The Tuscan's Revenge Wedding (Italian Billionaires #1)(16)
What prevented him was the certain knowledge that she would fight him every inch of the way and hate him when and if she succumbed to his passionate possession.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, shoving at his shoulder.
It hovered on the tip of his tongue to tell her that she should know, as she had made scant effort to resist him. That would be dim-witted as well as ungentlemanly. If she had been merely stunned into immobility, he had no wish to know it.
“Delivering an object lesson, I believe,” he answered when he could force words through the wool-lined dryness of his throat. “Or else living up to your obvious expectation.”
“I didn’t — I don’t—”
“No? Then what are you afraid of that you refuse my hospitality?”
“Nothing. Let me up.”
“Certo,” he replied, his tone as politely aloof as he could make it. Returning her to her place at his side, holding her there until she was balanced, he went on. “In fact, I would have you understand that you have nothing whatever to fear from me. As a guest in my house, it will be my duty to protect you from the instant that you pass through the door. Honor and tradition demand it. This includes keeping my distance in everything except polite touches to aid or direct you.”
“Really.”
He could hardly blame her for the irony in her voice after what had just passed between them. His behavior could hardly be called reassuring. Perhaps he was more tired than he realized that he had gone so far. Or possibly it was the knowledge that he would soon be prevented from doing anything remotely like it again.
“Be assured that once you enter the doorway of my home, I will not trespass again except by your invitation. But if you indicate by the smallest word or deed that you want something more, it shall be yours. Only be very certain of your desire. Once I have you, I will not let you go until whatever is between us is finished.”
She swallowed before she spoke, a movement in the slim line of her throat that he watched with a painful need to feel it under his mouth. “There is nothing between us.”
“You think not?”
“You are very sure of yourself,” she said with a lift of her chin.
She had courage. Nico saluted it even as he deplored it. He would have preferred that she tremble against him instead of suppressing the small tremors that shook her, that she be unable to meet his eyes instead of watching him like a gazelle eyeing a prowling lion, deciding whether to flee or ignore danger. Either of these would indicate a more certain surrender.
And yet her defiance made his heart swell. She did not fear him entirely. She might yet answer his unsubtle invitation.
“Oh, yes,” he said, his voice soft with promise. “I am unsure of one thing only, and that is what you want.”
~ ~ ~
What was she to make of Nicholas de Frenza’s declaration? Amanda worried at the question as she tugged her suit jacket back into place with spasmodic jerks, swept trembling fingers through her hair to tidy it. She was not used to the sophisticated games or sensual experiments that left her lips tingling with the rush of blood, aching as if something important had been interrupted. Nor could she be sure he meant his warning, though she could not imagine why else he might have given it.
She barely knew the man who turned from her now to take out his phone again, could not count even twenty-four hours since they had first met. Relationships took far longer to develop than he seemed to be suggesting. Besides, the idea that someone used to moving in the rarified circles of continental society would single her out for an affair was ridiculous.
That was just as well as she wasn’t interested.
Even if her thoughts were not all for Jonathan, she would be wary of sexual games. She had no time for them, had never felt the urge to indulge in brief, meaningless affairs, getting naked with men she barely knew. To start now, with someone so far out of her league, could bring only heartache. There was absolutely no future in it.
So she was attracted to him. So he made her blood sing as it tumbled through her veins and danced through the too-tight chambers of her heart? It meant nothing, just as the fact that he was Italian need not automatically mean he would be a skilled and tender lover.
Why — why — was she thinking such things when he probably meant nothing at all beyond what he had said? Well, or else he’d been curious to see how she would react, to discover if she was available. Had perhaps thought they might ease their mutual stress with a fast and meaningless joining of bodies.
It wasn’t happening.
She crossed her arms over her chest, crossed her legs as well to ease the hollow ache between them. The next time the two of them visited the hospital she would slip away and find her own hotel room. He could hardly keep her a prisoner.
Yet glancing at him as he rode beside her, noting the brooding expression in his eyes and forbidding, untamed set of his handsome mouth, she was not entirely certain of it.
Villa de Frenza.
The words, highlighted by golden morning light, were incised into a gracefully sculpted white marker set amidst clipped shrubbery that flanked an enormous set of iron gates. The moss and lichen that straggled over the marble surface made it appear so ancient and incredibly venerable that Amanda wondered if she should recognize it from some history lesson.
Certainly, Nicholas had expected her to know the name. It did seem vaguely familiar, in all truth, though she could not quite grasp the reason.