Arms wide, she curled her fingers under the lid and lifted, heart pounding with anticipation and excitement and the thrill of him doing something especially for her. Again.
Pia tossed the lid aside, looked down and sucked in air so fast her throat burned and tears stung the back of her eyes.
A red sheath lay on black tissue and with trembling fingers she stroked the embellished silk bodice and low-scooped neck, adoring the hand-stitched beads that tickled her palm. Lifting it from the wide straps, she noticed the fitted waist and the chiffon skirt that would kick out from her hips—a little flirty, a whole lot of fun—and flare out when she spun. It wasn’t something she’d have chosen in a million years, but as she dressed in a daze, slipping the fabric over her head, letting the silk whisper over her skin and kiss her cleavage, for the first time in her life she felt like a billion dollars.
Odd how she could have bought hundreds of dresses just like this but had never wanted to—never had the need to dress up for anyone. But this... This dress was worth more than her fortune—at least to Pia—because it was a gift from the heart of a man who had to care. He had to.
And it was about time she admitted to herself that she cared right back. Had wanted him before they’d ever met face to face. Question was, did she have the strength to go for it? Surrender to him? Give him her body and reveal who she was? Take the ultimate risk?
Lost in thought, she lifted her left leg like a flamingo, reached down and nudged her foot into one glittering red stiletto. Then the other.
A quick glance in the mirror and she knew exactly what was missing.
Grabbing her jewellery case from the dark wood vanity, she slid the catch and opened the box, her heart doing a little pitter-patter as she spied the large black teardrop diamond and remembered the day her father had given it to her. No affectionate kiss on the cheek or words of love, but she’d known he’d cared for her in his own way and that had been enough. More than she’d ever expected or hoped for.
Lifting the chain from its bed of velvet, she watched the prisms from the chandelier above glint off the smooth black surface and the flash of a memory dimmed her buoyant mood. Zanzibar. The pure loathing in Nic’s eyes had been strong enough to make her feel genuine fear.
Shivering, she gave a cursory glance towards the door to see if he was out of the shower, wondering if anything had been unearthed about Santos Diamonds. Then, to preserve her fragile optimism, she snapped the case shut. Maybe Nic truly did have voodoo suspicions about black jewels, and he was in a strange enough mood as it was.
When she stepped out into the hallway the sound of rushing water lured her towards the open doorway of his wholly masculine en suite bathroom.
Steam poured over the top lip of the towering glass enclosure, pluming in the air with moist heat, and when she took a tentative step closer her heart gave a pang at the sight of him. Ached so badly she could hardly stand it.
Arms braced on the black granite tile, head down as the water poured over him in a hot wet rush, he looked utterly torn. Frustrated. Demoralised.
As if sensing her presence, Nic lifted his head and twisted at the neck until she could see his profile. Water dripped down his nose and he wiped his face over his hard bicep to clear his eyes.
‘Pia?’
He was so beautiful. From the hard sculpted lines of his back to the tapering of his waist, the dimples at the base of his spine and the perfect firm curves of his sexy butt.
Moisture dotted in between her breasts as her blood heated.
‘Did you buy the dress before or after you smashed the place up?’ she asked, her voice thready as she unravelled before him.
‘Before I broke a two-thousand-euro vase? Yes. Do you like it? The dress?’
‘I love it, Nic. Thank you.’
He gave a small nod. ‘You’re very welcome.’
She couldn’t look away—could only imagine what it would be like to strip off his gift, walk in there and act out any of the various tawdry fantasies she’d conjured up over the past week. And all the while he didn’t move a muscle, kept his body averted, and she started to ponder if he was thinking of her in the same way. If he was as turned on as she was.
‘You need to leave...now.’
Her stomach twisted with pure and painful longing. ‘What if I don’t want to?’
Tipping forward, he banged his forehead off the wall and ground out, ‘I’m not making love to you, Pia.’
The penny dropped. In fact it was as if she’d hit the jackpot and all the nice shiny coins were pouring out in a gold rush.
He didn’t want her to feel used. The way Ethan had made her feel. Now she understood. Now she wanted him more than ever. He would never purposely hurt her.
Pia smiled, but all she said was, ‘You keep telling yourself that...querido.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
‘I’VE CHANGED MY MIND.’
At Nic’s voice, Pia tore her eyes away from the limousine window and the sight of La Catedral, with its richly decorated Gothic façade graced with gargoyles and stone intricacies. Then she cursed inwardly.
One look was all it took tonight. Her lower abdomen clenched with want—empty, so needy she bowed slightly to ease the ache.
Nic put her in mind of a roguish prince in his wicked midnight-blue suit, with his unruly hair black in the dim light and curling seductively at his forehead and nape. He’d eschewed a tie in favour of an open collar and the sight of his smooth tanned throat was making her weak at the knees.
‘About what?’ she asked, cringing at the quiver in her voice.
‘This is the most beautiful I’ve ever seen you.’
‘You say that every time I change clothes.’
One side of his lush mouth kicked up. ‘A man’s prerogative, querida. Are you going to dance with me tonight?’
His voice, she noticed, was still thick and rich, but there was a hesitant tone there too and it matched his manner. As if he was so deep in thought, so conflicted, he was tearing himself apart. Clearly he didn’t want to talk about it—she’d asked him often enough—but that didn’t mean Pia wasn’t listening.
‘Yes, I want to dance. But I’ll warn you now I have no idea how.’
‘I can teach you the samba in five minutes. Or the rumba. Have a little faith—your body was made for dancing.’
The dark interior charged with an electric current that gave a sharp ping when Nic glossed his warm palm over her knee and drew tiny circles with his thumb over and over. A covetous touch that made her pulse spike. She wanted to feel him inside her so badly she could barely sit still. It was getting worse, she realised, this inescapable want. It was as if she just couldn’t breathe without him touching her.
Squirming in her seat, she scrambled for something to say. ‘This is your club we’re going to?’
‘Yes. Barcelona is one of my favourite cities in the world and a friend of mine—an actor, believe it or not—was bemoaning the lack of good dance clubs when he came into port. Next thing I knew I’d opened one. Una Pasion Hermosa—A Beautiful Passion.’
The car rocked to a stop outside a trendy upmarket nightclub with an endless queue and a dizzying red carpet.
Just like that her sangfroid flew out of the window. ‘Good name. Is it a celebrity haunt?’
‘Generally. Depends who’s in town.’
The car door opened to the excitable cacophony of the crowd and Nic flowed from his seat—all sleek masculine elegance—and held out his hand.
She stared at it like an idiot, trying to ignore the nauseating curl in her stomach.
‘Pia?’
Oh, God. Deep breath, hand in his and up she went, swirling into the foyer in a blur of blinking camera lights, ducking her head self-consciously, coming unglued with the idea that people would try and figure out who she was. Nic might be used to the limelight but she wasn’t. She chose instead to stay behind the scenes. Very few knew her true identity and she wanted to keep it that way.
‘Nic,’ she whispe
red furiously. ‘Maybe this isn’t such a good idea. Won’t people know you? Wonder who I am?’
He shrugged with so much insolence she could have whacked him. ‘Only my staff really knows who I am, and they are paid very well not to make a fuss. They’re used to high-end clientele and I doubt anyone will look twice at us.’
Nic wrapped his hand around hers tightly, as if sensing she was about to go nuclear with the power of angst-laced adrenaline rushing through her veins, and she felt the flow of tension drift from her body on a slow sweeping wave.
Come on, Pia. You don’t want to ruin your last night fretting about things that might never be, do you? No. She wanted to enjoy every second. Live in the moment. Out in the real world. For once not hiding.
Nic led her to one of the private booths set on an elevated dais and Pia slid into the overstuffed velvet bench seat, feeling the seductive bass line of the Brazilian samba pound through her blood.
‘What’s your poison, Pia?’ he said, leaning over, his whisky eyes aflame with heat and desire.
‘You choose. I don’t want to make any decisions tonight. I want to just...feel.’ Her voice sounded unreal. Loose. Licentious. As if her body was slowly taking over the power of her analytical mind.
Nic ordered French 75s and they were delivered minutes later, served in champagne tulips. Pia blamed the heat for what she did next: knocked back the first gulp with so much abandon she almost blew her head off.
‘Wow. Potent stuff. Someone just shot a flame-thrower down my throat.’
‘For a potent lady,’ he murmured, lips carved with a devilish smirk. ‘A gutsy, lusty blend of gin, champagne, lemon juice and sugar.’
The way he puckered his lips and said ‘sugar’, with a naughty, intoxicating lilt, sent the delicious tart-sweet cocktail straight to her head. And all she could see was the swarthy sexy mess of his dark hair, the lights flickering over his aristocratic face, the smooth bronzed skin of his throat.
Good God, this sensation of recklessness was like being on a brutally intense rollercoaster and she wanted the ride to go harder and faster, way beyond control.
When Nic caught her staring and raised an arrogant brow she tore her eyes away, more than a little perturbed at her complete lack of morals. Was she coming off as some kind of...? Of what, Pia? Whore?
No. No, she wasn’t going there. What had Nic said? Being close. Affectionate. Yearning for a lover’s touch. She’d never had that before. That was probably why it had made her feel so dirty to be used. She’d allowed Ethan to make her feel worthless. But this give and take, connection and tenderness, had its own kind of beauty and there was nothing dirty about that—he was right.
Proof of that was in the crush of dancers moving sinuously across the floor to the unique samba beat. Under the brilliant strobes they were all beautiful arches and lines, weaving in light and shadow.
She focused on the couples who appeared to be lovers and picked up the nuances of their behaviour. The man tucking his lover’s hair behind her ear, kissing her jawline, the tip of her nose, nuzzling her collarbone—all fiery heat, promising dizzying pleasure. More than anything she wanted to be close and affectionate like that with Nic.
‘You’re looking at them with such heart-shattering longing, Pia. What is going through that pretty head of yours?’
She didn’t answer—couldn’t...not with such a great lump in her throat.
‘Maybe you are ready to dance, yes?’
‘Now or never.’ And she meant that literally. Something told her tonight was her last chance, her only chance with him, and if all she ever had was the heady sensation of his body moving against hers—even fully clothed—then so be it. She’d take it. It would be enough.
Pia stepped onto the pulsing dance floor and before she could think about where to stand or how to move Nic was there, taking control, taking the lead.
Aggressive, dominating, he curled his left arm around the base of her spine and pulled her to him, crushing her breasts against his chest. Then he clasped her right hand tightly in his—a silent declaration that he wouldn’t let her fall, wouldn’t let go. The moment was achingly wonderful, and as she looked up into his eyes and saw the longing reflected back at her she knew she was done for. Knew she’d never feel this way again.
‘That’s it, querida. Relax. Give all that control over to me.’
She had the notion they were talking about more than dancing, and she was already halfway to coming undone and unravelling quickly.
‘Feel the contagious beat in your blood. Let the music move you; let it flow through your body and follow my lead.’
His voice was a giddy narcotic all on its own as he confidently steered her around the whirl of tight bodies and swaying hips.
Pia clutched his strong upper arms, loving the sensation of honed muscle beneath her fingers, and yet he bent them and moved with such masculine grace he was a stunning sight to see. His hands splayed across her lower back, where he gripped her tight and then moved their hips in a figure eight—all sensuality and sin—and then she was twirling like a top as he executed a perfect spin.
Just like that she was dancing, and she’d never felt so connected to another person in her entire life.
A second later she slammed back into his chest, palms flat, panting softly, breasts swollen and heavy, nipples peaking against the lace of her bra, begging to be touched.
Nic gazed down at her, all broody and dark.
It was like dancing with the devil, she realised. His every movement was a wicked invitation to vice, his covetous touch was possessed with danger, his scorching hot body created to spawn lust.
That was when she noticed. Nic wasn’t the only one looking at her. Them.
‘People are watching us,’ she breathed.
‘And most are obscenely envious of me, querida. Not to mention turned on.’
Well, they weren’t the only ones.
His grip was firm but tender, holding her in the way a musician might prise the best from a rare instrument, and with every undulation, every sinuous return of her hips, her body hummed like a piano wire and she felt a hiccup of orgasmic pleasure. Not a full-on climax but a short, sharp, sweet jolt that was gone in an instant. Then another would hit, and suddenly she was shaking with uncontrollable need.
‘Nic?’ Oh, God. This was a whole new level of sexual tension.
Their bodies were so close from the waist up they barely moved. Her cheek now rested against his and the smell of his skin made her head spin, as if he was twirling her round and round the floor. When she inhaled through her mouth she could taste him, and her mind began to wander imagining a scene playing out...
Nic holding her down—wickedly naked—as they danced to an earthly wanton tune in his bed.
Dizziness hit her like a truck and the next thing she knew she was on her tiptoes, pressing her lips to his. Kiss me, please.
He hesitated and dread thrashed its monstrous tail, whipping her insides until—oh, yes—he thrust his hands into the fall of her hair and coaxed her mouth open with his tongue. Until she was seduced into an erotic play that had her nerves singing as he kissed her with such unrestrained passion she thought she might faint.
Beneath the mastery of his plundering lips the ache between her thighs grew to painful proportions full of emptiness and need. And impatience gathered inside her, right there, at the base of her abdomen, its frustrating heat spreading outward.
Pia undulated against him, stroking the thick erection that pushed against his seam over and over.
‘Dios, Pia. You’re killing me,’ he groaned into her mouth, his hands unsteady as they moulded to her body.
His touch was electric and it seemed to be everywhere and nowhere all at once. She needed him to do something. To take control. Take her.
That was another thing he’d been right about. It was all about control for her, and she didn’t like giving hers up. It made her afraid of being hurt. But in giving up her power and control to Nic, in return he’d giv
e her something she needed far more right now. The assurance that what she had to offer of herself was worth giving to someone. That Pia was worth it. That her past hadn’t tainted her beyond value.
‘I want you, Nic. So much...’ she whispered as she nuzzled across his jaw, and the last vestiges of doubt dissolved beneath the power of his searing heat. ‘Take me back,’ she implored. ‘Take me.’
So foolhardy. So reckless. So inevitable.
Emotion roamed across his features, shifting from conflicted to cautious to aroused and everything in between.
Pia watched the war raging inside him...
Then her heart smiled.
* * *
The limousine was dark. Streetlamps flashed at regular intervals, flaring through the shadowy black leather interior. And he tried to say no, to hold on, but within seconds of them tumbling into the car she was straddling his lap and gyrating against him. It was biological fireworks and he was only human, right? He’d been desperate for her since the day they’d met.
His agonising erection nudged the mound of her lacy briefs, pressing into her hot wet folds, and his mouth was on hers, ravenous, devouring, stunningly erotic.
For the first time in his life he was incapable of restraining his impulses—his body’s carnal urges were stronger than his cast-iron will.
It was all hands and mouths and thrusting hips, murmured begging and endearments that made no sense, but they were both past the need to care about anything but pleasure and release.
The desire, already voluminous, became so acute he thought he was going to have a heart attack. How he was going to last the eight-minute drive was beyond him.
The sound of cloth tearing reached his ears, and when he felt her hungry hands on his chest he let out a low groan.
‘Pia, slow down—or I swear you’ll be on the floor in ten seconds flat.’
It seemed her version of ‘slow’ varied widely from his, because her open mouth glossed down his chest and licked over the flat copper disc of his nipple.
Nic hissed, but the sound was cut off when he felt her fingers at his waist, unbuttoning his trousers.
The Ultimate Revenge Page 13
