The Amalfi Bride - Page 92

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.

Never had she felt more protected or cherished.

“How long have you been awake?” she whispered, feeling a little shy.

“A while. You’re so beautiful.”

“So are you,” she said, running her hand down from his throat over his magnificent brown chest.

The sheet wrapped her waist, leaving her breasts exposed. She couldn’t believe that lying naked beside him, even after all the sex, could feel so right, so easy.

“You don’t seem all that grand. Shouldn’t a prince be cruel and haughty?”

“You’re right. I command you to make love to me all over again.”

“I have to take a shower first.”

“We could take one together,” he whispered.

“All right.” Using her knuckles, she stroked his rough, shadowed chin. “Why did I have to meet you the last two days I was here? Life isn’t fair.”

“Life never is.” He closed his eyes, but not before she saw his pain.

She squeezed her eyes shut, too.

“I came to Italy to find myself. And I have. Only now when I go back…”

“What?”

Biting her lip, she shook her head, not ready to admit to him that she would be leaving a big piece of herself behind.

“Maybe this is better,” she said brightly. “I’ll always think I found the perfect love. I’ll remember how passionate you were, yet gentle, and I’ll compare you to all other men.”

“Damn it. Do you think I want to hear about other men?”

“I’ll never get annoyed with you for forgetting my birthday or our anniversary.”

“As if I would. I plug important dates into my digital assistant. Which reminds me, what’s your cell number?”

When she told him, he wrote it down on the hotel notepad by the telephone. He ripped off the page and then scribbled something on the next sheet.

“This is my private cell number…just in case you ever need me for anything.”

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