Italian Bachelors: Steamy Seductions

CHAPTER SEVEN

A RELUCTANT SMILE tugged at the corners of Dante’s beautifully shaped mouth. ‘But why not?’

Topsy sighed. ‘When I was eighteen I made a list of exactly what I wanted from a man. I watched my sisters get involved with unsuitable men and getting hurt and I swore it would never happen to me.’

‘What’s on the list?’ Dante prompted, silkily confident. ‘I love a challenge.’

‘Can you cook?’ Topsy studied his face and the bemused frown forming there before sighing. ‘I can’t cook, so I decided I needed a guy who could.’

‘I can provide a chef,’ Dante pointed out with deadly seriousness. ‘And obviously I can microwave stuff but I usually eat out when I’m working.’

‘You can’t beat the list, Dante. You just don’t match. You’re not modest or romantic or caring.’

‘But I’m also not asking you to marry me,’ Dante declared with staggering candour. ‘And by the sound of it, your list was drawn up to road test a potential life partner.’

Topsy tilted her head to one side, long black waves sliding over one bare shoulder, dark eyes reflective because she had never thought of that angle before. ‘You’re right. You don’t need to be Mr Perfect.’

‘You choose me to have a good time in and out of bed, gioia mia,’ Dante proposed silkily.

‘No, you’re definitely not modest,’ Topsy commented with a helpless little laugh as she studied his face, marvelling that just looking at that precise arrangement of features could give her such an extraordinary thrill.

‘Modest types lose boardroom battles,’ Dante confided with immense assurance and leant forward to bridge the gap between them. ‘And they probably lie about their performance in the bedroom.’

‘How do I know you’re not lying?’ Topsy asked breathlessly because he was so close now a faint hint of citrusy cologne was tugging at her nostrils, instilling a powerful recollection of what it felt like when she was in his arms with his mouth on hers. An ache stirred deep down inside her and her tummy flipped.

‘I aim to prove it.’ Knotting one bronzed hand into the hair falling down her back, he eased her closer and sealed his sensual mouth to hers. It was like dying and being reborn in a burst of fireworks and celebration. Her awareness of her body shot from zero to overload in the space of seconds, every part of her reacting to the heat he generated.

Smouldering green eyes scanned her flushed face in the aftermath. ‘Together we burn, gioia mia,’ Dante savoured. Long fingers smoothed up over her taut ribcage to caress the swell of a rounded breast, ensuring that her breath shortened in her throat.

He reached for the hem of her dress and began to lift it and she literally froze at the threat of being naked in broad daylight. Suddenly she wanted lights she could switch off, a bed she could huddle in beneath a sheet.

‘Che cosa hai? What’s wrong?’ he asked.

‘Nothing’s wrong!’ Her throat convulsed on the denial as she struggled to get her nerves under control again. A certain amount of clothing had to come off, there was no getting round that requirement, she told herself. She closed her eyes, reached down to close her hands into her dress and tugged it up and off in one determined movement. It made her feel much better than the alternative of sitting there like a doll for him to undress; it made her feel that she was taking control. She glanced at him from below the rumpled mane of her hair, dark eyes provocative, her brain refusing to dwell on the reality that she was stripped down to a lacy bra and knickers.

‘Time to take your shirt off,’ Topsy told him instead.

His stunning eyes gleamed with amusement and he unbuttoned his shirt and shed it. The corrugated slab of his flat abdomen as he stretched took her breath away. He was beautifully built, hard muscles rippling below bronzed skin with his every movement. Her mouth ran dry as he unzipped his jeans and peeled them down with fluid ease, revealing black boxers that clung to narrow hips and a lean waist. She noticed, could not have avoided noticing, the bulge of his straining erection in the boxers and something clenched low inside her and she hurriedly glanced away, a more primal dart of apprehension infiltrating her. She was wondering if the first time would hurt and was realistic enough to assume that there would at least be some discomfort, but there was nothing she could do to avoid that rite of passage. Of course she could tell him she was a virgin but was afraid he would think she was some kind of freak to have stayed untouched until her age and the prospect of that made her cringe.

‘Come here,’ he husked, all warm tanned flesh and assurance, finding her mouth again, toying with her lips, stroking them apart, thrusting, in truth unleashing a repertoire of moves that disconcerted her because just kissing had never been so good before. Pulsing energy consumed her and she pushed against him, falling into those kisses and the delving of his tongue with shivering enthusiasm, marvelling that the feverish heat in her pelvis could be awakened by even that small intimacy.

‘You have the most glorious breasts,’ Dante murmured hungrily, moulding the high round globes with appreciative hands, tracing the tightly beaded tips and suckling the pointed peaks into the hot velvet of his mouth, parting her lips on a gasp and sending tiny arrows of need spearing continuously to her core. Almost as if she had spoken, when the hot, tight feeling between her thighs became unbearable, he tugged off her knickers and touched her where she most needed to be touched.

Her awareness of what was happening took a severe hit at that point as her hips squirmed and sensation overwhelmed every other response. His thumb circled her clitoris and a fingertip traced the sweet swollen tightness of her most private place. Her hips shifted and lifted, a whimper of sound torn from her as he explored. She could feel the wet readiness of her own body and the straining eagerness to reach a climax.

Dante shimmied down the length of her and used his mouth to tease her. Shock at the incredible intimacy of it rippled through her but the tide of pleasure he evoked was too great to withstand. The flick of his tongue across that tiny bundle of nerve endings made her cry out, excitement gathering that was out of her control. He drove her into a frenzy of need, her back arching, her body screaming for satisfaction by tightening and tightening until the wicked pleasure triumphed and an explosion of sensation overwhelmed her body as she reached the highest peak. In the aftermath her body crested down the slope of arousal on tiny aftershocks of earth-shattering delight.

She heard the crackle of foil, knew he was donning a condom and breathed in deep and slow, too shaken by what she had already experienced to feel her earlier apprehension. He rose high over her, pushing her legs over his shoulders and her eyes widened at the sensation of pressure as he pushed the broad thick head of his shaft into her tender flesh.

‘You’re very tight, cara mia,’ he groaned. ‘I’ll stay in control, go slow.’

Topsy could feel herself being stretched, her inner muscles protesting his invasion and she shut her eyes and struggled to relax.

‘You feel miraculous,’ he breathed as he eased into her.

In the same moment as he pushed a little deeper she felt a burning sensation and then a sharp pain and she cried out, eyes flying wide, surprise and dismay etched there.

Dante froze. ‘I hurt you?’ She could see his shrewd green eyes deducing certain things she would have preferred him not to know.

‘It’s all right now...it’s been a while,’ she muttered dismissively, her face red and hot as fire.

Dante shifted his lean hips, sank slowly deeper and then withdrew and repeated the manoeuvre. A ripple of excitement gathered in her pelvis as her body clenched around him and he thrust deep with an appreciative groan. The delirious dark pleasure was engulfing her again by degrees, tightening her muscles, making her heart race, filling her with a flood of hunger. He slammed into her harder and faster, the all-consuming urgency of their entwined bodies enthralling her as another climax slowly, steadily began to build. The extremity of that orgasm when it came made her thrash and buck and cry out.

Afterwards, Topsy thought she would never move again because her body was in a blissful state of exhaustion. Dante dropped a kiss on the bridge of her nose and levered off her, releasing her from his weight.

‘Che diavolo! You’re bleeding!’ he exclaimed.

And there and then she almost died of mortification, startled eyes flying wide on his shocked expression as she sat up and saw the smudge of blood on her thigh. She burned red from head to toe and folded her arms round her knees. ‘It’s nothing to worry about.’

‘You were a virgin,’ Dante breathed in audible disbelief, reprogramming his every former assumption about her.

‘We don’t need to do a post-mortem on it,’ Topsy fielded.

‘You should have told me!’ Dante censured. ‘I could have made more of an occasion out of it. If I’d known I wouldn’t have taken you on a picnic rug in the woods.’

Embarrassed though she was, that had Topsy turning wondering eyes on him. ‘You don’t find it a turn-off?’

‘I think it’s the biggest turn-on I’ve ever had,’ Dante told her, his keen gaze studying her with fascination. ‘To know that at its most basic no other man has done what I’ve just done with you is extraordinarily exciting, gioia mia.’

In relief she leant forward and kissed him. He nibbled at her lower lip and then kissed her long and hard and before very long all talk ceased and they were making love again.

* * *

Topsy surfaced from a long much-needed nap to find that the sun was going down and she glanced at her watch in consternation. Dante was already dressed and the picnic packed away. ‘You should have wakened me,’ she complained.

‘You must’ve needed the rest.’

Shy of him now, she flipped off the edge of the rug he must have tossed over her while she slept and concentrated on retrieving her clothing and getting into it fast. She felt downright astonished by what had transpired between them and the raw passion that had engulfed them had rewritten all that she thought she knew about herself. She hadn’t known she had such a capacity for passion, indeed had often assumed she was more than a little cold in that department, for never before had she found it impossible to resist temptation. And Dante was the very essence of temptation on her terms. With him she was weak, she acknowledged. But was that necessarily a bad thing?

It was a fling, a little holiday fling, nothing more serious. Neither of them was looking for or expecting anything more and on that basis they were a good match. As he had pointed out, he wasn’t auditioning as potential husband material. And yet as she glanced at him when they reached the car again and he smiled, a feeling like trapped sunshine expanded inside her chest, making it feel tight. It was an infatuation, she told herself, responses heightened by the heat of the Italian sun and the taste of freedom she was enjoying. She was young and full of hormones, finally exploring a side of herself that had been on a leash for too long. What she was experiencing was normal, she reasoned frantically, not something she needed to worry about.

‘You’ve gone so quiet. I’m used to you chattering,’ Dante confided, shooting the car to a halt by the garages.

‘I’m making a mental list of all the things I have to check before the ball next week.’ Topsy hesitated and then forced herself to continue, ‘Don’t say anything about—’

‘Of course I won’t.’

Topsy’s tension level dropped a little. ‘If your mother or Vittore knew or guessed, it could make for an uncomfortable atmosphere,’ she warned him.

She scrambled out of the car in haste, desperate to have a shower and relocate her poise. At that moment she was as awkward as a clumsy teenager around him and it galled her.

‘Topsy...’ His voice halted her as she sped across the courtyard towards the servants’ entrance at the back of the castle.

Reluctantly, she turned, amber eyes welding to his lean, darkly handsome face and the sardonic expression he wore. ‘Yes?’

‘I have work to do as well. I’ll see you later,’ he told her smoothly.

Topsy fled, heart beating as fast as if she were sprinting. He could set her alight with one look, one word, even the rich accented timbre of his beautiful voice. It was as if she had succumbed to the worst possible addiction and the strength of it frightened her.

* * *

Dante walked into his study, a dark frown pleating his ebony brows. Topsy was always surprising him. Once he had realised just how inexperienced she was, he had feared she might be a little clingy—and he hated clingy women like poison—but she had taken off like a bat out of hell without even trying to instigate the expected fact-finding dialogue about where they were going and what they were doing. Her restraint had disconcerted him.

It was an affair, no big deal, he reflected impatiently, but the circumstances were not what he would’ve chosen. She was his mother’s employee and, just as he had always ensured that his relationship with his staff at the bank remained strictly above board, he would not have chosen to become intimately involved with anyone working for his family. But then that was before he met Topsy and before he enjoyed a session of amazingly vibrant and satisfying sex that had only left him craving more. There was always an exception to the rule and he could not remember when he had last craved more of a woman so soon after having her.

In retrospect he could barely believe that he had cherished such sordid suspicions of her relationship with his stepfather and with Mikhail Kusnirovich. He was more taken aback by the acknowledgement that he had become so cynical about women that he had automatically distrusted the evidence of his own eyes and had decided, on no very strong evidence, that Topsy was a promiscuous little schemer up to no good. Well, she certainly wasn’t promiscuous.

* * *

Topsy stood in the shower reliving his every touch and, with a frustrated groan, leant back against the cold tiled wall, angry with herself for being so susceptible. Where was her brain when she needed it? It was a physical infatuation, nothing more threatening and it would run its course soon enough.

Dante didn’t join them for dinner and she was guiltily relieved when she heard that he was dining with his old friend, Marco, one of the local doctors, but she was also a tad irritated that he hadn’t thought to tell her that he was going out. So, now was she trying to attach strings to him? He didn’t belong to her; she didn’t belong to him. Their lovemaking in the woods might never be repeated, she conceded, because it was perfectly possible that he might have decided that their intimacy was a bad idea.

On that thought her heart sank as if a giant stone had been attached to it and to give her thoughts a new direction she rang Kat and listened to her beloved sister burbling happily about what a wonderful surprise her latest pregnancy had proved. Kat rang off when Mikhail walked through the door of their London home. That was true love, Topsy reflected wryly, that desperate longing to reconnect after a parting, no matter how brief.

She was lying in bed around midnight reading an absorbing research paper on non-equilibrium dynamics and random matrices when her door opened, breaking her concentration. Closing the door, Dante strode towards her, his tall well-built physique bare but for a towel rather negligently looped round his lean hips. The very sight of him shook her up, her tummy flipping at the explosive effect of him in the flesh. He looked absolutely gorgeous. Her mouth opened but no sound came out.

‘I warned you that I didn’t do one-night stands,’ he quipped, dropping the towel without an ounce of self-consciousness and sliding into bed beside her. He glanced at the article and raised a brow. ‘Light reading?’

‘One of my favourite fields,’ she admitted.

‘A doctorate in advanced maths,’ Dante recounted. ‘You could have an incredible career in a bank.’

‘I’m not particularly interested in quantitative finance or statistics,’ Topsy told him, settling back against the pillows and striving to seem relaxed even though every nerve ending was jumping at his arrival. ‘I think I’d like to go into theoretical research. I want to take my time about choosing where I work.’

Dante pressed his sensual mouth against the remarkably sensitive slope between her neck and shoulder and she shivered violently. ‘You can’t,’ she told him baldly.

Luxuriant black lashes lifted enquiringly on emerald-green eyes and her heart lurched.

Topsy turned to face him, her cheeks hot as fire. ‘I can’t...I’m...um...sore,’ she confessed grudgingly. ‘Seems there is a drawback to being a virgin. I’m off the menu for now.’

‘I shouldn’t have been so very greedy this afternoon, gioia mia.’ Dante sighed.

Topsy rubbed her cheek over a broad bare shoulder smooth as golden satin, a small hand travelling across his pectoral muscles and wandering south, feeling whipcord muscles flex and tense every step of the way. ‘That doesn’t mean we can’t do other things,’ she told him with a hunger she couldn’t hide, couldn’t suppress, and simply couldn’t deny.

He expelled his breath when she found him hot, hard and ready for her attentions. She loved touching him, literally could not bear to take her hands from him while she watched him respond to her every tentative caress, his inky lashes dropping lower over smouldering, wildly appreciative eyes.

‘I might be a bit clumsy at this,’ she warned him in advance.

‘I’m all yours,’ Dante breathed hoarsely, fingers gliding slowly through the silken fall of her hair where it lay across his thigh. ‘Experiment all you like...’

And she did, revelling in the reactions he couldn’t hide, triumphant only when he finally let go of his iron-clad self-control and shuddered and groaned his pleasure. Yet inexplicably it felt even better when afterwards he wrapped his arms round her and, even though he put out too much heat for comfort and took up too much room in her bed, she resisted the idea of waking him and sending him back to his own bedroom and could not understand why she wasn’t being more sensible.

* * *

Over the breakfast table the next morning she studied his bold bronzed profile, remembering how she had made him feel, how he had made her feel, wondering when the infatuation would start to burn out and let her return to normal. She didn’t like the out-of-control sensation he gave her. She liked to know exactly where she was going and what she was doing at all times.

After breakfast, Dante drove Topsy to a coffee morning for his mother’s favourite charity, which was being held in a local town. It had been Sofia Leonetti’s repeated experience of miscarriage that had first persuaded her to set up a local support group for fellow sufferers and the organisation had eventually become a charity. Topsy left Dante being fussed over by several middle-aged women and plied with coffee and cakes while she sped off to deliver the short speech Sofia had written for her. The older woman had already personally informed the committee members that she was standing down as chairwoman with immediate effect but Topsy gathered that Dante hadn’t known because he studied her with frowning eyes when she referred to his mother’s resignation.

‘So, when are you planning to tell me what’s really going on with my mother?’ Dante enquired, tucking her back into his car.

Topsy directed a strained glance at him. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Don’t play games with me,’ Dante advised impatiently. ‘My mother’s not herself. Stepping down from the charity she struggled to build up is not normal behaviour for her. There’s something badly wrong.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Topsy said woodenly, knowing it was not her place to reveal what Sofia preferred to keep secret while hoping that the older woman would decide to come clean soon.

‘You’re a lousy liar. I have sufficient respect for Vittore to assume that he wouldn’t be walking around whistling if my mother were seriously ill,’ Dante told her, strong jaw line hardening. ‘For that reason alone I’ve kept quiet but I expect more from you.’

Topsy paled at that unexpected admission. ‘Vittore and Sofia have private affairs about which I know nothing,’ she pointed out uncomfortably.

‘But you’re remarkably cosy with them both. Don’t think I haven’t noticed that fact, gioia mia. And you may work for my mother but I expect your first loyalty to be to me.’

Topsy turned stunned eyes to his lean, hard-boned face. ‘You can’t be serious.’

Dante examined his expectations and realised to his surprise that he was deadly serious. His mother might pay her salary but Dante demanded one hundred per cent loyalty from Topsy when it came to anything that he considered to be important to him. He expected to be put first, he acknowledged, possibly he even took it for granted because women had always been so eager to please him, but he saw nothing wrong with his outlook.

‘You’re not being fair.’

‘And you’re not being honest or realistic,’ Dante condemned without hesitation. ‘Reverse our positions and ask yourself how you would feel if I was lying to you about your family. You know more than you’re willing to admit.’

‘We’re having our first row,’ Topsy commented stiffly.

‘No, we’re not,’ Dante parried, skimming a forefinger down over her thigh in a teasing gesture. As he smoothly demonstrated his complete sexual power over her, a chill of apprehension assailed Topsy because he made her feel vulnerable. ‘When I lose my temper you’ll know about it.’

CHAPTER EIGHT

THE FOLLOWING EVENING, Dante gave Topsy a wonderful surprise by keeping his promise to arrange a tour of the Uffizi art gallery for her. He had secured tickets for a private viewing. Sofia surveyed Topsy’s glowing face, her mouth tightening as her gaze briefly skimmed to her son’s nonchalant expression. ‘It’ll be a very dressy occasion, Topsy. Those champagne viewings always are.’

Having piled her hair up on top of her head, Topsy dug a sleek black cocktail frock from her wardrobe and clasped her diamond necklace round her throat. Feet encased in fashionable and perilously high heels, she walked downstairs to join Dante.