The Italian (8 page)

Eyes widening as he saw her at the midway point, heading back to the deep end. She’d already reached the shallow end and was heading back.

She stopped swimming and turned. A slender arm waved. “Come on! Race you! Ten laps!”

A challenge
. God, he loved challenges. “And the winner gets…?” he called.

Jamie smiled a mysterious smile that drove him crazy. Her voice was low and vibrant and carried perfectly across the water to him. “Gets their favorite sexual fantasy.”

His cock swelled at her words.
Oh fuck.

And then the minx dipped below the water and came up ten meters later, moving swiftly and elegantly, arms and legs like metronomes.

He shook his head, remembering her face as she said she could swim.

Oh yeah, she knew how to swim.

He admired her movements for a few more seconds. She was like a mermaid, only with legs. As she moved, her graceful arms and back emerged and submerged, naked buttocks and legs visible through the churning froth.

Ordinarily he’d be a gentleman and let her win the race, but the prize was his favorite sexual fantasy and his heated head was full of them, not just one but about ten. And with a prize like that, he wasn’t about to lose.

He shot forward with a powerful push off the edge of the pool and swam as strongly as he could. He had to really push it to keep up with her, but by the fifth lap he was ahead and kept the edge till the tenth and final lap. She was a great swimmer but so was he, and she simply didn’t have the muscle mass he did.

When he touched the edge of the deep end of the pool for the tenth time, he turned to watch her coming toward him. She was at midpoint and reached him a minute later. Instead of touching the edge, she touched his chest, hooking her hands on his shoulders and pulling herself up out of the water to kiss him.

“You win,” she said, water from the brass spout running over them, and laughed again.

His blood was up and so was his cock. The water was cool but where she touched him, he was hot—chest, hips, legs. He bent to kiss her under the spout, lingering at her mouth so long he nearly drowned them.

“Come.” Stefano swam away on his back, Jamie lying on him as if he were a surfboard. Which was apt since he remembered the Americans calling an erection a “woodie”. Oh yes, it felt like wood, like steel, this heavy weight on his belly, with
her
belly right on top of it. It felt permanent too, as if he would never detumesce again, ever. Certainly not with a naked Jamie McIntyre in his arms.

Using the strength of his legs, he swam them back to the shallow end, to the underwater jets, because what he wanted to do would be awkward if he couldn’t plant his feet.

They bumped gently against the opposite edge of the pool, right near a jet, and he kissed her. Because maybe ten minutes had gone by without kissing Jamie and that was much too long a period. He lifted his lips from hers, pushing her hair out of her face, smiling down at her.

She smiled back. “So, champ.” She swiveled her hips against his and even underwater he was sure she could feel the blood pulsing through his cock, making him even bigger. “What’s your sexual fantasy?”

“Just one? I’ve got lots.” He bent to kiss her again. “You’re a really good swimmer but now that I know I can beat you, you can be sure I’ll challenge you over and over.” And over and over and over. Right now, he couldn’t even begin to imagine fulfilling all his sexual fantasies with this woman. It would take centuries. “But let’s start with one. Turn around.”

Her auburn eyebrows lifted but she did as he asked. He was holding onto the edge of the pool so she turned in the cage of his arms and, for a moment, he was entranced by the view. She was a goddess from every angle but right now, what he was seeing over her shoulder would resuscitate a dead man. Ivory skin over sleek muscles, perfect breasts, long legs.

He could feel his breath coming more heavily now, the air suddenly thick and hot. One hand on her waist, he took them both a step to the right, exactly where the jet was. Arms crossed around her, one hand on her rib cage, the other smoothing down her flat belly, down, down, down, over her mound.

Some minute shifts and with his index and middle fingers, he opened her up right over the jet of water, nudging her pelvis forward with his hips. And it was as if he’d thrown a switch, turning her on.

She stiffened and moaned on an intake of breath. “Oh!” she whispered as he held her so her clitoris was right over the spout of bubbling water.

She hummed; there was no other word for it. Stefano watched, fascinated, as she took her pleasure.

His forked fingers kept her open while his other hand smoothed its way up to her breast, stroking that silky skin. Her long neck tilted and he bent to kiss behind her ear, then nibble his way down to her shoulder. She jerked when he bit her lightly exactly where the neck joined the shoulder.

Oh God, every sense was so
alive
. The splash of water from fountains at the other end of the pool mixed with their breathing, growing heavier and heavier as she approached climax. His excitement rose with and matched hers. He could smell her skin and the laurel hedges and faint whiffs of roses that must have been around the corner. He couldn’t see them but he could smell them.

Jamie tasted and felt so fucking
delicious
. He licked the skin behind her ear again and felt her uncontrollable response, a shuddering ripple running through her that he felt against the palms of his hands.

And the sight—that was the very best. She was dappled in the clear, sun-bright water. He nudged her hips forward so he could see just a trace of the tender pink flesh opened by his fingers and the lines of the water jet stroking her just there. The stippled reflections over her pale skin make it look as if she were wearing jewelry all over her body.

Stefano kissed her ear, tasting the lobe, nibbling while he nudged her even closer to the jet, and that set her off. He slid his middle finger inside her and could feel the exact moment of her climax as she moaned and jerked and clenched, the flesh suddenly hotter and silkier.

There was no way to resist. He didn’t even think about it—he who had been nothing but a walking brain for the past several years. He entered her because it was unthinkable not to; entered her just as her climax was dying down. In the cool water, it was like sticking his cock straight into a wet furnace.
God.

When he slid in
,
he could feel the shudders and spasms speed up again and there he was—fully inside her, and he didn’t even have to move because she was moving around him, clenching in excited little pulls.

Her legs had gone weak but that was okay, he was holding her around the waist with one hand, clutching the edge of the pool with the other, holding on for both of them because just the feeling of her cunt milking him set him off.

That’s right—Mr. Stamina, the man who had to ensure he didn’t make his partners sore, started coming as soon as he entered this woman, so excited he couldn’t last a second longer. Just like a fucking teenager.

He held her against him and simply let go, releasing into her in strong pulses that felt like jolts of electricity as he came and came and came, shuddering and moaning. If they hadn’t been at the shallow end of the pool he’d have drowned them both, holding onto her tightly, sinking like a climaxing stone to the bottom.

He rested against her back when the last of the pulses stopped, heart racing, panting next to her ear. Her head had dropped back to his shoulder and when he was finally able to open his eyes he could see a foreshortened view of her face, like those Renaissance masterpieces of perspective his art history teacher had tried to drum into his head. Smooth, pale brow, ridiculously long eyelashes against a high cheekbone narrowing to a pointed chin. He could barely see the small dent in it.

She was so still she could be dead if he hadn’t felt her heart racing against his hand.

She stirred, opened her eyes, looked around as if dazed.

There was a faint chime in the distance.

“Oh God,” Jamie moaned. “I think I died. I think I died and went to heaven and I’m hearing
bells
.”

He knew exactly how she felt.

Barely able to move more than his head, he nuzzled her neck. Down below, he slipped out of her, his cock feeling the cold water like a form of punishment, wanting to push back into her body. Quite rightly too.

He smiled against her neck. “Not bells,” he whispered. “Lunch.”

Chapter Seven

The next afternoon Jamie sat in the most comfortable armchair on earth and sketched the sexiest man in the world.

She was naked under the bathrobe. She and Stefano hadn’t dressed since they’d arrived the day before. They spent their time eating amazing meals in the linen-draped gazebo, swimming naked in the pool or making love, and none of those activities required clothing other than the decadently posh terrycloth robes with the hand-stitched coat of arms of the Torraca family over the heart.

Their time was coming to an end. Stefano hadn’t mentioned time passing in any way. He clearly wanted to pretend that they were in some endless now. But it was Sunday afternoon and she knew they would have to leave.

Much as she wanted to, they couldn’t stay here forever.

They’d had another amazing meal at lunch. They’d made love afterward and fallen asleep in each other’s arms. She’d woken up after an hour and slipped out of Stefano’s embrace. He’d fallen into a sleep so deep it seemed like a coma.

No wonder. She couldn’t count the number of times they’d made love. It was as if he were making up for lost time. And in a way, so was she.

Restless, but not wanting to leave the room, she’d pulled out her sketchpad and calmed immediately. Sketching always soothed her nerves, put her in a kind of alpha-wave zone where the cares of the world slipped away.

She sat down in an armchair facing Stefano and sketched bits of him. A powerful hairy thigh. A strong, tanned hand stretched out on the white piquet bedspread. Finally, as if these had been finger exercises, she settled down to the symphony and sketched the whole figure.

Her first impression had been correct. Naked, hair tousled, sprawled on his side and lost in sleep, he still looked like an emperor. Sleep couldn’t erase the lines of power and authority from his face but they could erase the lines of care. He looked younger than when she’d first seen him.

The vacation would end in only a few hours. If this could be called a vacation. It was more like two days clawed out of the face of a rock.

They’d eaten together, swum together, showered together, slept together, made love together. Stefano hadn’t once mentioned the future, or even
a
future where they would be together. It was as if the future tense had been banned from their vocabulary.

For all Jamie knew, once the helicopter came—first one for him, then another later for her—she would never see him again. For all she knew, these were their last hours together and he was sleeping them away.

That was fine.

Stefano obviously needed the extra sleep; he’d dropped like a stone after lunch. If she had to choose between making more memories with him or safeguarding his rest, his rest came first, hands down.

That was her first clue that she’d fallen for him. Fallen hard.

His rest, his comfort, his safety was of paramount importance to her. Even if they never saw each other again, she’d somehow find a way to keep tabs on him, know he was alive and safe. Maybe through her grandfather? She’d ask Gramps to contact that secret brotherhood made up of a globe-spanning network of lawyers and judges and law enforcement officers and keep her up to date on Stefano’s doings.

It was almost, though not quite, as if she were saying goodbye to him in her heart as her hands busily sketched him. It was one of her finer efforts, but then the subject was remarkable and the portrait was infused with her feelings for him.

At first she’d thought it was merely sex. The best she’d ever had, granted, but just sex. But it wasn’t that. He was a talented lover, no question, and he knew what he was doing, no question about that either. But it was her feelings for him that pushed the sex they had into the stratosphere. Admiration laced with bittersweet longing, because of course he wasn’t hers, and he couldn’t be. He was locked in a struggle she had no part in and he was given over completely to it.

Her hand was flying over the page, a completely right-hemisphere effort. Untethered to her extensive knowledge of balance and perspective and chiaroscuro and proportion. It was as if her hand were a separate entity, doing everything in its power to give her Stefano, for when he’d be gone.

Because there he was, on the page. The very essence of him. The slight but permanent frown between his black eyebrows, that firm mouth stern, cheeks already dark with beard. He’d shaved this morning but he already had a five o’clock shadow, even if it was only three p.m.

All of a sudden her hand stopped as a shock of electricity shot through her. The memory of the tiny black bristles of his heavy beard against the inside of her thighs and against the tender tissues of her sex, as he’d loved her with his mouth late last night. It was more than a memory—for a second she could
feel
him, feel his tongue deep inside her, kissing her there, his beard abrading her flesh. She’d arched her back and yelled with the strength of her orgasm.

That had never happened to her before. When she came, it was always quiet and polite—a couple of spasms of her vagina, a slight flush, very pleasant but nothing more. With Stefano it was as if she’d entered a new country, the country of climaxes, and it was big and broad and never-ending.

Oh God, the flashback sent bolts of heat to her sex and she shifted, uncomfortable at the sudden stab of arousal, deep and almost painful.

The pencil shook so much in her hand she had to set it aside. The portrait was complete anyway. She kept the drawing on her lap while looking at the original.

So powerful, so vulnerable in sleep.

She’d enjoyed sketching his penis. Except at times in the water, it was the first time she’d been able to study it non-erect. Whenever she looked at him naked it would inevitably swell and rise.

As penises went, it was a champ. Thick and full even in repose, it rested on his thigh, nestling in a dense bed of dark body hair. She’d drawn it well, she saw. Faithfully and truly.

Maybe in the months and years to come, she’d pull this sketch out and remember. Maybe it would fill her days and nights, because right now she couldn’t even imagine allowing another man to make love to her. Because what other man could possibly measure up?

The men she knew were shallow creatures, obsessed with themselves, their careers and material well-being. It was impossible to think of finding another man of substance who was also worldly and sophisticated and, well…hot.

And kind. He’d shown her a thousand unnecessary courtesies, well beyond the ones a well-mannered man would show. The last bite off a plate was hers, he insisted on it. He always made sure she was never hot or cold or hungry or thirsty, and at the end of a marathon bout of lovemaking, he always inquired whether he’d tired her out.

He had, of course, but she’d rather bite her tongue off than admit it, because she knew very well she was storing up memories that might have to last her a long, long time.

Maybe the rest of her life.

So she studied him almost greedily, committing every long line to memory, studying the shape of his hands, the arch of his foot, the thick pad of muscles along his side…

His eyes opened. Suddenly, with no warning.

Their gazes met. The connection between them was so strong she was surprised the air didn’t shimmer.

Her breath stopped in her lungs. She was frozen.

Stefano’s gaze was dark, compelling. She couldn’t look away. In her peripheral vision, she could see his penis swell, fill with blood, start to lift away from his thigh. Just from looking at her.

He stretched out his hand, unsmiling, his gaze never leaving hers. “Come to me,
cara
.”

The invisible shackles that had frozen her in place shattered and she rose immediately and crossed to him, put her hand in his. He pulled her down, tucked her under him, his heavy weight settling on her. Without a word, staring down at her, he opened her legs with his own and entered her body fully, in one stroke.

She was ready. Drawing him, looking at him, that had been foreplay. Deep, powerful foreplay, because she realized she was wet enough to take him immediately.

She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. All she could do was feel him inside her, hot and hard, completely in control of her body.

Their faces were an inch apart, noses nearly touching. He had threaded one hand through her hair, one huge hand nearly covering her head, and the other tightly gripped her hip. His face was somber, almost frowning, as if what they were doing was too serious for a smile.

She gasped in a breath, let it out, and he covered her mouth with his, the kiss deep and possessive. At the same moment he started moving within her, thrusts hard. Slowly at first, then faster and faster until the sound of flesh slapping flesh filled the room. The huge four-poster bed creaked, headboard slamming against the wall in loud, rhythmic bursts.

Stefano’s hand fisted, pulling her hair so hard it almost hurt, but not quite. He possessed her as thoroughly as a man
could
possess a woman—mouth eating at hers, hands tightly gripping, hips slamming. It was rough, and she was rough right back, wanting to pull him into her, never let him go.

“Harder,” she hissed when he lifted his mouth to breathe. Her arms clung to him as tightly as she could, her legs opened wider, lifted along his hips, ankles locked around the small of his back. On his heavy down strokes she pushed with her heels, lifting up until she could feel him hammering the deepest part of her sex. The important thing was to possess him, have him possess
her
, hold him so tightly she could almost crawl beneath his skin.

It was sex but it was something more—something darker, with a tinge of madness. She wanted to hold on to him, to this very moment, stretch it into infinity, hold him so he could never leave, but it was too intense, like an electrical charge building and building… And with a loud cry she came, her sex, her hands and her legs pulling him, clenching tightly around him as she arched, the rough hairs of his chest and legs abrading her skin, the feeling utterly sexual.

She felt his climax in her mouth as he groaned while kissing her. She felt it with her body as he stiffened and pressed against her even more tightly. She felt it in her vagina as he swelled even larger and poured into her in massive, hot spurts of semen. His strokes grew shorter and faster as he came, almost violent, though she was so wet from her juices and his, he couldn’t possibly hurt her. He kept coming and coming, hips no longer pumping but moving in circles, pelvis grinding against hers. It was like being buffeted in a storm, in the center of a tornado. All she could do was hang on, wait it out.

Stefano slumped heavily on her, his head dropping to her shoulder, hands releasing their clasp. It was suddenly quiet in the room except for his panting.

She felt…pierced. Taken. Even after the endless climax, he was still semi-hard inside her. He was deadweight, flattening her lungs so she had to concentrate to breathe. Sweat glued their bodies together and her entire groin was soaked.

His breathing slowed, steadied. The muscles of his back tightened as he planted his hands by her head and started to lift himself off her.

Time split into two. Two possible scenarios, two possible futures, two possible Stefanos and Jamies.

In one universe, he lifted his head and smiled down at her and she smiled back. “Wow,” she whispered.

He grinned. “Wow back.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “I suggest a swim and then more of the same.”

She blinked. “You up for more? I think I used up my quota of sex for the next three years.”

His eyes narrowed, the corner of his mouth lifting in a half smile. “You’ve still got tons left. You were saving it up for me.”

She shook her head, hair rasping on the thick linen of the pillow case. “I must have been.” She huffed out a breath. “You’re very heavy,” she pointed out politely.

A push and he lifted himself off her. “Hint taken.” Sitting on the side of the bed, he lifted her hand to his mouth. “Speaking of appetites, I’m thinking clam linguine and a fish cooked in salt for dinner. A big fish. A huge fish.”

Jamie was a puddle of protoplasm with barely the strength to laugh. “You’re
hungry
now?” she complained, but they both laughed when her stomach growled.

They showered together, swam together, had a magnificent meal together, made love all night and the next morning happily left together, knowing they’d be together for the rest of their lives.

That was the alternate world, that other one, the one where things worked out and people lived happily ever after.

In
this
world, Stefano lifted himself off her, face hard as stone, turned away and put on the robe. “The helicopter is coming for me in half an hour. Yours is scheduled for half an hour after that. I’ll grab a quick shower first.”

He didn’t turn around to look at her so he couldn’t see her stricken face.

She scooted until she was sitting up against the headboard, the smooth satin chilly against her back. She pulled the sheet and bedspread up, covering her breasts because she felt not nude but
naked.
Open and defenseless and…cold. Though it was warm in the room, she was chilled inside and out, shaking.

Almost every inch of her body bore the signs of Stefano’s lovemaking. Slight red marks on her skin where he’d held her so tightly, the pale flesh of her chest showing the abrasion of his chest hair after he’d moved so hard against her. Her arms and legs were sore from clinging to him, and between her legs…well, between her legs she was drenched, and the tissues of her sex were swollen and sore from the fast and furious lovemaking.