The Tuscan's Revenge Wedding (Italian Billionaires #1)(8)

He avoided the women who hovered on the edges of society, hoping to sleep their way to a permanent place in it. He also steered clear of the eager young things paraded by ambitious mothers. Sometimes he saw this or that woman for a few weeks or months, took them out to dinner or escorted them to galas or charity events. But they were widows, divorcees or career women who knew his situation and had no wish to change their own.

Marriage of the kind he had once expected seemed so unlikely he’d ceased to think of it. Work and duty were his solace, the two things which consumed him.

That was why it perplexed him to be so aware of Amanda Davies. She was nothing like the women he knew. She did not defer to him, nor did she signal in any way that she might be open to invitation. The unseen barriers she erected intrigued him. He wanted to know why they were necessary, also what lay behind those defenses, whether only carefully monitored responses or the passionate siren he suspected.

He would never find out. She was not the kind to indulge in fast sex or casual affairs. Something more than her libido would have to be engaged before she went to bed with a man. She would, without doubt, require friendship, deep affection, possibly some promise of a future together before making love.

He would marry one day, he thought with a wry grimace. His wife would be someone of his own kind, a woman willing to produce a child in exchange for the De Frenza name, the De Frenza wealth. It would be a practical arrangement on both sides, a matter of legal contracts and low expectations. This was all his many responsibilities allowed.

Meanwhile, he could rest his gaze on Amanda Davies parted lips and fantasize about how sweet they would taste, how it might feel to sweep his tongue between them, to be met with the warm and sinuous twining of hers while she hummed her welcome. Yes, and while he tested the soft fullness of her bottom lip with his teeth. He would slide his hand under the skirt of the severe suit she wore, seeking tender warmth and moisture, tending her pleasure, making her ready for him. She would open her thighs to his touch, his sure exploration—

A curse feathered his lips as he realized where his too ready male imagination had taken him. He was harder than he’d been in months, maybe even years, pulsing with the accelerated beat of his heart.

Setting his laptop aside with a thud, he pushed folders and papers to the floor. Surging upright, he stalked to the back of the plane. He stripped off his shirt as he went, making for the small shower in the bedroom’s en suite bath. He hoped the wait in Atlanta’s summer sun hadn’t warmed the plane’s water reserve too much.

~ ~ ~

The smell of freshly brewed coffee dragged Amanda from sleep. The attendant was just sliding a tray onto the table in front of her, down from where her feet were propped. Upon it was a silver coffee service, cups and saucers rimmed by a line of the same blue as the plane’s décor, a pair of chilled salads and a stacked silver server holding small sandwiches.

“Did I wake you? I’m so sorry, but Signor de Frenza ordered a light dinner for this hour.”

Amanda sat up straight, clearing her throat that was husky from sleep and tears. “No problem. I’ve probably napped long enough.”

“It should be something more elaborate,” the woman said with a small yet anxious shrug. “We left Florence on such short notice there was no time to supply the plane as usual.”

The bread appeared fresh-baked, and the fillings of paper-thin slices of roast beef and Parma ham smelled delectable. The salads of fresh tomatoes and rounds of soft mozzarella sprinkled with chopped basil and drizzled with olive oil made her mouth water just to look at them. Amanda could not imagine how anyone could find fault, and said so at once.

Relief lightened the attendant’s face. “I’ll bring the wine then.”

She almost told her not to bother, but realized that Nicholas had probably ordered that as well as the food. He would expect to see it when he returned from wherever he’d disappeared while she slept.

Unfastening her seat belt as the flight attendant returned to the forward area where the galley must be located, she got to her feet. She was stiff from sitting, and in need of a restroom. There being no sign of such a thing in the sitting area, she made her way back toward the sleeping area that had been pointed out to her.

It was actually more of a bedroom, one that was in near darkness. Not only were the window shades pulled down, but the daylight had been lost as they flew east into the night.

Her impression was of a luxurious space, softly carpeted, with the bulk of a full size bed in its darker back depths. As no lights burned, she assumed Nicholas must have decided to rest there.

A rectangular glow indicated the door of what must be the bathroom. She eased toward it as soundlessly as possible. The last thing she wanted to do was disturb him.

She heard the subdued buzz of a small motor just before the door swung inward. It was too late to stop it.

Nicholas stood at the wash basin, using the mirror above it as he ran an electric razor over the stubble on his chin.

He was spectacularly naked.

A sharp breath rasped in her throat as she took in the sight.

He turned, his eyes resting on her face as he lifted a dark brow. “There is something I can do for you?” he asked.

“No!” she exclaimed in strangled embarrassment while hot color poured into her face. “I’m so sorry. I just wanted—”

Her brain could not assemble her need and the words to express it into a coherent sentence. Nor could she seem to drag her gaze from the sun-burnished musculature of his chest with its lyre shape of fine, dark hair, his flat, hard abdomen, the sculpting of his arms and shoulders, his long straight legs with their well-defined muscles. As for his groin, the impressive length springing from a starburst of fine dark hair seemed ready to oblige in any way she might require.