She shook her head. ‘I know you were trying to protect me when you saw me on the balcony.’ She met his gaze, her clear hazel eyes containing a breathtaking honesty. ‘I know I’m safe with you.’
Santa Madre! He did not want to go there. He did not want to think of the past and all its secrets. What he wanted, needed, was to lose himself in the sweet seduction of Isobel’s body. To kiss her and have her kiss him back, to caress her silken skin and feel her gentle hands on his body as she stroked his own aching body and brought him to the edge of ecstasy. He would take her with him on that tumultuous ride for they shared a passion that he had never experienced as intensely with any other woman.
Isobel gave a broken sigh as Constantin claimed her mouth once more, but this time his passion was tempered by a beguiling tenderness that shattered her soul. He was everything. The love of her life. The two years they had been apart had been unendingly lonely. She had thousands of fans around the world and sang in front of vast audiences, but every night she had slept alone and her heart had ached for one man.
He traced his lips over the fragile line of her collarbone and made a muffled sound almost as if he were in pain as he kissed each black bruise on her arms. A shiver of pleasure feathered down Isobel’s spine as he moved lower to caress her breasts, painting moist circles around each aureole before he suckled her nipples in turn while she closed her eyes and gave herself totally to his sensual magic.
Reality faded, and was replaced with a new reality where only she and Constantin existed. She felt the mattress dip when he laid her on the bed. She watched him strip, and her heart beat faster as she studied every olive-skinned, muscle-packed inch of his body. He was a work of art, but unlike Bernini’s incredible sculptures on the Fountain of the Four Rivers down in the piazza, his skin was warm beneath her fingertips and the wiry black hairs that covered his chest and arrowed over his flat stomach and thighs were faintly abrasive against her palms.
The jutting length of his arousal was further proof, as if she needed it, that hot red blood ran through his veins. She had forgotten just how powerfully he was built and her hesitation much have shown in her eyes because he smiled crookedly as he stretched out next to her and drew her into his arms.
‘Are you having second thoughts, tesorino?’ he murmured.
And third and fourth thoughts, if he but knew it. She gave him a shaky smile. ‘Two years is a long time...and I’m out of practice.’
His eyes darkened. ‘There has been no one else?’
She would not lie to him. ‘No.’
‘Not for me, either.’
Now she was shocked. ‘You mean you haven’t...in two years?’
‘We were living apart but you were, are, my wife.’
No wonder he was so hugely aroused, whispered a little voice in her head. Her husband was a highly sexed male and frustration must have had him climbing the walls.
He had the uncanny knack of being able to read her mind. ‘Believe it,’ he said drily.
Their eyes met, and the sultry promise in his focused her mind on what he was doing with his hands as he trailed a path of fire down to the cluster of golden curls at the apex of her thighs. Despite the passing of time he had total recall of how to please her, knew the exact moment when she needed him to slide one finger into her, then two, and move them in a relentless dance until she gave a husky cry of delight and desperation.
He loved that she was so unguarded in her response to him. Aware that he was about to explode, Constantin felt his iron control shatter, and with a groan he pulled her beneath him, slid his hands beneath her bottom and drove into her with a powerful thrust that brought a gasp from her.
‘Dio, did I hurt you?’ Remorse thickened his voice, but as he made to withdraw she wrapped her long legs around his hips.
‘No. It just feels so good.’ Her shy smile reminded him of the first time he had made love to her, when her guileless enjoyment had made him come much faster than he had intended.
He focused entirely on giving her pleasure as he began to move, slowly at first, with strong, measured strokes that heightened their mutual excitement. She quickly learned his rhythm, lifting her hips to meet each powerful thrust. Their bodies moved in perfect accord, riding a sensual roller coaster that gathered speed—faster, faster, hurtling them towards the highest peak and hovering there for timeless moments before they crashed and burned in the climatic explosion of their simultaneous release.
A long time afterwards, Constantin rolled onto his back and immediately curled his arm around her and cradled her against his chest. The steady thud of his heartbeat beneath her ear soothed the knot of apprehension in Isobel’s stomach. They needed to talk, and she was no longer sure what she hoped the outcome of the conversation would be. Had making love to her meant something to him, or was it simply to slake his sexual frustration?
‘Constantin...?’
‘Sleep now, tesorino,’ he murmured. Was it her imagination, or did she sense that he was reluctant to break the languorous haze? The drift of his fingertips along her spine was hypnotic and she closed her mind to everything but the pleasure of simply being with him in the private world they had created.
* * *
Isobel had no concept of how long she’d slept, when something, a sound, woke her. Surfacing from the fog of sleep, she realised that she had heard a voice shouting. Her memory returned.
She’d had sex with Constantin last night.
Why did things never seem such a good idea the next morning?
Pale grey light slivered through the blinds, and she saw on the clock that it was four a.m. Constantin was sitting up in bed, breathing hard, as if he had run a marathon. She put her hand on his shoulder and he jumped as if he had been shot.
‘Dio! Isobel—’ he took a gulp of air ‘—I didn’t realise you were awake.’
‘I heard a noise.’ Her brow wrinkled as a memory pushed up from her subconscious. ‘Why were you shouting?’
‘I knocked over the damned water jug. I’m sorry, cara, I didn’t realise I’d cursed so loudly.’
She looked at him doubtfully, not quite believing his explanation. ‘I thought I heard you say, “He meant to kill her,” or...or something like that.’ She had a vague recollection of hearing those curious words some time in the past. ‘Do you still suffer from nightmares like you did two years ago at Casa Celeste?’ She wished it were light enough for her to be able to see his face clearly. She looked over at his bedside table and felt even more puzzled when she made out the water jug standing upright.
‘I think you must have been dreaming.’ His breathing had slowed to a normal rate and he sounded amused.
Isobel frowned. ‘I’m sure I wasn’t.’ It was becoming harder to think when he was nuzzling her neck. She tried to push him away but her hand somehow crept up to his shoulder as he trailed soft kisses down her throat and the slopes of her breasts. Her nipples were ultra-sensitive from his earlier caresses, and she caught her breath as he anointed each tender pink tip with his tongue.
‘Constantin...’ She fought the swift rush of desire that swept through her, trying to focus on the reason why he had called out. One of them had been dreaming, and she was certain it wasn’t her. But his hand was between her legs, and a little moan escaped her as he unerringly found her clitoris and with skilful fingers took her swiftly to a place where only exquisite sensation existed. When he bent his dark head and replaced his fingers with his mouth, she instinctively arched her hips and quivered like a slender bow under intolerable tension before she experienced the sweet ecstasy of release. But hazily, in the back of her mind, was the thought that he had deliberately set out to distract her.
As the cool grey of pre-dawn turned to iridescent shades of pink and palest gold Constantin watched the hands on the clock move unhurriedly towards six a.m. From outside the window he could hear the pigeons
cooing, the faint rumble of traffic that would grow louder as the Eternal City woke to a new day.
There was no chance he could fall back to sleep now, thank goodness. But his nightmare had been so vivid that he broke out in a cold sweat as he recalled the details. He had dreamed of two figures standing on a balcony. Not the balcony of the tower at Casa Celeste, but here at the penthouse. And the figures were not his father and Lorena, but him and Isobel.
She was tossing her hair, laughing as she teased him that she preferred the handsome waiter at the restaurant to him. Basta! Her taunts filled him with rage. Violent rage—seething up inside him like boiling lava inside a volcano. He reached out his hand...and then she was falling, falling.
Mio Dio! It was just a dream, Constantin told himself. It did not mean anything. He turned his head and stared at Isobel’s face on the pillow beside him. She was so beautiful. His gut clenched. He shouldn’t have brought her to Rome. He had wanted to protect her while the stalker was still at large, but perhaps his dream was a warning that she was in as much danger from him.
CHAPTER NINE
ISOBEL MOVED AWAY from a group of noisy tourists outside the Church of Sant’Agnese in Agone and held her phone closer to her ear. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.’
‘I said, do you remember that we’ve been invited to the Bonuccis’ party tonight, to celebrate the opening of their new hotel?’
Constantin’s sexy voice made her toes curl, and she took a steadying breath before replying. ‘I haven’t forgotten,’ she said drily. She had been in Rome for a week, and tonight’s party would be the fifth social event that she and Constantin had attended. They barely spent any time alone, she reflected. He worked all day and returned home late, just in time to shower and change before they went out for the evening. It was always past midnight before they arrived back at the penthouse and Constantin invariably seemed to have a reason not to come straight to bed until she had fallen asleep.
It would be easy to think that he was trying to avoid her. That was what the insecure Isobel from two years ago would have believed, she acknowledged ruefully. But she was older, and hopefully wiser, and instead of leaping to conclusions she reminded herself that Constantin was the CEO of one of Italy’s most prominent businesses and socialising and networking were part of his job.
‘You should receive a delivery today.’ Over the phone line she heard him hesitate. ‘I bought you a dress to wear tonight.’
‘It’s already been delivered, and it’s beautiful, thank you.’
‘You don’t mind?’
She sensed his surprise. In the past she had always been uptight when he’d bought her presents, and although she had politely thanked him her words had been stilted. It was little wonder that he’d felt rebuffed by her, Isobel brooded.
‘I’m glad you like it,’ Constantin told her. ‘I saw the dress on display in a shop window and immediately knew it would suit you.’
‘If you’re home in time, I’ll model it exclusively for you,’ she murmured.
There was a pregnant pause. ‘I’m sorry, cara, I have a late meeting scheduled. Can you be ready to leave for the party at seven-thirty?’
‘Con...’ Discovering that he had cut the call, she dropped her phone into her bag and started walking back to the apartment. Her brow wrinkled. Something was going on that she did not understand. The few times that they’d had sex it had been amazing for both of them. Constantin could not have faked his groans of pleasure as he’d come inside her.
Nor was it conceivable that he had become bored of her already. He was always up and dressed when she woke in the mornings, but she’d seen the way he looked at her with a feral gleam in his eyes and she knew he wanted to join her back in bed. So why didn’t he? Was he under pressure at work, or was something else bothering him?
She sighed as she let herself into the penthouse. Maybe, like her, he was wondering where their relationship was going. By silent, mutual agreement they hadn’t discussed the state of their marriage, but Constantin had not refuted reports in the Italian media that they were reconciled, and there had been several photos of them together in the newspapers.
He arrived home at ten past seven and walked into the bedroom to find her in her underwear as she was getting changed for the party. To Isobel’s astonishment dull colour flared on his cheekbones as he studied her black lace thong and matching push-up bra, before he muttered something incomprehensible and shot into the bathroom like a one-hundred-metre sprinter.
Enough was enough, Isobel decided. When her virile, stallion of a husband started acting like a shy virgin, it was time to demand some answers.
Constantin stiffened when he felt two slender arms wrap around his waist. Isobel had stepped behind him in the shower cubicle but the noise of the spray had muffled her arrival, and now he was in trouble. Stiff was an apt description of a certain part of his anatomy, he thought derisively. He did not need to glance down to know that he was massively aroused, and her throaty murmur of approval made a bad situation even worse.
All week, he had tried to keep his distance from her. His nightmare had scared the hell out of him. Isobel was the only woman who stirred blood-boiling jealousy in his gut. Look how he had reacted to the waiter! The guy had only smiled at her but Constantin had wanted to rip his head off.
He did not want to feel the possessive, manic jealousy that had gripped his father. He did not want to feel any emotions. Somehow he had to get whatever it was he felt for Isobel under control, but every time he made love to her he felt himself slipping deeper beneath her sensual spell. The solution, he’d concluded, was to resist the temptation of her gorgeous body. But her hands were creating havoc and ruining his good intentions.
He couldn’t restrain a groan as she skimmed her fingers over his stomach and thighs and along the length of his arousal. ‘Isa...bella,’ he said through gritted teeth, ‘we don’t have time before the party.’ He made a last-ditch attempt to stop her roving hands.
She slipped round in front of him and kissed his lips. ‘It doesn’t start until eight o’clock. You must have misread the invitation.’ She wrapped her fingers around him and gave him a smile of pure witchery. ‘Anyway I have a feeling this won’t take long.’
Constantin sucked in a harsh breath as she dropped to her knees and replaced her hands with her mouth. Madonna, how could he fight his gut-aching desire for her when she was running her tongue lightly over the sensitive tip? It was all he could do not to spill his seed into her mouth. Only a man with ice running through his veins could resist his beautiful, generous, bold Isobel. But Constantin’s blood was on fire. Giving a muffled curse, he lifted her into his arms and as she hooked her legs around his waist he entered her with a deep thrust that drove them both close to the edge.
It was urgent and intense, and it couldn’t last. After a week of sexual frustration, the excitement of their primitive coupling was electrifying. Isobel dug her fingernails into Constantin’s bunched shoulders, anchoring herself to him as he cupped her bottom and pumped into her with hard, fast strokes until she sobbed his name over and over. Her man, her master, she belonged to him and he claimed her utterly, bringing her to a shattering orgasm that sent shudders of indescribable pleasure through her body. His climax was no less spectacular, and at the exquisite moment of release he threw his head back and let out a savage groan before burying his face against her throat while their hearts thundered in unison.
Afterwards Isobel had to rush to get ready for the party. Luckily she had gained a light golden tan from a week in the Italian sunshine and needed nothing more than a coat of mascara to define her eyelashes and a slick of rose-coloured gloss on her lips.
‘You look stunning,’ Constantin commented quietly when she joined him in the lounge. She had already taken his breath away once this evening, but the sight of her in the floor-length scarlet silk gown held in place with
narrow diamanté shoulder straps evoked a curious tightness in his chest.
‘It’s a beautiful dress.’ She did a little twirl in front of the mirror and threw him an impish smile. ‘I have a present for you.’
He gave her an intent look as she handed him a black leather box with the distinctive DSE logo embossed on the lid. The platinum wrist watch nestled on a velvet cushion was the most prestigious and expensive watch in the DSE range, and it happened to be his personal favourite.
‘You told me that your watch had developed a fault and needed to be repaired. I thought you might like this one to replace the old one.’
‘I don’t know what to say.’ Constantin was aware of a curious scratchiness in his throat. He knew exactly how much the watch was worth in financial terms, but even more touching was the fact that Isobel had chosen this particular model from the collection for him. He smiled. ‘This is the first present I’ve been given since I was eight years old.’
‘Apart from Christmas and birthday presents, I suppose you mean.’
‘My father didn’t believe in celebrating holidays or personal milestones after my mother died.’ His voice became reflective. ‘Madre gave me a model of a sports car for my eighth birthday. Her cancer was untreatable by then and she died a few weeks later.’
Isobel was struck by the lack of emotion in his voice. She was reminded of when she’d had the miscarriage and he had been so matter-of-fact. ‘It must have been a terribly sad time for you and your father when your mother died,’ she said softly.
For a fleeting moment an indefinable expression crossed his face, but he shrugged and said levelly, ‘Life goes on.’ He slid the watch onto his wrist. ‘Thank you. This is the best present I’ve ever received.’
* * *
Considering that the only other present Constantin had been given was a toy car when he was eight, his enthusiasm for the watch she had bought him was not surprising, Isobel mused later that evening.
To Wear His Ring Again Page 12
