Happy Mother's Day! (7 page)

She attempted an air of perplexity, but inside her heart was pounding. ‘I can’t see why.’

‘Can’t you? You have no curiosity beyond the physical act, is that it?’ His voice roughened as he watched her face, enjoying the way her eyes darkened. ‘We had a night of the most unexpectedly mind-blowing sex and yet you don’t seem interested in a repeat performance.’ His black eyes narrowed. ‘And I can’t for the life of me work out why.’

Maybe it was his use of the word ‘performance’ which rankled, or maybe it was just his arrogant assumption that any woman, having tasted the pleasures of his body, wouldn’t be able to keep from coming for more—no matter the wear and tear it might inflict on a susceptible heart. ‘Oh, can’t you? Is that because your damned ego is so big?’

He was laughing now. ‘Not my ego,
cara,
no.’

She felt the flame which flared over her cheeks and dropped her voice to a furious whisper. ‘Do you want me to get up and walk out of this room right now?’

‘Yes,’ he retorted, his gaze imprisoning hers. ‘If it means you’ll come up to my suite and let me make love to you and damned well rid my blood of the fire you’ve lit within it.’

She stared at him in shock and the beating of her heart accelerated. ‘Gianluca! What kind of a proposition is that?’

‘One night,’ he said flatly. ‘Just one night. We finish off what was started in Italy. And that’s it.’

‘I can’t believe what I’m hearing,’ she breathed.

‘No? Then I implore you to be honest with yourself,
cara.
The thought of you is driving me wild—and don’t tell me you don’t feel the same way, because I won’t believe you. I can see it in your eyes, too—though you replace it with that icy coolness when you sense that I’m looking at you. But it’s there, and you can’t hide it. The hunger. The need—gnawing away inside you.’

‘You make it sound like an … appetite.’

‘Because that’s exactly what it is.’ He leaned forward, his expression intent, realising that this was at least one good thing about making a proposition to Aisling. At least she saw things in black and white and not dressed up in idealistic shades of make-believe. To a woman with such a good head for business—she would consider this a viable proposition.

‘A hunger which can be fed and then forgotten,’ he continued. ‘We’re colleagues. Neither of us want all the complications of a long-distance relationship—so why not draw a line under the whole affair in the most delightful way possible? We put it to bed, so to speak—and then forget it ever happened.’

Aisling stared into his beautiful face while her heart warred with her head, because it was never going to be up there with one of the Great Romantic Declarations, was it? And yet it was honest.

Some women might have found it insulting—so why didn’t she? Was it because he hadn’t made it out to be something it wasn’t? He’d spoken nothing but the stark, unvarnished truth—and didn’t that count for much more than the kind of empty promises which had seen her mother disappointed over and over again?

There had been no coyness between the two of them that night in Umbria—and that had been the most amazing night of her life. He was treating her as the independent woman she claimed to be. Speaking to her as an equal. Two grown-ups who both wanted each other. He had spoken of ridding himself of a fire in his blood—might she not do the same with this one night?

But what if she
couldn’t
forget him?

In the flicker of the candlelight his eyes gleamed like jet and her heart turned over with longing. What if one night with this man wasn’t enough? Didn’t women operate differently from men and wasn’t she running the risk of putting herself in the type of terrible emotional danger which she had always sought to avoid?

Yet what was the alternative? An unresolved desire which ran the risk of dominating her world and her life?

The waiter put two plates in front of them, but she barely noticed them.

‘And if I agree—what about … afterwards?’

He gave an odd sort of smile. ‘It will be gone.
Finito.
Remembered occasionally, no doubt—taken out and remembered as one might remember an especially delicious meal or a particularly beautiful holiday destination, but nothing more than that.’

She thought of the job she worked so hard for. Of the people who relied on her—of the security all those things gave her, that and the sense of being needed. She owed it to those people to put their needs before her own desires. ‘And the contract?’ she questioned.

There was a moment’s silence and his mouth twisted. He had been right—she had nothing in the way of a heart!
‘Oh, do not worry, Aisling, I have no intention of terminating your contract—of jeopardising your precious business—if that’s all you’re concerned about.’

His judgement was harsh and unfair and Aisling was hurt that he should have chosen to interpret her words like that. But perhaps it was better that he should think of her that way. As a kind of tough career-woman rather than the weak and vulnerable kind.

She shook her head. ‘I don’t know.’

How ironic it was to hear her sounding uncertain—she, whom he always thought of as so crisply decisive. Yet how deeply satisfying to see her wavering—to see those iceblue eyes looking so unsure.

Gianluca leaned over towards her and traced the outline of her lips with his finger, and Aisling found her mouth opening so that he slid his finger inside it and she started with pleasure, and shock.

‘See?’ he mocked, and then he mouthed,
Suck me.

And she did.

Their eyes met in a silent and erotic question.

‘Come, Aisling,’ he said softly as he withdrew his finger and looked at it, now all wet from her mouth. ‘Before I die from wanting you. One night. No more.’

Her heart was beating so fast she felt dizzy. ‘Our dinner—’

‘Forget the damned dinner!’

She hesitated for one last second and then rose to her feet, taking the hand he offered before they both walked out of the restaurant—oblivious to the stares of the other diners or the waiter’s expression of consternation on seeing the two untouched meals left behind on the table.

‘T
AKE
down your hair,’ Gianluca instructed silkily. ‘No.
You
take it down.’

‘Very well,
bella donna!’
And he began to untie Aisling’s hair.

The walk to his suite had been the longest of his life and once inside Gianluca had imagined that he might just rip the clothes from her body—but no. Something had made him want to prolong the exquisite anticipation. Instead, he lifted his hand to remove pin after pin, so that streams of her hair fell like dark ribbons over her shoulders and breasts.

Gianluca let out a long sigh of pure desire as he watched it spill down like shadowy water. He had only seen it like this once before and then, as now, it seemed not only to symbolise her sexuality, but also to make her look softer and so much more feminine. Was that why she never normally wore it this way? ‘Why do you hide it away?’ he murmured.

‘Because …’ she swallowed, closing her eyes as he began to stroke his hand down over her hips, as if he were petting a cat ‘… it isn’t practical when it’s loose.’

‘And are you always practical,
cara?’

‘Mostly.’

‘This is a pity. Why?’

‘It’s called basic survival. But does it.’ she gasped as he raked his fingers through the ebony tumble, his breath warm on her cheek as he brought her right up close to his hard body ‘.
matter?’

No. Maybe not now. In fact, nothing seemed to matter right now other than his urgent need to kiss her.

But the long, leisurely kiss surprised him. Had he thought that he might just take her swiftly in order to appease the terrible sexual hunger which had been eating away at him for weeks? Yet here he was savouring every slow, delicious mouthful.

Aisling swayed—her eyes closing as she gave herself up to the sweetness of his lips. This time they weren’t beneath a starry ceiling of Italian stars, serenaded by the massed choirs of cicadas—but this was still Gianluca of whom she had dreamed. In his arms she could surrender to the powerful ache of her own need and forget everything except pure pleasure.

And this time there were no hordes of people who might come spilling out of a party and catch them. This time they were alone.

The kiss changed—became deeper and more intense. He kissed her until there was no breath in his lungs, until he had to drag his mouth away from hers and suck in some muchneeded air while he steadied himself. And then he groaned, running his hands luxuriantly over her silk-clad body.

‘What is it that you do to me? For you are hot and cold—like the tap,’ he breathed unsteadily. ‘One minute the iceberg and the next—so sexy and so vibrant that it takes my breath away. Is this a clever game you play, Aisling?
For you are a clever woman. Do you do this to make me want you more?’

Surely it would be a mistake to tell him that it was uniquely
him
who could transform her into this wildly passionate creature? Wouldn’t doing that only expose her vulnerability and appeal to his remarkable arrogance? And anyway—how could she think straight when his hands were stroking her like that? ‘It’s not a … game,’ she stumbled.

‘No?’ He kissed her again, flicking his tongue into her mouth. Then what was it? When had he last felt like this? As if this were what he had been created for? Yet with this vitality came an odd and debilitating weakness—a feeling that she had him in her power—and Gianluca sought to wrest it back again, for no woman ever had supremacy over him.

He slid his hand further down, feeling her squirm beneath his fingers as he let it drift down to her thighs and then let out a small groan of dismay. ‘You’re wearing
tights!’
he accused hotly. ‘Why not stockings?’

‘Because they’re impractical,’ she breathed. ‘And they can sometimes show, if you’re not careful. Tights are much more suitable for a dress like this.’

‘Not with legs like yours,’ he murmured. But it interested him to think that she was wearing the biggest turnoff known to man. Which suggested that she had not come out tonight with seduction in mind. Either that, or she was playing a remarkably disingenuous game.

He brushed the silken ebony hair back from her pale skin and stared into the blue eyes. ‘Shall I play a game with you?’ he questioned unsteadily. ‘Shall I take you now? Here? On the floor? Or up against the wall? Do you have any objections to that,
cara?’

Aisling shook her head. Was he trying to shock her? To remind her that this meant nothing more than one night? Her knees weakened as she clung to his broad shoulders. Everything about him was designed to make her want him. The lean, hard body and the muscular shaft of his thigh which was pushing against hers. Only the clinical words jarred—but not enough to make her push him away.

‘Shall I?’ he murmured, skating a provocative little circle at the top of her thigh. ‘Or shall I make you wait?’

But the way he was stroking her was making her tremble. ‘No. Don’t. Anything but that.’ She shook her head as she moved her body distractedly against his. ‘Please don’t make me wait.’ Because it seemed like an eternity since he had last held her like this.

His mouth was at her throat and he smiled with triumph at her eager capitulation. He could feel the pulse of her beating against his lips, her silk-covered breasts pressing against him, and he felt himself growing hard.

And suddenly he didn’t want to wait, either. Couldn’t wait. Not when she was writhing into him like that. Sensual little witch. Even
with
the tights. With an unexpectedly violent tug, he began to jerk down the side zip of the dress, but he felt a resistance and when he lifted his head to see that it was stuck, he swore in heated Italian. ‘Do something,’ he clipped out. ‘Let me rip the whole damned thing off!’

She stared down at it, hot breath spilling out—tempted to tell him to go right ahead. But years of living from handto-mouth could not be overcome in a moment of passion and Aisling stayed his hand with her own. ‘No!’ she protested. ‘These are the only clothes I have with me. And how can I possibly walk out of here in a ripped dress?’

‘I will send out for a new one,’ he stated arrogantly.

But his words only increased her resolve. She wasn’t some little wannabe—eager to be fobbed off with Gianluca’s charity in the form of a replacement wardrobe. She could buy her own clothes, thank you very much. She shook her head and began to fiddle around with the zip. ‘No. Let me.’

Gianluca’s eyes narrowed for a moment in anger and then he began to laugh. ‘Ever the practical!’ he mocked, but he watched as she freed the zip, and then carefully stepped out of the dress.

‘I’d better go and hang this up,’ she said.

He stared at her incredulously. Was she aware that no woman had ever broken the sexual mood quite so unashamedly with such a mundane little request? And yet the sheer
ordinariness
of the situation somehow took him aback.

Women usually
did
perform for him, he realised. He only ever saw them at their best—all painted and perfumed and ready for love. He couldn’t think of another female who would have worn tights and turned down his offer of another outfit—nor one who would so coolly put the care of her dress before an aroused man. Yet appearances mattered to Aisling, he realised—and part of him reluctantly admired her resolve. Wasn’t it one of the reasons why her business had been so successful? Why she had been able to shake off the shackles of her past?

‘The wardrobe’s through that way,’ he said—pointing towards the bedroom at the far end of the corridor and indicating that she should proceed him. Because he wanted to watch her from behind. Wanted to watch the high, taut thrust of her buttocks as they moved against.

‘Wait a minute,’ he murmured.

‘What do you—?'Aisling closed her eyes. ‘Gianluca!’ she breathed, because he was crouching down to roll down her tights, and kissing the inside of her thighs as he did so. And now he was massaging her ankle with the pad of his thumb and unbuckling her high-heeled shoes. It felt like the most erotic thing which had ever happened to her as he eased the shoes off and put them together neatly, followed by the peeled-off tights, which he placed on top of them. And then he looked up at her, his black eyes glittering, his breath decadently warm against her knees.

‘Go and hang your dress up,’ he instructed as he stood up.

And Aisling knew that this was all part of the fantasy they were acting out. One night of erotic make-believe which she had agreed to—and she had her own part to play. She couldn’t pretend to be some little untutored innocent—even if the dark look of promise in his eyes was making her feel a bit that way.

So she walked down the corridor as unselfconsciously as possible.

‘Lentamente
… slowly,’ he commanded huskily as he ran his eyes over her small shoulders, the narrow curvature of her waist—swelling out to the slim bell of her hips. The dark hair fell down her back like a gleaming curtain as she walked with a certain natural grace—yet she did not strut, as a lot of women would if they were being watched by a man.

But when she reached the bedroom, Aisling’s stomach began to knot with nerves. It was like something usually featured in one of those brick-sized glossy magazines you found lying around at the hairdressers’—with a bed the size of a soccer pitch and a disconcerting amount of mirrors.

She sensed rather than heard him enter the room behind
her and she forced herself to examine the room as if she were a prospective buyer—anything to buy her time to suppress the debilitating nerves which were suddenly making breathing very difficult.

There was a giant TV screen and electronically controlled blinds, which Gianluca immediately clicked to float down, so that the room was bathed in some surreal, subterranean light.

‘Now.’ He walked up behind her and lifted the silken curtain of her hair to nuzzle at her neck. ‘Are you going to turn around and kiss me?’

She was trembling uncontrollably as she did so, aware that she was almost naked and he was not. ‘There’s a slightly unfair distribution of clothes around here,’ she said.

He laughed. ‘Then even it up a little, mmm?’

Her fingers were shaking as she unknotted his silk tie, but he took it from her when she was done and tossed it aside, his black eyes alive with mockery. ‘I’ll send everything out to the laundry,’ he promised. ‘Because I don’t want to waste precious minutes while you press my suit with your need for neatness and order!’

Was he making fun of her again? But somehow it didn’t matter. In fact, nothing mattered apart from what lay ahead. And suddenly Aisling wanted to kick all her usual values into touch—just for that one night. She began to tug at his silk shirt and when a button flew off he gave a low laugh of pleasure—so she tugged even harder and another bounced onto the polished floor.

‘Easy, tiger!’ he teased.

‘But
you’re
the tiger!’ she retorted, enjoying his instinctive moan as she began to unbuckle his belt.
‘Il Tigre.’

‘You’ve been reading too many press cuttings,’ he groaned. ‘That’s my job.’

‘Just shut up about your job for a minute, will you?’ he said fiercely.

And now he was unclipping her bra—and his mouth was on her breast and she was bucking with pleasure. She was aware that she was making a mewing sound, like a cat, and that she was inciting him with broken little pleas in between kisses.

And suddenly she could hear the rasping sound of his zip, could feel the formidable power of him springing against her bare skin, and she swayed as he began to push her down to the floor. Now was not the time to tell him that she had never done it on the floor of a luxury penthouse before.

But if he noticed her lack of sophistication, it didn’t seem to matter—because he seemed so fired up with excitement that his body was quivering like a tight bow which was stretched to breaking point. He swore again.

‘What is it?’ she questioned, between kisses.

‘I’ll have to go and find a damned condom.’

‘There’s no need. I’m … I’m protected.’

He raised his head. ‘But last time—’

Stupid to be shy about the subject of contraception when they were only centimetres away from the ultimate intimacy. ‘What happened last time was what galvanised me into going on the pill.’ She took a deep breath. There was no need to tell him that she had been scared she wouldn’t be able to resist him if ever he tried to seduce her again.
And hadn’t she been wise to think that?

‘I see.’ He paused for a moment, feeling a complicated mixture of relief that she was prepared for this and yet an
intense and inexpicable jealousy at the thought that one day another man might make love to her like this. But that was nothing to do with him. Nothing at all. This was one night and one night only.

She closed her eyes and gasped as he peeled off her panties, his fingers slicking into her honeyed heat as he moved them against the delicate skin in a relentlessly pleasurable rhythm. And then he lifted her up and entered her with one powerful movement and Aisling felt a warm rush as he filled her—so hard and so proud that she sobbed out loud—but everything was happening so quickly.

He was kissing her and moving deep within her, her legs wrapped around his back as she felt the beckoning of her climax and then the first unbelievably powerful wrench as it sucked her under, over and over again—until he made one last, powerful thrust and cried out something in his native tongue.

His head fell onto her shoulder and she could feel the ragged rhythm of his breath and the faint sheen of sweat against her skin and she had to bite back a little cry of sheer wonderment.

How beautiful he was. She wanted to tell him that—and more, too. Crazy, mixed-up thoughts, which were bubbling to the forefront of her mind like a soup, but she held them back. Was that what happened to every woman during lovemaking? she wondered. Was it some sort of evolutionary mechanism which made your feelings for a man crystallise when he had possessed you as thoroughly as Gianluca had just done?

I could quite easily love you, she thought suddenly. She reached out her hands and ran them through the ebony
ruffle of his hair, and something in the gesture made him lift his head, his eyes all hooded. This was
Il Tigre
at his most watchful and alert. ‘Are you okay?’ he queried.