A Sicilian Seduction

‘Loosely translated?’ he asked. ‘Beauty is not for the one who is beautiful, but is beauty for the one who it pleases,’ he huskily supplied.

She blushed; he smiled and caught her hand. ‘You could reply here that I am good to look upon also,’ he teasingly suggested.

But she shook her head. ‘I’m not even going to try and compete with an Italian male speaking his own language,’ she refused, then she smiled too, ruefully. ‘You could have been telling me about the weather,’ she confessed. ‘It would still probably sound just as—sensual,’ was the only word she could come up with.

The way his fingers moved around hers told her he’d liked her choice of word. ‘Let me assure you, then,’ he said, turning them towards the exit. ‘No Italian male worth his salt would talk about the weather to a beautiful woman. It would be seen as a crime, believe me…’

Oh, she believed him all right. Didn’t they say that the Italian male came out of the womb knowing the art of seduction?

‘Where are we going?’ She changed the subject. And tried not to notice how his body was brushing lightly against her own or inhale the same clean scent that had been tormenting her all day.

‘Somewhere we will not be hovered over by an anxious compatriot,’ he said with a dry clip to his tone as he pulled open one of the plate-glass doors and politely stepped back so that she could precede him through it.

He didn’t relinquish her hand though. ‘He was nice,’ she defended the proprietor of yesterday’s lunch. ‘And the food was nice too.’

‘I prefer to give my full attention to the woman I am with,’ he replied, walking her across the pavement to where his car sat squatting on double yellow lines.

He opened the door, saw her inside and settled before walking around the long, low bonnet of the car to the driver’s side. And through it all, Natalia was acutely aware that the ordinary conversation and the polite way they were treating each other were all just a front to cover up what was really happening here.

Giancarlo settled himself in the seat next to her, and she couldn’t resist watching him as he did what was necessary to set them in motion. The suit was black, silk sheened and so obviously stylish that she didn’t doubt for a second that it had begun life in the gifted hands of some famous Italian designer. In profile his face was even more attractive than it was full on—which surprised her when she thought about his less than perfect nose.

He turned his head, caught the intent way she was looking at him. ‘What?’ he asked curiously.

‘Why didn’t you come up?’ The question came out as a low and husky quaver.

His eyes grew dark. ‘You know why,’ he replied. ‘For the same reason I did not allow myself to do this, in the foyer.’ Then he leaned across and kissed her.

It was the most beautiful moment she had ever experienced with him, nothing forced, no fighting—with herself or him—but a kiss conveying a promise she knew she would not attempt to resist when the moment finally came to her.

Their tongues touched, just once, then he was drawing away again, his eyes warm on hers as he brought up his hand and gently rubbed his thumb pad over her still parted, slightly pulsing lips, once, twice, three times, then he kissed her again.

‘I prefer the taste of you to your lipstick,’ he murmured when he drew away a second time.

After that she sat there while he drove, quietly coming to terms with the knowledge that something had just changed between them. She didn’t know what it was, she only knew that she liked it.

He parked the car in a side street not far from his apartment, then took her in through a discreet door that led down into a basement club with low lighting and the kind of rhythmic blues music that kept pace with the throb of her pulse. They were shown to a table over in a corner with barely no more light than the candle in its centre where they ate seafood pasta from a plate they shared together, followed by chicken in a creamy sauce made in heaven.

And they talked, softly—carefully at first until they learned to relax with each other a little, their faces shrouded by a darkness lit only by the candlelight but no less alluring, because the mood was like that. Maybe the wine he insisted she have helped, even though he thoughtfully diluted it with sparkling water.

‘I’m driving.’ He smiled when she showed surprise to see him watering down his wine too…

But they both knew there was much more to it than that. He wanted her fully conscious and aware of everything they did tonight. He wanted no misunderstandings as to why she was going to allow him to make love to her. It was too essential to his plan that she came to him openly and willingly to place it in jeopardy by plying her with alcohol she had already admitted she didn’t have a head for.

Then—hell, he thought. It was essential to him that she came to him clear-headed and knowingly!

‘Let’s dance,’ he said on impulse, drawing her to her feet before she could argue.

He wanted to feel her close, run his hands over her body. He wanted to hold her into the cradle of his hips while they danced to something slow and easy, feel her moving against him, and just lose himself in the smoky promise in her eyes.

And he wanted to feel the sweet sting of desire build and build until neither of them could stand it any longer, then relieve the tension in hours of mind-blowing passion that would meld her to him so completely that she would never want him to let go of her again.

So he led her across the room to a tiny dance floor in front of the live blues band supplying the music, turned her into his arms and felt the instant tremor of electricity begin passing from her to him then back again.

It told him enough—for now. On a sigh that conveyed his pleasure in having her close, he used a hand on her waist to bring her against him, then began moving them to the swaying pulse of the music, with the feel of her breath on his throat, and his hands stroking the silk-covered framework of the most desirable wo

man he had ever held in his arms…

What made it all so much more sweetly tortuous was that she loved being this close to him. It was utterly intoxicating—more so than any mere glass of wine when the music seemed to throb to a beat she felt was being generated by the two of them rather than the live band on the podium.