Chapter Twelve
‘IT’S STUNNING, DARIO…’
Pride pushed against Dario’s chest at Tallulah’s awed comment as the helicopter circled the Palazzo di Constanzo.
He tried to catalogue the improvements which had been made since his last visit: the terraces built into the hillside behind the house to create vegetable gardens; the double-level infinity pool which now replaced the old pool which had lain empty and derelict for years; the ornate plastering on the colonnades which had been painstakingly repaired; the recent planting which had come into bloom, the profusion of wisteria and orange blossom adding vibrant splashes of colour to the villa’s fanciful frontage.
But his concentration was shot, because his attention was fixed on the woman beside him, and the concerning emotions stirred by the vulnerabilities she had revealed to him on the terrazzo of his Milan penthouse four hours ago.
His heart pulsed, her expression when she had told him about her bastard of a father, was still so vivid—so fierce and yet so open.
The man sounded like even more of a bastard than his own father.
How could he have discarded her so easily?
But imagining Tallulah as a girl had given him the strange sense that if he could have known her then, he would have wanted to protect her from that rejection, which wasn’t just concerning—it was nothing short of ludicrous.
Because he had lost the ability to be that man a long time ago, and he had no wish to become that man now.
The flight to Naples had been torture, as he pretended to be engrossed in his cell phone, while being far too aware of his new bride’s every sigh, every movement, every breath. Just as he had been forty-eight long hours ago on their return to Milan from Sicily.
Keeping his hands off her until their wedding night had been an exercise in diversion and distraction—and painful denial. It was frustrating to realise starving himself of her company for two days had done nothing to control his addiction.
How could he want her now even more than he had on their night in Sicily?
Especially now he knew how vulnerable she was.
The decision to spend a month at the palazzo had been made after waking up with her lush body wrapped around his in the summer house, his cock so needy it was a miracle he had managed to leave her sleeping.
But despite that moment of saintly forbearance, he’d moved the civil ceremony forward as soon as they’d arrived back in Milan, because he’d known he could not wait a whole week to feed this addiction again.
Dio, at least this torture would be over soon.
The helicopter set down on the palazzo’s clifftop heliport.
He had wanted to stay at the villa for seven long years but had only had the time for a few cursory site visits—forced to book into a luxury hotel in Ana Capri, the nearby town, while the extensive renovations had been under way.
Perhaps seeing the house finally ready was the real cause of this pressure in his chest, as he descended the chopper’s steps and held his hand out for Tallulah to follow him—and not the anticipation of a wedding night which only felt real because his new bride looked so perfect.
She wore an elegant pant suit which accentuated her curves, her wild hair tied back with a silk scarf.
The new stylist had understood his requirements implicitly—that his wife’s wardrobe should not be too revealing.
But when the jacket’s lapel flicked open in the down draft from the helicopter blades, he got an eyeful of her cleavage, her nipples standing proud against the skimpy camisole beneath, and the familiar pulse of lust blindsided him again.
His hand tightened on hers, touching the gold band he’d placed on her finger that afternoon. Their gazes locked, and the lust swelled when she chewed her bottom lip.
He had requested that the staff prepare an evening meal for them on the main terrace, which overlooked the Bay of Naples, ready for their arrival.
With the glow of the approaching sunset reflected in her luminous eyes, he knew he ought to let her eat first, if only to prove he could wait another hour before devouring her.
But as the helicopter’s blades slowed, he found himself heading instead through the arbour of trees which led to the palazzo’s private quarters, charging past the stone walls overflowing with the dark pink blooms of bougainvillea.
The subtle honeysuckle scent was one he remembered from the lazy, unstructured days of his childhood, but with her hand clutched tightly in his, and adrenaline pumping through his blood like a drug, the last thing he felt was relaxed.
Finally, they reached the rear entrance. The housekeeper and her staff were waiting for them in the hallway, clearly having assembled to greet his new bride.
But when Tallulah paused to greet them all in Italian, he found himself tensing. Eventually he was forced to interrupt the introductions—and lead his bride away, not wanting to risk scandalising the staff with his condition.
But he could not wait a moment longer to have her.
‘Dario, is everything okay?’ Tallulah asked as he marched up the villa’s wide sweeping marble staircase to his bedroom suite on the second floor.
As he entered the large sitting room, the salty sea air was tinged with the scent of new paint, but all he could smell was the delicious aroma of her, which had been tantalising his senses ever since he had kissed her on the terrazzo in Milan.
He could still taste her arousal. And he intended to focus on that now, and not the emotions which had made him want to protect that neglected girl.
The terrace doors stood open to let in the evening breeze. The dying daylight added a golden glow to the spectacular view of the Tyrrhenian Sea from the palazzo’s enviable position as the lights of Ana Capri twinkled in the distance.
He had waited so long to come here again.
To return to the only place he had ever been truly happy.
The work he had paid for—hiring the best local craftsmen and artisans to return the palazzo to its former glory, long before the heady days of his mother’s endless parties, or his father’s deliberate neglect—was finally complete.
And it was only a matter of time now before he would own the place outright.
Why then did he feel almost ambivalent about what this marriage had always been supposed to achieve?
It was almost as if he couldn’t appreciate the beauty of the palazzo and the stunning vista through the terrazzo doors, because the only beauty he could see was Tallulah, her arms wrapped around her midriff, her breasts straining against the silk camisole, the mess of her curls highlighted by the dying sun when she took off the scarf.
His breath clogged in his lungs as the heat surged.
‘Do you wish to eat?’ he made himself ask. But there was no mistaking the husky desire in his voice.
She shook her head, trembling. ‘I don’t think I could eat anything at the moment,’ she said, her blue eyes shining with that exquisite combination of awareness and sincerity—which he had become obsessed with.
‘Are you cold?’ he asked, trailing his thumb down her neck to stroke the pulse point hammering her throat.
The muscles jumped as she swallowed, her wary gaze only intensifying the hunger making his cock throb.
‘Actually, I think I’m the opposite,’ she murmured, her meaning clear.
He chuckled, the sound rough with need. Dio, but she was so forthright, her honesty almost as compelling as the colour blooming across her collarbone.
‘Bene,’ he murmured.
Spreading her jacket open, he grasped her waist to draw her into his arms. Capturing her lips, he thrust his tongue deep—to claim her shocked sob.
Her nipples thrust against his chest through their clothing as he devoured her mouth, exploring the hidden recesses, capturing each heady sigh, each sweet shudder.
He tore his mouth free, so they could each drag in a shattered breath.
‘I cannot wait to have you again, Tallulah. But I promise to be gentle.’
She nodded, the trust in her eyes crucifying him all over again.
Did she have any idea how wild he was for her? He hoped not. But he could not control himself much longer, the tormenting desire to brand her as his fast becoming all-consuming.
Perhaps she was not his real wife—perhaps he had never intended this relationship to be more than a means to an end.
But when she allowed him to strip off the jacket, to cup her breasts through the silk, and close his mouth over those yearning peaks, his intentions didn’t matter.
Her fingers sank into his hair, her back arching instinctively to thrust the engorged nipple into his mouth, and he knew he had never needed anyone the way he needed her. Right now.
He scooped her into his arms, heard her harsh gasp as he strode through the living area, his aching leg nowhere near as painful as his swollen cock.
A new four-poster bed dominated the suite’s main bedroom, the other furniture artfully arranged around it, the terrace doors opening onto a dappled view of the coastline and the pure blue sea enhanced by the sunset.
But he couldn’t see any of it, because all he could see was her, as he laid her trembling body on the satin bedspread, then proceeded to undress her, the promise to be careful a whole new form of torture.
He tugged off her camisole, her bra, the sleek trousers, her lacy panties with frantic, clumsy fingers…
Within seconds she lay naked, her pale skin rosy with heat, the musky scent of her arousal intoxicating him.
He stripped off his shirt, and watched her eyes darken as her gaze skated over his chest.
But then she clasped an arm over her breasts.
‘Non… Do not cover yourself…’
Her eyes widened at the harsh demand, but she let her arm drop.
He swallowed, knowing he had to calm down to make this good for her.