The Italians: Luca, Marco and Alessandro: Between the Italian's Sheets / The Moretti Heir / Alessandro and the Cheery Nanny. Natalie AndersonЧитать онлайн книгу.
‘What about you? Have you found a job?’
‘I haven’t really been looking. I’m still deciding what I want to do so I’ve just been cruising.’
‘Are you enjoying not working?’
‘Well, I don’t miss being on my feet all day.’ She laughed. ‘It’s weird not having to be anywhere at a prescribed hour.’ Or having anyone to talk to. She’d easily spent more than one day not talking to anyone in this city of millions.
‘How have you been filling your days?’
‘Just walking. Sightseeing. There are lots of sights in London.’
‘So you are still on your feet all day,’ he teased.
‘It’s a little different.’ She grinned.
She watched him drive, his sure, calm control of the machine. It wasn’t long before they were back in the heart of the city. He pulled into a parking space, escorted her with his innate politeness to the door. Unlocking it, he swung the heavy wood wide, before pressing a security keypad on the inside wall. She stepped forward into the surprisingly light foyer and looked at the calm colours, the polished wooden floor. Spacious, with high ceilings, wide doorways, and a long staircase, his house was beautiful. He didn’t stop to give her the tour, led her straight to the airy kitchen at the back of the ground floor, where he fiddled with buttons on the oven. Then he reached into a cupboard, drawing out a bottle of red with one hand and tossing her a box of grissini with the other. And she watched—every sure movement of his strong body. His large, confident hands worked the cork out of the bottle, the glass fitted snugly into his palm as he poured generously. He had beautiful hands. He had beautiful everything.
She kept watching as he pulled out a tray from the oven—smothered in vegetables, roasted to perfection and a joint of meat resting in the middle. Her mouth was watering but it wasn’t because of the food.
‘Just a little something you prepared earlier?’ she asked, amazed.
A half-smile twinkled. ‘I have a housekeeper—Micaela. She works every weekday. On weekends when necessary.’
Of course he had hired help. That was OK. It had still been his idea—like the picnic in Verona. Memories haunted her muscles. Emily fiddled with the box of grissini—anything to keep her hands from fiddling with him. The ache inside was becoming a pain now. He was here, he was so close and she wanted.
‘You hungry?’ he asked, watching the tray as he lifted it to the bench.
‘Mmm-hmm.’ She couldn’t trust herself to speak. Her voice already felt rusty, desire corroding it.
He turned, lanced her with his all-seeing eyes and spoke dryly. ‘Don’t hold back, Emily.’
She broke free of his piercing gaze, ripped at the box and grabbed a breadstick as others spilled across the bench.
He took the two steps to get right into her space. She couldn’t not look at him then. He knew. She knew he understood the depth of her need. And as if to prove it his fingers lightly danced down her throat, sliding down her chest until his palm moved to cup her swollen breast, thumb tormenting her taut nipple as it had those few weeks ago.
The breadstick snapped between her fingers.
His face lit up with that smile. His other hand slid up her leg then, under her skirt all the way up to her knickers. They were no barrier and she gasped in pleasure as his fingers slipped under the elastic, testing and instantly moving to tease as he felt the full extent of her appetite.
‘Luca…’
‘If you’re hungry, Emily,’ he instructed solemnly, ‘you should never hold back.’
So she didn’t—couldn’t. Her insides were like lava. Her deeply hidden core that she’d always thought firm and cool, rational and sensible, was now molten, blistering hot and bending her towards him. Driving her. Rocking her pelvis into his hand, she met his mouth with hers open and needy, her hands moving, fighting to touch him—going straight for the kill.
He groaned as his fingers stroked deep. ‘I’ve been wanting this again since the moment I left you in Verona.’
‘So what took you so long?’
‘I’m stubborn.’
‘Why do you want to fight it?’ Panting, she unzipped his trousers with a rough jerk. Got her hands on him the way he had his on her—intimate and demanding.
Everything was unleashed. The kiss was hard and passionate and their hands provoked even more until they were both shaking. Teeth scraped and tongues thrust and yet for her they were nowhere near close enough or fast enough or anything enough. She growled as he tore his lips from hers.
‘This isn’t how…’ He looked into her eyes and the fire arced between them—incandescent and unstoppable.
With a smile she hooked an arm around his neck and pulled him to meet her open, hungry mouth. Moments, minutes, hours lost in another kiss so passionate it almost hurt.
He whipped his hands from her body and she rolled onto her toes, only just keeping her balance. His hands came back—hard on her arms. ‘No. We should talk first. And before we do that we should eat.’
‘I’m not in imminent danger of fading away—let’s talk now.’ Frustration made her snappy.
He stared hard at her. ‘This can only be a fling, Emily. That’s all I can offer.’
‘Why?’ Why put limits on this before it had really begun—why not just see where it went?
Silence.
She watched the darkness grow in his eyes. ‘Did someone hurt you, Luca?’
His hands tightened on her arms. ‘Badly.’
‘I won’t hurt you.’ She liked him. She’d like to get to know him more.
‘I know.’ A blunt response. ‘Because I won’t let you.’ His grip loosened, fingers skimmed down to her wrists. ‘But I don’t want to hurt you either.’
‘Who says you will?’ She placed the palms of her hands on his chest. His arrogant assumption that he might annoyed her. Defensive pride reared its head. ‘Maybe all I want from you is just this—no-holds-barred sex and nothing else.’
He glared back, the frown drowning in a glower of epic proportions. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘Seeing we’re being honest, let me put it plain. I don’t do relationships. I don’t do commitment. I’ve been married once before and I will never do it again.’
She tightened her muscles, absorbing the shock, but his brutal honesty continued.
‘No commitment, Emily. No strings. Do you still want this, knowing that?’
She stared hard into the darkness of his eyes, let hers roam over his features, his olive skin, the angled jaw that right now was shadowed with stubble, the full mouth.
Just a few nights of mind-bending passion?
It was already too late.
‘Didn’t I just say that? No-holds-barred sex and nothing else? Let’s say I think of you as my holiday fling.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then that’s it.’ He vanquished all possibility of any further thought with a few words and a lot of action. His hands intimately invaded her body, his mouth pressed bruisingly hard on hers blocking everything but sensation.
Passion, born of pent-up need and sudden anger, had her go straight for the zenith too—hands back hard on the thing she wanted right inside her. Pulling him closer, firmer, faster.
A breathless second apart as he pulled a condom from his pocket, tearing the foil open and forcing the rubber on. And almost fully clothed,