The Italian's Bold Reckoning (Hot Italian Nights Book 4) Page 7

  Matteo snatched a fortifying breath. ‘That’s all?’

  ‘All?’ Quickly she looked around then leaned closer. ‘Isn’t that enough? I saw how serious you looked before, when you were talking business. There’s a problem with the backing for the film, isn’t there?’ Her voice was so low she had to lean right up against him to be heard.

  Matteo took advantage by wrapping his arm harder around her. Sensation shivered through him and his body grew so taut he had to focus on remembering where they were before he embarrassed himself.

  ‘There’s no problem with the backing.’ Even talking took too much effort, given the urgent need pulsing through him. ‘Everything is fine. More than fine.’

  The only way it could get better was if Angela was naked and they could find somewhere private.

  Suddenly a year of abstinence became an impossible burden. Especially as each breath drew in Angela’s unique aroma, warm female, cinnamon and rich fruit notes.

  ‘But earlier, with those men, you looked…worried.’

  Matteo would have laughed if he’d been able. He hadn’t realised he was so good an actor. He thought Angela must look at him and see he was torn between worry over how she’d cope at such a high-profile event, and his own desperate yearning to have her.

  ‘Worried for you. And wondering if I could get through the evening without ravishing you.’

  Once his pride might have revolted at admitting that, but Matteo had passed the point of no return.

  ‘As for being guest of honour, I’ve done the necessary, spoken to all the people I need to. Besides, Gina and the others are still here.’ He made himself wait, felt his blood pulse once, then again.

  ‘So it’s okay to leave?’

  This time Matteo leaned in, whispering against her ear, feeling her quiver and arch into him as his lips caressed her. ‘More than okay.’

  Despite his ambitions as a director, if he had to think about anything other than himself and Angela right now, he’d go crazy.

  To his dismay Angela pulled back, but her ruby lips curved in a wide smile that hit his groin full force. Then she was urging him forward, through the crowd, like a slim, red torpedo racing to its target.

  Matteo bit back a laugh of pure delight, ignoring the blur of staring faces. He’d wanted the old Angela, the woman with fire in her veins and passion in her soul. It seemed, against all the odds, he’d found her.

  They made it out of the grand reception salon, down the vast, sweeping staircase with its elegant marble steps, through the main door onto the hotel’s private jetty where a speedboat waited. Minutes later they reached the tall crimson and gold striped poles that marked the jetty at Luca’s hotel. They stepped up, swept through the door and across the lobby. And all the time Matteo kept her at his side, his hand clamped on her hip.

  A current of energy ran through them, circling from one to the other and back again, urging them on.

  Finally, finally, they were in the hotel room.

  Matteo didn’t know if it was his or hers. There’d been a key card in his hand and moments later they’d tumbled through the tall doors into the dimly lit space beyond.

  The door closed softly, reinforcing the fact that, at last, they were alone. That was all that mattered.

  Matteo heard rapid breathing and the pounding of his blood and made himself stop, feet braced wide, his arm still wrapped around her.

  He was afraid that once he moved he’d shed his civilised self and swoop down on Angela like some barbarian.

  The sharp ache of hunger in his belly, the raw need, made him feel barbaric. Everything in him was drawn too tight and hard. His hands seemed too big to hold her lithe form.

  Yet their year apart, a year of celibacy, of grieving the loss of his wife and wondering if they’d ever again resolve their differences, kept Matteo still. Logic told him to go slowly, carefully, even if the rush of testosterone nearly obliterated the capacity for thought.

  Did she feel the same? Angela stared up at him with an expression that was close to adoration. When they’d first married he’d seen that look on her face and it had made him feel like the king of the world. As if he were invincible.

  Now Matteo knew he was anything but. If he lost this woman again…

  ‘Matteo?’ He watched her lush mouth shape his name. A dart of fire tongued his belly then drove lower.

  He’d never needed a woman the way he needed Angela.

  His arms lashed around her, drawing her up on her toes, and higher. Fitting that supple body against him. Wide eyes met his. Her breath feathered his mouth, and then her arms were round his neck, pulling his head down to hers.

  *

  Angela saw the fire in Matteo’s eyes, felt the strung-too-tight rigidity of his tall frame, and expected to be devoured.

  She ached for him, was ready to lose himself in a rush of passion.

  But her husband had other ideas.

  It was as if, after twelve months apart, he was intent on learning her all over again.

  His face blotted out the light and his mouth touched hers, gently brushing her lips.

  A quiver ran through her from the barely there point of connection where her lips trembled, to the back of her scalp where tiny pinpricks of sensation exploded. It sped right down through her melting vital organs to the soles of her feet in four inch stilettos that waved helplessly somewhere above the polished floor.

  Angela had no point of reference but him. His tall frame against her, his arms, rigid as steel girders, lashing her to him, his straight shoulders supporting her arms. His breath warmed her face and the rich scent of mountain pine and spicy male skin teased her nostrils.

  Matteo’s mouth slid along hers, sealing her lips, but not yet entering. She’d forgotten how soft his mouth was, for in repose his face was all hard masculinity. She felt the brush of his short beard, rasping against her chin, awakening long-dormant nerves.

  Eagerly Angela angled her head, pushing closer. Matteo slicked his tongue along the seam of her lips.

  Instantly, hungrily, she opened for him, needing the give and take of his open-mouthed kiss. But he’d already moved, his mouth at the corner of hers, then nipping at her bottom lip, making tingles of delight wash through her.

  ‘Matteo.’ It was barely a sound, more a vibration on the heavy air between them as he bit gently at her earlobe, then lower, nibbling down the side of her neck. She arched in his hold, her head flung back in abandon.

  Angela’s heart beat double-quick time. Surely it throbbed too high in her chest, as if seeking to escape.

  ‘You drive me crazy.’ The words rasped against her throat, a graze of lips and whiskers and warm lips. She clutched the back of his skull, fingers buried in the thick comfort of his glossy hair. ‘I want every part of you, Angela. I want to start at the top and work my way down and then start over again.’

  Her breath hitched and for a moment she couldn’t make her voice work. She felt too full of emotion. Too full of a happiness she’d thought she’d never experience again.

  ‘That sounds wonderful,’ she gasped. ‘But please, kiss me now. I can’t…’ Her feelings overwhelmed her. She’d walked away from this man, believed their love broken into a million discarded fragments. The enormity of what she’d almost lost, of what she’d barely saved, rocked her.

  ‘Angela?’

  Through her blurring vision she saw eyes of darkest indigo mesh with hers. ‘Kiss me, Matteo. Please.’

  Her lips were still forming that Please when his mouth settled on hers, warm and demanding. His tongue probed and she opened wide for him, losing herself in almost-forgotten pleasure.

  The taste of him, utterly unique, burst upon her like a flash of sheet lightning. How had she existed for twelve months without it?

  Their tongues slid and duelled as he angled his head for even better access and Angela revelled in each caress.

  This felt so right. As if they’d never been apart.

  No, not that. For every cell of her body was
more hyperaware of him than she’d ever been. Even in those innocent, heady days when she’d first realised the sexiest, most charming, kindest man on the planet was interested in her.

  Then she’d been awed and delighted. Now she treasured every familiar touch and taste. The deep hum of satisfaction in the back of his throat, the grab of his fingers, digging through the silky fabric of her dress. The line of hardness along her belly where his erection stood proud and ready.

  Angela was torn between relief they had this second chance, the desire to cherish every single moment, and the need to lose herself totally in the pleasure she’d only ever known with Matteo.

  But there was more. Guilt still dug its claws into her flesh at the memory of how she’d wronged him. She’d been responsible for the wasteland that was the year they’d spent apart.

  He’d forgiven her. This kiss proved it.

  But how could she forgive herself?

  CHAPTER TEN

  * * *

  Angela was fire and ripe femininity, flame and seduction in his arms. Even the hitch of her breath when he nipped her earlobe ratcheted up his hunger to desperate levels. And the way she kissed…

  As if she too had felt starved this last year.

  As if she never wanted to release him.

  As if—

  ‘Put me down,’ she murmured against his lips.

  It took a while to register the words. It was only as she reared back, her hands on his shoulders, that his eyes opened and belatedly he understood.

  His immediate response was denial. ‘No. You stay here.’ Here being in his arms. He blinked and realised they hadn’t moved beyond the entry of the bedroom suite.

  Angela smiled, her lipstick smeared and her lips plump from kissing.

  Who’d have thought her smile could make him harder? Yet it did. He wrapped one arm low around her buttocks and ground his pelvis against her soft belly. Her eyelids flickered and sagged and Matteo was calculating how many steps to a bed when she spoke again.

  ‘Please, Matteo. Let me stand.’

  He surveyed her features, the blush of arousal, the half-lidded eyes, and knew she wasn’t leaving him.

  That had been his nightmare for too long. They’d be kissing, more than kissing, their clothes stripping away with the ease found in dreams, and suddenly Angela would make some excuse to withdraw. Then, once she was out of his arms she’d disappear and no matter how hard he searched, he failed to find her. He’d lost count of the nights he’d woken, aroused and filled with an aching sense of loss.

  Reluctantly he let her slide down till her toes touched the floor. That in itself was an exercise in torture, feeling every centimetre of that lithely curved body traverse his own. Only the sight of Angela’s closed eyes, pearly teeth biting her lower lip, lessened his regret. In this they were totally matched.

  She swayed for a moment when she reached the floor and Matteo tightened his grip, holding her close.

  ‘Now what?’ His voice was guttural, the words slurred, and they were unnecessary, he realised as Angela stroked her hands down his torso, past his juddering heart, straight to his trousers.

  Matteo sucked in a great gulp of oxygen as she undid his dress trousers. Yet as she tugged the zip down, the air escaped before he could fill his lungs.

  Seconds later, warm, firm hands tugged his underwear down, releasing his monumental erection, then skimming the fabric down thighs that twitched at the brush of her fingers.

  Matteo’s head rocked back against the wall, his eyes closing, his shallow breathing a hiss of mingled delight and desperation. Eyes shut, he let her work his clothes off, lift one foot at a time and strip away shoes, socks, trousers and underwear.

  Small hands stroked his legs. Every muscle turned to solid rock, his hands clenched into fists at his sides to stop him reaching for her.

  Then he felt her warm breath across his groin and his eyes snapped open.

  He looked down.

  Ma che cavolo! She was going to kill him!

  Before him, kneeling in a pool of scarlet silk, her hair like spun gold, was Angela. Her breasts heaved as if she found breathing every bit as difficult as he did, and that drew his attention to her décolletage, which, from this angle, was spectacular.

  She moved closer, a pink tongue slicking that ruby mouth and a jolt of anticipation shot through Matteo, so strong he couldn’t tell if it were pleasure or pain.

  ‘Angela.’ Her name was an incomprehensible croak, but it made her look up, her golden brown eyes locking on his.

  She was going to be the death of him. The anticipation, the glory of her there, before him, was more than any mortal could stand. Because Matteo was so primed a mere touch would be too much.

  Eyes holding his, she smiled and leaned in.

  Warmth teased him, the moist luxury of her swirling tongue, then her mouth enclosed him and he saw stars. The world eclipsed into darkness and bright fiery lights that wheeled through his head. He began to shake and—

  ‘No!’ He clutched Angela’s shoulders and pushed her back, groaning out loud at the wrench of sensation as her slick mouth left his body. An enormous shudder ripped through him, so strong that for a second he thought he was too late, that he’d spill before her.

  Matteo stood, fingers tight on her shoulders, head bowed and thighs trembling, trying to think of anything but Angela kneeling before him, taking him as if he were some delicacy she longed to savour.

  Hell! That wasn’t helping. Every muscle knotted at the effort not to move, not to come.

  ‘Matteo? What’s wrong? You like—’

  ‘I like too much.’ It was a groan, rough and low. ‘That’s the problem.’

  Just thinking about it weakened him. He heaved in a breath, the movement of his lungs so hard it felt like knives slashing his chest.

  ‘Please.’

  At the sound of that one soft word he opened his eyes. She was more beautiful than she’d ever been, and it was nothing to do with the sexy dress. It was the look in those glowing eyes. She looked like a woman in love. Like the woman he’d fallen for.

  ‘I want you,’ he ground out.

  He shouldn’t have said it, because it made her smile soften and once more he teetered on the brink of control. He’d never wanted a woman more. He was desperate for his wife.

  ‘And you can have me. Later. First I want to start making up for what I did. It was all my fault that—’

  With one swift movement Matteo bent and swept her up high, wincing as his erection collided with her softness, wrapping his arms around her as he leaned back against the wall.

  ‘You don’t have to pay me back in that way.’ The idea had a sordid quality at odds with his potent arousal. The image of Angela kneeling before him was hard to resist, and the sensations… ‘I don’t want sex just because you feel guilty.’ His throat closed on a rush of emotion.

  Here he was, so hard one more move could have him losing it, yet talking himself out of what would, he knew, be pure rapture.

  Because he didn’t just want sex from Angela.

  ‘It’s not like that.’ Her hands cupped his face and he forced his eyes open. They were so close it was easy to read her dismay. ‘I love you, Matteo. I’ve never stopped loving you or wanting you.’

  At her words the last defence around his heart shattered and fell. She meant every word, he heard it in her voice.

  ‘But I feel guilty too, and I want to make this good for you.’ Flame crept up her throat and seared her cheeks and a grim smile tugged at his mouth. Angela had been eager to go down on him but blushed at talking about it? His wife was a delightful conundrum.

  ‘It will be good, tesoro. It always is between us. Yes?’

  Slowly, she nodded.

  ‘As for fault. Maybe I should have supported you more. I swept you into an unfamiliar world and expected you to adapt. But I was busy and—’

  ‘Don’t.’ Her index finger closed his lips.

  ‘You’re right. This isn’t the time.’


  Matteo had done his best, shown heroic restraint, but there was only so much a man could do. He was, after all, flesh and blood, pressed up against the one woman in the world who could drive him to the point of ecstasy, or insanity, in seconds.

  He stepped out from the wall, gripping her tight, then swung round and stepped forward so Angela’s back was against the wall instead. He felt her gasp of surprise at the impact, or perhaps as his grip shifted as he propped her up against him with one thigh while he scrabbled at the long dress.

  He swore under his breath, seeming to make no headway in the slippery fabric with hands that suddenly seemed uncoordinated. Then he felt slim fingers brush his as Angela reefed the material high.

  Abruptly his palm met sheer stockings and above that bare flesh.

  Matteo squeezed his eyes shut. It was too much. Too much and simultaneously nowhere near enough.

  Then Angela relinquished her hold on the dress so it flowed over his hand and grabbed his shoulders instead. A second later she hoisted herself higher, first one leg, then the other wrapping round his waist, locking behind him.

  ‘Angela.’ He opened his eyes on her beautiful face and knew he was the luckiest man alive. Then she squirmed against him, tilting her hips high and thought fled.

  His hand brushed damp silk, his fingers hooking her panties aside so he felt her soft curls against his knuckles. She shivered.

  ‘I can’t…’ The words wouldn’t come. Even thinking was beyond him, yet he managed to hold back, needing to know she was ready. Foreplay was impossible. There would be no finesse, no gentle teasing.

  ‘I want you, Matteo. Now.’

  Her mouth still formed the word when he surged forward, parting slick folds and driving sure and hard right to the heart of her. It was so easy, so true.

  There was a gasp of shock. His? Hers?

  He met her wide stare with one of his own.

  Had it ever been this impossibly good before? If so how could he have survived a whole year without her?

  Matteo felt right for the first time since she’d walked out. Whole.

  Then his mouth was on hers, stroking, tangling, taking and receiving. He half withdrew then plunged deep in a move he mimicked with his tongue.