‘Green-eyed little witch,’ he muttered, grabbed her by the waist, lifted her off the ground and kissed her—hard.
He needed it. He’d needed to do this for too many damn frustrating days to make the kiss anything but hungry. What he did not expect was for her slender arms to curve around his neck and that she would kiss him back with the same ravenous need.
Yet he should have expected it. Didn’t she always respond like this for him?
He pulled his lips away. ‘We are getting away from here,’ he gritted.
Green pools of gorgeous, sensuous helplessness drowned him. ‘OK,’ was all she said.
Just like that—just like that!
Madre de Dio, if he did not hang on to some control here he was going to carry out his threat and roll her back down on the grass!
He placed her back on her own two feet again. Shoeless feet. He flexed his shoulders as a rush of arousal swept in. ‘Pretty damn kinky,’ he muttered to himself. Then he was grabbing her hand and turning to stride across the grass, hauling his bride behind him.
The closer Freya got to the terrace full of guests the less she wanted to see them. When Enrico bent to pick up her veil from the grass, she wished he would toss it over her burning face. At the steps he stopped to gather up her shoes. By then a kind of sizzling fascination was holding their audience rapt.
Enrico ignored them, every single last one of them—uncles, aunts, employees. Arrogantly he let them part like the waves to allow him access into the country club and Freya kept her head down so she didn’t make eye contact with anyone.
He didn’t stop walking until they had left the club by the front entrance. Rows of limos lined the car park. Enrico headed for the Bentley, dismissed the driver and propelled Freya inside. Her shoes were laid on the floor beside her feet. The gossamer-fine drift of her lace veil arrived on her lap. Enrico eased himself into the driver’s seat, looking so gorgeous and obviously pulsing with testosterone that Freya was held silent and breathless as he started the engine then drove them away from their wedding reception.
Had their guests followed them to witness their departure like this? She didn’t know, did not look back to find out. Sex was in the driving seat when she knew she should not let it be. It filled every nook and cranny inside the luxurious car and inside herself.
‘Where are we going?’ she dared to ask him.
‘Home,’ he said.
Home as in London or Milan?
It was then that she remembered something she should not have forgotten. ‘But what about Nicky? We—’
Tight-lipped, he reached out and flicked on the radio. Heavy rock music suddenly blasted her out.
She knew what he was doing. He was blocking out the reminder because their son did not have a place in what was happening right now.
But Freya was beginning to regroup her senses. She was also replaying what he’d said at the country club. Did he really think that she was going to lie down on a bed somewhere and let him make love to her, while Luca Ranieri still hovered over them like some dark, leering spectre?
Anger began to simmer, because she’d let him get away without explaining that thing he’d said about Luca, which still did not make any sense to her.
They arrived at the Mayfair house. She should have known that home meant the nearest place he owned with a bed. The car engine stopped, so did the rock music.
Instantly she burst into agitated speech. ‘Don’t think I’m going to let you just walk me in there and…’
Enrico got out of the car and shut the door.
Beginning to feel just a bit fevered now, Freya stuffed her feet into her shoes. He already had her door open and was waiting for her to get out of the car. Clutching
her veil, she climbed out onto the pavement and stalked right past him, then had to wait while he used his key to open the front door.
She was about to step inside when he scooped her up into his arms.
‘W-what do you—?’
‘Tradition,’ he gritted, as he strode across the threshold then shouldered the door shut behind him.
‘The tradition thing wore thin ages ago,’ she derided. ‘So you can put me down.’
‘When I now understand why I must carry you?’ he quizzed grimly. ‘This way I maintain the upper hand until I have you exactly where I want you.’