The Valtieri Marriage Deal

He stared at her, his eyes on fire, and shook his head slowly, his hand coming up to cradle her cheek with incredible tenderness, and she could feel that it was shaking. ‘If we go on like this, it’ll all be over in seconds,’ he murmured roughly, ‘and I don’t want seconds, Isabella. I want hours. I want to take my time—savour every moment of this night. Touch you all over. Taste you.’

Her knees nearly buckled. Relax, bella. I won’t eat you.

‘Oh, Luca, please,’ she whimpered, and he closed his eyes and muttered something that sounded halfway between an oath and a prayer.

‘I need a shower first—come,’ he said, pushing open the bathroom door and leading her in before turning on the water, then he held out his hands out to her and drew her closer.

Gentle now, and garment by garment, he slowly stripped away the rest of her clothes, his knuckles grazing softly over her skin. She closed her eyes, suddenly shy, but he touched her cheek, tipping her face up to his so she could see the heat in his eyes, so close to hers.

‘You’re beautiful, cara,’ he said gruffly, his thumb dragging slowly over her lips. ‘Don’t be shy with me.’

She swallowed and flicked her tongue out to moisten her lips, and the tip caught his thumb. He paused, and she grew bolder, stroking it back and forth across the pad, then sucking it gently, nipping it between her teeth—just lightly, but it was enough to make him groan.

‘You’re going to drive me crazy,’ he whispered unsteadily, and stepping back a fraction, he shed his clothes in record time then stepped into the shower, holding out his hand for her.

Her heart hammered against her ribs, and she let her eyes absorb him—the sheer potent masculine beauty of his body, so beautifully sculpted, so taut, so exquisite that he could have been one of Michelangelo’s models—except this man would surely have shocked the matrons and terrified the virgins, she thought, stifling a bubble of slightly hysterical laughter, but the only thing that shocked and terrified her was her own reaction.

She wanted him—wanted to touch him—no, needed to touch him, to feel him, test the texture of that hot, wet skin beneath her palms, and so she took his hand and followed him into the shower, under the streaming water that pounded over them like a tropical storm, and let her roaming fingers explore him, investigating the stark contrast between the rough texture of his body hair and the wet silk of his skin, following the streaming water from his shoulders, over his deep, solid chest to the arrow of hair that her downwards.

She moved lower, her fingers trailing over the taut muscles of his abdomen, and his teeth clenched and he sucked in his breath with a hiss.

‘Cara, slowly,’ he groaned, and, easing away from her, he squirted shower gel onto his hands and started to wash her, his hands firm and almost impersonal as they touched her everywhere. If it hadn’t been for the blazing heat in his eyes she might have thought he was washing a child, but there was nothing of the nurturer in this man now, and when she filled her palms with shower gel and smoothed her hands over his body he gave a shuddering sigh, his breath hot against her face as he cupped her bottom and eased her against him. She felt the urgent pressure of his knee between her thighs and opened for him as his hand slid round and cradled the terrible, yearning ache that was building in her body.

‘Luca?’ she whispered, and as the water streamed over them his mouth found hers in a kiss so searing she thought she’d go up in flames. She felt the hot, sensual slide of his tongue, its probing so erotic, so explicit that she could scarcely breathe. And it wasn’t just his mouth. His hand was moving against her, freeing a wanton woman she hadn’t even known existed until this moment.

A woman who wanted him, this man she’d never met before tonight but would have trusted with her soul, because already, in some obscure way, it belonged to him.

She felt fevered. She thought she’d die if she didn’t have him, and then he hit the shower control, grabbed a towel and rubbed her roughly dry, then hauled it over his skin and threw it aside as he led her back into the bedroom.

His mouth found hers again, and then his thigh was between hers and he pressed her backwards until her legs hit the bed and he toppled her over, falling with her in a tangle of limbs into the centre of the mattress.

‘Isabella,’ he groaned, lifting his head to stare down at her, his hands shaking as they touched her. She was gorgeous. So beautiful. So perfect. So much woman. He wanted to go slowly but he couldn’t. He needed her, and his control was in tatters.

Slowly, he told himself. Slowly. Make it last. He lifted a damp strand of hair from her face and pressed a tender, lingering kiss to her lips, then turned his attention to those soft, generous breasts, first one, then the other, kneading them gently and rolling her tightly budded nipples between his fingers until she whimpered and arched up to him, and then using his knee to ease her thighs apart, he turned his head and stared down at where the soft nest of curls hid her from his sight.

Dio, he wanted her. Wanted to taste her, to touch her, to bury himself inside her…

His mouth closed over one nipple as his hand sought her again, found the hot, sleek moisture of her delicate folds, felt the tremble in her body as his thumb found the swollen bud and stroked it gently, probing her warmth, testing her.

‘Luca!’ she sobbed, bucking under him, and he hushed her softly and moved on, his tongue taking over where his thumb had left off, and she cried out and trembled, her shaking fingers knotting in his hair. ‘Oh, God, Luca, now, please!’

He couldn’t wait any longer. He felt as if he’d been waiting for her all his life, and he couldn’t wait any more. She was begging him, her voice cracking, and he moved over her, settling against her, feeling her body yield to him as he entered her with a long, slow thrust that nearly pushed him over the edge.

She gasped his name again, and he kissed her softly, trying to take it slowly, trying to give her time to adjust to him as he withdrew and thrust into her again, deeper this time, harder, bringing a tiny scream to her lips. He felt her hands clawing at him, her nails digging into his shoulders as she urged him on breathlessly, her body striving beneath him.

He needed no urging. He was on the brink, hanging on for her with the last shreds of his control, and then he couldn’t wait any more.

‘Now, cara, please, now,’ he grated, his body shaking with desperate restraint, and then he felt the first contraction, the convulsions deep within her body closing around him and drawing him ever deeper, and locking his mouth to hers in a desperate kiss, he drove into her again and again, until the waves came up and claimed him and he followed her into the boiling maelstrom of their release.

She couldn’t move.

He was sprawled across her, his head against her shoulder, his chest heaving, and she could feel the wild pounding of his heart gradually slowing until finally he lifted his head and stared down into her eyes.

‘Oh, Isabella,’ he whispered, and, wrapping her tenderly against his chest, he rolled onto his back, taking her with him so she lay draped across his body, her legs tangled with his, his hard, muscled thigh pressed against her tender flesh, still pulsing with the aftermath of the most incredible experience of her life.

She felt tears sting her eyes and blinked them away, but they still fell, and there was a stupid sob rising in her throat. She bit it down, but it escaped, and he tightened his arms and rocked her.

‘Hush, tesoro. It’s all right. I’ve got you.’

It was as if he knew how she felt, as if he felt it too, the amazing, incredible, tumultuous emotions that were cascading through her, and his hand stroked gently over her hair and soothed her, and gradually her limbs relaxed and she sank slowly into sleep.

Luca didn’t sleep. The street light filtered through the shutters and brought with it disturbing and intrusive thoughts—thoughts that he dismissed for now. He’d deal with the consequences later. For now—for now he had Isabella, and nothing else mattered.

He turned his head and gazed wonderingly at the sleeping woman by his side. He’d never known it was possible to feel such a powerful storm of emotions. It was as if he’d come out of a coma. Everything felt—hell, it just felt, and so much more than it ever had.

He reached out a hand, then stopped before he touched her, because although he wanted her again, he also wanted to watch her, to lie there beside her and absorb her while she slept so peacefully at his side. And if he touched her, the fire would start again. He’d never known a fire like it, he thought, and he wondered how he could have felt so much for a woman he didn’t know. Because he didn’t know her. He knew hardly anything about her. She might be a real fruitcake, a neurotic, clinging vine—or, worse, a money-grubbing little witch out for all she could get. He’d had it with that sort, big time.

But she wasn’t any of those things. She was a good, decent woman who didn’t do this. He knew that, from the straightforward honesty of her response to him. He was just trying to talk himself out of something that scared the living daylights out of him, because if this was what it felt like, his life would never be the same again.

‘Luca?’

He realised she was looking at him, and he put away his dark thoughts and dredged up a smile. ‘Hi,’ he murmured, and, leaning over, he brushed her lips with his. ‘Did you sleep well?’

‘Mmm. Fabulous. What about you? Are you OK?’

‘Great. Fantastic,’ he told her, realising that it was true. He felt better than he had for months—years—and it was all down to her. He kissed her again, then dropped his head against hers and sighed softly. She’d been so responsive, so passionate and tender and honest, and it had blown him away.

Made him forget all sorts of things he had no business forgetting—including one rather vital and critical thing that he just couldn’t believe he’d overlooked.

He lifted his head and met her soft, sleep-hazed eyes. ‘Mind if I ask you a personal question?’

‘No,’ she said slowly, as if she wasn’t too sure.

‘Are you, by a miracle, on the Pill?’

Isabelle’s eyes widened, and she stared at him in consternation. She was—only to regulate her cycle, but it worked just the same. Which was as well, since she’d forgotten about contraception completely. Forgotten everything, even how to breathe at some points. And the Pill would only protect her from pregnancy. Oh, what an idiot.

‘Yes, I am,’ she said, and his eyes drifted shut, his relief obvious. He muttered something in Italian, then opened them again and grinned a little wryly, making her heart flutter.

‘Sorry. I just—forgot about things like that, last night, which is crazy, because I never forget, but—it was amazing.’ His voice softened and he reached out for her with his hand. ‘You were amazing. Incredible.’

‘So were you,’ she said, feeling colour mount her cheeks and the now-familiar heat invade her body, but she ignored it, her brain, brought to its senses now, suddenly remembering all the other things she’d forgotten in addition to the pill she really must remember to take later on. ‘Um—I don’t really know how to say this, but—well, you don’t need to worry about getting anything from me.’

‘Oh, Isabella.’ His fingers touched her cheek gently. ‘Don’t worry, you’re safe, cara. I wouldn’t do that to you.’

She felt a wave of relief, then common sense dawned again. ‘Luca, what’s the time?’

‘Nearly four.’