“The wedding preparations might—”
“You know what I mean, Gio. Promise me.”
Gio glanced away. “Don’t blame Valentina for this. She told me it was foolish to invite you after she’d invited Karen, but…” He clapped a hand over his chest. “I’m a romantic at heart, my friend. I couldn’t resist.”
“That wasn’t a promise.”
He gave him a look that was sly and guilty at the same time. “I promise. Nothing deliberate.” Gio leaned forward conspiratorially. “But if you’ll take some advice, you should use this opportunity to get down on your knees and beg Karen for another chance. You’ve always looked at her like I look at Valentina. That kind of love, it doesn’t die. Not ever.”
Tate had the unsettling feeling that his friend was right. No matter how messed up his priorities had been or how often they’d quarreled, he’d never stopped loving her.
Something in his expression must have given him away, because Gio’s lips quirked in a smug grin. “You can’t deny that you’re just a little bit thrilled to see her, can you?”
No, he couldn’t deny it, but he wasn’t going to admit that to a cocky Italian. There was as much pain as pleasure in seeing her. It was like a knife to the heart to run into her so unexpectedly, and here in Rome where it had all started. Memories had assaulted him from the moment he’d stepped off the plane. He remembered walking these streets with her while they held hands, sitting in a café sipping espresso and talking for hours. The excitement and thrill of new love and passion. It had all seemed so bright then, like nothing could ever break the bond they’d forged here.
A little over a decade later and he was up to his eyeballs in regret.
He’d been so sure that he could have it all. A place in his family’s firm, the perfect career, the perfect wife, the perfect life. How arrogant he’d been. How stupid he felt now. Little by little, he’d turned into his father’s image. So buried in work there was nothing else in his world, nothing of any real significance. He’d let the most important thing slip through his fingers, the one true thing that had made it worth getting up in the morning.
He was the biggest fool who’d ever lived.
Gio thrust out a hand to help him stand. “Don’t give up hope so easily, Tate. Valentina and I have had our share of fights, and we’ve almost called it quits a couple of times, but we love each other and we’ve worked it out. If you love a woman, you do what you must to keep her.” He waved a hand in Tate’s face. “You make it complicated in your head and tell yourself that it’s too late, it’s hopeless. But it’s very simple. A woman like Karen is worth holding on to, worth fighting for. So fight for her.”
Fight for her. He snorted. There was something he’d never done. Fight with her? Yes. Fight for her? No. He’d let her walk away without a word of protest, unable to believe she really meant it. Denial again. The reality was, he’d pushed her away. Maybe not on purpose, but hindsight being what it was, he could see how every choice he’d made in the last decade had led him to where he was now.
Alone.
Chapter Three
Dinner was a lesson in torment. Valentina’s grandmother had pushed Karen into the chair next to Tate…and no one in their right mind argued with that woman. Not to mention, Karen had had no desire to bring more attention to the fact that Tate and she were the antithesis of the happy couple Gio and Valentina presented. Tate cast the occasional glance in Karen’s direction, but said little, which should have been comforting, but instead just felt weird. The longer she had to sit next to him, the more surreal the situation became, and the more wine she drank. Not the most mature way to handle things, but she was at a party in Italy. The vino flowed freely.
It was well after midnight by the time Gio poured her into a taxi. He all but shoved Tate in after her, who looked none too sober himself. They tumbled out in front of their hotel, and the world tilted oddly in front of her eyes. She blinked hard, trying to focus enough to get in the door.
“Oooooops,” Tate said, catching her arm when she staggered. A sweet tingle went down her skin. She frowned. There was a reason that should be a bad thing, but she wasn’t really certain what it was. Oh, yes. The divorce.
They bumped into each other a few times on their way to the elevator, and on the fourth bump, she burst into laughter. It echoed in the lobby and she clamped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide. Tate seemed to think that was hilarious because then he laughed too.
“We’re loud,” she whispered, tilting toward him, then back.
He nodded and pushed the button to call the elevator. They collided when they both tried to enter the car at the same time, which made them chortle.
“Whoops. Manners.” Tate waved her in first, then covered his mouth to smother a drunken hiccup. “Ladies first.”
“Thanks.”
Inside, he stared at the buttons with ferocious concentration. “What floor are you on?”
“The third, but they number things weirdly here,” she said knowledgably, proud that she remembered. Right now, she was a bit vague on her own name. “The ground floor is zero.”
“Okay. Good.” His finger circled the buttons a few times before he managed to hit the right one. “I’m on the third floor too.”
“That’s nice.” She hummed a little song as they began to slide upward. Very slowly. She’d never been in an elevator so slow. The only way she knew they were moving was the dial that pinged over to the next floor.
“I wanted to say…you look really pretty tonight. I like your new hair.” He squinted. “Don’t know if I told you that before, but I really, really like it. You’re beautiful, Karen.”
“Thank you. That’s so sweet.” A silly grin spread on her face, and warmth bloomed inside her.
“I have some Prosecco in my room. Got it when I was buying a bottle of wine to bring to dinner.” He swayed as the elevator lurched to a stop on their floor. “Want to share a glass with me?”
“Oooh, Prosecco.” That stuff was like Italian champagne with all kinds of fizzy bubbly goodness. She’d always loved it. “Okay.”
A tiny warning bell went off in the back of her head, but she wanted to feel fizzy and bubbly inside, so she ignored it and followed Tate into his room. They bumped into each other again as he tried to turn and shut the door and they both burst into guffaws.
“Shh,” he said, the sound slurring. “We don’t want to be too loud and get in trouble.”
She nodded sagely. “Then we wouldn’t get to have Prosecco.”
A snigger of laughter came from his nose as he reached around her to lock the door. She ended up pressed against the wood, which was good because her balance wasn’t too great. Tate’s chest slid over hers and that old spark of chemistry that had never really extinguished made her nipples tighten and a rush of heated warmth sluiced down her body. Mmm, and didn’t that feel nice? She closed her eyes to savor the sensation, a grin tipping up her lips.
“I would loooove to know what you’re thinking right now.” Tate’s breath brushed over her neck as he spoke, and it made goose bumps shiver down her skin. That felt nice too. His nose nuzzled into the sensitive spot just below her ear. “You smell so good, Karen.”
Her hands rose to press against his shoulders. She should push him away, but she was so tingly it was hard to make herself stop. Her muscles felt like putty, so loose and languid, she let her head fall back against the door. He braced his forearm over her head, leaned into her and their bodies met from knee to chest. The angles of him fit snugly with her curves, and the warmth within her scorched into pure fire. He slid his tongue up her throat and captured her earlobe, dragging a low moan out of her. Her nipples thrust against the lace of her bra, her sex clenching on emptiness. Her legs went weak and if it weren’t for him plastered against her, she’d have slid to the floor.
His fingers skimmed up her sides, leaving ripples of wicked longing in their wake. The hard ridge of his erection nestled into the crux of her thighs, and it was all she could do not t
o rub against him. He rocked into her, the movement subtle, but enough to stimulate every nerve in her body. Lust swept through her, made it hard to think about anything except what she knew he could do to her.
She licked her lips, tried to summon some self-control. “We’re drunk. We shouldn’t be doing this.”
“Tell me to stop and I will,” he whispered. His lips feathered over hers, once, twice, three times. Tempting her, coaxing her to respond. She could be half-dead and she thought she’d respond for this man.
“Um…” She whimpered into his mouth, fighting herself. It was a losing battle. He palmed her breast, and whatever thoughts she had scattered. She wanted, she needed.
“Tell me, Karen,” he breathed.
What was she supposed to tell him again? Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was the mindless desire, but everything seemed hazy. When his fingers pinched and rolled her nipple, it felt like a lightning strike of need went from breast to loins. She sucked in a breath, shuddering as she felt her core grow slick. His leg insinuated itself between hers, pulling the skirt of her filmy dress tight, and the hard muscle in his thigh rode against her clit. A sob ripped out of her and she clutched at his shoulders.
Her hips arched of their own volition, seeking that contact. Need throbbed within her, and she could feel herself building toward climax. Oh, God. Oh. God. Her nails bit into his arms. “Don’t stop.”
“I won’t.” He pulled her forward, stumbling back until he sat on the edge of the mattress. He drew her down so she straddled his lap, her dress bunched up around her thighs. His dark eyes gazed up at her, moving over her face. Threading his fingers through her hair, he offered her a slumberous half-smile that made her burn. “You’re so damn beautiful.”
She felt beautiful when he looked at her like that. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
“Come here.” He tightened his grip on her hair, tugging her downward. His mouth slanted on hers, his tongue thrusting between her lips. One hand slipped around to unzip the back of her dress, and then his fingers were on her skin. She slipped the buttons free on his shirt, wanting to feel him, wanting more.
He peeled her dress down to her waist, and groaned when she unfastened her bra and tossed it aside. His lips closed over one stiff peak, his tongue swirled around her nipple and his teeth grazed the sensitized flesh. She gasped, her back bowing to press herself closer to his talented mouth. “Please.”
His fingers trailed up the outside of her thigh, making her shiver. A moan broke from her throat when he slipped his hand between them and rubbed his knuckles over her sex. The thin cotton of her panties was all that kept him from touching her damp pussy, and each pass of his hand made desperation scream through her. She was so turned on she was trembling, so frustrated she wanted to cry. He pulled away, and she sobbed.
“I want you naked, sweetheart.” He slid his hands under her dress and eased it over her head. “Ah, that’s more like it.”
She propped her fists on her hips and shook her head slowly. “You must be way more plastered than you think. I am not naked, Tate. I still have my underwear on.”
His smile was more than a little tipsy, but he said, “I know how to fix that.”
“Oh, yeah?”
He set her on her feet and rose, then toed off his shoes and stripped out of his clothes. She knew she was supposed to get rid of her panties, but instead she watched him undress. God, he was good-looking. Hair and eyes that reminded her of dark chocolate, square jaw, patrician nose and a lower lip that was just a little too full. He was long and lean with the kind of muscle definition that made her want to run her tongue over every ridge and plane.
He sat down to jerk off his socks. “Not sure I can quite manage this standing up.”
She kicked aside her heeled sandals, letting her gaze roam over his body. The hard arc of his cock made her insides quiver. He reached out and took her hand, reeling her in. His thumbs hooked over the edge of her panties, tugging them down until they dropped to her ankles.
“Step out of them.”
She did as he bid, lifting her feet carefully and holding on to him for balance. If she tilted too far in one direction, she was afraid she’d end up in a heap on the ground. He rested his forehead against the curve of her stomach, the tips of his fingers grazing her inner thighs. She shifted her legs farther apart to give him better access, then clutched at his head when he stroked over her slick lips. He circled her entrance, then pushed two thick fingers into her sex. She whimpered, rising onto her tiptoes as the sensations grew more intense. Then he moved down to slip his tongue into the thatch of curls between her thighs. The first flick of his tongue over her clit made her jolt, her ankles wobbled and her legs gave out.
He caught her close, fell back on the bed, and they ended up on their sides facing each other. But desire knifed through her. She needed him. Now. Right now. Slinging her leg over his hip, she pressed as close as possible. The head of his cock probed at her opening, and he filled her in one swift plunge.
The exquisite stretch made her choke on a breath. So good. So amazingly good. He palmed her backside, his grip tight as he used the leverage to sink deep. She clung to his shoulder and arched her body, moving with him. Faster and faster, harder and harder. What her body craved was just beyond her grasp, and her muscles burned as she pushed herself to greater speeds. Little gasps spilled from her mouth, sweat slid in rivulets down her flesh.
“Please, please, please.” God, she needed surcease.
He reached between them and thumbed her clit in time with their movements. Her sex clenched with every thrust, orgasm rising high and hot within her. When he pinched that tight bundle of nerves, she came in a heated rush, her inner channel milking the length of his cock. She rode him until she’d wrung every last bit of pleasure out of the experience, her sex pulsing in rhythmic waves that only grew more powerful each time he entered her. It was almost too much, but that was what made it just right. Then she closed her eyes and sighed. Tingles ran over her limbs and euphoria made her grin.
He shifted against her, his shaft still a hard presence within her. She lifted her head and frowned at him. “You didn’t…?”
“Not yet.” He flipped her onto her back, which made her head spin in a dizzying whirl. Wow, she really was drunk. She giggled, then moaned when he surged deeper into her pussy. He cupped his palms over her cheeks, his gaze intent on her face. “This might take a while.”
Then he kissed her and started thrusting again. Time seemed to stretch, become elastic, and the world was nothing but sensation. The slide of his hands on her skin, the tactile pleasure of his chest—crisp hair, smooth flesh, taut muscles. The taste of him, spiced with red wine. The scent of Tate and sex and sweat. The creak of the mattress beneath them as they moved, the harsh groans at every touch, the rasp of their breath as they panted for air. The low cries as they crashed into orgasm together.
He reached for her more than once during the night, and her body responded, so high on endorphins she all but purred every time he stroked her skin. She didn’t know when they finally passed out, when she slid from post-coital bliss into dreamless slumber. All she knew was that nothing and no one had ever made her feel the way he did. His arm curled around her, he nuzzled his nose in the nape of her neck, and they both sighed as sleep claimed them.
Tate flinched as a piercing shaft of sunlight hit his eyelids.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered and turned his face the other way, trying to blink some of the fog out of his eyes. The inside of his mouth felt like a desert.
An empty bottle of Prosecco sat on the bedside table. Hazy memories began to resurface of exactly what had happened here last night. Karen. Him. They’d made love over and over again. He couldn’t get enough of her, gorging himself on what he knew he couldn’t keep. He recalled pouring the Prosecco over her lovely body and sipping the bubbly liquid from her nipples, the valley between her breasts, the hollow of her navel.
The hinges on the bathroom door squeaked and it f
elt like a nail was shoved into his eardrum. Fuck.
“Fuck.” Karen groaned and he watched her stagger into the bedroom.
By pressing the butt of his palm to his forehead, he tried to ease the pounding in his skull. “Good morning.”
She squinted. “I think it’s afternoon.”
Nodding cautiously, he said, “Booze, sex and jetlag.”
A tiny smile wisped across her lips. “All three guaranteed to keep you in bed late.”
“Yeah.” He sat up slowly, scrubbing a hand through his hair. The blankets were off the bed and the sheets were twisted. “You all right?”
She winced and sighed. “Feeling like an idiot, but fine otherwise.”
“Don’t,” he said softly.
“What?” She glanced around the room, then went to the end of the bed and stepped into her sandals.
“Don’t feel like an idiot.” Pain shafted into his heart, and it had nothing to do with the hangover. Last night had been amazing. For him, at least.
A snort erupted from her and she tossed a look at him. “Tate, I had a drunken sexfest with a man I’m divorcing. How is that not idiotic?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. I just know I don’t regret it. How can you regret the best sex of your life?”
“I think we’ve done better before.” Her lips pursed into a thoughtful moue.
A laugh straggled out of his throat. “I meant sex with you in general was the best I’ve ever had, not last night specifically.”
“Well, I guess one last evening for old time’s sake isn’t too bad.” She sounded like she was trying to reassure herself. Brushing at the wrinkles in her dress, she blew out a breath. “Right?”
Roman Reunion (Destination: Desire) Page 3
