Scandals Of The Powerful. Sarah Morgan
IT WASN’T a kiss; it was sex with their mouths.
His tongue was everywhere, his teeth on hers, his hands the only sensible part of them because he took off his jacket and removed his holster. The holster, he lowered to the floor. The jacket, he pulled condoms from and then threw onto the car as he lowered his mouth again, his hands lifting her dress, and not just to her hips. Their lips parted a moment as he tugged it over her head and then tore at her panties.
She had never known nor imagined anything like it. He’d felt huge beneath the fabric but exposed now there should surely be some apprehension—but instead there was only want. She took him in her hands and heard his moan of approval as she ran her finger over the tip and he tore open the wrapper.
Taking it from him, Emily slid it on. She wanted to pause, she wanted to taste, she wanted so many things, but with her orgasm building, there was time only for need. She thought he would lower her onto the car, but sensing her arousal, he lifted her onto him and Emily wrapped her legs around his hips and clung on. The second he was inside her it hit, but then, he had been turning her on since the elevator.
She lost her head and he took her hair, claiming her mouth as he pulled her hard down onto him. He stilled for just a moment, suckling her tongue as he held himself back from joining her in release, luxuriating in the feel of her hot centre pulsing around him, of her mouth tensing in orgasm and then slowly kissing him back as it faded.
He lowered her onto the bonnet and moved the jacket beneath her. Soon he would let himself join her in abandon, but not yet.
‘Anton.’ She wanted a moment. She could feel the warmth from the engine beneath her and the heat between her legs. He was looking down not at the sensuous coupling of their sexes but straight into her eyes, and it was more breathtaking than the sensual thrusting as he moved deeply within.
She was shocked by the tenderness that held her gaze as the guarded, remote man faded and she glimpsed firsthand what being made love to by Anton felt like. His eyes adored her, his passion blatant, another thunderbolt to her heart.
As if regretting revealing so much, he started to move faster, his hands pulling down her bra and exposing her breasts, his rhythm building, but he wanted again that elusive pleasure. He wanted to care.
Anton just gave in then, lowered himself onto her, wrapped his arm beneath her, and she found out then what it was like to be truly adored by Anton. She was sobbing as he thrust within her and she shattered into an orgasm that came from no place she had ever been. Heat seared not just from her centre; every muscle in her body seemed to contract as she arched into him. He was kissing her eyes, her cheeks, her ears, stunned at what had been unleashed. She was in the arms of the devil, yet he devoured her as if she were a saint. She bathed in his moans, in his caress, and then in the rush of still silence that warred with the pulse of his release within. She lay there spent beneath him, grateful for the hand that a little while later lifted her up.
He helped her into his jacket and, she noted, did not meet her eyes.
She teetered on legs that were a little unsteady and he tapped in a code that opened a door.
‘There’s no-one home, I hope.’
‘Just us.’
She was perhaps the worst investigative journalist in the world around Anton, because until that moment she hadn’t really questioned why he drove such a luxurious sports car. She had been more focused on Anton than the outside appearance of his house, but as she stepped into opulence, as the lights came on and unveiled a home more stunning than any she had been in, she realised there were questions she should surely ask.
She stood as he opened huge glass doors and looked out beyond the pool and to the ocean behind.
Anton’s wealth far outreached that of any detective she had ever come in contact with.
Or rather, any honest one.
‘I AM not corrupt.’ It was as if he could read her mind. ‘It is my own money.’ He looked over to her. ‘I worked for ten years in my father’s business and turned it around. One of the nice things about making a fortune is you can then do whatever work you choose. My job now is to flush out certain people. Because of my wealth I get closer than any of them like.’
‘Like tonight?’
‘The restaurant do not want to say no to me either. They know I always am seated upstairs. It was good to observe them, to see the cousins seated at the same table and hating it.’
He left her alone for a moment and then returned with a large T-shirt for her. For a moment she considered asking where the bathroom was so she could put it on, but they were a bit past that. Still, he was back to the old Anton now. He turned his back and opened the fridge and pulled out some wine as Emily quickly took off his jacket and slipped the T-shirt on, then removed her shoes.
She sat on the sofa and tucked her legs under her, a part of her wanting only to find out about him, but she’d sworn no regrets and she did not want to be sitting at her desk on Monday without words for her work.
‘Why don’t the cousins get on?’ Emily asked as he handed her a drink.
‘Salvatore and Teresa had two sons, Benito and Carlo, brothers but rivals. Salvatore divided his empire up between them. They were killed a few years ago in a fire and the rivalry continued down the line to their children. The cousins are always trying to outdo each other. The only reason they were together tonight is for Teresa.’
‘Will they all be at the wedding tomorrow?’
‘Not all,’ Anton said. ‘There is Angelo—he is Carlo’s illegitimate son. They like to forget about him, but he has Corretti blood in his veins and he is slowly moving in on them. I doubt you will see Gio. He is one of Benito’s sons but tends to stay away from family things, though he might make an appearance. He is more interested in horses. There is the Corretti Cup in three weeks. He will be there for that.’
‘Will you be at that, too?’
‘Like a bad smell.’ Anton’s smile was black.
‘You hate them, don’t you?’
‘More than you could know.’ She could hear the loathing in his voice. ‘My family owned many properties all across Sicily, but we did not conform to the rules. We refused to bow to the Sicilian powers that be. There was a car bomb. My family was in it. I should have been in that vehicle. By chance I was not.’
‘The Correttis did that?’ She was horrified but he shook his head.
‘I do not know who. That is why I joined the polizia. My only interest now is working out who ordered the hit on my family.’
‘And then what?’
‘Justice.’
He was a police officer, Emily told herself. He just wanted the people responsible behind bars. Her imagination was working overtime from reading too much about the Correttis.
She looked down at the ring still on her finger.
‘Is this really your mother’s?’
He nodded. ‘Tonight it was worn for a very worthy cause.’
‘Anton...’ She was more confused than she had ever been. She understood now the guardedness to him, but the loathing in his voice unnerved her. She started pulling at the ring, but an olive-skinned hand halted her.
‘You’ll be needing that tomorrow. Why would my guest, my new fiancée, not be wearing her ring?’
‘You mean the wedding.’ Emily’s mouth gaped. ‘You’re invited?’
‘Of