One Summer at The Villa. Rebecca Winters
aerosol cheese?”
She’d looked up, her brows drawing together. A moment later, she seemed to realize what she’d done. Her eyes darted to the towel cinched low on his hips, back up again. When her tongue swept over her lower lip, Cristiano thought his body would turn to stone. As it was, the towel was about to reveal her effect on him.
Dio santo.
He clamped down on his will, forced his body to behave. “It is an American product,” he said matter-of-factly. He made a motion with his hand. “You spray it on the crackers.”
“Spray?” She looked horrified.
“Si.”
A shudder passed over her. “That sounds perfectly vile.”
“Depends on how hungry you are and how long until your next meal.” Though he’d been born into privilege, he’d done his time with the Monterossan Special Forces. He understood deprivation and hunger quite well. While she flitted around her family palazzo, beautiful and elegant, her countrymen—and women—huddled in bunkers on the border, surrounded by artillery and razor wire, and ate meals out of a package. Just like he and the soldiers he’d served with had done.
“We should have returned to town,” she said, pushing up out of the chair and pacing toward the shuttered windows. She spun around again before she reached them. “Then we wouldn’t be isolated out here with spray cheese and no communications with the outside world.”
“Be thankful we are in a safe place, Principessa. There are those in the world who are not.”
If she noticed the steel in his voice, she didn’t show it. She seemed oblivious, on edge. Did the storm frighten her that much?
Her gaze raked over him, almost wild-eyed, then skittered away again. Once more, she spun toward the windows, following the track she’d paced before.
Cristiano recognized someone on the edge of control when he saw it. But what was causing her to feel so skittish? Did she have a thing about closed in spaces? Not that the room was small, but with the shutters closed and only a lamp for light, it felt rather cave-like.
Or was it the fact he was nearly naked? An interesting thought, to be sure.
“It wouldn’t have mattered where we were. Phone calls can fix nothing right now. And there was no time to make the trek back to town. This is the best we could do.”
She stopped and put her head in her hands. “I cannot believe I am stuck here with you for the foreseeable future. This is a nightmare.”
“I can think of a few ways to make the time pass.” He said it primarily because he knew it would irritate her.
Her head snapped up again. Score. “This isn’t something to make jokes about.”
“What makes you think I’m joking?”
She turned away from him with something that sounded like a growl. She made the circuit to the window again, stopped. Spun around, hands on hips, breasts thrust out enticingly. “Get this in your head, Cristiano—I am not sleeping with you. And I’d appreciate it very much if you’d put something on.”
Her voice rose at the end. Cristiano absently rubbed a hand over his chest, enjoying himself tremendously. So she was rattled by his semi-nakedness. Because she wanted him, no doubt. And because she felt guilty for doing so.
He certainly understood the feeling. “Do I disturb you, mia bella?”
She stood so stiffly, like a nun who’d blundered into a strip club. Now, why was that a turn-on? She wasn’t a virgin, wasn’t naïve, and yet she carried off the act so well. The contrast with her sensual body intrigued him. Made him hard. She couldn’t help but know it, clad as he was in a towel.
Her throat moved. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she rasped. A moment later, she waved a hand airily as she seemed to gather her equilibrium. “You don’t affect me one way or the other. So you might as well put on some clothes.”
The corners of his mouth curled in a smile that was both evil and triumphant. “I think you are right.”
And then he dropped the towel.
ANTONELLA fought hard not to shriek and spin away like a frightened virgin. No, she had to play this cool. Collected. He thought she was experienced—so experienced she must act.
But Cristiano di Savaré was the first man she’d ever seen naked in the flesh, and the sight affected her quite oddly. She felt dizzy for one thing. Like she needed to sit before her knees buckled.
And she felt hot. Prickles of heat skittered along her skin like tiny flames, scorching everything in their path. Her mouth dropped, snapped shut again.
He was…was…big…all over. And completely unabashed.
The towel lay heaped at his feet, forgotten. His eyes glittered, daring her to react.
Every line of him was beautiful. His skin was smooth and golden, yet lighter from a point above his groin to the tops of his thighs. Inanely, she thought he must spend a lot of time outside without a shirt.
Her eyes skimmed downward, hardly believing what she was seeing and yet unable to look away at the same time. His penis thrust out from his body proudly. She understood enough about male anatomy to know what an erect penis meant. But why? That part she didn’t understand. How could he be aroused? They’d been arguing, for pity’s sake!
Another, more frightening thought occurred to her: should she be scared of him? They were alone here, just the two of them and a storm outside.
He was bigger than she was, stronger. It was in his blood to hate her, just as it was in hers to hate him. Would he use his size and strength against her, take what he wanted by force? No one would come to her rescue if she screamed.
Her mind cast about frantically for solutions, ways in which she could fight him off if he attacked her.
“Want to help?” he said, his voice a sensual purr as he slowly reached for the clothing he’d tossed onto the bed.
Antonella drew in a shaky breath. No, she did not think he would force himself on her. He’d soothed her in the taxi when he could have ignored her. She kept telling herself that for comfort as she turned away very deliberately, very carefully. She couldn’t let him know she was flustered—or frightened. She couldn’t give him that kind of power.
Somehow she made her legs work. She returned to the slipper chair, sank down on it and picked up the magazine she’d been thumbing through. Thought better of flipping pages when she realized her hands were shaking. She laid the magazine on her lap and opened it to a random page, pretended to study what was there.
Cristiano hadn’t moved to follow her, yet he was still naked. Still aroused. Fear seeped away, replaced by heat and the pain of her own desire. Odd. She’d never realized sexual arousal could hurt.
Her heartbeat pounded in her chest, her neck, her wrists. She wanted to go into the bathroom and sink down into the cold water she’d filled the tub with. Perhaps then the heat would go away.
“I take it that’s a no,” Cristiano said.
Her cheeks were already on fire, but that didn’t stop the heat of a fresh blush. She’d forgotten he’d spoken to her, had asked her a question. She’d been so flustered by his body, by her own thoughts, that she’d blanked.
Did he know? Should she answer him now, or play it cool?
She saw movement in her periphery, but refused to look up. A flash of something pale. Clothing, she hoped. Please God, let him cover that body up before she made a bigger fool of herself. Before he