He truly wanted that, he realised. Just to feel like a man again—a man out with a beautiful woman and no cares in the world.
‘What do you say?’
Violet-blue eyes—narrow with cynicism—peeked over the top of her sunglasses. ‘I sense a subplot.’
With a chuckle he shook his head. ‘Must you be so suspicious?’
She glared at him with a pensive pout. ‘I’m not having sex with you, Nicandro.’
He peeked over his sunglasses and gave her a sinful wink. ‘You keep telling yourself that, bonita.’
* * *
Pia did tell herself that, until it became a mantra in her mind and a torrid persecution in her body.
Nic was like a child with a new toy, and her suitcases had barely hit the floor of his palatial penthouse before he was dragging her down the frenetic La Rambla, strolling through the medieval alleyways and secluded squares of the old city, lyricising about every madcap Gaudi façade. Copious café’s dotted the avenues, and she drank oodles of vanilla latte—espresso was Nic’s poison—and paused to listen to the buskers, watch the pavement artists and be amazed at the living statues.
Pia adored every single minute of it. In fact she fell head over heels in love with the utter chaos and complete charm of it all.
Which just about described her new friend too.
Nic—or should she say tour guide extraordinaire—was amazing, with light-hearted mischief gleaming in his eyes as he spun her off in yet another direction. He was wonderful. Until the sight of her business suit sent him into an agitated state of incredulity.
‘Don’t you own any casual clothes, Pia? Anything that is not black?’
To which she haughtily responded, ‘Black makes me look thinner.’ Which, apparently, had been the wrong thing to say.
‘That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard, Pia! I don’t want you to look thinner, I want to see those glorious curves illustrated in colour!’
Pia considered the truth of that while she leaned against a drinking fountain in one of the squares, wincing at the pulsing sting of blisters on her heels and toes.
Meanwhile, Nic seemed to be having another fit—arms slashing in the air, frustration leaching out of him.
‘Take them off, querida. I mean it. Look at your poor little feet! All squished.’
Down he went onto his knees in front of her with suave elegance and eased both shoes off her feet.
Pia frowned. ‘What are you doing?’ There was some fairytale about a shoe, she was sure.
‘Playing Prince Charming.’
‘Didn’t he put the shoe on?’
He waved his hand in the air. ‘Semantics.’
Then he grinned up at her—so utterly gorgeous—and shoved his sunglasses upwards to sit on his head, visor-like. She’d swear in any confession that her world tipped on its axis.
Wavy dark hair ruffled by the fingers of the breeze tumbled over his brow and curled around the upturned collar of his bright pink polo shirt. His white linen trousers were pulled tight over his spread thighs and she could see the thick ridged outline of his masculinity and remember the feel of it against her—
‘Ohhh. That is bliss.’ She drew the word out as if it had ten syllables as he pressed into the arch of her foot, banishing all thought. ‘Keep going. More. Harder.’
He growled from his position between her legs. ‘If you don’t stop moaning in that smoky, sultry voice of yours I’ll have you up against that wall over there and harder will take on a whole new meaning.’
Right now she’d probably let him. Spectacular—that was what he’d be. The thought should have shocked her, because sex didn’t rate above ‘okay’ in her book.
Pia closed her eyes, tipped her head back and lost herself in his ministrations. No one had ever given her a foot-rub before—in fact it was the most selfless thing anyone had ever done for her. Those big hands were gentle yet firm, and the slow rub had her arching like a cat.
‘Dios, look at you. This is torture. We have to move.’
No! Don’t stop. ‘Walk in my bare feet?’
‘Hop on my back and we’ll go to the boutique on the corner. I’m buying you new shoes and some decent casual clothes if it’s the last thing I do.’
She wasn’t sure which idea appalled her most. ‘I can buy my own clothes, thank you very much, and there’s no way I’m getting a piggyback into a exclusive designer store. How will that look?’ The idea was preposterous.
He looked at her as if she was preposterous. ‘Who cares? You might cut your feet otherwise, and you’ll never get those back on.’ He pointed to the offenders with a disgusted sneer, then spun around and lowered into an elegant crouch. ‘Hop on.’
Pia swallowed hard as she eyed his wide shoulders. ‘I can’t believe I’m doing this,’ she muttered, inching her skirt up her thighs and sneaking a peek to see who was watching. ‘I weigh a ton. I could break your back.’
‘You weigh one forty at the most, Pia. Do it.’
That commanding tone made her shiver. ‘Fine. You asked for it.’
Hands hooked on his shoulders, she executed a graceless little jump and—thank God!—he caught her effortlessly, curling those big hands around her upper thighs as he stood tall.
‘I like this,’ he said, his thick, rich tone telling exactly how much.
Embarrassed beyond belief, she buried her face in his neck as he sauntered down the street, easy as you please, as if he did it every day of the week. It was all completely surreal. But the astonishing thing was her acute discomfort soon gave way to an odd bubbly feeling...maybe giddiness?...as people passed by and said things like, Hola! or Bon dia!, smiling at them as though they were sweet sixteen, madly in love and a delightful sight to behold.
And pretty soon she found herself smiling back and hanging on to Nic, her arms wrapped around his shoulders, wrists crossed on his chest, revelling in the feel of all his hard ridges and hot flesh. He felt glorious. Safe. Nuzzling his neck, she breathed in his earthy masculinity and felt his groan rumble up through his back and vibrate over her breasts.
‘Good?’ he asked.
Pia wasn’t certain if he meant the feel of him, the smell, or her lack of shoes, and decided the answer would be the same for all three. ‘Divine.’
Another growl. Another deep rumble vibrating over her chest. And her heart thumped against the wall of her ribcage. She was loving the effect she had on him. No matter what, that wasn’t a lie or a secret, and she clung to that as tightly as she clung to him.
For so long he’d played the starring role in her tawdriest fantasies—was it any wonder her resistance was slowly crumbling, leaving her to consider what would happen if she surrendered? Caved. Gave him his meeting. With Zeus. With her. Surrendered not only her body but also her true identity, her life. Not for a relationship—she wasn’t that naïve, and in truth she wasn’t interested in putting her heart on the line again for anyone, not after the humiliation of Ethan—but for one night in his bed.
One night of Nicandro Carvalho in exchange for risking it all. Would it be worth it? Probably not. Not to her. Not for sex. A fleeting pleasure versus losing Q Virtus. The old dinosaurs at the club would have her neck in a noose in no time if they knew a woman ruled their world. Heck, she’d only just managed to induct a number of serious-minded businesswomen into the fold, and that had taken her years. Dragging the place into the twenty-first century would turn her grey, she knew.
Rotten, stinking, filthy old laws.
But maybe he’ll keep your secret, Pia. He knows about your past, virtually promised he’d tell no one. Maybe she could reveal herself. Trust him.
The infernal internal argument raged on, fuelling her anxiety and frustration. Too many maybes. Too many risks. Especially considering the rumours and the trouble at Eros.
But maybe she’d jumped to the wrong conclusions and he had just been looking for Zeus. She had no proof he was responsible apart from the fact that he’d broken into her office and had been snoop
ing, but the more she knew of him the more she thought it was exactly the kind of risky, troublesome thing he’d do to find someone who, to be fair, was impossible to see. It didn’t mean he was to blame for all her problems, did it?
Convincing yourself now, Pia? Maybe so, but if he wanted to cause trouble why save her life by holding her in his arms through the night? Why order her to sleep on the flight with fervent concern in his gaze? Why show her around the city and enjoy every minute? Massage her feet. Give her a piggyback so she didn’t cut herself.
No. Just...no. It didn’t fit. Any of it.
Lost in the tangled web of her thoughts, she didn’t notice the glass plate frontage of the boutique until Nic came to a stop.
Pia wriggled to be let down. ‘You can let go now.’
‘I don’t want to,’ he said, with no small amount of petulance. ‘I love feeling you against me, Pia.’
Whether it was his sincerity, the heat between them, or the gruff repressed need in his voice, she wasn’t sure but she dipped her head and kissed him open-mouthed on the soft skin beneath his ear.
‘Thank you for the ride, big guy.’
It had been considerate and caring and he needn’t have done it. Who could blame her for being confused? This wasn’t the man she’d met in Zanzibar—the calculating wolf who doubtless had an agenda. This man felt real. And, God help her, she wanted him. Wanted to trust him with everything she was.
Nic loosened his hold and she dropped to the warm stone pavement. Then he spun around, cupped her face and kissed her back tenderly, affectionately, on the mouth.
‘Any time, bonita.’
As soon as they stepped over the threshold the store assistants were all over him like chocolate syrup—even the browsers couldn’t take their eyes off him. Not that she blamed them. And I’ve kissed him! A startled thrill washed over her—the kind she hadn’t had in for ever. I’ve kissed him and I want to do it again. And again.
Within half an hour Nic had packed her off to the changing rooms with a pile of clothes and Pia tore off her fitted jacket and skirt. The only way she could describe how she felt in that moment was free. As if her suit had been made of steel and she’d never known it. Eyeing the pile, overwhelmed and not sure where to even start, she heard a child-like whoop, knew it had something to do with Nic, and pulled the curtain aside to spy.
Standing on one leg, he balanced a dark red and blue Barcelona football on top of his elevated sneakered foot and held it there for long moments for the rapt attention of a young boy. After a while he gave a little kick, and Pia’s jaw dropped as he started bouncing that ball over and over again. Never dropping it once. A back-kick and it was balanced on his nape with an expertise that had the entire store mesmerised. A second later he was nudging it a few inches into the air with his head repeatedly—she thought they were called headers but, hey, she’d never been into football...she could be wrong—and the young boy was grinning and clapping and cheering with utter delight.
Pia felt a silly smile on her face and her heart began to float in her chest. Before she knew it, snapshots of impossible dreams flashed in her mind.
He would be a wonderful father.
After a childhood of no authority, no order, no harmony, Antonio Merisi’s controlled world had appealed to her so much she would have done anything to stay with him. And she had. But, looking back, it had been much like going from anarchy and chaos to despotism. A kind of tyranny.
Nic, on the other hand, was a glorious fusion of chaos and control. He could be commanding and dominant one minute, mischievous and wickedly sexy the next. As a daddy he’d be firm when he had to be, but probably the first to climb the nearest tree or jump in a nearby lake. And in that moment she envied the woman who would share that life with him.
An almighty shattering—like the sound of a hideously expensive vase being knocked off a shelf by a wayward football—splintered throughout the store.
Nic cringed so deeply his eyes squeezed shut. The little boy snorted, earning a glare from his mama. And Pia? She slapped a hand over her mouth to stop her giggle ripping free. And since when did she giggle? Ugh.
Contrite, Nic shrugged those big shoulders and smiled crookedly, almost blushing as he apologised to the staff. Pia honestly didn’t know why he bothered, because they were all in love with him and he could have trashed the shop for all they cared. He could buy the place fifty times over and they knew he’d pay his dues.
After discarding a few outfits that she wouldn’t be seen dead in, she settled on a sheer white T, a pair of jeans, a glamorous loose-fitting blazer and the softest pair of suede boots that made her feet sing. Then, before she could second-guess herself, she started to pull out the pins in her hair. Would Nic like her hair down? Even when she’d been sick it had stayed pinned back, so he’d never seen it—probably didn’t know it was so long. Heck, maybe he wouldn’t even care.
What’s happening to you, Pia? What is he doing to you?
By the time she’d squashed her self-doubt, pulled the curtain back and stepped out, Nic and his partner in crime were sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall, chattering about the greatest football players of all time.
Pia cleared her throat. ‘Are you boys behaving yourselves?’
Two faces jerked up. Two mouths—one big, one small—dropped.
‘Wow. She’s pretty. Is she your girl?’
Now it was Pia’s turn to blush scarlet. Heat spread up her cheeks as Nic just sat there. Blinking. Staring.
Eventually he launched to his feet. ‘I would like her to be. Do you think she should?’ he asked the boy.
‘Totally. You’re cool.’
‘This is my thinking exactly,’ he said, with an arrogant nod that made her roll her eyes.
Pia watched him prowl towards her and covered up her unease by cocking her hip. ‘Ta-da! Whadaya think?’
‘I think that mouth of yours was made for better things than to speak slang, querida.’ He walked around her, eyeing every curve, every nip, every inch. ‘And I think you look ridiculously young, amazingly cute, a whole world lighter and the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.’
‘Oh.’
‘Speechless? Dios, has the world ended?’
‘Sometimes I crave kicking you in the shin.’
From behind, he whispered huskily in her ear. ‘Let’s not get into cravings. Mine would make your toes curl and they are becoming more and more impossible to ignore.’
At the touch of his palm cupping her behind, she melted into a puddle.
‘Your lush derrière was made for jeans—you know that?’
Oh, God. Then she felt him toying with a thick lock of her hair, the tug on her scalp sending her dizzy.
‘You’ve finally unpinned your glorious hair. Dios, Pia, what are you trying to do to me?’
I’m not sure. Make you want me for me—not for who I am or what I can give you. Show you I’m more than the siren you want in your bed. Make you see me.
When he’d come full circle she stared at his mouth and he grinned wickedly.
‘Want a taste, Pia?’ he said, in that luscious, growly voice that made her tummy flip and her heart do a triple-somersault in her chest.
So of course she changed the subject. ‘Where did you learn to play football like that? You could’ve been a professional.’
It was as if she’d caused a power cut. The lights flickered. Blanked out. Then the stark flare of anguish in his eyes was so strong Pia had to root her feet to the floor to stay upright. What did they say about hidden depths? She’d never seen that kind of pain in him before. That depth of emotion.
‘Nic? What did I say?’
Pain morphed into something hard and cold that made her shiver. But as quickly as it had come, it was gone.
‘I was a pro. A long time ago.’
Oh, God, no wonder. ‘So what happened?’ she asked softly.
Turning his back on her, he stalked towards the cashier’s desk. ‘Injury. Let’s go.’
&nb
sp; She wanted to ask him how and why and when, but something told her he’d clam up even further because it would be opening a Pandora’s box.
How awful that must have been for him. Having his dreams ripped away. And they had been dreams—no one could have missed the joyful, almost wistful smile on his face as he’d performed for the little boy.
Nic paid the bill after he’d given her a warning glare not to argue—in truth she’d never had anyone buy her a gift, and today had been so special she didn’t want to bicker—and then asked for all the boxes to be delivered to his penthouse at the hotel. There seemed to be far too many, but she was so distracted with thoughts of his shattered aspirations she didn’t question it.
When they’d left the store Nic reached for her hand, and this time Pia took it. She’d avoided his hold all day, but she had the distinct impression he was asking for comfort.
His strong, warm grip tightened, as if he were pleased, but once they were sauntering down the tree-lined avenue he flipped back to his jovial rakish self.
‘Now we can hit the town,’ he said. ‘Dinner and a club—our first date.’
Pia stumbled on an invisible crack in the stone. ‘Date? Do friends go on dates?’ She couldn’t even bear to think of her last date. It made her feel physically sick.
He placed his hands on her waist to steady her and cocked an eyebrow knowingly. ‘Friends who want nothing more than to rip each other’s clothes off? All the time.’
‘There’ll be no clothes-ripping tonight.’
Absolutely not. Here she’d been, unravelling at the seams, and he’d just reminded her of a time when giving her trust to a man had royally stitched her up.
His whisky eyes sparkled down at her and her stomach did a hot, sultry roll.
The Ultimate Revenge Page 11
