Chapter 4 #3
“Bea—” he began but then felt the skin of one slim finger pressed against his lip.
With a jolt of desire, he opened his eyes to find Beatrice kneeling on the seat beside him, her gloves removed, the pins in her hair pulled out and her finger against his lips as she looked down at him.
Dark curls waved over her shoulders and around her neck.
The long, bare skin of her arms, urgently begging to be kissed, called out to him.
Sweet Jesus, save me, he thought rapidly, swallowing hard. He wanted to speak, to dissuade her, but if he did, he would feel her touch against his moving lips. He was not sure he could stop himself from kissing her finger, from licking it, from taking her into his mouth and?—
“I am not just Silas’s sister,” she whispered, staring at him intensely, as if daring him to interrupt. “I am my own woman, and I am not so drunk as to not know my needs. I know what I want. So the only question left is…”
She removed her finger from his lips, slipping her hand around the back of his head and into his hair. It felt luxurious. He had fantasized so often about this moment, this feeling of her quick hands twisted in his hair and sending shivers down his spine. Giovanni’s thoughts were a mess.
Jesus Christ, where did she learn this? God, I don’t want to know that.
Beatrice lowered her mouth perilously close to his, so close he could smell the sweet tang of champagne on her breath. He wanted to taste her so badly.
“What do you want, Gio?” She breathed.
Giovanni sent a prayer up to heaven, knowing he could no longer resist her.
“You,” Giovanni growled.
Her lips met his in a rush of sudden passion that nearly had him toppling backwards.
He grasped her waist to steady her and was instead suddenly aware of the miracle of her quick and lithe body underneath her dress, the smallness of her waist and her pert, small breasts.
He leaned back against the seat, roughly pulling her astride him.
She gasped but continued to kiss him, her lips insistent and her hands tangling in his hair almost painfully.
He had never imagined she would be capable of such passion, such heady, writhing energy as she knelt astride him, her elegant skirt rucked up around her knees.
Giovanni couldn’t help his hands from reaching down to trace the lines of her stockings.
The shock of the warm flesh of her knees pulled him back to reality.
If he kept on like this, he was in very great danger of taking her then and there—her brother be damned, her innocence be damned, his own soul be damned!
Thankfully, at that moment, the carriage started to slow down.
Giovanni broke his face away, turning away from her gorgeous lips.
“We are home,” he gasped.
Instantly, Beatrice withdrew. Part of Giovanni was thankful, praising God above that Giovanni had not been so taken with desire that he had ravaged Beatrice on the doorstep of Klane House.
But another part was cursing every power that she was no longer in his arms. He could invite her up to his bedroom—Silas would be away the whole evening. They were alone in the house.
No one would know.
“Beatrice,” he whispered hoarsely, but the footman was already climbing down and opening the door. She tidied her hair quickly and straightened her gown, not meeting his eye.
Giovanni wondered if their escapade had been enough to sober her up if she now regretted her actions, but then those dark, starry eyes caught his.
She smiled slowly, seductively and whispered, “Goodnight, Signore,” in a way she must know he would find appealing.
She still wanted him. God, she was miraculous.
He wanted to speak, he wanted to invite her upstairs, to produce any excuse to have her lips on his again, but he couldn’t.
“Goodnight,” Giovanni swallowed hard, fighting back the urge to kiss her again. “Bella.”
Beatrice ducked out of the carriage and was gone.
Giovanni groaned and cursed, staring up at the dark roof of the carriage.
He knew he could have had her. He flattered himself that he knew enough of female desire to know when a woman was ready to be seduced, and Beatrice had surely been his for the taking.
Yet despite this knowledge, he had faltered.
Why had he hesitated now with the woman he wanted more than any other, when he had never faltered before?
“Because Beatrice isn’t that kind of woman,” he muttered, staring out the window to watch her enter the townhouse, her white and gold dress glowing in the street lights. “Even if I am that kind of man.”
However, it seemed like a faint line to draw now after ravishing her so thoroughly only moments ago.
If Silas had caught them like that, what would he have done?
Giovanni dreaded to think. He cursed again, putting his head in his hands.
He couldn’t allow this lust for Beatrice to overtake him completely.
Silas was the best man he had ever known and the most loyal friend, and yet Giovanni had repaid his loyalty with the worst kind of betrayal.
All he could hope now was that Beatrice was too drunk to remember the encounter in the morning.
Never again, Giovanni swore to himself. I will never touch her again.