The Tuscan's Revenge Wedding (Italian Billionaires #1)(36)

Nico lifted the carafe. She passed her glass to him, and he steadied it, resting his fingers on hers, as he poured. That firm touch sent such a jolt of sensation through her that she jerked a little, causing the wine to splash out onto her hand.

Nico retained it in his grasp while he set the wine aside. Removing her glass from her hold, he lifted her fingers to his mouth, sipping the spilled droplets from her knuckles, following with a quick, warm flick of his tongue.

“Delicious,” he said, amused enjoyment in the depths of his eyes as he met her gaze.

A shiver feathered over her skin, settling with a gentle vibrato in the lower part of her abdomen. It seemed she was melting under his regard, growing increasingly warm and liquid. Her lips parted in a startled breath and she turned her gaze to the carafe.

“Don’t blame the wine,” he said, releasing her hand and sitting back. “It’s something else entirely.”

She absolutely refused to ask what he meant. Reaching for her water glass instead of the wine he had poured, she lowered her lashes to conceal her eyes as she drank.

“It’s the moment and whatever this feeling is that lies between us,” he continued as if it was normal to speak of such things over a lunch table. “It’s been there from the beginning, and is a part of what makes you nervous of me, I think.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, I believe you do. But we won’t speak of it if it embarrasses you. Instead, allow me to tell you something of the region.”

She was so relieved that she reached for her wine glass almost without noticing. Holding it, sipping now and then, she listened to his stories about the Liguria region, of the Cinque Terre and its string of small seaports best accessed by ferry, also of Poet’s Bay, a place name dating from when Byron and Shelley had visited and Shelley had drowned nearby during a storm.

As he spoke the sea breeze rifled through his hair and flattened his shirt against the firm musculature of his chest. The brightness of the sun beyond their shaded arbor made him narrow his eyes until the lashes at the corners of his eyes meshed. His voice lulled her, yet stoked some deep inner core of need. She watched with care for his occasional smiles.

The day was growing warmer as the sun crept in between the strips of canvas awning. Almost absently, Amanda reached up and unfastened a button at her neck. The touch of the breeze on her heated skin felt so good that she unfastened another, while holding her face up to the soft onshore breeze.

~ ~ ~

What was it about Amanda Davies?

Nico was baffled by the question. She made no effort whatever to attract him, yet the more time he spent in her company, the more intrigued he grew. The way the awning shadows wavered over her face, the small shafts of sunlight that found golden gleams in her hair, the discreet glimpse of a gently curved breast above a bra of flesh-colored lace where she had opened her blouse — all these things affected him far more than was sensible.

He’d been annoyed that she refused to wear the clothing he’d had delivered for her use, yet had to admit that watching the slow release of the buttons that fastened her staid white blouse had turned his body far harder than any spaghetti-strapped sundress ever designed. That pressurized ache allied to the mystery of her made his voice abrupt as he broke the silence surrounding them.

“You would be much cooler in something more suited to the climate.”

“Without doubt.” Her smile was fleeting.

“There is no reason to refuse what was provided. You can’t continue to make do with the little you brought with you.”

“It won’t be for very long, and I prefer not to be in your debt.”

“So you said before. There is no question of that, just as there is nothing personal about the delivery of a few pieces of clothing. I merely placed a call.”

She gave him a direct look. “Did you indeed?”

Was she disappointed? He could not tell, and that did not suit him at all.

“Perhaps you may find something among the items that will be more comfortable for tomorrow.”

“Perhaps.”

It was neither agreement nor disagreement. She was simply refusing to argue while clinging to her damnable pride. He would have preferred angry denial, defiance, anything except this quiet self-possession. It made him long to wring some more passionate reaction from her.

It made him long to have her.

And why should he not?

It had been reason enough for vengeance of a most personal nature when he’d thought Jonathan Davies had merely lured Carita into going out with him and then put her life at risk. That he had impregnated her was twice as bad, and that he had endangered both her and her unborn child was monstrous. Which was the greater dishonor for him as head of his family, to ignore this wrong or to trespass upon the unwritten laws of hospitality by seducing a guest?

The answer was clear.

Equally clear, however, was that it could be no more than a self-serving excuse. Seducing Amanda Davies had not been far from his mind from the moment he met her. The urge grew in strength with every moment spent in her company. At this particular instant, he could hardly remember why he had decided he must not have her.

The campaign should not be rushed. He would proceed in easy stages, for he required that she come to him as freely as Carita had gone with her brother. He wanted her to surrender to him because she could not resist, because she was overcome by desire.