He took her slowly.
Antonio brushed his lips across hers. Kissed her throat, delicately touched his tongue to her breasts. When Maria moaned softly and rested one hand against the back of his neck as if to keep him there, he drew a swollen nipple between his lips, teased it between his teeth. She whimpered, wriggled blissfully beneath him. He moved to her other breast, teased, suckled with a hunger that left him dizzy, panting. Still she pressed his head down harder against her. He obliged.
Her hands were moving down between them. Further down. Lower still. Consciously, he followed her progress as her fingers inched beneath his belt, into his pants. He drew a sharp breath as a cool palm slid into his briefs, found him, wrapped around his erection. She moved her hand as he’d taught her, improvising now with little squeezes, heightening the intensity of his pleasure.
Antonio closed his eyes on a long, low groan, restrained himself. Intense pressure, heat in his groin paid him back. He ached, throbbed, held on for dear life.
Burying his face at her throat, he tasted her sweetly moist skin, gritted his teeth on another wave of near-release. “Dio!” he moaned. “Piu lentamente! Per favore!”
“Slower?” she asked breathlessly, stilling the motion of her hand for a moment.
“Si, it will be over too soon if you—”
She smiled sweetly as she tightened her grip a notch, her eyes sparkling as if she savored her power over him. He ached to pay her back, but other things were suddenly on his mind. Like protection.
He remembered through a steamy fog that he did have a condom in his wallet. He’d started carrying one when Maria arrived in Italy. Not, he told himself, because he intended to bed her. Sensible protection seemed more a function of his existing within the same town with her. Hell, within the same country! He’d never been able to predict what might happen when he was around her.
He rolled to one side, eased the slim leather bifold from his pocket. As she watched with interest, he took out the small foil packet and laid the wallet on the table beside the bed.
“Thank you,” she said, “for thinking of that.”
He nodded, too busy for conversation as he searched for the starter tear that would let him open the thing. His hands shook. He dropped the packet, picked it up off the bedding, tossed aside the foil…and only then realized he hadn’t yet undressed.
“Idioto!” He felt like a fumbling schoolboy, trying out his manhood for the first time.
“I’ll hold it,” she said and released him to take the latex disk.
He ripped off his clothing, tossing it piece by piece onto the nearest chair. Smooth, real smooth, he chided himself, trying to pull himself together as he joined her on the bed again. She was studying the condom, running her finger around the fat rim.
“Do you want to do it?” he asked, as she seemed so intrigued.
“Don’t know how,” she admitted with an adorable shrug that set his heart tripping.
He showed her how to unroll it, then guided her fingers as she smoothed the whisper-thin material over him. He pretended patience. He was a mess inside.
Her eyes widened as he swelled still more. “You’re so—” Maria dissolved in a fit of giggles “—large.”
“Never laugh at a man’s apparatus unless you follow it with that word exactly. Afraid I won’t fit?” Keep it light, he told himself, though every nerve in his body was afire. If he didn’t find a way to slow himself down, he’d lose control. Above all he didn’t want to hurt her. Didn’t want to ruin this for her.
“It’s a little—” She ran the tip of her tongue over her upper lip. “—a little difficult to imagine.”
“Your body will accommodate me, I promise,” he said softly, brushing a wisp of hair from over her eyes. “That’s the way it works. We’ll fit, you’ll see.”
She looked more than a little skeptical but brought her hands up to experimentally smooth them across this chest. They felt warm and sent a fresh rush of heat plummeting through his gut to his loins.
He lowered himself over her but didn’t yet try to enter her. With the tips of two fingers he traced the V between her delicate thighs then gently moved her legs apart. He kissed her to keep her busy while he located the delicate nubbin he’d found before and teased it until she tightened and shivered with her first climax. Now as he continued to fondle her, the flesh was saturated, blooming for him. Her fingernails bit into his shoulders as she very nearly went through the ceiling.
She was ready.
But he didn’t want the next part to cause her pain. So he kissed her harder, much harder, until she was gasping and writhing beneath him. Only when she was fully occupied did he move his fingers firmly upward, quickly severing her seal. He held his hand there, pressing as against a wound. Lifting his head he searched her eyes, sparkling, eager. She showed no sign of discomfort, moved her hips tighter against his hand, as if understanding his strategy.
“The rest will be easy,” he whispered. “If you still—”
She kissed him fast on the mouth. “Per favore, don’t stop!” And she lifted her legs, linking them around his hips, opening herself to him.
More than anything in the world, what he wanted to do was plunge inside her. Dive deep and hard, leaving no doubt that he’d possessed her. If only for these few minutes.
But what she needed now wasn’t that kind of lover.
He guided himself just to the opening of her womanhood. With very little pressure, he moved upward. Testing. Easing himself forward a fraction of an inch at a time. Parting her flesh as a ship cleanly, painlessly parts the waters through which it sails. Their eyes met, held, acknowledging a fusion of bodies, of souls as he continued to move upward.
He was about to ask if she was all right, when she shocked him by taking control of the situation. Locking her ankles behind his butt, she yanked him hard against her. Suddenly, he was in all the way.
Maria grinned up at him as if pleased with her participation.
There was nothing left for him to do but close his eyes and savor her hot, silky flesh folding around him. He dared not move for several minutes, for fear of immediately coming. Then he felt her begin to squirm a bit, as if uncomfortable under his weight.
He lifted himself onto his elbows and stared down at her appreciatively. “Took me by surprise.”
“Good,” she purred. “Is this it?”
He laughed. “No.” Dio, he hoped not. “You’re ready for more?”
“Absolutely!”
He no longer felt like talking. He had to concentrate to give her enough time to reach her peak before he did. Which would be a trick since he was already teetering on the edge like a fledgling rock climber.
From that second, he dedicated every ounce of his energy to pleasuring both of them. He lifted his hips, drawing nearly out of her then smoothly gliding inside again. He repeated the delicious motion a score of times.
Didn’t stop when she gasped and heaved beneath him.
Didn’t stop when she cried out his name.
Didn’t stop after she’d ridden what he estimated was her fourth—fifth?—wave of shuddering ecstasy.
Only when her beautiful eyes glazed over and her fingers combed through his hair, fisting among the strands, and she whimpered with exhaustion did he plunge one final time and allow his own release.
Flames consumed him. Time lost all meaning. Dimensions exploded, breaking barriers of shape and form, so that where he was became as much a mystery as who he was, had been, or could be.
Nothing mattered but the woman lying beneath him, around him. Rapture, oneness. Heat and eternity. Sensations that made no sense, but were more real to him than anything he’d ever known.
And Maria held him through it all. Held him and didn’t let him fall. And for the span of a few precious seconds he felt immortal.
Twelve
The days that followed were sun-filled, happy, richly soaked in the wine of lovemaking. The only thing that could have made Maria happier was to know that she w
ould always have Antonio in her bed, in her life.
But she’d never been a person to view her cup as half-empty. The fact that he wanted her and no one else with him now was enough. Yes, she’d given up part of her ultimate dream for him. She was no longer a virgin. But she still believed that someday she would marry and have children of her own. Meanwhile, she could at least pretend that this exciting man was her husband. She could imagine that Michael was her son. And with this fantasy, she walked the olive groves, did her very best work and learned to be happy with each day as it came to her.
Although Genevra said nothing to Maria about her absences every evening after their last meal of the day, often served in the main house as late as nine o’clock in the traditional Italian manner, Maria realized the woman wasn’t stupid. She guessed that Genevra knew Maria was meeting her son somewhere. She simply chose not to address the subject, and Maria respected the older woman’s wishes by not doing so either.
Frequently, La Signora’s headaches arrived during dinner, and they seemed to occur with more frequency than before. At these times, she would excuse herself from the table and ask Maria to watch over Michael, even though the child was fast asleep by that hour.
The third time this happened, Antonio set down his wineglass with emphasis. “Michael never wakes, Mama. He’s fine. Have Angela look in on him once in a while. Maria has work to do.”
“Work, is it?” Genevra muttered as she pushed herself up from her chair. “Think of your son, Antonio. Respect the memory of his mother!”
Maria was shocked, and could only sit and stare at the woman’s retreating back. Had the warning been meant as much for her ears as for Antonio’s. She turned her attention back to the table, where he sat staring at the uneaten food on his plate. Maria went to him and knelt beside his chair.
“I’m so sorry. My presence here has disturbed everything.”
“No, it hasn’t!” Antonio snapped. “Haven’t I a right to live again? A right to happiness?” He turned eyes the color of a troubled sea down on her. “I’ve spoken to her about us. Reassured her. But she won’t listen.”
“I know,” Maria whispered. “I know.” Hadn’t she also tried to clear the air when she’d first come to Carovigno? “Genevra obviously doesn’t believe us.”
“Such a childish attitude. I’ve explained to her that you are only here for a short time.”
Tears pooled in Maria’s eyes at his cruel words. Unintentionally cruel, yes, but the truth hurt no less. “She obviously doesn’t believe it.” She decided it was safest to change the subject. “I’ve been working on your print ads to follow up on the television launch. Would you like to hear what I have so far?”
He took her hand across the table. “Yes. But in a few hours, not now.”
“Not now?” she asked puzzled.
“This is our time. You wouldn’t want to break with tradition, would you?”
She smiled. He was choosing to make love with her over talking about the work he lived for. How many women could boast a man so passionately protective of their private time?
“All right,” she said. “After.”
As promised, few hours later, as they lay in each other’s arms in the trullo, free of clothing, nestled in sheets rearranged in curious patterns by their energetic play, Antonio at last said, “Tell me about your plans.”
Maria pulled her thoughts out of a cotton-candy haze and focused on the strategies she’d been developing since she’d come to Italy. During those spring and summer months, the olives had grown to plump, shiny black globes, ripe and ready for harvesting. The fields had already begun to buzz with activity. Now it was her turn to harvest the fruit of her hard work.
“We need to go back to my office. I have something to show you.”
He groaned and tugged her closer to his muscular body, glistening with sweat from his exertions. “You mean I have to move from this sublime position?”
“Sorry ’bout that,” she teased, shoving him aside and rolling off the straw mattress.
They dressed and walked hand-in-hand back through the fields then the garden. It was after midnight, and no one in the household was about.
In her suite were the TV, VCR, desktop computer and graphic equipment she’d requested and used to put together her promotional package. Maria sat down at her desk. Antonio pulled up a spare chair beside her. He watched with interest as she slipped a cassette into the VCR and the TV screen lit up.
“This is the competition,” she explained, as she hit the Play button on the controller.
After viewing the ads, Antonio looked worried. “So what do we do to snatch a share of the market? Are we going to be able to do it?” He looked worried.
“We can…I think. But first we must convince the buying public to try Boniface Olive Oil over their usual brands.”
“My family has been growing taggiasca olives for centuries. Their oil is known for its delicate flavor and thick, golden consistency. And I’m sure I can match my competitor’s prices.”
She nodded. “I’ve tasted it at every meal, and I don’t doubt the quality of your product, or our ability to compete in pricing. But it’s the quality I’d like to emphasize. The difference between table wine and champagne.” She grabbed a pencil and notepad and scribbled a few words. “I like that…we may use it later.”
She flicked off the TV. “This is where imagination enters. What I’d like to do is introduce the American public to your oil and the land of Apulia at the same time.” This was the concept that had finally grabbed her and held on through the weeks of planning. She was so excited, she only hoped Antonio would share her enthusiasm.
Maria continued without allowing him time to react to her initial statement. “Virtually no one has heard of this magical place. I want your oil, the masseria, castle, town and fields to become inseparable in American minds. When a customer sees a bottle of your oil on a store shelf, she will immediately envision your wild and beautiful rock-strewn groves, this ancestral estate, the streets of Carovigno. Every time she cooks with your oil, it will be like taking a little trip to Italy.”
He laughed. “Sounds like a great trick. But how do you propose to pull it off?”
“I’ve already located a top-notch film crew based in Rome. They’re available within a few weeks. They’ll record the groves as you harvest, take additional footage of the land and town. We’ll emphasize your family tradition of quality and care, starting here and traveling to the customer’s kitchen.”
She watched Antonio’s face for reaction. The bloom of his slow smile told her she was on target. “It sounds good, Maria. Very good. I like it.”
“Great! We’ll put together a one-minute mélange of scenes that instantly evokes the warm earth, the sun, the smell of ripening olives. But there will be more.”
“More scenes?”
“Another angle. Not only will the prospective buyer view this beautiful land and hear it described in coordinated radio advertising, she—or he, as we have many fine male cooks—will have the opportunity to actually visit Carovigno. To compete in our contest, customers simply tell us their favorite use for Boniface Olive Oil. We will choose winners based on originality.”
He thought for a long while, his eyes distant. Maria held her breath, wondering if something about this second stage of her proposal had put him off. If he didn’t agree to everything she proposed, she had a Plan B as backup. But in her opinion it wouldn’t be nearly as effective.
“It all sounds wonderful,” he said at last, grabbing her and pulling her in for a big hug. “When do we get started?”
“In two weeks. Using an Italian film crew will give the ads a different flavor from most American ads, and it will be good local PR. But I’ll need a translator, if the crew doesn’t speak English.”
“I have someone in mind. Let me contact her for you. What about a script for the voice-overs?”
He was sharp, very sharp, she thought. “I’ve been working on a draft. Before we begin shooting I’ll
have finished it.”
He smiled at her. “You’re not only lovely, you’re brilliant.”
Maria stared down at her hands, pleased more than she’d ever admit to him. His praise meant a lot, but her own pride in her work was even more important to her.
More than anything, she wanted to do well—for Antonio and for herself, and the competition was powerful! Her future in the business clearly rested on the success of this project. If she didn’t have a future with Antonio, she was determined she’d make a future for herself in other ways that satisfied her.
It was a sunny day in early September when the Italian film crew first congregated in the masseria’s yard between the main house and the equipment sheds. The filming continued for over a week in the groves, then moved to the mill and factory, and finally shifted to color shots of the countryside around Carovigno. Atmosphere, light, hues were critical to the image Maria wished to convey to her viewers. And although she was no expert in filmmaking, the production team she’d chosen was, and they produced dazzling footage.
The difficult part would come with the editing. From the many hours of film shot, she would have to carve out sixty perfect seconds to represent Boniface Olive Oils.
Throughout these long, arduous days, there was one constant. No matter how challenging, how exhausting the filming for her, or the labor in the fields for Antonio, they stopped work by 8:00 p.m., dined together on his patio, then retreated to their trullo. He made love to her each night. Sometimes sweet, gentle, soothing love that melted her bones, leaving her limp and relaxed, free of the day’s anxiety. Sometimes fast, hard, hunger-driven love that satisfied the wicked little urges that popped into her mind during the day when she thought of him.
Mail-Order Prince In Her Bed (Silhouette Desire) Page 14
