Nicolai's strong arms crushed her to him, enfolding her close, protectively. He buried his face in her abundance of hair. "What were you thinking? You shouldn't have gone near that lion. Something was wrong with it--couldn't you see that?"
He was virtually holding her up. If he let go, Isabella would have slumped to the floor in a heap. She buried her face in his shirt, trying to hold back the sobs wracking her from head to toe. Now that the immediate danger was past, she was falling apart. No matter how strongly she admonished herself to stop crying and not humiliate herself in front of the servants, Isabella continued to weep and tremble. She clung to him, an anchor of safety in a world of danger.
"What has gone on here?" Nicolai's voice was imperious, commanding.
The sudden hushed silence penetrated Isabella's near hysteria, and she peeked around Don DeMarco to observe the others in the room. The servants were silent, uneasy, staring at the floor, the ceiling, out into the hall. Looking anywhere but at their don. Sarina was looking at Isabella, studiously averting her gaze from Nicolai.
It was enough to stop the flood of unwanted tears. Isabella wanted to shake the entire lot of them. Nicolai DeMarco had just saved their lives, yet they wouldn't even look at him. She turned to face them, her fingers entwining firmly with his, her posture protective, her glare furious and accusing as she stared at Sarina.
Sarina sighed softly and made a visible effort to steel herself before she looked fully at Don DeMarco's face. She gasped and crossed herself. "Nicolai!" It was a measure of her shock that she was so familiar as to call him by name.
Betto instantly looked up, crossed himself, and a smile tugged at his mouth. "Don DeMarco, it's an extraordinary day. Look at you, my boy." He beamed, his grip on his wife strong. "Look at him, Sarina. A handsome boy grown into a handsome man." He sounded like a proud father.
Isabella was confused. Sarina and Betto were staring at Don DeMarco as if they had never seen him before. Tears glittered in Sarina's eyes. "Look at him," she encouraged the other servants. "Look at Don DeMarco."
Isabella turned her head to look up at him. He looked the same to her, a sculpted model of masculine beauty even with the four raking scars that seemed only to define his courage. He epitomized strength and power. Had none of his people noticed how truly handsome he was? Could none of them see his integrity? His honor? It was so plain to see, no mystery, a man willing to carry burdens and protect others. Surely they were not all so petty that the scars were impossible to look upon. Isabella thought they gave the don a rakish appearance.
The low murmur of astonishment had Isabella whirling back to face the servants. Some crossed themselves. Some wept. All were staring at Nicolai as if he were a stranger, but they were beaming at him, eyes shining, smiles happy. It made no sense, and it made Don DeMarco uncomfortable. Sad, even. Isabella caught the shadows in the depths of his eyes.
Perhaps in his childhood they all thought him remarkably handsome, and now, because of his scars, they avoided looking at him. Of course he was saddened and embarrassed to be the center of such attention. Isabella wanted only to comfort him. She circled his neck with her slender arms, brought his head down toward hers, and stood on her toes so that her mouth could reach his ear. "Take me out of here, please, Nicolai."
He lifted her into his arms, picked her up as if her weight were no more than that of a child. For a moment he was motionless, with the stillness of a predator, his face buried in her hair, and then he moved, powerful muscles bunching beneath his clothing, his stride silent and sure as he glided through the long halls to her bedchamber.
Isabella felt his mouth on her neck, his lips velvet soft, a brush of a caress, no more, but edgy need was crawling into her body. She tilted her head up to his in blatant invitation, wanting the rush of fire, wanting to blot out everything but the feel of him, the scent of him.
His mouth found hers instantly, hot and possessive. His fist tangled in her hair, pulling her head back as his booted foot kicked the door closed behind them, sealing them away from the rest of the household. "It was quick thinking to hold the lion from attack, but very dangerous. I don't know how you managed it, but you must never do such a foolish thing again. You terrify me with your courage." He pressed her against a wall, his body hard against hers. Nicolai kissed her again, hard and wild, hunger rising fast and furiously. "You terrify me," he whispered against the corner of her mouth.
She slid her hands boldly beneath his tunic, wanting to feel his skin. Her mouth roamed his face, his throat, hungrily, flames racing through her bloodstream so that she could think only of him. His scent, his taste, his touch.
His mouth captured hers in a series of long kisses, deep and elemental, a wildfire out of control. Nicolai spun her around and tipped her onto the bed, a low growl escaping from deep within his throat. The sound only inflamed her more. Kissing him wasn't enough. It could never be enough.
His teeth tugged at her lip, her chin, the smooth line of her throat. Nicolai followed her down to the bed, his body pinning hers to the coverlet, hard and hot and very masculine. She could feel his every muscle imprinted on her, the thick, hard length of him urgent and demanding. She closed her eyes and gave herself up to the fire of his mouth, to the need of his body and the hunger in his mind. That quickly, they seemed to be raging out of control, unable to think coherently, only to burn for one another, need one another. His tongue swirled in the hollow of her throat, trailing fire down to the swell of her breasts.
Isabella gasped as his teeth scraped gently, teasingly over her sensitive skin. He caught at the string at the neckline of her blouse and pulled until it loosened, giving him access to satin soft skin. He pushed the material off her shoulders, his fingertips lingering on her skin. It wasn't enough. He wanted to see her, needed to see her. Nicolai dragged the blouse farther down her body until her breasts were completely exposed to him, thrusting upward, her nipples hard and beckoning in the coolness of the air. His gaze was hot, appreciative, moving over her with raw possessiveness and stark desire. Her breasts were lush, firm, an invitation into a world of excitement where nothing else could reach them.
"Isabella." He breathed her name softly, gently, in reverent awe. He had such need of her, right at that moment when she brought him such terror and joy. His head pounded with need; his body roared for release. "I can't think of anything other than making you mine." And he couldn't. Not his honor. Or hers. Not the lions, or the curse, or propriety. He needed to taste her, to bury himself deep within her. There was so much passion in her, so much life. So much courage.
A groan escaped his throat, and he bent his head to her lush offering. His hair brushed her skin like a thousand tongues, enclosing her in a world of sensation. His mouth, hot and strong, closed over her breast.
Isabella gasped with sheer pleasure, a soft cry emerging from her throat, her body arcing more fully into his. She wrapped her arms around his neck and cradled his head to her while he suckled, his tongue dancing and teasing and stroking caresses. His mouth pulled strongly until she felt the sensation everywhere, a liquid heat burning low, pooling, aching, coiling tighter and tighter until she wanted to cry from sheer pleasure.
His hands moved over her skin, cupping her breasts, his thumbs teasing one nipple while his teeth gently tugged on the other. He traced her ribs, became impatient with her gown, and simply ripped it from her body, tossing it aside, exposing her more fully to him.
"Nicolai!" Her gaze jumped to his face.
It was a small protest, but his hand had found her thigh, was stroking her skin, moving up to push tightly between her legs. He found her damp invitation and pressed his palm to her. Holding her gaze with his, he deliberately brought his palm to his mouth and tasted her.
Her eyes widened in shock. Her body burned. Liquid heat dampened the tight curls between her legs, and she shifted restlessly. "What are you doing?" Whatever it was, she didn't want him to stop.
"Whatever I want," he answered softly. "Whatever you want." Nicolai bent
his head again, this time to the underside of her breast, his tongue tracing her ribs. His hand caressed her leg as he did so, moving upward to stroke her tight curls. Slowly he pushed his finger into her tight entrance, watching her face, his hair on her soft stomach, his tongue swirling in her belly button.
Her body clamped tightly around his finger, muscles clenching hard, and his body shook with the need to mount her. She lifted her hips to meet the finger pushing deeply into her. It was his undoing, that small, uninhibited act. She was so sensuous, so sexy and natural, his need consumed him. Nicolai heard a roaring in his ears. His head was pounding, his body so hard and uncomfortable he could think of nothing else but taking her. "I think of you when I lie in bed, and my body grows hard like this." He took her hand and brought it to the front of his breeches. "I sit at my desk and think of you, and you do this to me. I can't walk or eat or even dream without this aching need. Put me out of my misery, cara. Let me have you."
Her hand rubbed the front of his breeches, and he groaned again, his great body shuddering with pleasure. She kissed his chin, the corner of his mouth. "I want you in the same way," she admitted.
He fastened his mouth to hers, hard and hungry and edgy with need. Nicolai tore at his breeches so that he sprang free, the hard, thick length of his erection, his entire body burning and aching with need. He caught her knees and thrust them apart to give him better access. His hands found her small bottom and dragged her to him until he was pressed against her damp, hot entrance. Teeth clenched against the need to thrust hard, he began to push slowly into her. He was careful, when every cell in his body cried out frantically to be frenzied and mindless, to sate his wild hunger. His thick velvet knob disappeared inside her to be surrounded by her hot, tight sheath. He groaned with the effort to take his time, to be gentle with her.
He was much larger and thicker than his finger. Where before there had been sheer pleasure, now Isabella felt her body stretching, a burning, stinging sensation. She gasped and clutched his broad shoulders. "You're hurting me."
For one terrible moment he didn't care. Nothing mattered but burying himself in her, deep and fast and hard. Relieving the terrible, aching, throbbing need. His skin crawled with hunger. His fingers tightened, biting into her hips, and he threw his head back, his long hair wild, his amber eyes blazing at her. She belonged to him. Only to him. No other would have her and live.
Isabella blinked and found herself staring into the muzzle of a lion, felt its hot breath, saw the flames in its hungry eyes. Her face went white, and she stared into those gleaming eyes, her heart pounding, her body frozen in terror.
"No, Dio, Isabella, no!" She heard his voice as if from far away. "Look at me. See me. Right now, cara, you must see me."
His hands framed her face--hands, not paws. His mouth found hers--his mouth, not a gaping muzzle. Tears were on her face, but she was uncertain if she had shed them or if it had been he. He was holding her tightly to him, kissing her gently, tenderly. "I would not harm you for the world, Isabella." His hand was pressed against her damp curls, as if he were soothing her from the pain he had caused with his invasion.
Her teeth tugged at her lower lip in distress. "I think I'm too small for you, Nicolai. I'm so sorry." There was shame in her eyes.
He cursed softly, then kissed her again. "You are perfect for me. It is my duty to prepare your body to accept mine, Isabella. I wanted you too badly. We will go much slower next time. There are many ways to make you more comfortable." As he spoke he gently pushed his finger inside her, a slow stroke that made her gasp. Withdrawing, he replaced the first with two fingers, stretching her carefully. He pushed deep inside her, watching the shadows leave her eyes. Her body was slick and hot and soft, open to him. Her hips found the rhythm of his fingers, rising to meet him eagerly.
Suddenly his head went up alertly, as if he had heard something she had not. He withdrew his fingers from her body and caught at the coverlet, rolling her into it. "You're about to have company, but we aren't through here, cara. Not by any means. You are to wed me soon, Isabella. I want you in my bed." He was fast doing up his breeches and straightening his clothes. "What are we to do with this gown?"
He wasn't nearly as calm as he would have liked her to think. Isabella took great satisfaction in watching him struggle to breathe normally. A small, contented smile flitted across her face. "Perhaps we could say you were wounded and I sacrificed my beautiful gown to provide bandages." She found some solace in knowing that her body wasn't the only one throbbing and burning for release.
He thrust the shredded dress into her wardrobe. The material was frothy, and he was forced to bunch it up. It spilled out several times before he was finally able to close the door to hide it. Isabella pulled the coverlet up to her mouth to muffle her laughter.
"I am saving your reputation," he pointed out, trying not to laugh himself at the absurdity of fearing his housekeeper when he had faced a lion without flinching. "When I was a small boy, Sarina could lecture me as no other in the castello. Do not think because she has aged that she is any less fearsome. She has a cold eye and stern voice. You will not escape unscathed should she catch us."
Isabella lifted an eyebrow, then assumed her most innocent and guileless expression--the one she had perfected as a young girl when her father took her to task. Observing her very believable expression, Nicolai groaned. "You wouldn't dare blame me."
"I have no knowledge of such things." She even sounded innocent. "You are my betrothed and my don. I only do as you bid me." Curious, she looked at him. "How do you know it is Sarina coming?"
He shrugged his powerful shoulders. "I have good hearing and an acute sense of smell." He bent to nibble her neck. "You smell so wonderful I could eat you."
For a moment their eyes locked, and Isabella melted inside. There was a quick knock on the door, and Sarina entered carrying a tea tray. She gasped as she saw the don sitting on the edge of Isabella's bed. Hastily she averted her eyes from him, going very pale. "I'm sorry, I had no idea you were in here, Don DeMarco." Still she managed to sound disapproving. "I came to help Isabella prepare for bed. It is much too late for her to have visitors." She set the tray on the nightstand beside the bed and busied herself pouring tea, pursing her lips as she did so. "And male visitors shouldn't be in her bedchamber without my presence."
"Male visitors shouldn't be in her bedchamber at all," Nicolai commented dryly.
Isabella would have laughed at Sarina's scolding at any other time, but she couldn't abandon him, not when Sarina wouldn't even look at him. She reached for his hand and held it tightly. "I was nearly hysterical after the confrontation with the lion, Sarina. Nicolai was good enough to soothe me, as we knew you were busy with Betto. How is he?" Without thinking, she brought Nicolai's hand to her mouth, pressing her lips against his knuckles.
Sarina watched her. Instead of evincing disapproval, her eyes widened in surprise, and pure joy spread across her face. She took a deep breath and looked directly at the don. At once her expression softened. "It is a wonderful and great gift to look upon you, Don DeMarco. I had given up hope."
Nicolai touched his face, then reached out to touch Sarina's. She didn't flinch but beamed at him. "How is this possible?" he asked. His hand slipped from Isabella's as he reached to frame his housekeeper's face.
Fear blossomed in the woman, and she stepped away from him. Immediately he dropped his hands to his sides, his handsome face hardening perceptibly.
"Take her hand," Sarina instructed softly. "Don DeMarco, take Isabella's hand."
He did so, and lions roared. The sound erupted throughout the castello, reverberating through every floor so that for a brief moment the walls of the palazzo shook. Sarina didn't even flinch as the sound died away, leaving a vacuum of silence.
"It is Isabella," the housekeeper said. "It is Isabella."
Isabella had no idea what either of them was talking about, but Nicolai kissed her right in front of Sarina. A slow, lingering kiss that heated her blood
and melted every bone in her body. He stared into her eyes for a long, endless moment. She saw the flare of desire, of possessiveness. She saw affection.
Isabella smiled and traced a fingertip over his perfectly sculpted mouth. They were becoming closer. No matter what strange things were taking place in the castello, they were becoming friends. If she was to marry him, she wanted more than merely the heat between them.
"Good night, Isabella. I trust you have had adventures enough for one evening," he said tenderly, his eyes alight with mischief. "No roaming the halls, seeking out ghosts."
"She is a good and obedient girl," Sarina said staunchly. Her hand felt for the key in the pocket of her skirt and patted it for reassurance.
"Is she now?" Nicolai rose in his fluid, graceful manner, all power and controlled coordination, gliding across the room silently. He paused at the door. "Obedient to whom, I wonder."
Sarina watched the door close behind him and turned back to stare in disapproval at Isabella's bare shoulders. "What has been going on in here?"
Chapter Nine
Isabella had the grace to blush. "Nicolai is very handsome," she observed casually. It didn't come out casually. She barely recognized her own voice. It was soft and sensual and totally unlike her.
Sarina's eyebrows shot up. "It is good you find the don attractive, Isabella, but he is a man. Men want certain things from women. Nicolai is no different. Did your madre explain to you what is expected of a woman when she weds?"
Isabella sat up, holding the slipping coverlet with one hand and accepting the cup of tea with the other. Sarina began to brush out Isabella's long hair. The action was soothing. "Mia madre died when I was quite young, Sarina. I asked Lucca, but he said it was my husband's duty to teach me those things." Color crept up her neck into her face. She had the feeling the don was teaching her already, before he should.
"There are things that go on in the bedchamber between a man and wife, perfectly natural things. Do as he tells you, Isabella, and you will learn to enjoy what others do not. My Betto has made my life wonderful, and I believe Nicolai will do the same with you. But these things are done after you are wed, not before."
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