Kitabı oku: «The Princes' Brides», sayfa 2

“Yeah. I know. It’s a meat market out there—but sometimes, well, sometimes that can be fun. You know. No BS. Just an evening of fun and games.”

“It’s bad enough men think that’s what we’re all about. That we’re useless except in the kitchen or the bedroom. We don’t have to play into their stupid fantasy.”

Silence. Then Jen cleared her throat. “Okay,” she said carefully, “so just forget that I—”

“Not that I couldn’t be some jerk’s idea of a centerfold playmate, if I wanted.”

“Uh, Aimee, look, I have to run, so—”

“I could go to this club with you. Dance, drink, let some guy pick me up for a night of mind-blowing sex!”

The telephone line hummed with silence again. Then Jen spoke.

“So, uh, are you saying you want to go with us?”

Aimee took a deep, deep breath. “You’re damned right I am,” she said.

Twenty minutes later, dressed in a red silk dress she’d bought on sale and never had a reason to wear, ditto for a pair of strappy gold sandals, Aimee took a last look in the mirror, gave her image a quick salute, then headed out the door.

Chapter Two

LUCAS’S CLUB was everything Damian had promised.

Like most hot Manhattan nightspots, it was in a neighborhood that had once been grungy and commercial and now was grungy and upscale. Streets that had once been relegated to the nitty-gritty of daily life now came alive after dark. Warehouses had given way to expensive, exclusive clubs.

Lucas’s place was located in a dark brick building with shuttered windows. There was no sign to indicate that what had once been a factory was now Le Club Hot.

No sign. No published telephone number. You either knew the club existed or you didn’t, which went a long way toward sorting out the clientele, Nicolo thought wryly as he opened a heavy, brass-hinged door and stepped, with Damian, into what might have been the small lobby of an upscale hotel.

The behemoth who greeted them was not someone you’d ever find behind a reception desk. They gave him their names, he checked a list, then smiled.

He pressed a button, and the wall ahead of them slid back.

“Wow,” Damian said softly.

Nicolo had to agree. “Wow” summed it up.

The first thing you noticed was the noise. Music, heavy on bass, went straight into your blood.

Then you realized that the room you’d walked into was huge.

The designer had carefully left the exposed overhead pipes and old brick walls but everything else—the lighting, the endless Lucite bar, the elevated dance floor and the music—was dazzlingly modern.

“You could play American football in here,” Damian murmured. “Especially since the place comes equipped with so many cheerleaders.”

He grinned, and Nicolo grinned back at him. It was true. The room was filled with people, more than half of them women. Young. Stunning. Sexy. Faces recognizable from European and American magazine covers and movies.

What an idiot he’d been, letting what happened this afternoon get him worked up. Damian had it right. This was what he needed. Lights. Music.

Women.

This was the way to relax.

“Barbieri! Aristedes!”

Lucas was making his way through the crowd toward them. The men exchanged handshakes and then Lucas rolled his eyes and grabbed them both in a bear hug.

“Ugly as always,” he said, raising his voice over the pulsating beat of the music, “but not to worry. I’ve told a bunch of lies about you both and made you sound so interesting that people are willing to meet you, despite your looks.”

The three of them grinned. Then Lucas pointed toward a suspended, transparent staircase.

“My table’s up there,” he shouted. “On the mezzanine. It’s quieter…and the view is óptimo!”

He was right. The table overlooked the dance floor and the sound level dropped from deafening to ear-shattering.

And the view was, indeed, excellent.

“What scenery,” Damian said.

He meant, of course, the women. Nicolo nodded in agreement. He’d already acknowledged that the scenery was spectacular. All those lithe, gyrating bodies. The lovely faces…

Was there a woman on the dance floor with eyes the color of violets? With hair the honey-gold of a tigress?

“Nicolo? Which do you prefer?”

Nicolo blinked. Lucas and Damian were looking at him, along with a girl in gold hot pants and a skimpy black tank top.

“To drink,” Lucas said, with a little laugh. “Whiskey? Champagne? The club special? It’s a Mojito. You know, rum, lime juice—”

“Whiskey,” Nicolo said, and told himself to stop being a fool and start having a good time.

But that was a problem.

It turned out you couldn’t have a good time just by telling yourself to have one. You had to relax before you had fun, and now that the woman with the violet eyes had pushed her way into his head, he knew damned well “fun” wasn’t going to happen.

No matter how much he tried.

He ate. He drank. He listened while Lucas and Damian caught up on old times. The three of them hadn’t seen each other in months; there was a lot to talk about and he forced himself to join in the conversation.

After a while, his thoughts drifted. To the woman. To how he’d dealt with her. The more he thought, the angrier he became.

At her.

At himself.

What kind of man let a woman make a fool of him?

“Nicolo?”

Another blink, this time at Damian, who was watching him through slightly narrowed eyes.

“You okay?”

“Yes. Sure. I told you, it’s—it’s this meeting Monday, and—”

Lucas snorted. “My friend, you’re as transparent as glass. What’s on your mind is a woman.”

No. It wasn’t true. Well, yes. There was a woman on his mind but not in the way Lucas meant.

There were no women in his life to think about.

He’d ended an affair a month ago, and grazie a Dio that he had. The lady in question had been like so many others, beautiful and accommodating at first, then simply beautiful and boring.

But then, that was in the nature of things—or was it? Somehow, he couldn’t envision the blonde with the violet eyes ever being accommodating or boring.

She would always be a challenge.

Any other woman, given the situation, would have accepted the apology he’d offered. Hell, any other woman would have done more than that.

He was always lucky with women. They liked him and he liked them. So, any other woman would have smiled and said it was nice of him to say it was his fault but, really, it was hers.

And he’d have understood her smile, returned one of his own and said, well, perhaps they might have a drink while they decided who owed whom an apology…

Nicolo brought his bourbon on the rocks to his lips and took a long drink.

Damn it, the woman was haunting him and for a reason that was insulting.

Such insolence! Why had he tolerated it? Such audacity! And he’d let her get away with it.

His eyes narrowed.

What she’d needed was a real lesson in how a woman should behave. Not that pale excuse of a kiss but something she would have remembered, something that would have shaken her loose of that cold disdain.

He should have dragged her against his body. Taken her mouth, parted her lips with his and filled her with his taste. Let her understand that she was female and he was male and despite the ridiculous conventions of this misbegotten century, what that meant was that he held supremacy when it came to things such as this.

But he had done none of those things. And now, for all he knew, somewhere in this vast city she was laughing at him. At how easily she’d cut him down to size.

Laughing, perhaps, with her lover.

A woman with a face like a madonna’s would surely have a lover.

Would he be a man she could command? Yes. Of course. And what a pity that was because what the lady needed was a lover whose touch would make her tremble. Whose kisses would melt her icy hauteur. Who would make love to her until she begged for mercy…

“Barbieri!”

Nicolo forced the darkness away, looked at the expressions on his friends’ faces—and realized that he had held his glass so tightly it had shattered.

Whiskey puddled on the table.

“Merda,” he growled, and dabbed furiously at the spreading pond of golden liquid with a napkin.

“Never mind that. Did you cut yourself?”

Had he? Nicolo checked.

“No. Not a scratch.” He forced a laugh and held out his hand. “See? Relax, Reyes. There won’t be a lawsuit.”

But Lucas wasn’t buying into the poor attempt at humor.

“Amigo, I’m not the one who needs to relax. You’re wound tighter than a spring.”

Nicolo thought about denying it but what was the point? These men knew him too well.

“You’re right. I am, and I’m sorry I’m spoiling your evening.” He pushed back his chair. “The truth is, I can’t keep my mind on things tonight, so I’m going to head back to my hotel. I told you, that meeting—”

“We’ve known you too long to fall for that. Tough negotiations don’t stress you, Barbieri. You live for them.” Laughing, Damian nudged Lucas in the ribs with his elbow. “It’s a woman. Admit it.”

Nicolo gave a deliberately careless shrug. Maybe if he made light of it…

“Okay,” he said, “it is. But I’ll get over it.”

“Of course you will.” Lucas leaned closer. “And I know the quickest way to do it. It’s like drinking, Nicolo. Remember, back in college? The hair of the dog cure after too much partying? You wake with a hangover, you get rid of it by taking a drink. Well, you have a woman on the brain, you cure that by—”

“Lucas,” a soft voice purred, “darling Lucas, here you are! We’ve been looking everywhere.”

Five women had materialized beside the table. All stunning. All smiling as if they’d found the lost treasure of the Amazons.

“The hair of the dog, my man,” Damian whispered, and Nicolo thought, Why not?

Chairs were dragged over. Introductions were made. Champagne corks popped. After a few minutes, one of the women—her name was Vicki—turned to Nicolo.

“Lucas tells me you’re a royal”

Nicolo looked over her shoulder. Lucas grinned and winked.

“Lucas is a comedian,” he said.

“I’m famous, too.” She giggled. “Well, not yet but someday. Maybe you’ve seen me? I’ve been in—”

A list of plays. Or TV shows. Or something. He didn’t know, didn’t care, and stole a surreptitious glance at his watch. When could he get out of here without insulting the lady or putting a damper on the party?

Not that she wasn’t beautiful. And friendly. She smiled a lot. Put her hand on his arm. Asked him the questions a man likes to be asked.

It was an old game, one he’d played often. The outcome was always understood. And pleasant.

Amazingly pleasant.

He felt his blood tingle. Damian was right. Lucas, too. This was what he needed. A willing, beautiful woman. A game with a predictable ending. A night’s pleasure.

Wasn’t it bad enough the woman with the violet eyes had made a fool of him once? Was he going to let her do it again by keeping him from what waited for him now?

Nicolo pushed back his chair. Took Vicki’s hand.

“Dance with me.”

He led her down the steps to the dance floor. Salsa music blasted the air, its insistent beat almost as sexual as the moves of Vicki’s ripe body lightly brushing his.

Yes. This was good. This was what he needed…

But it wasn’t. It was the wrong body, teasing his. The wrong face, lifted to his and smiling. The wrong eyes, filled with heat and desire.

Basta, he thought in disgust, and he put his arms around the woman and brought her tightly against him as the music segued into something slow and sexy.

She settled close against him as if she’d been waiting for the invitation. Her hair tickled his nose. It was stiff and smelled of hairspray.

Those honeyed curls this afternoon had been soft and fragrant with rain.

“It’s terribly noisy here,” Vicki said, her breath warm against his ear.

Why don’t we find a quieter place? That was the next line. His, or in these days of supposed equality, it could be—

“Why don’t we find a quieter place?” she whispered.

Nicolo cleared his throat.

“You know,” he said, “I think that’s—I think it’s—” An excellent idea. “I think I’ll have to take a rain check on that,” he heard himself say.

She looked as surprised as he felt but, damn it, he didn’t want this woman.

No substitutes, he thought as the music began to pound again, and the need, the desire he’d been suppressing all these hours ignited and threatened to consume him.

He knew what he wanted. What he needed. And there had to be a way, had to be something he could do to—

Nicolo caught his breath. He stopped dancing, let the other dancers and the music swirl around him.

There she was!

Honey-colored curls. Violet eyes. The woman who was driving him insane. No black suede coat. No hood. No boots. Instead she wore a clinging scrap of crimson silk that barely covered her body. Gold sandals, all straps and sky-high, needle-sharp heels. She was dancing, if you wanted to call it that. Moving in a man’s arms. Breasts swaying. Hips rotating. Head up, eyes locked to the man’s face, mouth turned up in a smile…

A smile she had denied him.

“Nicolo?”

Vicki, whatever her name was, said his name. Said something more and put her hand on his chest. He brushed it aside. Stepped away. Abandoned her in the middle of the crowded dance floor.

The part of his brain that was of this century knew all that. Knew, too, that his response to the events of the afternoon might not be entirely rational.

But the part that was as old, as savagely male, as time whispered, This is what I want. And I’m going to have it.

And Nicolo heard nothing else.

The music had turned wild; the throbbing pulse matched the insistent thump of his blood, the beat of his heart…

The fury eating inside him.

Fate, always capricious, had decided to favor him tonight. The woman who’d made a fool of him was here.

Now, he could even the score.

He shouldered his way through the crowd, eyes locked to his quarry. She was oblivious to him. Good, he thought grimly. He wanted to reach her before she had time to think.

But halfway there, she suddenly stopped dancing. Her partner said something; she didn’t answer. Instead she moved out of his arms and stood like a doe at the edge of a clearing, sensing the presence of a hungry predator.

Later, Nicolo would wonder if it weren’t the whole world that had gone still and waited, waited, waited.

A minute, an eternity, swept by. Then the blonde raised her head and looked directly at him.

He let a tight smile curve his mouth. Whatever beat its wings within him must have been in that smile, because the color drained from her face.

She took a step back.

He thought, again, of the doe.

Run, he thought.

And, just as if she’d read his mind, the woman with the violet eyes swung away from him and fled.

Nicolo didn’t hesitate. He went after her.

Chapter Three

YOU COULDN’T end up in the same place with the same man twice in one day. Not in a town the size of New York.

At first, when she saw him, Aimee told herself it had to be some other tall, dark-haired guy. There were tons of dark-haired, good-looking men in the city.

A second glance and that hope vanished. It was the overbearing, supermacho jerk who’d kissed her. It had to be. The truth was, nobody else would be as…

All right. No other man could possibly be as easy on the eyes. He was despicable—but he was gorgeous.

The last few minutes, she’d felt…What? A premonition? She didn’t believe in any of that stuff, but how else to explain that tingle at her nape? That feeling that eyes were following her as she danced with Tom or Tim or, dear God, she couldn’t even remember the name of the guy who’d bought her a drink, then led her onto the dance floor.

He was nice enough. Good-looking enough. And he was working hard at making an impression.

And he wasn’t the stranger from this afternoon.

No way would Tom, or whoever he was, grab a woman and kiss her, look at her through icy deep-blue eyes in a way that would make the memory of him lodge itself in her brain.

She hated men like the Neanderthal, no matter how hot-looking a Neanderthal he might be.

So, yes, it was good that the guy dancing with her wasn’t like that…Wasn’t it?

Of course it was.

He’d been coming on to her like crazy. And she’d tried her best to respond. Smiled. Laughed. Gone onto the dance floor and did her best to lose herself in the music, working off her frustrations to its insistent beat the way she’d have worked them off in the gym.

And then, suddenly, she’d felt a tingle, as if someone was watching her.

Well, of course, someone was watching her! People danced, other people watched.

Aimee had danced harder, throwing herself into the music with abandon, and the guy with her kept saying things like, “Wow, you’re good, baby,” and “That’s it, babe, way to go,” as if he were cheering her on.

Objectifying her, she’d thought with detached clarity—except, wasn’t that part of the deal tonight?

She’d come here to have fun, she’d thought grimly. To pick up a man. She was going to have a good time.

Except, she wasn’t.

She despised places like this. Not the club itself: it was, she had to admit, spectacular. It was what went with the place. The noise. The lights. The crowd. The desperate pickup lines.

And this was not the time to turn into an anthropologist studying the natives.

So she’d agreed when Jen said it was absolutely fantastic, laughed at what she assumed were jokes, let a nice-looking guy buy her a margarita, tell her she was the most beautiful woman in the place and lead her to the dance floor.

And tried not to cringe each time Ted or Tim or Tom called her “baby.”

And worked really, really hard at pretending she was having fun when the truth was, she didn’t belong here, didn’t want to be here, certainly didn’t want to go home with Ted-Tom-Tim or anybody else for a night of meaningless sex.

She’d never treated sex casually. Never had a one-night stand. Never, not once.

Why on earth had she thought she’d want to now?

Because, a sly voice inside her had whispered, you thought it just might make you forget the stranger. The one with the hard, beautiful face and the body that was all muscle.

The one who kissed you as if he had the right, as if he could kiss you, do anything to you that he wanted.

That you wanted.

And that was when Aimee felt the tingling, looked around…And saw him. The stranger from this afternoon. Watching her with what could only be fury in his eyes.

He was angry? At her? That was crazy. She was the one who was angry. And “angry” wasn’t the word. She’d been the one harassed by him. By his attitude. His arrogance. His unwanted kiss.

His eyes met hers. Everything faded. The insistent throb of the music, the people around her, everything.

Aimee stopped dancing.

It was all she could do not to run.

The look in his eyes terrified her…but the slow heat spreading through her veins terrified her even more.

She took a long, deep breath. Or tried to. For some reason, she couldn’t seem to get any air into her lungs.

Suddenly the rage in his expression changed. Something else glittered in his dark blue eyes. Something male that she despised.

The innate male determination to dominate.

To dominate, in bed and out.

With breathtaking swiftness, she felt a rush of heat sweep through her. Her nipples tightened; a honeyed warmth spread low in her belly.

No, she thought frantically, no! She’d never want someone like him to put his hands on her. His mouth on her. To take her, hard and fast, again and again until she collapsed in his arms…

He started toward her, heedless of the people in his way, everything about him focused, with hot intensity, on her.

And she turned and ran.

She went through the crowd blindly, banging into people, ignoring their indignant protests. Her heart was racing.

God, oh God, oh God!

He was the hunter. She was his prey. A sob rose in her throat and, just in time, she spotted the flashing neon sign that marked one of the club’s unisex bathrooms.

Jen had dragged her into it earlier.

“Doesn’t look like a bathroom at all,” Jen had bubbled.

Right now, it looked like a sanctuary.

Aimee pulled open the door. Slammed it after her. Started to turn the lock…

Bang!

The door flew open and the man burst into the room. She shrieked and fell back, reached behind her to the vanity. Wrapped her hand around a heavy bottle of something. Hand lotion. Body oil. Who gave a damn what it was? It was a weapon.

That was what counted.

“Don’t,” she said.

Her voice shook. Was that the reason for the little smile that began at the corner of his mouth?

“Get out of here! Do you hear me? Go away or I’ll scream.”

He laughed. She couldn’t blame him. There wasn’t a chance in the world anyone would hear her. You wouldn’t hear a siren above the music. It was muted here, but it still filled the room like the beat of a giant heart.

She raised the bottle over her head. “One step,” she panted, “just one, and I’ll smash you with this!”

He laughed. “You already tried that, remember?”

“I’m not kidding! You—you unlock that door and get the hell out of here or so help me—”

He started toward her. She let fly with the bottle but he dodged and it shattered against the wall.

“Listen to me.” Her voice trembled; she hated herself for it but she knew damned well there was nothing she could do to prevent it. “This is a terrible mistake. You won’t—you won’t get away with—”

“At first,” he said, his tone almost conversational, “I thought, ‘Well, that is just the way she deals with men.’ ”

She’d noticed his accent this afternoon. You couldn’t miss that husky, sexy quality to his voice. It seemed more obvious now, his pronunciation more careful.

“I told myself it was not important.”

Aimee swallowed. “Look, what happened this afternoon—”

“Still,” he said, in that same easy way, as if he were explaining the day’s news to a friend, “still, I admit, it bothered me. That a woman should be so impolite. So downright rude. But I put it out of my head.”

“I didn’t do anything! It was—it was just something that happened.”

“Just something that happened.” He nodded. “Yes, that’s an excellent way to put it. In fact, that is exactly the conclusion I reached.”

He was inches away from her now, so close that she had to tilt her head up to see his eyes. Even in her heels, he was much taller than she. And, God, much bigger.

“But then I saw you, here.”

“You mean, you followed me here!”

“You give yourself too much importance, cara. Do you really think I have nothing better to do than to spend my time following you?” A little muscle was ticking in his cheek. “I came here with friends. To enjoy the evening.” He paused. “And, it would seem, so did you.”

“Yes. And—and my date will be looking for—”

“Your date didn’t move a finger to prevent you from abandoning him. Or to keep me from going after you.” He paused, and she saw his eyes darken. “I noticed that you treated your gentleman friend differently than you treated me.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Cara. Please, don’t try my patience. You laughed with him. Smiled when he spoke to you.”

“Of course. I mean, I know him—”

“Really? What’s his name?”

“Ted,” Aimee said quickly.

“No. It is not.”

It had been a gamble, but a good one. Nicolo watched as the woman worried her bottom lip. He’d guessed right. She had no idea who she’d been dancing with. She’d picked the man up.

For many of its patrons, that was the purpose of a place like this.

Her business, of course.

That was what he’d told himself, when he first saw her with the man.

But he’d watched as she smiled. Flirted. Shook her hips, her breasts. Practiced the fine art of seduction.

For another man.

Not for him.

Not for him, he’d thought, and suddenly he’d known that confronting her, kissing her, would not be enough.

He wanted her.

It didn’t make sense but it didn’t have to. His body, his blood, knew what he needed.

And what he needed was this beautiful, condescending stranger dancing with him…

Dancing in his bed.

Slowly he reached out, laced one finger under the thin strap of her red dress and tugged. She stumbled toward him, arms raised, hands balled into fists.

He caught her wrists in one hand.

“Don’t struggle,” he said in a low voice. “It will only make things worse.”

“Please.” Her voice trembled. “Please, don’t do this.”

“I told you this afternoon, you lack manners, cara.”

“Let me go! Damn you—”

“The next time ‘something happens,’ as you called it, between you and a man, you will know how to respond.”

“If you’re after an apology…”

“And if I were, would you finally offer one?”

She was terrified; he could see it in her face, feel it in the trembling of her body. Her gaze locked on his, and he felt a rush of disappointment.

She was desperate, desperate enough so she was, in fact, going to apologize. And then, as a civilized man, he’d have to let her go…

Wrong.

Her chin lifted; terrified or not, her eyes blazed with defiance.

“Only a barbarian would think that taking a woman by force is the way to get even for damage to his ego.”

“Is that what you think? That I’m going to rape you?” The muscle flickered in his jaw again; he cupped her face with his free hand and held it steady. “You know better.” His voice was low and husky. “I saw the way you looked at me a few minutes ago.”

Color stained her cheeks. “I don’t know what you—”

“Yes,” he said, “you damned well do.”

His head lowered to hers, and he kissed her.

His mouth was hard. Hungry. Hot against hers. Aimee jerked against the restraint of his hand, tried to twist her face away but he wouldn’t permit it.

Instead he brought her closer, crushing her tightly against him so that she could feel the strength of him, the power…

The thrust of his straining erection.

A whimper rose in her throat.

“Stop,” she said, against his mouth, but he went on kissing her, his fingers sliding into her hair, twisting the curls around his hand, backing her against the wall so that now she was pressed against him from breast to groin.

“Kiss me back,” he said in a thick whisper.

No, she told herself frantically. She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t…

Aimee gave a strangled cry, rose to him and opened her mouth against his.

He groaned. Let go of her wrists and threw his arm around her hips, lifting her against him. His tongue teased her lips, slipped between them and she tasted his hunger, his need, his rampant masculinity.

“Say it,” he growled against her mouth. “Tell me what you want. What you’ve wanted ever since this afternoon.”

Blind to logic, to reason, blind to anything but the feel of him, the scent of him, Aimee gave up lying.

“You,” she whispered. “Only you. All day. All evening. I couldn’t think of anything else, couldn’t get you out of my head—”

He cupped her face in his hands. Kissed her, deeply. Thrust his leg between hers and she moaned at the feel of it against the tender flesh between her thighs.

She moved against him. Moved again, but it wasn’t enough, wasn’t enough…

She moaned.

The sound damned near sent Nicolo over the edge.

The taste of her was exquisite. She was strawberries and cream, spring rain and summer sun. She was everything a man could imagine a woman might be, if only in a dream.

He lifted her from the floor. Her arms rose; she wound them around his neck.

“Yes,” he said, and he grasped her slender thighs and brought them around his hips.

He thought of taking her to his hotel. To her apartment. To a place where he could undress her, touch her, watch her eyes as he entered her.

But not now.

Now, he needed this. Needed her. Needed to bury himself in her, needed it more than his next breath.

Locked in a dance as old as time, mouths fused in mutual hunger, Nicolo carried Aimee to the marble vanity. Sat her on its edge. Fumbled between them. Unzipped. Freed himself. Put his hand between her thighs, groaning as he felt the wet heat of her against his fingers, and tore aside the scrap of silk that kept her from him.

“Look at me,” he commanded.

She did, fixing those incredible violet eyes on his face.

“Yes,” she said, and he thrust forward, sank into her, felt her close around him.

She cried out instantly; he felt the pulse of her muscles as she came and then he exploded within her, came in a rush of almost unbearable ecstasy.

She trembled.

Then she gave a little sob and dropped her head on his shoulder.

Nicolo put his arms around her. Stroked her silken hair. Whispered to her, his native language soft on his tongue while he tried to figure out what in hell had just happened.

This was not the first time he’d had quick, hot sex. It was not the first time he’d had sex in the hidden heart of a public place.

Both could be exciting.

The truth was, sex was always exciting. But this, what had just happened…He’d never experienced anything like it.

He didn’t even know this woman’s name.

He hadn’t used a condom.

Madre del dio, was he losing his mind?

And then she sighed. Her breath tickled his throat. She lifted her head and looked at him, her eyes filled with uncertainty, her mouth gently swollen from his kisses, and Nicolo forgot everything but the soft, sweet feel of her mouth, her arms, her thighs.

“I don’t—I don’t know what happened.” Her voice was shaky, her face white except for two spots of color high on her cheeks. “I never—God, I never—”