The Amalfi Bride - Page 29

In no mood for tenderness, she tore at his fly and then at the buttons of his shirt.

When a cool draft of air hit his naked chest, he laughed. Then he unzipped her sundress and watched it spill down her tiny waist and flaring hips to the glossy tiles. She kicked her sandals across the room. Then she sprang into his arms again, teasing him with her mouth and tongue, kissing his lips open, each hungry kiss promising and demanding more than her last.

Lifting her high, he let her slide down his body. She wrapped her legs around his waist, and he squeezed her tightly, holding her there for an infinite moment before carrying her to bed. It felt like long hours ago since he’d made love to her in the sea cave and had brought her to climax with his tongue.

She was slim and beautiful. Why did it keep amazing him that she felt perfect underneath him?

Her wide, dark eyes met his. When he smiled, her lips parted and those gorgeous eyes shone. She was like the moon and the sun, giving off light but reflecting his, too.

With his lips he touched her smooth forehead, her silken hair, her eyebrows, even her eyelashes. He wanted her babies, and the thought that he’d been born to a complicated life and couldn’t have her or those babies caused a visceral pain near his heart.

She was leaving in little more than twenty-four hours. Suddenly, the urge to possess her now, this minute, forever, overpowered him.

“Cara. Oh, Cara.” Forgetting himself, the love words he used as his hands roamed her body were Italian. He cupped her breasts, caressed her waist and thighs. Then he slid a finger inside and stroked her there, too. When he had her quivering and her breath almost stopped, his pulse raced out of control.

His mouth found her lips again, teasing her tongue with the tip of his, playing and sucking until her nails dug deep into his shoulders. Until she moaned.

“I want you so much,” she murmured as she crawled under him.

Her skin felt feverishly hot as her arms locked around his neck. He was on his knees, and her sleek body was open and ready beneath him. When his heavy sex touched her entrance, she gasped and then licked her lips. Without more foreplay, he plunged inside her. Buried to the hilt, he went still, his blood pounding in his temple. He wanted this moment to last forever.

She was slick, tight, wet. And hot, so hot.

And then she moved, and he went wild.

“Oh, Nico…Nico…”

He slammed into her again and again. Soon, he was driving faster and faster until she was screaming and he was out of control, fighting himself as he hurtled over the edge.

“Don’t stop. Just take me with you.”

Then she was crying and shuddering, too. He pounded into her two more times before he exploded.

They held on to each other. He caressed her hair and spoke Italian again, his heart making promises he could never keep while she said his name over and over again in the sweetest, throatiest whisper he’d ever heard.

When their heartbeats finally slowed, she ran her fingers through his damp hair.

He heard her muffled sob.

“I never cry,” she said.

“You keep saying that.”

“Only with you.”

He clasped her fiercely. Damn it. Why had he been born Principe Don Nico Carlo Giovanni Romano? How could he watch her get on a plane and fly away?

She would marry someone else. Have another man’s children.

But if he defied his mother and the rest of his family, and married Cara, such a union     would be considered a disaster by everyone in his world—especially his mother.

His fist gripped a tangle of sheets as Cara continued to whisper love words in his ear. He wanted this night to last forever.

Their damp, hot bodies still joined, he fell asleep with her arms wrapping him loosely.

Eight

W hen Regina woke up hours later in Nico’s arms, the damp sea air smelled of gardenia and felt cool against her skin. Silver moonlight washed the bed and him. She knew the exact moment his long lashes lifted drowsily and his eyes caught the light.

“Cara?” he whispered, nuzzling closer.

She fingered the ornate cross on her throat. “I’m right here, darling.”

“Are you all right?”

“Better than all right.” She touched his sex. “You’re so big.”

“They say size doesn’t matter.”

“They don’t always know everything. Besides, that’s hearsay.”

When she sighed in contentment, he took her hands and kissed her fingers. She felt delicious, satiated, complete.

So, this was what love felt like. At least now she knew. Some people never found this kind of easiness or passion ever, although her happiness was made bittersweet by the knowledge that she had to leave him.

At least I have him now.

She touched his large maleness gently, just enough to make contact. She smiled possessively, and then yawned because his warmth had made her sleepy again. She went limp against him and soon was asleep once more. The next time she awoke, the sun had tinged the bedroom with slanting, pink radiance. Nico was already awake beside her, his expression tender, his dark eyes shining as he watched her.

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