The Tuscan's Revenge Wedding (Italian Billionaires #1)(37)

What better time to begin than now, when they were no longer under the roof of Villa de Frenza?

It required a place less in the public eye, however.

Nico glanced at the remains of their meal and the half inch of wine left in her glass. “You are done? Shall we go?”

At her nod, he got to his feet at once and dropped euros on the table. He moved to draw out her chair. Moments later, they were speeding along the highway again.

A road sign announced the turn to a village he knew well. Swerving into it, he thought ahead to a scenic pull over used often by tour buses, one he’d passed many times with scarcely a glance. When it appeared, he swung into it and shut off the car’s engine.

“What is it?” she asked with wariness clouding the gray of her eyes. “Why are we stopping?”

“We are stopping,” he said, while the blood surged through his veins with a force he’d never known, “because I have an uncontrollable urge to have you in my lap, after all.”

Her lips parted and the gray of her irises disappeared into the dark pools of her pupils. Before she could move, he leaned to slide an arm around her waist to draw her close. The console was in the way, but he hardly noticed. Spreading his free hand on the back of her head, he zeroed in on her mouth and took it with his.

Warm, fragrant, flavored with wine, she completed him like key into lock, plug into receptacle. She made a soft sound and he captured it, swallowed it, groaned in his turn. Her softness enticed him with the need to have her curves molded to him, her depths his to command. He swirled into her mouth, twining his tongue around hers, urging her response.

The trembling that ran over her caused his body to stiffen until his eyes burned with it. Shifting his hand upward, he placed his palm between her breasts where her heart throbbed, and felt its pounding echoed in his blood.

The crisp cloth layer of her blouse was an intolerable barrier. He shifted yet again, tugged it from her skirt and slid his hand underneath. Her bra was smooth, unpadded and plain except for its simple lace edging, yet an enticement beyond bearing. He unfastened the front catch, pushed it aside and captured the tender resilience and sweet weight of her breast.

It was perfect, filling his hand, budding against his palm even before he brushed the nipple with his thumb. Her swift inhalation of startled pleasure threatened his control. The need to taste her raged in his head, tearing at his sanity. He wanted her naked and spread for his pleasure, wanted to feast on her at his leisure, leaving no single inch of her unexplored. He wanted her under him while she held him to her with urgent, grasping hands and thighs. Or above him while he captured her curves in his spread fingers. The need to sink into her heated depths twisted inside him, a ravenous, mind-stealing hunger.

She seemed as lost as he was, almost boneless as she shivered in his grasp. His heart tripped into a faster beat as she caught a handful of his shirt, twisting it in her grasp. He wanted more of her, longed to feel her along the entire length of his body, to revel in her heat against his hot strutted flesh.

The console between them was the epitome of frustration. With a growl low in his throat, he lifted her over it, holding her against him while he fumbled for the lever that would send his seat backward. With more space between them and the steering wheel, he shoved his hand under the pencil slim hem of her skirt, skimming upward like a heat-seeking missile. Her thighs were so firm, her skin as fine as silk. The need to see it was like an ache, though he would not release her mouth to look. She was so sweet, so sweet.

She was also hot and damp, so ready for him that his heart threatened to explode. He cupped her, soothing her even as he added friction to increase her heat. Unerringly, he found the sweet small nub of her desire and gave it his attention while wishing he could lave it with his tongue until she unraveled in his arms.

He wanted her, had to have her, but this was so cramped and awkward he cursed himself for bad planning. More than that, he heard the purr of an engine drawing near.

That sound was followed by the slamming of car doors and shouts of children. Amanda pushed at him, suddenly breathless as she dragged her lips from his. All he could do was release her, slide down her skirt, settle her once more where she belonged.

Where she belonged, yes, which was out of his arms, far away from him and his virulent ideas. Vengeance was a poor reason to make love to a woman like Amanda. He must have been insane to think he could have her once and walk away. That would never be enough.

His hands were not quite steady as he started the car, put it in gear and drove away. It was several kilometers down the road before the wind whipping into his face cooled his blood and untangled mind. Before he realized he was driving in the opposite direction from the villa.





8


What a sensual person she had turned out to be, after all, Amanda thought as she watched, bemused, while Nico swung the car in a tire-squealing half-circle in the middle of the road and accelerated back the way they had come. A suggestion, a touch, a kiss and she went up in flames. Why was it she had not recognized her true nature before?

How could she have been so disdainful of other women who succumbed to the too potent allure of desire? She had never really felt it until now, that was all.

If not for this trip to Italy she might never have known. If not for Nico de Frenza she might have missed this wild elation that still simmered in her blood.

She could not believe she had come close, so close, to following wherever he led, to allowing him to make love to her in a parked car like some hormonal teenager. And she could not blame it on the wine. She had wanted the pleasure he could give her with a bone deep need that was embarrassing now to remember.