Italian Deception: The Salvatore Marriage / A Sicilian Seduction / The Passion Bargain. Michelle Reid
the years to a different time when everything was wonderful and they used to do this kind of thing often. Luca was as irresistible as he had been back then. Smiling, talking naturally with him while holding hands as they strolled along the Lungarni and onto the Ponte Santa Trinita to watch the sunset on the Arno, was like dipping her hand into very hot water—and discovering that she liked it.
‘Oh, just look, Luca …’ she prompted softly as the river turned into a silk ribbon of fire and warmed the famous face of the Ponte Vecchio—the next bridge in the line. ‘How do you ever get used to looking at this?’
They were standing shoulder to shoulder against the bridge looking down the river, but he turned at her words to run his gaze over her face tinted golden by the sun and her hair shot with flames. ‘I don’t,’ he said.
Inner flutters took flight in her stomach because she knew he was referring to her, not the view. She glanced at him. ‘Now that was corny,’ she chided, ‘and very un-Italian of you.’
‘It is the truth—why pretend?’ He shrugged lazily.
She was suddenly racked by a cold shiver as the cool water rising from the river touched her skin. ‘I’m cold,’ she said and pushed away from the bridge to begin walking back the way they had come, aware that she’d left Luca still leaning there absorbing the change in mood.
He soon caught up with her, though, his leather jacket arriving across her shoulders along with his arm to hold it there. ‘Thank you,’ she murmured a trifle stiffly.
‘Prego,’ he drawled with a lightness that told her he was going to ignore the mood change and his arm remained where it was across her shoulders, casual yet intimate and possessive.
‘Where shall we eat?’ he asked after a moment.
‘It’s too early for dinner.’ For an Italian, anyway.
‘You prefer to go back to the apartment now?’
No, she didn’t. Going back meant making a decision about what came after they got there and she knew she wasn’t ready to do that yet. But she was also remembering his liking for the super-smart restaurants frequented by the Florentine élite. Etiquette was everything in those places, along with a seriously adhered-to code of dress.
‘Somewhere small and casual, then,’ she said carefully.
He smiled. ‘The prompt was not necessary, cara.’ It was his turn to chide. ‘I was thinking of that little place we used to go to off Via Delle Belle Donne—you loved the panzanella there, if I recall …’
Its warm, cosy atmosphere was just what Shannon needed. She relaxed again. The food was delicious and the man she shared it with was—perfect.
He sat across a small table with the candlelight flickering on his golden face and fed her small titbits of food with the tips of his long fingers, plied her with a crisp, dry white wine. And he talked, mesmerising her with deep-timbred tones soaked in intimacy and he did it in Italian to force her to concentrate only on him. When she spoke he dipped his eyes to watch her mouth move, kissed it with those eyes to make her lips tremble, then flicked his gaze back to her eyes to make her aware that he knew what was happening to her.
It was the foreplay in a long seduction, she knew, because she’d been caught up in its spell so many times before. He was making love to her with his eyes, with his voice, with every intimate weapon he had in his super-sensual armoury.
‘Why?’ she asked him suddenly.
‘Because I want you,’ he answered, not even attempting to misunderstand the question.
Faults and all? she was about to challenge when his fingertips came up to rest against her mouth. ‘Don’t question me—ask yourself what you want.’
She wanted him, she admitted. She had always wanted him. She wanted tonight to go on for ever and the past to disappear altogether and for the sadness of tomorrow to never come.
So when he kissed her as they left the restaurant she let him, his hands gently crushing her shoulders beneath his leather jacket, the light brush of the bodies a teasing taster for what was to come.
On the way back to the car Luca suddenly left her side with a murmured excuse and disappeared into one of the little shops that sold everything. He came out a few minutes later carrying a box, which he handed to Shannon with a lopsided grin. It was a box of chocolate-coated truffles, more confirmation of what they were going to be doing soon because they always used to indulge in chocolate-coated truffles, feeding them to each other while reclining on the bed, still wearing the bloom on their naked flesh from a long, slow loving.
He was pulling out all of the stops here to recreate their old magic. And she was so busy blushing that she almost missed his other hand slipping something small into his pocket, and even then she just assumed it was some folded paper Euros and dismissed the incident to the back of her head in favour of—other things.
They continued walking towards Duomo with anticipation beating a tender pulse of its own. They got into his car as that pulse grew quicker. They drove without speaking, which speeded it all the more. They climbed out of the car and arrived at the basement lift. He reached out to press the call button at the same time that his other hand drew her close.
‘You’re trembling,’ he said.
She tried a laugh that didn’t quite work, then his mouth was capturing hers and they were kissing so deeply she was unaware that the lift had arrived until he broke away to manoeuvre them inside its cool metal casing. Then he was propping her up against the wall with his body while he activated security. They rode the lift with his hands cupping her hips, and his lips pressing small kisses all over her face.
She did not push him away. She did not say no to this, so why was she beginning to feel anxious the closer they came to that point at which she was going to move beyond the point of saying no?
The lift doors opened; their bodies separated as they stepped out.
Everything was the same—everything. The cream walls, the inlaid floor—Apollo standing to one side of the arch. Electric lights burned, softly activated by a time switch so no one ever arrived here in the dark.
She moved on legs that felt like sponge now, her heart beating oddly in her breast.
Did she want this?
Luca was behind her—close behind her. The lift doors closed and he was turning her round to face him again, capturing her eyes and keeping the past safely merged with the present with the luxurious dark promise burning in his. His jacket was taken from her shoulders and tossed aside on a nearby chair. His hands replaced it, closing over slender shoulders, then stroking down her arms before moving to the tingling base of her spine where he pressed her into arching contact with his body and recaptured her mouth with a deep, deep kiss that sent the question marks flying away.
They moved on to her bedroom, the door closing them into their carefully constructed world where no outside forces were allowed to intrude. She put the box of truffles aside on a chest of drawers, then wound her slender arms around his neck, her head tilting sideways as her mouth searched for his again, lips parted, warm and pulsing with invitation. The breath shuddered from him as he accepted the invitation and he shuddered again when she rolled her tongue around the inner tissues of his mouth. They were joined—already—even without the rest of what was to come. It had always been like this for them.
They kissed like that for ages, immersing themselves in a deep, dark, sensual mist. He stroked her arms, he stroked her body, he slid his hands beneath her hair and slowly slid down the zip to her dress. She sighed at the pleasurable caress of his fingers against the silk-smooth flesh on her back, stretching and arching in perfect accord with his demands as he urged her arms down so he could peel the dress away. The tight cuffs on the sleeves snagged on her hands and he gave a sharp tug to get them free. Then he was collecting up her wrists and kissing them as if to soothe away that small piece of violence—because violence had not been allowed to come into this room with them. It belonged