian for the heads-up and even managed a somewhat stilted greeting to the widow in red, but then all rancour drained from her when she saw Gian approach.

  He was still unshaven, but sexily so.

  His attire was immaculate and his black hair gleaming but it was such a change from his more regular suave appearance at such an event that she felt a pull, down low. He simply hollowed her out with desire.

  ‘Eloa,’ he said in that low, throaty drawl. Even the happily engaged, blissfully-in-love Eloa had the hormones to blush when bathed in his attention. ‘You look exquisite.’ He kissed her cheeks and then shook Stefano’s hand. ‘Dante.’ He nodded to his friend. ‘I trust everything is satisfactory.’

  ‘Absolutely.’ Dante agreed.

  He turned to Ariana, finally acknowledging her. Sort of. His eyes did not as much as dust over her body, and she felt the chill of a snub, even as he spoke politely. ‘Ariana, you look beautiful.’

  They were the same words he said every year when he greeted her at the ball, and he kissed her on the cheeks as he always did when they met, except he barely whispered past her skin.

  As if she were an old aunt, Ariana thought.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Everything looks beautiful.’ And then she leaned in and murmured, ‘Even the grieving widow.’

  He didn’t smile, and neither did he return her little in joke.

  There was an edge to him that she couldn’t quite define, an off-limits sign she could almost read. He was essentially ignoring her.

  Damn you, Gian, she thought as she headed into the ballroom. But really she was cross with herself. Somewhere, somehow, she had lost sight of the clear message he had given right at the start and had been foolish enough to get her hopes up.

  The ballroom could never be described as understated, but without hanging moons and ivy vines tonight it looked its elegant best, and Ariana caught the sweet scent of gardenias as she took her seat. Mia entered and took her seat at the table too, Gian sitting between them. He was, of course, his usual dignified self and made polite small talk alternately with both Mia and Ariana.

  Like a parent wedged between two warring siblings and trying to give both equal attention, Ariana thought.

  ‘I shouldn’t have worn red,’ Mia said as the pasta was served. ‘It was the gown I had for last year...’

  ‘You look stunning,’ Gian told her—again. And Ariana gritted her teeth.

  Gian tried his level best to be his usual self, as Ariana smouldered beside him. The drama of waiting for her to explode was painful, but he told himself she was not his problem. He told himself that the Romanos, the whole lot of them, were each a theatre production in themselves.

  The bed-hopping, the scandals—Dante and Mia doing their best not to make eye contact. He was rather certain that the heavy earrings she wore had been in the box that he had earlier delivered to her door. Rafael’s lover w
as too ill to attend but his orchids took pride of place. Eloa and Stefano were desperate for the night to be over so they could be alone.

  And don’t get me started on Ariana, he thought.

  He could feel her, smell her, hear her when she spoke, and of course she was asking for more pepper.

  She jangled his nerves and she beguiled him, because for once she behaved.

  Almost.

  She turned her back when Mia tried to speak, which he did his level best to ignore and gloss over.

  And then the appalling Nicki came over between courses and moaned about her seat. ‘Ariana, you really have stuck me beside the most boring people and I’ll never hear the speeches back there.’

  Gian stared ahead, but said in a low voice for Ariana’s ears, ‘My offer still stands.’

  He would move, Ariana knew. Right now, Gian would get up and stalk off and it was the last thing she wanted. She looked at her friend and, for the first time ever, stood up for herself. ‘Nicki, the sound engineer is the best in Rome. I’m sure you’ll be able to hear.’

  Well done, he wanted to tell her. Well done, Ariana.

  But he stayed silent. It was not his place.

  Yet he wanted it to be.

  There was just one unkind comment, as dessert was being served, when Eloa spoke of her wedding that was now just a few short weeks away. She told Mia, ‘Ariana is helping us organise a few things,’ clearly trying to feed her into the conversation.

  ‘Yes.’ Ariana flashed a red-lipped smile at Mia. ‘It’s going to be amazing. Anyone who’s anyone has been invited...’

  Meaning—not you!

  Gian caved.

  Ariana felt his hand on her thigh, and the grip of his fingers actually halted her words.

  ‘That’s not a good idea,’ she said to Gian, while looking ahead. ‘If you reward me each time I go too far...’

  ‘Would you prefer the discipline method?’

  She threw her head back and laughed.

  Even with Mia at her table, Ariana found that with Gian beside her she could still have such a wonderful night.

  And it was then that she got another reward, for as the desserts were served and shots of coffee were tossed over ice creams, there was a special dish, made just for her. Tutti-frutti.

  Ariana gasped.

  ‘Yes.’

  It was better than being handed chestnuts on a freezing night; it was better than a sliver of gold when she could not face her father’s funeral alone.

  ‘Thank you.’

  She wanted to cry as she tasted the sweet candied ice cream and remembered how her father had, over and over, let her get away with buying three cones, just so she could devour them all.

  Happy memories reigned as little shots of sugar burst on her tongue and when she finished she had to dab at her eyes with her napkin. ‘Ice cream has never made me cry before,’ she admitted to Gian as the waiter cleared her very clean plate. ‘Happy tears, though. It was beautiful, thank you.’

  ‘Shall we get it over with?’ Gian asked as the band struck up.

  ‘Get what over with?’ Ariana said, as if she didn’t know.

  ‘The duty dance.’

  It had been months since she had known the bliss of his arms, and for Gian it had been months with no feminine pleasure.

  He’d known he would only be thinking of her and, besides, no one else had her scent.

  ‘Your perfume,’ he said, as he held her at a distance and resumed their old wars.

  ‘I’ve told you,’ she said, ‘I don’t wear any.’ She looked right at him. ‘You’re the only one who complains.’

  ‘I’m not complaining.’

  ‘Why do you always hold me at such a distance?’

  ‘You know why,’ he said, and pulled her deep in so she could feel him hard against the softness of her stomach. She flared to the scent of citrus and bergamot and testosterone and the roughness of his skin seemed to burn her rouged cheek. ‘You didn’t shave...’

  ‘Because you like me unshaven.’

  ‘Gian.’ She was trying to breathe and dance and deal with the change all at the same time. She simply didn’t understand him. ‘You’ve ignored me most of the night...’

  ‘I tried to,’ he admitted.

  ‘You’ve ignored me for weeks...’ He shook his head, but then nodded when she quoted his impersonal sign-offs. ‘“Kind regards, Gian”?’

  ‘How else could we get the ball done?’

  ‘And after tonight will you ignore me again?’

  He didn’t answer because he didn’t know. He could not afford to think of tomorrow now.

  The judgements of the coroner’s report should be flicking through his mind, except tonight those violet eyes turned his warning systems off.

  He gave her no promises, just told her the card for his private elevator would be in her bag and left her to stumble her way through the rest of the evening.

  The speeches were brilliant, the whole night was perfect, but it felt as though she might faint with desire as she said farewell to the guests.

  ‘We should go for a drink in the bar,’ Nicki said.

  ‘It will be closed.’

  ‘I meant the bar in your room.’ Nicki smiled, but Ariana shook her head. ‘I’m exhausted, Nicki.’

  It was a lie.

  Ariana felt as alive as an exposed wire as she slipped away and took the private elevator to his floor and let herself in.

  It was not the view that she craved, or the stunning surroundings; it was the glimpses of him.

  There were paintings, the sketches of Fiordelise he had told her about, his history and lineage all there on the walls.

  The older Dukes and Duchesses too, and it went right down to his parents, his brother...

  But where was Gian?

  Her eyes scanned the walls.

  Where was the man she adored?

  Then she found him, in a suit, at the desk in Reception, and she frowned at the one single image of him, but her thoughts faded as she heard the whir of the elevator. And her heart moved to her throat as he stepped through the door.

  It had been agony not to touch him, but both were relieved of that agony now.

  As they reached for each other, almost ran to each other, it was like falling into another dimension.

  He was undoing her gown so it fell like a black puddle on the floor. His tongue was cool and his kisses hot as she impatiently pushed down the sleeves of his jacket, and they were so desperate for each other, for more than this.

  He picked her up, dressed only in her underwear, and deposited her onto a vast gold bed.

  His eyes never left her face as Ariana removed her bra and lay on her back, propped up by her elbows and watching him undress.

  He threw off the tie as though it was choking him and she gave a satisfied smile when the cufflinks dropped silently to the carpet for he was as desperate as she.

  He slowed down to take off her strappy high heels. First the right, and he was so annoyingly slow with the strap that she took her other high heel and pressed it into his toned stomach.

  Gian caught her calf.

  She could see his erection, the one that had been pressed against her on the dance floor, and she almost writhed in frustration as he took off her left high heel. Now the soles of her feet were on his stomach as he slowly pulled her silk knickers down, revealing her to him. Finally, he buried his face in her.

  ‘Gian!’ She was shocked at the delicious roughness of him, at the sounds of him, at her own reaction to him, for she was coming as quickly as that.

  Suddenly she was pulsing as he devoured her and then she was falling where she lay, but with him atop her.

  ‘We need condoms...’ she said frantically, for she had cursed herself after the last time.

  ‘There’s been no on
e since.’

  Those words made her too weak for reason.

  He was holding her naked as she tumbled through space, and for all the terrible decisions she had made in her lifetime, this, Ariana knew, was not one of them.

  He kissed her mouth and her face, the shells of her ears, and the tender skin of her neck as he took her.

  He devoured her and rained kisses and words on her that should not be said to someone you were not prepared to love the next day.

  ‘You make me crazy,’ he told her.

  And that made her heart sing.

  He told her how he had wanted her all night, how he had wanted her for weeks, in fact, all this as he moved within her and stared right into her eyes. The prolonged intensity astounded her, the focus, the climb, the ache of want and the desire to give. Her hips moved involuntarily with his and they were wild for each other, rolling and tumbling across the bed. He took in her flushed features and brushed the damp hair back from her face as he drove into her and gazed at her.

  Help, Ariana thought, for she had never seen Gian so tender before.

  There was passion and there was desire, but there was something else too.

  He was also aware of it, this slip into a deeper caring, this moment, when he rolled her onto her back again, and one lesson in tenderness moved to the next.

  He was up on his forearms, his body sliding over hers, each intimate stroke of him winding her tighter and tighter. His pace built and built and she wrapped her legs around his hips and simply clung on as he took her to wherever he chose.

  He took her to bliss, pounding her senses, making her more his with each thrust.

  For Gian it was a dangerous space. He knew that as he looked down at her, her black hair splayed on his pillow, her body tight around his. He would regret this later, Gian knew, but at that moment he didn’t care.

  Especially as he swelled that delicious final time and filled her. Completely.

  And this time it was Gian shouting out her name.

  He dragged her into an orgasm so deep and intense that for a moment she existed there with him.

  It was dizzying...too much...never enough, and she was crying as it was fading.