by Heidi Rice
She had to leave the palazzo before she did something monumentally stupid. Again.
‘Don Vincenzo, I was wondering if it would be okay for me to return to the UK tomorrow after I’ve done the client presentation?’ Eva heard the clatter of Nick’s cutlery but kept her gaze fixed on their host.
She’d waited through their starter, a pasta course of crab linguini, an entrée of rabbit cacciatore and summer vegetables and a dessert of strawberry tiramisu, listening to Nick’s monosyllabic answers to all his grandfather’s questions, while apprehension tightened her stomach and she struggled to swallow a single bite.
Vincenzo lifted the bottle of wine they had been sharing out of its wine bucket and topped up her glass. His gaze drifted past her to Nick, whom she suspected was glaring at her, but she had to be grateful he hadn’t said anything. At last Vincenzo addressed her. ‘I never speak of business while I am dining, Eva. It is an Italian’s prerogative to do everything in their power not to spoil their digestion.’
‘I’m sorry.’ The tension stretched taut, but she soldiered on. ‘I understand completely, but maybe we could discuss it tomorrow then,’ she added hopefully, not wanting to be put off. This was her way out, because she was very much afraid that her resolve wasn’t going to stand up to more than one night in the room next door to Nick.
‘I have arranged for you to travel to Milan tomorrow to see Luca, while I take Niccolo on a tour of my properties in Riva del Garda,’ Vincenzo said easily. ‘But once you have shown your research to my solicitors, I see no reason why you should not return to London.’
Eva sent him a tremulous smile. It was a lifeline, if not much of one. Surely she could keep her hormones in check for a couple of days. ‘Thanks, that would be—’
‘Eva comes with us to Riva del Garda.’
Eva whisked her head round, to find Nick sipping his wine, his gaze willing her to challenge him. ‘She can see the lawyers another day.’
‘Excuse me, but it’s not your decision to make,’ Eva said through gritted teeth. How dared he presume to intervene? This was her job. ‘It’s up to Don Vincenzo when I—’
‘Now, now, children.’ Vincenzo gave a gruff laugh, holding up his hands to silence her tirade. ‘While my grandson’s manners could do with improvement,’ he said, casting a quelling glance at Nick, ‘he is right. There is no rush for Luca to see the presentation. You are more than welcome to accompany us to Riva del Garda, Eva.’ Vincenzo rang a small bell, signalling the staff to clear their plates. ‘In fact, I insist you come. It is a magnificent little town, full of history. You will enjoy it.’
‘It sounds lovely,’ Eva said politely, her jaw tense as she realised Nick had managed to manipulate the situation again without even trying. ‘And I appreciate the invitation, but I—’
‘It is settled, then,’ Vincenzo announced, steamrolling over her objection. ‘I will inform Luca to expect you another day.’
Eva was forced to nod her assent as her lifeline vanished. ‘I’ll look forward to it,’ she murmured, her jaw so rigid now it was a wonder she hadn’t cracked a tooth. It seemed Nick and his grandfather had more in common than just their looks, she thought as Lorenzo whisked away her dessert plate.
‘Do you mind if I excuse myself, Don Vincenzo?’ she said laying her napkin on the table. She needed to get out of here, before she gave into the overpowering urge to give Nick a good solid whack on the shins under the table. ‘I’m exhausted.’
‘No of course not.’ The old man rose too, shooting Nick another stern look when he remained seated. To Eva’s silent astonishment, Nick took the hint and, throwing his napkin onto his plate, pushed his chair back and got to his feet.
As she dashed back to her room through the palazzo’s corridors she conceded two things: even if Don Vincenzo managed to teach Nick some much needed manners, he would never be remotely civilised—and she needed a new plan. Fast.
When she reached the bedroom, she flipped the lock, then eyed the connecting door that led to their shared bathroom—which she already knew didn’t have a lock.
Dragging an inlaid-gold armchair that stood next to an antique writing desk across the thick silk carpeting, she propped it under the gilt handle, tried the door, then stood back to admire her work. Okay, it was a little desperate and extremely lowering to realise she didn’t trust herself to resist that hungry look in Nick’s eye should he pay her a surprise visit.
But at least she had a new and brilliantly simple strategy to keep him—and herself—under control. For tonight at any rate.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Rafe’s mane of midnight black hair caught the wind, the tempest of emotion on his face as wild and unyielding as the thunderous roar of the sea pounding the ship’s deck. ‘Ye shall not deny me another night, Shanna,’ he yelled. ‘I own ye now.’
‘Take me then,’ Shanna hurled the words through the lashing rain. ‘But you shall never own me,’ she cried, the fire in her belly igniting as his manhood plunged deep.
EVA groaned and closed her favourite book. It was no good. However hard she tried, instead of seeing Rafe the Pirate Captain and Shanna the fiery beauty who had brought him to his knees, she kept seeing Nick and herself. But Nick wasn’t the one being brought to his knees.
Her head shot up at the muffled thump on the balcony. An all-too-familiar silhouette appeared in the open terrace doors. She shrieked and jerked upright in bed—and The Pirate’s Captive flew out of her hands and landed on the carpet with a thud.
‘Nick!’ The figure strolled into the room. ‘What are you doing?’ she squeaked.
‘Paying you a visit,’ he said, his breathtakingly handsome face illuminated by the dim light from the bedside lamp. ‘What does it look like?’
She leapt out of bed, determined not to be caught lying down, and cursed her own stupidity. Her brilliantly simple plan had a major flaw. The palazzo had no air conditioning, so she’d left the balcony doors open to let the lavender scented breeze from the gardens cool the still air. She’d noticed the neighboring balconies on the bathroom and Nick’s room, but hadn’t given them a second thought, because they were a good three feet apart. How on earth had he got across? Without breaking his neck?
‘You can’t come in here.’ She headed towards him, deciding to lead with her temper and ignore the pump of adrenaline making her limbs tremble. ‘You have to leave.’ She thrust her forefinger towards the balcony doors to point him in the right direction. ‘Now.’
Instead of following her perfectly succinct order, he walked right past her. ‘That’s gratitude for you,’ he said lazily. ‘When I’ve just risked life and limb to safeguard your reputation.’
She slapped her palms on her hips. ‘My reputation?’ she snapped. ‘You’re in my room in the middle of the night!’ she whispered furiously.
Just because her breasts were tingling beneath the skimpy silk of her nightgown, and she’d been imagining him ravishing her on the deck of a pirate ship she definitely did not want him here. ‘How is that going to safeguard my reputation?’
‘No need to get your knickers in a twist,’ he countered, the statement making her uncomfortably aware that she had no knickers on to get in a twist. ‘No one knows I’m here.’
Before she could tell him that was hardly the point, he gestured to the chair propped against the bathroom door and swore softly. ‘I knew it,’ he muttered, exasperated. ‘You barred the door.’ His eyes drifted down her frame. ‘Now how childish is that?’ he drawled, a slow smile appearing.
Her nipples puckered into hard points, so she crossed her arms over her chest.
‘It’s not childish,’ she muttered, the swelling in her breasts and the pounding between her thighs making it impossible to maintain an adequate level of scorn in her voice. ‘Certainly not as childish as climbing about on balconies in the middle of the night,’ she added.
He shrugged, picking up the summer dress she’d left flung over a chair. ‘I wanted to see you.’ He raised the dress to his face and took
a deep breath.
She forced down the blip in her heartbeat at the possessive tone, the sensual gesture. ‘Well I don’t want to see you,’ she countered, and tried to make herself believe it.
‘What have we here?’ he murmured, spotting something on the floor as he flung her dress on the bed. Bending down, he rose holding her discarded paperback. ‘Well, well, I never would have guessed it.’ He gave a gruff laugh, examining the battered cover—which bore a colourful illustration of a bare-chested Rafe and an all but bare-breasted Shanna in an extravagant clinch. ‘You read porn.’
She gasped. ‘It’s not porn.’ She tried to grab the book, but he held it easily out of reach. ‘It’s romantic fiction.’
He chuckled. ‘Girly porn, then.’
‘It’s not porn of any kind.’
‘Let’s read it and see.’ He held the book down, began to rifle through the pages.
She snatched the paperback out of his hands. ‘It’s not porn,’ she said, whipping the book behind her back. ‘You’ll have to take my word for it.’
No way was she letting him read the book, especially the passages she’d dog-eared. It would only inflame the situation—and her. And her body was already on fire. His big body brushing hers as he backed her into a corner.
Her back hit the wall with a soft thud.
‘Eva.’ His voice reverberated over her skin as he braced his hand above her, caging her in, the scent of musk and man filling her senses. ‘Why read about it, when you can do it for real?’
‘Because I don’t want to,’ she blurted out, seeing the hungry promise in his eyes as the breeze brushed her bare legs, and a delicious tremble of reaction shimmered down to her toes.
He touched his lips to her ear lobe, and whispered: ‘You’re lying.’
She opened her mouth, but the denial got stuck in her throat. She could feel the slickness of her sex, the tenderness of her breasts, hear the rasp of her own breathing.
One rough palm settled on her leg, cutting off her air supply completely. Her thigh muscles quivered and bunched, her breath expelling from her lungs in a rush as his hand trailed upwards.
‘You want to know how I can tell you’re lying?’ he murmured.
She shook her head, but revelled in the zing of sensation as his callused palm rose up her leg.
His thumb brushed across her hip and traced the top of her thigh. She shuddered, her fingers releasing the paperback, the gentle thump as it hit the floor barely registering as his thumb dipped into the curls covering her sex. ‘You’re wet and ready for me right now, aren’t you, Eva?’
‘Please…’ she begged as longing blazed through her. She was wet, and ready. Ready to forget everything. Her job, her sensible well-ordered life, her sanity, if only he would touch her more. Touch her there.
He bit into her ear lobe, the sharp nip a delicious counterpoint to the painful shock of pleasure as his thumb found the perfect spot at last and rubbed.
She sobbed, clutching the muscle of his bicep, and clung on, riding his stroking thumb to increase the torment. Her swollen breasts arched into his chest as the orgasm swept through her in one tumultuous, all-consuming wave.
She forced herself to let go of his arm as she drifted back to her senses. She pressed back into the wall, knees still weak from the intensity of her climax. But instead of the smug expression she had expected, all she saw in his face was fierce lust burning the golden brown of his irises to a molten chocolate.
‘I rest my case,’ he rasped, lifting his thumb to his lips and licking.
‘You’re right,’ she said, her voice as shaky as her legs. ‘I do want you, but you scare me too.’
Was what she felt for him more powerful, more overwhelming than simple lust? She swallowed heavily, looked away from his penetrating gaze, ashamed of her own cowardice, and worse, terrified that he would see the yearning in her eyes. And realise how needy she was.
He lifted her chin, and her eyes met his, the tenderness and concern in them making the frantic beat of her heart increase. ‘Don’t be scared, Eva,’ he said gently. ‘I won’t take you until you’re ready. Not this time.’
‘What do you mean?’ she said, confused by the note of self-loathing she detected.
He stepped back, huffed out a breath. ‘I did that once before and look what happened. You lost your job.’
‘That wasn’t your fault,’ she corrected, more confused than ever. What was he saying? That he felt responsible for her losing her job?
‘Whatever.’ He shrugged. ‘The point is, it doesn’t matter now because you’ve got it back.’ The words were delivered in an offhand manner, as if the information was irrelevant, but as soon as he said them something she had never understood suddenly became blindingly obvious.
‘Oh, my goodness!’ She pressed her palm to her mouth, her shock as real as the disturbing rush of emotion at the thought of what he’d done. ‘That’s why you agreed to come here. That’s why you changed your mind about meeting your grandfather. To make Mr Crenshawe give me my job back.’
She’d thought he’d done it out of some vindictive desire to punish her, when what he’d really been doing was helping her.
He gave a strained laugh. ‘Yeah, like I’m really that noble,’ he said, but she wasn’t fooled.
‘But you are,’ she said, all the more convinced because of his attempt to deny it. ‘You didn’t have to insist I accompany you. But you knew Crenshawe would have to re-employ me if you did.’
‘Stop being so naïve,’ he said, frustration sharpening his voice. ‘I engineered this whole thing so I could have you again. You getting your job back was just a nice fringe benefit.’
‘I don’t believe you.’ She thought of his defensiveness when she’d spoken about his mother. His prickly response to his grandfather. And the emotions swirling in his eyes when she’d confronted him that afternoon. Why would he go through all that just to sleep with her, when he could have any woman?
‘Yeah, well, you should.’
‘You did something good. Something kind and sweet,’ she shot back. ‘Why is that so hard for you to admit?’
He swore, flattening her body against the wall. ‘Because, damn it, I’m not kind and sweet.’ Large hands grasped her waist, lifting her, until the long, hard ridge in his jeans pressed against her. ‘Feel that—that’s what I want from you. That’s the only reason I’m here.’
Firecrackers of need exploded in her sex at the memory of his thick girth lodged deep inside her, stretching pain turning to blinding pleasure.
She writhed and he gave a harsh laugh. ‘I’m not one of the good guys, Eva. Remember that,’ he snarled, his erection grinding into the juncture of her thighs. ‘But I’m going to wait for you to come to me this time. So you know exactly what you’re getting into.’
He let her go.
‘But I already know,’ she said, the words shuddering out on a shocked sob.
‘No, you don’t.’ He ran his thumb down her cheek. ‘Because you’re way too sweet and naïve for your own good.’ Tucking his forefinger beneath her chin, he raised her gaze to his. ‘Sex is all I’m looking for. There aren’t going to be any hearts and flowers like in your book. Not with me. And I want you to understand that before we go any further.’ He placed a firm, possessive kiss on her lips. ‘Now go get me Leonardo’s journal.’
‘I… Why?’ she stammered.
‘I need something to help me sleep. And your girly porn isn’t going to cut it.’
She nodded, skirting around him, and then crossed to the antique dresser, her thoughts whirring at what he’d revealed. Why was he so convinced he was one of the bad guys?
She pulled the leather-bound book from her suitcase, handed it to him.
Her heart plummeted at the sight of his long fingers closing over his father’s diary. Reading the truth of that cruel, long-ago seduction would only make this trip harder for him.
‘I’m afraid I only have the original,’ she said and bit back the urge to snatch the journal
from him, knowing he would only scoff at her concern.
He flipped the book up, caught it one-handed. ‘That’s okay.’ He touched the spine to her cheek, trailed it down her throat, and traced the neckline of her gown, her bosom rising and falling in jerky spasms. ‘Get a good night’s sleep, Eva Redmond.’ A suggestive grin flashed across his handsome features. ‘Because it may be your last.’
She gave a nervous little laugh as he walked through the terrace doors, clamping down on the urge to call him back. To tell him to finish what he’d started, that she wanted him now, that she was ready.
The wrought-iron railing creaked as he jumped onto the balcony and disappeared into the night. She returned to her empty bed, climbed beneath the sheets, and turned off the bedside lamp.
Nick Delisantro wasn’t right about himself. He was a better man than he believed himself to be. And he wasn’t right about her either. She wasn’t naïve, she was only inexperienced. And just because she got a vicarious pleasure from reading about virile pirate captains and their beautiful captives, she did know the difference between fiction and reality—thank you very much.
But he was right about one thing. She needed time and space to analyse her feelings, to consider the situation rationally and sensibly before she did something wild and reckless again—and then discovered she couldn’t control the consequences.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The smell of her arousal makes me hard. She’s begging for it. Her husband is a fool, and as inexperienced as she is, he can’t satisfy her, so I will. And afterward she’ll always wish it was me between her thighs and not him.
NICK slammed the book closed and growled out a guttural expletive, his fingers digging into the worn leather.
What a creep.
He slung the journal onto the coffee table. If he’d learned one thing over the last two sleepless nights waiting for Eva to come to him, apart from the fact that he was his own worst enemy, it was that Conte Leonardo Vittorio Vincenzo De Rossi had been a lecherous, egotistical, misogynist jerk who had about as much restraint as a horny schoolboy and a lot less literary talent.
