The Italian Count's Defiant Bride

by Catherine George

  ‘Francesco.’

  He turned, his profile outlined by the moonlight. ‘Yes?’

  She heaved in a deep, shaky breath. ‘I don’t want to be alone. Could you stay for a while?’

  He stood utterly still for a moment, then walked very slowly to the bed to look down at her, his face a handsome, expressionless mask. ‘You ask much.’

  ‘Too much?’

  ‘Dio,’ he said in anguish, and pulled her up into his arms. ‘Tell me to go. Now.’

  She shook her head, and buried her hot face against his chest. ‘Stay. Please.’

  ‘If I do—’

  ‘You’ll make love to me?’ she finished, her voice muffled, and felt his heart hammering against hers.

  ‘Daverro,’ he growled.

  For answer she set her open mouth to his chest and touched the tip of her tongue to his hot skin. Francesco groaned and turned her face up, his eyes questioning for a moment, then blazing fiercely as he met the look in hers. Exerting every last shred of self-control, he bent his head slowly, giving her time to turn away. But when their lips met at last the kiss was so incendiary it set them both on fire. They collapsed on the bed together to lie full length in each other’s arms, straining each other close as Francesco kissed her with a devouring hunger Alicia responded to so fiercely, his heart swelled with feelings he had kept at bay for so many years they threatened to overwhelm him.

  ‘Alicia, amore,’ he gasped, raising his head to look down at her. ‘I want you so much I hurt.’

  ‘I hurt too. Make me better,’ she whispered, with a little smile he smothered with devouring kisses.

  He slid the straps of her camisole down, his lips leaving her mouth to follow his caressing hands as he undressed her, telling her in two languages how beautiful she was and how much he desired her.

  She gasped as his fingers and lips closed over the erect tips of firm, taut breasts, nothing like those of the teenage girl he had fallen in love with.

  Francesco raised his head, his eyes alight with a desire which took away what breath Alicia had left.

  ‘You are everything I have ever desired,’ he assured her passionately. ‘Ti amo, Alicia. Is it possible that you can still love me?’

  ‘I never dreamed it could be, but apparently it is,’ she said shakily.

  Sending up a prayer of thanks, Francesco set out to erase the memory of all other lovers in Alicia’s past as he kissed and caressed her slender body. He wanted, needed, to inflame all her senses until she burned with the same hunger he was keeping at bay only by a supreme act of will. At last, when she was gasping and breathless, his skilled, seeking hand slid between her thighs, and she stiffened. He kissed her, going no further until she welcomed his caressing, invading tongue and gave him back all the heat and response he’d ever dreamed of. At last, when his skilled, questing caresses found the little hidden bud which sent sensation streaking through her, she reared up against him, pushing her hips against him in such wild demand that he felt like a god.

  ‘Francesco!’ she pleaded hoarsely, and he held her close for a moment, then caressed her parted thighs and positioned himself between them. His eyes locked with hers, he slowly pressed himself into the hot, tight sheath that closed round him in such exquisite sensation. He fought to stay still, every muscle rigid with the control he was exerting, while every instinct urged him to seek his body’s release. He bent his head to kiss her, his tongue invading in substitute penetration, and she returned his kisses feverishly, her fingers digging into his shoulders.

  ‘Now, now, now!’ she urged, and Francesco’s control snapped.

  He surged inside her, then stopped dead at her smothered gasp as he breached a barrier so unexpected it sent his heart rocketing to his throat.

  ‘Amore!’ He gazed down at her in disbelief as her fingernails dug deeper.

  ‘Don’t stop,’ she whispered.

  ‘Dio, I cannot!’ With a groan Francesco thrust home inside her until he was sheathed to the hilt. He stayed still, heart thudding, forbidding his body to move. ‘I hurt you,’ he said huskily against her mouth.

  ‘Not—not much.’

  ‘Why did you not tell me?’ he demanded.

  ‘How could I?’

  Her hips made a sinuous little writhing movement which silenced him very effectively as Francesco began to make love to her with all the skill at his command, his senses taking over from his euphoric brain as with lips, hands and the thrusting strength of his body he gradually increased the tempo of their loving until he took her to the brink of fulfilment. He held her there at the very edge until he felt the first ripples of her orgasm caress him, and only then surrendered to the climactic bliss of his own release as she fell apart in his arms.

  When he found the will to move again, Francesco turned on his side and pulled her close in a possessive embrace, one long leg thrown over her thighs.

  Alicia lay motionless against his hard, hot body, hoping her heart would stop thumping soon and her lungs resume normal service. So it was done at last. But she had no regrets. It had to happen sometime. Her virginity—not without difficulty and an enormous amount of tiresome argument—had survived college and several years in a male-orientated workplace. Yet in the end, amazingly, she’d surrendered it to the man who should have received the gift in the first place.

  ‘Francesco,’ she said at last, when it seemed unlikely he was going to say a word any time soon.

  ‘Yes, tesoro?’ He sat up to bank the pillows, and drew her back up in his arms to lie against them. ‘Would you like a drink?’

  ‘In a minute.’ She twisted round in his arms, and pushed the hair back from her forehead to look at him, her lips twitching as she saw the utterly blatant male satisfaction on his face. ‘Aren’t you going to say anything?’

  ‘I love you, sposa mia,’ he said simply. ‘Is there more you would like me to say?’

  ‘You know there is,’ she said crossly, then gave a squeak as he pulled her down to him and kissed her long and hard.

  ‘Va bene. Then I will say why?’ he said breathlessly when he released her.

  She eyed him narrowly. ‘Why did I let you make love to me, or why hadn’t I done it before?’

  Francesco turned on his back, keeping her sprawled on top of him, his hands smoothing down her spine and over the curves of her bottom. ‘I am human and male enough to hope that you did not want to make love with any man except me. Is that true?’

  ‘If it is, I never let myself believe it,’ she said bluntly. ‘I admit I’ve never felt the same physical response to any man that I felt for you, but I had another reason for shying away from actual sex—I’m supposed to be divorced.’ She gave a little shiver. ‘So, although there’s been the usual kissing and touching and so on, I never went the distance with a man because it would have raised awkward questions I had no intention of answering.’

  Francesco’s arms locked around her in sudden, fierce possession. ‘And I thank God for it,’ he said huskily, his eyes smouldering up into hers. ‘You are mine, Alicia. From that first day in Firenze you were mine. You cut me to the heart when you ran from me. All that terrible, endless time I was trying to find you, it was torment to think of you with some other man.’

  ‘And now you know I never was—at least, not like this!’ She kissed him to make her point, then drew back, looking down into his intent eyes. ‘What is it?’

  ‘You kissed me.’

  ‘So? There was a lot of kissing just now, too.’

  ‘Ah, but I kissed you.’

  ‘I soon joined in.’

  ‘Daverro.’ He stroked a caressing hand down her cheek. ‘But I will treasure this little kiss, because it is the first you give of your own accord.’

  ‘True. I could kiss you again if you like,’ she offered.

  His smile flipped her heart over. ‘Ah yes, amore, I like very much.’

  Alicia discovered that one kiss led straight to another, and the kisses led to caresses which grew so feverish that their positi
ons were soon reversed and Francesco was poised over her again, his face taut with desire.

  ‘I want you again so much, carissima,’ he whispered, his breath hot against her cheek.

  ‘Then love me again.’ She smiled into his possessive eyes. ‘Once isn’t enough.’

  ‘A thousand times will not be enough!’ Francesco held her face between his hands. ‘So that I do not hurt you again, I will try to be gentle.’ He breathed in sharply as her questing fingers tested his readiness. ‘But it will not be easy if you do that!’ He moved between the thighs that were already parted for him, and Alicia gave a relishing little purr as Francesco entered her, and with all the skill at his command made love to her again. He was careful, and maddeningly slow at first, but the fierce nature of Alicia’s response soon caused acceleration to a fast, glorious rhythm that brought them both to such a heart-stopping orgasm, they stayed clasped tightly together afterwards, Francesco’s face buried in her hair.

  CHAPTER TEN

  ALICIA woke to the unfamiliar feel of a man’s arms round her and a chin rough with stubble grazing her cheek.

  ‘Buongiorno,’ said Francesco in her ear. ‘How do you feel today?’

  She pushed her hair back and twisted round to meet his eyes, blinking in the sunlight. ‘Last night was no dream, then.’

  ‘It was perfetto,’ he said softly, and kissed her nose. ‘You took me to heaven, diletta mia. Was it the same for you?’

  ‘Yes.’ She buried her face against his shoulder. ‘The perfect cure for bad dreams.’

  Francesco sighed as he pulled her closer. ‘I would give much to stay here and hold you in my arms all day, carissima, but we must be ready soon for Signor Raimondi.’ He turned her face up for his kiss, then with reluctance slid out of bed.

  ‘What time is it?’ she asked, her eyes appreciative as Francesco, splendidly nude, made for the bathroom.

  ‘Nine-thirty. We must hurry. I will run a bath for you while I have a very quick shower.’ He smiled over his shoulder. ‘But do not wet your hair, amore. You must eat breakfast before il notaio comes. We have no time for the hairdressing.’

  When he emerged, wrapped in a towel, Alicia was standing by the bed, frowning.

  ‘Che cosa?’ he asked quickly.

  She pointed wordlessly to the sheet.

  Francesco eyed it with such satisfaction, Alicia suffered one of the rare blushes her pale complexion ever displayed.

  ‘In older, more primitive times I would have hung it from the tower in triumph, as proof to all of my bride’s purity!’ he informed her triumphantly.

  ‘Barbarian!’ She shied a pillow at him. ‘That’s no help. What do I do about it now, today?’

  ‘Nothing,’ he said, catching the pillow with one hand. ‘Teresa will change the bed later.’ He tossed the pillow down and pulled her in his arms to kiss her. ‘Do not be embarrassed, tesoro. Your husband feels great joy at so miraculous a gift,’ he whispered.

  Eyelashes suddenly damp, she kissed Francesco back, then gave him a push when his arms tightened. ‘We’re late as it is, and I still haven’t had my turn in the bathroom.’

  He released her reluctantly ‘Va bene—do not be long.’

  Alicia eyes were dreamy as she soaked in hot, scented water. Francesco had obviously taken it for granted that Jason Forrester had been her lover, and that there had been others before him—a common misconception in the male-dominated circles she moved in. She smiled at the thought of Francesco’s euphoria at finding he was her first lover after all. Just as he should have been all those years ago.

  Alicia got out of the bath at last, wincing as various body parts unused to last night’s activities protested. She did her face, got dressed quickly in the linen skirt of the night before, and added one of her mother’s gifts—a thin ribbed-silk cardigan and v-necked sweater in a burnt-rose shade which, according to Bron the style guru, gave a glow to her daughter’s skin and blended, rather than clashed, with her hair. Alicia nodded as she eyed the result. Her mother was right—as usual. She slid the beautiful diamond ring on her finger, and went downstairs to find Francesco on the loggia with Giacomo hovering.

  ‘What would you like, cara?’ asked her husband, holding her chair for her.

  ‘One of these lovely rolls,’ said Alicia, and with a smile asked Giacomo for tea.

  ‘You look so beautiful, so elegant—very much la contessa this morning, Alicia,’ said Francesco, when they were alone. ‘My contessa,’ he added. His eyes held hers. ‘You are mine, no?’

  She looked at him steadily. ‘You mean because of what happened last night?’

  ‘It was the most magical experience of my life, it is true,’ he agreed. ‘But to me you have always been mine.’ He leaned nearer to kiss her, unembarrassed when Giacomo interrupted with their breakfast tray.

  Alicia found she was ravenous. She downed a glass of orange juice and ate two rolls with butter, and had to use will power to refrain from eating a third while Francesco outlined his plan for the day.

  ‘This morning we spend with Signor Raimundi. Afterwards we lunch with Zia and Bianca, then this afternoon you rest, because this evening I am taking you out to dine.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘Really? Where?’

  ‘Here in Montedaluca, in a restaurant which opened only last year. It is very popular. I was fortunate to get a table.’

  Alicia laughed. ‘Oh, come on, Francesco. If the Conte da Luca wants a table, there’ll always be one available!’

  ‘I cannot say, though it is true I have not been refused. For tonight I asked for the best table for two.’ Francesco smoothed a finger over the back of her hand as he smiled into her eyes. ‘I wish to show my beautiful wife off to the world. So that all know we are together again.’

  Alicia held the brilliant blue gaze steadily. ‘Is this because of last night, too?’

  ‘It will be good to celebrate last night,’ he agreed. ‘But I asked for the table as soon as you agreed to come back, tesoro.’

  She smiled at him so radiantly Francesco leaned nearer, as though pulled with a rope, then with a muttered curse drew away again as Giacomo appeared to ask if they needed anything more.

  ‘Where do we talk to Signor Raimundi?’ asked Alicia as they left the loggia.

  ‘In my studio.’

  ‘Give me five minutes to make repairs and I’ll be with you.’

  ‘Be quick!’

  Alicia not only obeyed but ran back downstairs in her rush to get back to Francesco. She was as much in love with him as ever. Probably more. Was this just because he’d introduced her to the joy—and it had been joy—of sex? Yet it had not been purely physical. The tenderness and skill underlying Francesco’s passion had made the experience magical for her.

  ‘You would never let me in here last time,’ she reminded him when Francesco closed the study door behind her.

  ‘And I have told you why! I was hiding from you.’

  ‘Coward,’ she teased.

  ‘No, just noble,’ he said piously, then gave her a pulse-quickening smile. ‘If I had let you come in here I would have laid you down on that desk and ravished you.’

  Alicia eyed the carved, beautiful desk with interest. ‘Would you, really?’

  ‘I would have wanted to.’ Francesco advanced on her with purpose. ‘I want to now.’

  Alicia backed away, not at all sure he was joking. ‘A fine thing if il notaio came in to find us making love in the middle of the morning.’

  Francesco took her in his arms. ‘He is a man, also Italian—he would approve!’

  ‘Oh would he, indeed?’ Alicia reached up to kiss him lightly, then backed away. ‘No more of that, or my hair will unravel.’

  He gave her a glittering, explicit look. ‘I like it unraveled.’

  Alicia shook a reproving finger at him. ‘I’ve just put it tidy, to impress Signor Raimundi, so hands off, please.’

  He slowly released her. ‘For now I will obey. But,’ he warned, eyes gleaming, ‘we shall return to the sub
ject later.’ He pulled up a chair close to his own. ‘Allora, sit here with me behind the desk. We shall face Signor Raimundi together.’

  ‘I’m nervous,’ she told him.

  ‘Of il notaio?’

  ‘No. Of finding out what your mother left me.’

  His eyes darkened. ‘Forget the other gift that tore us apart. I swear to you, Alicia da Luca, that I will let nothing part us again.’ Francesco raised her hand to kiss the ring he’d put on her finger, then looked up at a knock on the door. ‘Avanti.’

  ‘Signor Raimundi,’ announced Giacomo. He ushered in a slim, dark-suited man and then withdrew, closing the door behind him.

  ‘Buongiorno, Eduardo,’ said Francesco, smiling as he got up. ‘Allow me to present my wife.’

  The notary bowed over the hand Alicia held out to him. ‘Piacere, contessa.’ He turned to shake Francesco’s hand, formal greetings were exchanged, and when they were all seated he put on his spectacles and opened his briefcase.

  ‘Mi dispiaci, but I’m afraid my Italian isn’t good enough to understand legalities, Signor Raimundi,’ warned Alicia.

  He gave her a rather shy, charming smile. ‘Then I will speak English, contessa, though alas, not well.’

  ‘No matter.’ Francesco took Alicia’s hand. ‘If necessary I shall be interpreter.’

  ‘Grazie.’ The lawyer took an envelope and a long package from his briefcase. ‘La Contessa Sophia da Luca made me swear to give these personally into your hands,’ he said slowly, and slid both across the desk to Alicia. He paused, obviously choosing his words with care. ‘She stipulated that you must be here in person in Montedaluca to receive them.’

  Alicia put the package aside and examined the envelope, which was addressed to La Contessa Alicia da Luca. She looked up at the lawyer as Francesco’s grasp tightened comfortingly on her free hand. ‘You need me to open these now in front of you?’