Chapter Seven #3
She followed him out onto the balcony. ‘Is it true? What the journalist said? That he wouldn’t allow you to speak Italian?
’ Maybe she had no right to ask, but suddenly she wanted to know exactly how bad it had been for him.
Because while her father had chosen to be absent for much of her life, she had always had her mum.
While Dario, it seemed, had had no one to protect him.
He shrugged, but the movement was far too stiff to be nonchalant. ‘I do not require your pity,’ he said, his tone brusque again.
She sighed. So that would be a yes, then.
‘All I require is that you do the job I have asked of you,’ he continued. ‘And I did not ask you to learn Italian.’
Why was he so hung up on her decision to learn the language he obviously loved and preferred to use—especially if his father had used English as a means of punishment when he was a boy? It made no sense. But she forced herself to take a mental step back.
She’d always been too willing to believe the best of people, too desperate to want to heal anything and everything she thought might be wounded, or sad, or need her help.
And she had the scars to prove it… All those nicks and scratches caused by the wild animals who had quite literally ended up biting the hand that had tried to feed them…
Her mum had called it her Miss Fix-it complex.
Dario Lorenti wasn’t that lonely boy now. He was a man who guarded his pain as vehemently as he guarded his privacy. And he’d made it very clear he didn’t value her sympathy.
‘Do you really want me to stop the lessons?’ she asked, carefully.
She didn’t want to give them up, for so many reasons—one of which was she didn’t want him to resent having to speak to her in English…
Which was so screwed up considering he was the one insisting she stop.
But Dario was paying for the tutor Aldo had hired, so if he asked her to stop, she would have to.
He turned, and the perplexed frown on his face had the sympathy squeezing her ribs again. Did he even know why this was troubling him so much?
‘I have said it is not necessary.’
‘I know, but… I’m enjoying the lessons—they’re a lot more fun than having to get prodded and poked by the stylist. And I wasn’t lying when I told Mrs Lombardi I think it’s a beautiful language.
Plus, it would totally make our love affair look more convincing…
’ She shrugged, starting to become wary herself of how much she wanted to continue to learn Italian.
‘If I’m making the effort to learn your language, you know…
’ She stumbled to a halt. Was she making too big a deal of this?
Because the yearning to speak to him in his native tongue felt like more than just a way to pass the time.
Was she trying to please him without realising it?
And to what end, when they both knew this relationship wasn’t real?
He stared at her for the longest time, but then his lips curved, the half smile more rueful than amused. He brushed his thumb across her cheek and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.
She shivered, the automatic response something she couldn’t control as the unrequited yearning flared back to life. It was the first time he had touched her when she was alone with him since their charged moment in the limo ten days ago.
‘I can think of a much better way to make our love affair more convincing,’ he murmured, the low tone reverberating in all her pulse points. The promise in his eyes was as potent and provocative as it had been ten days ago…and just as terrifying.
She pressed a palm to her own cheek, aware of the sizzle of sensation where his thumb had cruised across her skin.
She wanted to sleep with him, wanted to find out where this terrifying chemistry would lead, but she felt even more exposed now than she had ten days ago, the tiny glimpse into his past bringing back the fierce sense of connection she’d always felt for that surly, unhappy boy.
She nodded. ‘I want you, too,’ she admitted, because there was no point in denying it, especially as she’d already broken cover during their argument.
‘I know,’ he said.
He cradled her face in warm palms, his gaze fixed on hers, and lowered his head to slant his lips across hers.
She sobbed, shocked by the blast of heat and longing, as her mouth moulded to his. He took his own sweet time, tempting, tormenting, swallowing her sighs, absorbing the shimmer of fear. His lips were persuasive, firm, demanding, his tongue even more so as it pressed into her mouth.
She opened for him, her breathing already ragged, her sex already aching, her breasts trapped against his chest as the kiss turned from subtle to scorching in a heartbeat.
His fingers threaded into her hair, angling her head to take more, to take all. His lips commanding, controlling, his tongue delving deep, over and over, exploring, and exploiting each sigh, each sob, each shudder.
She could feel herself falling into the sensual fog, the dazed, dizzying desire, too much and yet not enough.
One hand gripped her bottom, to drag her against the thick ridge in his jeans. Her core melted, as she writhed against it, needing more, but scared to take it, to demand it. Her emotions were still in turmoil from their argument. And that weird sense of connection which felt so real.
She pressed her hands against his chest and pushed him away, more confused and wary than ever, even though the sensations shimmering through her bloodstream still fired her need.
He released her. His breathing was as harsh as her own, his face set in hard lines—his eyes a molten gold.
‘I’m… I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m sending you mixed messages and I don’t mean to…’ she managed around the desire and panic making her throat feel raw.
Of course, he’d kissed her. She’d told him she wanted him.
But instead of reacting angrily to her rejection, as she had feared, he brushed his thumb across her cheek again, then pressed it to her lips.
‘Do not apologise,’ he said. ‘Are you a virgin, Tallulah?’
Embarrassment scorched her cheeks, at the direct question—and the potent hunger in his gaze.
‘No… No, I’m not,’ she said.
‘But you have little experience, am I correct?’ he asked again, the rueful tilt of his lips making the blush explode.
‘Well…yes, I suppose so, compared to you,’ she answered. What did he expect her to say? And why was he looking at her with indulgence, even affection? Because it was making her feel a whole lot more exposed, while he seemed to be in complete control again.
He let out a rough chuckle. But when he cupped her cheek there was no denying the fierce need in his expression, which matched her own. ‘Then we must take this slowly. Because our passion is extraordinary…and I do not wish to hurt you.’
‘Ummm, okay,’ she said, pretty sure her cheeks were probably visible from outer space by now.
Pulling her closer, he pressed his lips to her burning forehead. ‘You may continue with your Italian lessons.’
It took her a moment to figure out what he was talking about, her mind dazed from the endorphin high still powering through her system. ‘Okay.’
‘I will see you on Friday, for the trip to Sicily.’
She frowned. ‘We don’t have any other dates in Milan over the next two days?’ she asked, pretty sure they were scheduled to attend an embassy party that evening, but her mind was still too fuzzy to remember the details.
Taking her hand, he led her towards the apartment’s lift, then kissed her knuckles in that habitual gesture—which should have seemed perfunctory but made the heat rush through her all over again.
‘I think it best we do not spend too much time alone together, until you are ready for more.’
‘Okay,’ she said again, like a dummy.
It wasn’t until she’d stepped into the lift though and watched the doors close on him that it occurred to her the yearning in her sex had only got worse. She had agreed there would be more. Although she had no clue what ‘more’ entailed.
She rubbed her hand across her mouth, feeling the imprint of his lips on hers, the electrifying rasp of his stubble, the harsh demand of his tongue, the press of that huge erection against her belly. The mark of his ownership so much more elemental now than the diamond ring on her finger.
That the realisation was as exhilarating as it was terrifying only made the days ahead seem like more of a minefield…
Because she had the sneaking suspicion that as well as having a lot less sexual experience than Dario Lorenti, she was also nowhere near as well versed at ruthlessly controlling her emotions.