Malavita (27 page)

To their left was the door to the private areas of the suite. First they reached an oversized bath, all in the finest marble. Though it far outshone anything Toni had seen before, she barely took a look before the bellman led them to the room that made her heart beat even faster: the bedroom.

Its walls were covered in a dark red damask paper that almost made the large space seem small. A vast bed took up one wall, and floor-to-ceiling windows another. Her eyes skipped over the bed, and she turned to see what was on the wall behind them. What she saw took her breath away and made her cheeks flame: an immense mirror that gave an unobstructed view of the bed. There really was only one reason for a mirror that large, and it wasn’t to provide a way to check one’s outfit.

Another walk-in closet, where their bags were already waiting, completed the room. But she could barely tear her eyes from that mirror.

And Enrico certainly noticed. He placed a large, warm hand on the nape of her neck and kept it there while he tipped the bellman and asked a question or two. She couldn’t even hear what Enrico was saying. All she could focus on was the touch of his hand and the swooping, fluttering feeling in her belly.

When the bellman left, Enrico squeezed her neck gently, and she nearly jumped, which made him laugh. “You need some prosecco, I think.”

She swallowed, aware that her mouth was suddenly dry. He stepped in front of her and pulled her close. “
Cara
, I promise you, there’s nothing to be afraid of. I will go slow. And we won’t do anything you don’t want.”

His voice was so reassuring she leaned against him. “You know, you were right.”

“About what?”

“That we should wait. I don’t know what I was thinking before.”

“You were angry, upset. Not thinking clearly.”

“Even at our engagement party?”

He laughed. “You sound like you weren’t there. I know it was a roller coaster for me, and I don’t think it was any different for you.”

How well he understood her. She looked up at him. “Pour me a glass? And I think I saw a tray of sweets in the living room.”

“I’ll be back in a second.” He left her alone in the bedroom, and she took a good look at it this time, her eyes finally coming to rest on her reflection in the mirror.

She looked flushed, happy, and wide-eyed. She ran a hand across her hair, then smoothed her dress—the same blue one she’d worn on her first date with Enrico—and looked around for some place to sit. There was a single chair in the corner, but no place for two other than the bed. Maybe she should have followed him.

But it was too late. He came in the door bearing the tray, the bottle of prosecco, and two crystal glasses. He set them on the dresser below the mirror. He shed his jacket and tie, then he worked on the bottle, carefully pointing it away from her and anything breakable while he untwisted the wire cage holding the cork in place. He eased it off with his thumb, the bottle giving off a pop as the cork came free, but no bubbles escaped.

“I’m impressed,” she said.

He grinned. “Opening a bottle of prosecco without spilling is the
least
of my talents.”

That pulled a laugh from her and she let it out gladly, grateful to have an outlet for the nervous energy roiling inside her.

He poured them each a glass, the bubbles fizzing up in the straw-colored wine. He brought his glass to hers.

“To us, and a long happy future together.”

“To us,” she repeated and touched her glass to his, the crystal ringing beautifully. The prosecco fizzed and bubbled over her tongue. It was probably her third or fourth glass that day, but she didn’t think she’d actually tasted it until now, with Enrico’s eyes upon her face, his gaze hot and smoky.

He was looking at her the way she’d always wanted a man to—as if she were a tasty morsel he wanted to feast upon.

As if she were the most desirable woman in the world.

He set his half-empty glass on the dresser, then picked up the tray and carried it to the bed. He placed it in the center, and lay down beside it.

When she made no move to join him, he beckoned her with one finger. “Come here.”

She walked slowly to the bed, her heart suddenly in her throat again. She perched on the edge, her hands holding the glass in her lap, her body turned away from him, as if she were about to bolt from the room, which she half felt like doing.

“Toni, we’re just going to share these. Nothing else. Until you’re comfortable.”

She took another sip of the prosecco and turned to look at him.

“Go ahead, lie down.” He cleared a place on the tray for her glass.

Gingerly, as if the bed were made of eggshells, she straightened out until she was on her side facing him. He held up a strawberry that had been dipped in chocolate. She went to take it from him, but he shook his head. “Open your mouth.”

She did as she was told, and he brought the berry to her lips, running the chocolate across them before allowing her to bite into the treat. The rich dark chocolate and the sweet taste of the strawberry filled her mouth. She chewed slowly, watching his face all the while.

His eyes lasered in on her lips and stayed there. They really were one of her best features, weren’t they?

When she finished, he offered her a hazelnut-chocolate praline, one of her favorites. Again, he watched her eat, his eyes glued to her mouth.

She finally giggled, breaking the hush that had fallen between them.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, clearly amused.

“You. You won’t stop staring at me.”

“There’s nothing else I’d rather look at.” His eyes roamed over her face for a moment, before meeting her gaze. “You don’t have any idea how much I’ve looked forward to this moment. To finally be alone with you, as husband and wife.”

“And you have no idea how uncomfortable
I
am.”

He grinned. “Oh, I think I do. It’s pretty clear from the way you’ve been acting since we arrived.”

She looked down at the beautifully embroidered gold duvet that covered the bed. “I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“That’s not possible.” He placed a hand over hers, then grabbed the tray and moved it to the nightstand behind him. When he turned back to her and took her in his arms, his lips descending on hers, she was ready. Ready at last.

Her mouth opened to the gentle stroking of his velvety tongue. He plunged inside, his kiss turning greedy, fevered, and a groan escaped him, sending a thrill through her.
She
was exciting him. Her. Antonella Andretti. Antonella
Lucchesi
now. Enrico’s wife.
His
.

He brought a hand up and pressed his fingers into her hair, directing her movements, controlling the kiss, and she reveled in how firmly he possessed her, how decisively he took the lead. He rolled her onto her back and kissed along her jaw, to her neck. His lips and tongue caressed her sensitive skin, sending sparks along her veins, making her breasts more sensitive and heat pool in her belly. She wanted him to keep touching her, to keep going, to never stop.

His hand moved down her body, first skimming a breast, then descending to her hip and squeezing her flank. “You feel so good,” he murmured, and she became aware of his hard
cazzo
pressing into her belly.

She knew the mechanics, where things went. She also knew that it would hurt. He grabbed the fabric of her dress, started to bunch it up to her hips, his fingers searching for the hem around her thighs, and she grabbed his wrist. “Don’t.” He stopped moving and looked at her. “I mean, can we slow down?”

He smiled and kissed her. “What happened to the naughty girl I danced with at the wedding?”

“I think maybe I had too much prosecco.” She didn’t loosen her hold on his wrist, and he didn’t let go of her skirt.

He cocked a brow. “Maybe you need more now.”

She swallowed hard, summoned her voice from her strangled throat, and said what was scaring her. “How much is it going to hurt? Do you know?”

He let go of her dress and brought his hand up to caress her cheek. “Oh
cara
, I should’ve realized.” He traced the line of her brows, the high ridges of her cheekbones, the length of her nose. He seemed to be lost in thought.

“It’s that bad?” she asked.

“No, not really.”

“How do you know? How many girls have there been?” She hated herself for asking, but it was obvious—he had experience she lacked, experience he’d hinted at.

He glanced at her, then away, before sitting up. She missed his heat and the feel of his hard body pressed to hers, and she sat up, touching his shoulder. “Please tell me.”

“You’re not going to like what I have to say.”

Her pulse quickened and her stomach clenched. “Why?”

He drew a circle on the duvet with his index finger and took a deep breath. “There was a girl.
One
girl. While I was in England.” He looked up at her. “I was upset about the betrothal. I was furious with my father about how he chose to end the
faida
. I didn’t understand. And on top of it, I didn’t know you. I hated the idea of having my wife chosen for me. Of having my whole
life
chosen for me.” His fingers curled into a fist. “So I chose the one thing I could.”

She sucked in a breath, pain hitting her fast in the chest, like a stab wound. He’d broken the contract even before he’d arrived in Italy. Was she destined to be one of those wives Ilaria had talked about, the ones who stayed home, virtually untouched except to have children, while their husbands kept mistresses or chased other women? Did Enrico plan to keep this girl, to bring her here? She opened her mouth to speak, but no words would come.

He must have read what was on her face because he touched her cheek again and spoke urgently. “I’m putting this all wrong. It’s over with her. It was a mistake. We weren’t well-suited.” His thumb smoothed along her cheekbone, his fingers cradled her jaw. “She wasn’t
you
.”

She could hardly think what to say, but finally words came. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

“I’m telling you now.”

“Only because I asked.”

His thumb stopped stroking her face, and he looked at her for a long moment. “You shouldn’t ask questions if you don’t want the answers. You asked, I answered. Would you rather I lied?”

“No. I want us to be honest with each other.”

He said nothing for a few seconds, then he pulled her close until she was nestled against his shoulder, his arms wrapped around her. “That’s what I want too.” He rubbed a hand up and down her back. “So I will tell you a little more. This girl, she
was
special to me. We had something… important. Something I will never forget. But I knew when I came back here that it was over. I’m not the sort of man who makes vows and doesn’t keep them.” He stroked her hair. “If I was, I never would have come back. I’d have run away, as far and as fast as I could.”

“Are you in love with her?”

“I thought she was beautiful, but I never loved her.”

“You said she was special.”

“She was.”

“But?”

“She wasn’t right for me. She wasn’t who I was meant to be with.” He kissed the top of her head. “That person is you.”

“How can you know that?”

“I just do. I feel it. Ever since that day at the promenade, when we were in the car and I was upset and you were just…
there
for me, I knew. You cared about me. You understood.” His voice grew thick. “I have felt so alone these last two years. But with you, that’s gone.” He pulled back to look at her. “That’s how I knew.”

Her eyes welled. He wouldn’t have felt so alone if it hadn’t been for her. If she hadn’t planted the bugs. If she hadn’t helped her father. Her throat ached with the need to tell Enrico the truth. But if she did, would he ever forgive her? “I’m sorry for everything that happened to you—”

He cut her off with a finger on the lips. “Stop. We need to let the past be the past. We—you and I—
we
have a future together. Whatever happened before, whatever our fathers did, we have to set that aside. Or we’re never going to be happy together.” A shadow flickered across his face, and she wanted to ask what it was. She wanted to tell him everything.

But he was right. Sometimes the past needed to stay in the past. If he could do it, so could she. They’d both made mistakes, though she couldn’t help thinking hers were more severe. But she’d been a child then. Papà had made it seem like a game. She hadn’t known what would come of it. Even Papà couldn’t have guessed. “Okay then,” she said.

Rico tipped her chin up and kissed her, softly this time, his tongue stroking her gently. When she answered his strokes with flicks of her own, he gave that little groan again, low in his throat, the one that all her senses thrilled to. He pushed her back on the bed, kissing her urgently, his hands going to the zipper at the nape of her neck. “Wait,” she said. “The curtains.”

He chuckled. “I suppose leaving them open would be too wicked, even for me.” He rose and closed them, while she lay back, staring up at him, admiring the graceful lines of his body.

Rico truly was a beautiful man, from his black wavy hair to his broad shoulders and narrow hips. Every bit of him was perfect, as if he’d sprung fully formed from Michelangelo’s marble. As if
Dio
had made him for her, as if he’d read her mind and created the man of her dreams.

He turned and caught her staring, a devilish smile lighting his face. “Satisfied?” he asked, motioning to the drapes, but she was sure he meant something else entirely.

“Yes.” Her mouth had gone dry again, and she seemed a little short of breath. This was really happening.

His hands went to one of his cufflinks. “Let’s play a game,” he said. “For every item I take off, you take something off too. And if you don’t, I put you over my knee.”

She smiled. What had she been thinking, teasing him like that at the wedding? She truly had been drunk, that had to be the explanation. She sat up and removed an earring and set it on the nightstand as he set the cufflink beside it. He started on the other, and she removed her other earring. So far, so good.