Chapter 22
Emmeline
I’d never been serenaded before.
Certainly not by accomplished musicians who could rival almost any successful pop or rock band back in the United States.
Twilight had settled in, the light breeze creating a slight chill. With the scent from the flowers covering a dozen trellises, flowerboxes lined on all sides of the outdoor restaurant and bar, and with the flickering candlelight, the location was one of the most romantic I’d ever seen.
Especially with such a handsome man sitting across from me.
Our walk had taken over an hour and when we’d returned, fresh flowers had been placed on the table, along with a plate full of chocolates and a congratulatory note on our nuptials.
There’d also been a bottle of champagne, which we’d thoroughly enjoyed while listening to the incredible Brazilian music.
The four musicians were standing around the two of us, providing a dark yet seductive love song that was perfect for our twisted fates.
There wasn’t a person sitting at any of the tables or at the bar who wasn’t enjoying the moment.
Or watching our every move.
When the musicians had finished, the small crowd went wild, very appreciative of the incredible serenade.
I couldn’t help but notice Donatello handed the lead singer a folded handful of cash, which didn’t surprise me about the man, but did given we couldn’t use our credit cards. Yet his kind act brought another wave of warmth.
As the group nodded, already walking away, he turned his full attention to me, tossing his napkin and standing. When he offered me his hand, I peered at him quizzically. “What now?”
“Now, we dance.”
There would be no saying no. The three words weren’t a request, but a demand.
Even the way he pulled me to my feet was a clear indication he was very much and would always be in charge.
I’d never thought of him as a dancer, but since I was already proven wrong once before, I had no issue allowing him to take the lead.
He held me tightly against his body, sliding one palm down to the small of my back.
With his long legs and mine, we fit perfectly together as the lead Spanish guitarist moved in front of the others.
While there were two other couples dancing on the stone dance floor, Donatello had guided us front and center.
Of course.
He wasn’t the kind of man to shy away from center stage. With the shimmer of the rope lights crisscrossing the rail of the trellis, the warm glow presented over us provided a perfect ambiance.
His other hand was pressed against my neck, the hold even though tender extremely possessive. There was no doubt to anyone near that I belonged to him.
The guitarist’s fingers flew across the fretboard, producing a sound that was at once profoundly melancholy and fiercely vibrant, a ‘duende’ that seemed to make the very air of the festive outdoor room vibrate with longing.
Everything about the night had been perfect.
So far.
And it wasn’t over yet.
My mother had always told me life was for the living, her comment meant to dissuade the bouts of melancholy I’d felt when seeing dead squirrels on the side of the road. I’d been the little girl who’d wanted to heal everything, called a mother hen more than once.
My mother and grandmother had taught me so many things about living. Now I’d never get a chance to teach my own daughter how to fight.
Or how to respond when she found the right man.
Keeping in time to the music and his eyes locked on mine, Donatello raised his arm, taking mine with his.
With our fingers intertwined, he spun me around in three complete circles, dipping me when he was finished.
He was even more of an expert than I’d been allowed to witness, taking control of more than just my body and the stage.
He commanded the entire bar, everyone backing away or turning their chairs so they could watch the two lovers engaged in an intimate dance of lust and love.
As well as power.
There wasn’t a man or woman in the outdoor space that didn’t feel Donatello’s power, and the darkness enshrouding him.
With his hand on my waist, he guided me methodically exactly where he wanted to go, acting as if there was no one else near. He dipped me again, swinging me in a semi-circle until I was brought forcefully against him until our lips were touching, then he cupped the back of my head.
Holding us only centimeters apart, I pressed my hands on his shoulders, allowing him to turn us once again in a full circle.
And as the song ended, he stopped us from moving altogether, only our ragged breathing and the quiver of my lips showcasing any movement.
There wasn’t a single person who wasn’t holding their breath.
As the last strings were played, Donatello captured my mouth, holding my lips in place.
There was a moment of beautiful magic when our lips collided; our hearts began beating as one and the sense that nothing and no one existed around us.
Everything was different than before, still reeking of blinding passion as we’d experienced, but there was more.
A darker, more personal need. A knowing that this might be our last night together. And even more than that, there was a stronger sense of needing each other, awakening to the strengths of the other.
That’s how I felt about the kiss and the way he cupped my face. Yes, there was a brutal type of hunger that wouldn’t be denied, but also a desire to explore the other’s mind and soul, not only our heated bodies.
As if in an echo, I heard several others provide our performance with applause, but we weren’t paying any attention. With the weight and explosive heat pressed against my body, the desire roaring through me was quickly abating the calm enjoyment shared in the afternoon.
His tongue dominated mine as he tasted me, a slow and easy tale of his own personal needs. Yet he was the kind of man to ensure a woman’s pleasure first. That was not something most women would believe, yet it was an instinct I’d had about him from the first time we’d flirted.
Finding out I was right was that much more exiting.
When he broke the kiss, he kept our lips together, both of us breathing heavily. I almost stumbled forward when he backed away but resisted reaching for him.
With a wicked smile on his face, he pulled out his wallet, dropping several bills on the table.
“Big spender,” I said as I grabbed my champagne glass and the remainder of the bottle.
“Always for my dolce Ambrosia. Maybe I’ll need to formally change my name.”
“No. It’ll be our little secret. Then what do I call you?”
His grin was positively evil. “Master.”
I threw him a look before backing away. “Give me five minutes.” I even held up my hand with my fingers spread open in case he didn’t hear me. Spinning around, I bit my lower lip to keep from making a sound.
Which was silly, but I didn’t want anything to ruin the evening.
“That’s all the time you get.”
I turned around again while still backing away, even blowing him a kiss. “We’ll see.”
“Yes, we will.”
He stood stoically, the light breeze tousling his long hair.
The view was incredible. This time, I only had eyes for the handsome man.
When I was out of sight, I rushed toward the room, even jerking off my heels along the way. Since he didn’t have any patience, I knew what time I had alone would be limited.
I was giggling by the time I entered the room, shocked and nervous to find a light had been turned on.
Using extreme quiet, I placed the bottle and the glass on the dresser while scanning the room just in case I wasn’t alone.
My instinct was to reach for my weapon until I realized one of the staff had entered our room, not only turning down the bed but tossing hundreds of rose petals on the turned-down bedding.
A tightness in my chest formed as I moved closer, unable to stop myself from running the tips of my fingers over the velvety petals. What if we were married? The thought tickled the back of my mind as I moved toward the suitcase, yanking out various items. First, the right music.
Every intimate couple needed sensual mood music to create the perfect atmosphere. My luck was holding as I found an acoustic station on satellite radio on my iPad. Wow. Spanish guitar.
This was my lucky day.
With a quick glance toward the door, I tossed a few things from the suitcase, searching for the perfect outfit.
Hurry. Hurry. Hurry.
He’d be coming through that door any minute. He was not a patient man.
When I found what I was looking for, I quickly headed into the bathroom, not only to change, but also to start the water in the bathtub.
As luck would have it, there were flameless candles. The staff had thought of everything, including bubble bath. This was what little white lies could do.
I should be ashamed.
I wasn’t.
With everything in motion just the way I liked it, I slipped into something a little more comfortable.
I poufed my hair, twisting back and forth while running my palms down the red and black corset.
And here I’d thought the lace would deteriorate before I had a chance to wear the naughty little outfit.
Here goes.
I was out of breath with excitement. How silly of me. Our twisted affair felt so wrong, yet oh-so right.
Then I headed to the chair by the patio door, sitting down with the glass of champagne in my hand where I waited.
For seven minutes and thirty seconds before I heard the keycard being slipped into the lock.
As soon as Donatello walked into the room, he stopped just inside. Even in the shadows created by the single light, I could tell he was smiling.
And surprised.
He took a deep breath, holding it, his body completely stiff. “Wow.”
“You’re late,” I told him, another rush of heat crossing my jaw.
“You’re stunning.”
“You’re forgiven. For now. Close and lock the door behind you.” I brought the rim of the flute to my lips, licking the thin glass. He did as I asked, thoroughly amused.