Chapter Eight #2
Stella was transfixed by the view and Gio couldn’t drag his attention from her. His blood fizzed in his veins, just being near her.
She’d turned his world on its head. Every time he felt he understood her she surprised him again.
He was sure, almost sure she was sexually inexperienced. Her unabashed wonder yesterday, when they’d first had sex, and the tightness he’d encountered made him suspect…
No. She couldn’t have been a virgin. Just thinking it proved how much she messed with his head.
Yet Gio had trouble now believing she was a conniving spy. What was the story here?
Or was sex overshadowing logic?
As if sensing his regard, Stella sent him a sideways glance. Her cheeks pinkened. Or was that a remnant of the blush she’d worn when they arrived? She looked down and he saw she’d picked up her paper napkin, folding it with restless fingers.
He’d driven them here because she wanted to see the area. But instead of getting out of the car immediately, he’d switched off the engine and reached for her.
She was a drug in his blood, drawing him back again and again. He’d wanted her from the first. But her eagerness for him escalated want into something he could barely contain. When they’d emerged from the car her glossy hair had been messy from his needy grasp and her skirt crumpled.
They’d made out like teenagers in a public street, desire rising so urgently, he’d considered booking into a nearby hotel, though the villa was only fifteen minutes away.
How did she do that to him?
A waiter came with coffees and Stella thanked him, commenting on the view. The young guy couldn’t take his eyes off her and soon they were chatting away. Until Gio shifted. The waiter caught his look and hurried away.
‘You said you didn’t speak Italian well,’ Gio said in that language, ‘but you’re fluent. You had no trouble understanding the local accent just now.’
Stella blinked as if only just realising she’d spoken Italian. But instead of looking guilty, as if found out in a deliberate lie, her expression was uncertain. She gave a one-shouldered shrug.
‘Why did you tell me that, Stella, when it wasn’t true?’
Her brow knitted. ‘It’s no big deal. It was just nice speaking English with you.
I realised in Rome that I’d missed it—I hadn’t realised how much.
’ She reached for her coffee cup, twisting it on its saucer.
‘Anyway, not everyone would agree that I’m fluent.
My family tells me my accent is too strong.
My brother Rocco rolls his eyes at my pronunciation. ’
Gio found that odd. Her Italian was beautiful, a little accented but charmingly so. He liked listening to her.
‘That’s very harsh.’
‘To be fair, when I came to Italy I only spoke English. My initial attempts were dreadful.’ She sipped her coffee. ‘He still thinks I could do much better but he doesn’t pull faces quite so often.’ Her eyes met Gio’s and he caught a glimmer of humour. ‘His wife stopped him.’
‘She’s obviously fond of you.’
Stella looked surprised, as if the idea had never occurred to her. Then she smiled, but not in agreement.
‘No, she’s not. But she has strong views on appropriate behaviour and public image. Rocco acting like a stroppy teenager detracts from their image.’
Intrigued, Gio surveyed Stella, but her expression gave little away. There was no rancour in her words, she just stated facts.
What was her relationship with her family?
Nothing she’d said indicated they were close. Was it possible her appearance at his hotel wasn’t a Barbieri plot to acquire sensitive commercial information? That she didn’t know who he was?
Yet she’d checked into his hotel under a false name. Then prowled the building in the dead of night, trying to access the private entrance to his administrative headquarters. Plus there were her attempts to cultivate the staff. To build relationships in hopes of later getting unguarded information?
‘You look very stern.’ Stella surveyed him. ‘I’m sorry if you feel I misled you. It was silly of me, I suppose. When we met I was feeling emotionally bruised over something and it was appealing, just being an English-speaking tourist.’
‘I think I understand.’
He was tempted to believe her motives were easily explained. To be fair, he’d found an unexpected freedom in being just Gio, not Giancarlo Valenti. What had begun as a careful masquerade had become something else.
The more time he spent with Stella, the more he believed her. Believed or wanted to believe?
With her long hair caught up in a casual knot and her burnt-orange shirt tied below her breasts, she was so appealing she took his breath away. Her skin glowed with good health and her dark eyes gleamed as they held his.
If he took out his phone and snapped her photo with the stunning Amalfi coastline behind her, he’d have an image that would sell any product he chose.
He could open a new hotel here, on the strength of that alone.
Visitors would flock here, not just for the vista but for the promise in Stella’s eyes.
Except he had no desire to share Stella, not even her image, with anyone.
Gio wanted to keep her to himself. Despite his suspicions about her. It was even possible those suspicions added spice to this sizzling attraction.
A chill clamped his nape. He recalled his father’s absolute obsession with his wife. The powerful connection even death couldn’t shatter, and the never-ending pain that unbreakable devotion wrought. Had it begun like this?
He heard the chink of china on china as his cup found its saucer. He felt the blossom-scented breeze waft across his skin. But the sensations seemed to come from afar as the world telescoped to contain just Stella, lips parted as if in expectation.
The weight of desire pulsed between them and suddenly relief flooded him, making him almost light-headed. This was simply sex. Nothing more complicated.
He felt the heavy torsion in his groin and saw her nipples pebble against her shirt.
Just like that she undid him.
‘Gio, I…’
He reached out, cradling her head and pulling her close as he leaned in. Their mouths touched and fused, easing just a little of the tension that gripped him in a vice.
He sighed as she shifted closer, one soft palm to his cheek, her other hand grabbing his shirt. The delicate scent of lilac and sexy woman teased him.
Volcanic heat rose, the need for her a craving.
His hand found her leg, sliding up her thigh and taking the thin fabric of her skirt with it. His heart galloped as he found silky flesh and—
A blare of sound sliced the air.
Stella jumped. A second later she pulled back.
Gio found himself staring into bewildered espresso eyes as he registered the loud rap music. He jerked around, seeing the newly arrived group at the far end of the terrace. The music ended as one of them answered their phone, his companions regarding Gio and Stella curiously.
Gio threw some money onto the table and reached again for Stella’s hand. ‘Come on, it’s time to leave.’
Her hand nestled in his, squeezing, and as she stood her eyes met his with a secret smile that sent a shudder of longing through him.
Whatever this was, he needed more of it. More of her.
‘I thought you’d never ask.’
Hand in hand they made their way through the restaurant. ‘I’m afraid I didn’t actually ask. And I know you wanted to see more of the local area.’ He tried to sound regretful and failed totally.
Her sidelong look was pure seduction. He’d been crazy to think for a second that she’d been a virgin.
‘Scenery can wait. I’d rather see you, Gio.’ She leaned closer, her voice a warm breath in his ear. ‘Naked.’
Later, Gio could only be thankful there’d been no speed checks on the road back to the villa. As it was, they didn’t venture out again for days.