The Italian's Christmas Secret

‘And how does this qualify as being...oh!’ Her words faded away as he slid his hand between her legs, brushing over the soft fuzz of hair to find the molten heat beneath.

‘You were saying?’ he breathed as he dampened his finger in the soft, wet folds before starting to stroke the little bud which was already so tight.

He heard her give a shaky swallow. ‘Matteo, this is...is...’

He knew exactly what it was. It was arousing her to a state where she was going to come any second, and while it was turning him on to discover how cl

ose to the edge she was—it was also making his own frustration threaten to implode. With a necessary care which defied his hungry impatience, he eased the zip of his jeans down over his straining hardness—breathing a sigh of relief as his massive erection sprang free. The denim concertinaed around his ankles but he didn’t care. He knew propriety dictated he should take them off, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t wait, not a second longer.

Impatiently he pushed her back against his desk, shoving aside his computer and paperwork with uncharacteristic haste. And the moment the moist tip of his penis touched her, she seemed to go wild, clawing eagerly at his back—and it took more concentration than he’d ever needed to force himself to pull back. Through the distracting fog of desire, he recalled the condom concealed in a drawer of his desk and by the time it was in place he felt as excited as a teenage boy as his hungry gaze skated over her.

Like a sacrifice she lay on the desk, her arms stretched indolently above her head as he leaned over to make that first thrust deep inside her. And this time there was no pain or hesitation. This time there was nothing but a gasped cry of pleasure as he filled her. Greedily, he sank even deeper and then he rode her—and even the crash of something falling from the desk wasn’t enough to put him off his stroke. Or maybe it was just another crash of thunder from the storm outside. Who cared? He rode her until she came, her frantic convulsions starting only fractionally before his own, so that they moved in perfect time before his ragged groan heralded the end and he slumped on top of her, her hands clasped around the sweat-sheened skin of his back.

He didn’t say anything at first, unwilling to shatter the unfamiliar peace he felt as he listened to the quietening of his heart. He felt spent. As if she had milked him dry. As if he could have fallen asleep right there, despite the hardness of the wooden surface. He forced himself to open his eyes and to take stock of their surroundings. Imagine if they were discovered here in the morning by one of the cleaners, or by Paola—already surprised that, not only had he brought a woman here, but he had a baby son.

A son he had barely seen.

Guilt formed itself into an icy-cold knot deep in his chest and was enough to dissolve his lethargy. Untwining himself from Keira’s arms, he moved away from the desk, bending to pull up his jeans and zip them. Only then did he stare down at her, where she lay with her eyes closed amid the debris of his wrecked desk. Her cotton nightshirt was rucked right up to expose her beautiful breasts and her legs were bent with careless abandon. The enticing gleam between her open thighs was making him grow hard again but he fought the feeling—telling himself he needed to start taking control. He would learn about his son in time—he would—but for now his primary purpose was to ensure that Santino remained a part of his life, and for that to happen he needed Keira onside.

So couldn’t their powerful sexual chemistry work in his favour—as effective a bargaining tool as his vast wealth? Couldn’t he tantalise her with a taste of what could be hers, if only she was prepared to be reasonable? Because Keira Ryan was unpredictable. She was proud and stubborn, despite the fact that she’d been depending on other people’s charity for most of her life, and he was by no means certain that she would accede to his wishes. So maybe it was time to remind her just who was calling the shots. He bent and lifted her into his arms, cradling her against his chest as her eyelashes fluttered open.

‘What are you doing?’ she questioned drowsily.

‘Taking you back to bed.’

She yawned. ‘Can’t we just stay here?’

He gave an emphatic shake of his head. ‘No.’

Keira closed her eyes again, wanting to capture this feeling for ever—a feeling which went much deeper than sexual satisfaction, incredible though that side of it had been. She had felt so close to Matteo when he’d been deep inside her. Scarily close—almost as if they were two parts of the same person. Had he felt that, too? Her heart gave a little leap of hope. Couldn’t they somehow make this work despite everything which had happened? Couldn’t they?

Resting her head against his warm chest, she let him carry her through the house to her own room, not pausing until he had pulled back the duvet and deposited her in the centre of the soft bed. Only then did her eyelids flutter open, her heart missing a beat as she took in his gleaming torso and powerful thighs. She stared up at him hopefully. Was he going to lose the jeans and climb in beside her, so she could snuggle up against him as she so desperately wanted to do and stroke her fingers through the ruffled beauty of his black hair?

She watched as his gaze swept over her, the hectic glitter of hunger in their ebony depths unmistakable. And she waited, because surely it should be him asking her permission to stay? She didn’t know very much about bedroom etiquette, but instinct told her that. She recognised that she’d been a bit of a pushover back there, and it was time to show the Italian tycoon that he might need to work a little harder this time.

‘So?’ She looked at him with what she hoped was a welcoming smile.

‘That’s better. You don’t smile nearly enough.’ His finger traced the edges of her lips as he leaned over her. ‘All the bad temper of this afternoon banished in the most pleasurable way possible.’ He stroked an exploratory finger over the tightening nipple beneath her nightshirt. ‘Was that what you needed all along, Keira?’

It took a few moments for his meaning to sink in and when it did, Keira could hardly believe her ears. A powerful wave of hurt crashed over her. Was that all it had been? Had he made love to her as a way of soothing her ruffled emotions and making her more amenable? As if he were some kind of human sedative? She wanted to bite down hard on her clenched fist. To demand how someone so cold-blooded could possibly live with himself. But she forced herself to remain silent because only that way could she cling onto what was left of her battered pride. Why give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d hurt her? If he was going to act so carelessly, then so would she. And why be so surprised by his callous behaviour when he hadn’t shown one fraction of concern for his baby son. Matteo Valenti was nothing but a manipulative and cold-blooded bastard, she reminded herself.

Hauling the duvet up to her chin, she closed her eyes. ‘I’m tired, Matteo,’ she said. ‘Would you mind turning off the light as you go?’

And then, deliberately manufacturing a loud yawn, she turned her back on him.

CHAPTER EIGHT

KEIRA DIDN’T SAY a word to Matteo next morning, not until they were halfway to Rome and his powerful car had covered many miles. The fierce storm had cleared the air and the day had dawned with a sky of clear, bright blue—but the atmosphere inside the car was heavy and fraught with tension. She was still feeling the painful tug of saying goodbye to Santino, though he’d been happily cradled in Claudia’s arms when the dreaded moment had arrived. But as well as the prospect of missing her baby, Keira was still smarting from what had happened the night before.

She’d woken up with a start soon after dawn, wondering why her body felt so...

Slowly she had registered her lazy lethargy and the sweet aching between her legs.

So...used.

Yes, used, that was it. Used. Vivid images had flashed through her mind as she remembered what had happened while the storm raged outside. Matteo unzipping his jeans and pushing her onto his desk. Matteo rucking up her nightdress before thrusting into her and making her cry out with pleasure. It had hardly been the stuff of fairy tales, had it? So why not concentrate on the reality, rather than the dumb romantic version she’d talked herself into when she was lying quivering beneath his sweat-sheened body?

He had cold-bloodedly seduced her after days of acting as if she didn’t exist. He had invited her to witness the storm from the best vantage point in the house and, although it had been the corniest request in the world, she had agreed. Trotting behind him like some kind of puppy dog, she’d had sex with him. Again. Keira closed her eyes in horror as she remembered the way she’d clawed at his bare back like some kind of wildcat. Did her inexperience explain the fierce hunger which had consumed her and made her unable to resist his advances? Or was it just that Matteo Valenti only had to touch her for her to come apart in his arms?