Nicolo: The Powerful Sicilian

“No. You don’t.” He reached out, tucked a strand of gold behind her ear. “But I wasn’t talking about your driving.” He cupped her face in his hands, lifted it to his. “I’m talking about that kiss.”

Even in the moonlight, he could see the delicate rise of color in her face.

“I do not wish to discuss it.”

No. Why would she? She didn’t like what he was. He didn’t like what she was. It was not an auspicious start for anything, not even a business deal.

And she was right. He didn’t want to discuss it, either. Instead, he drew her into his arms, kissed her more and more deeply until she was clinging to him.

Then he let go of her, turned his back and walked away.

CHAPTER FIVE

NICK was an early riser.

You had to be, in the Marine Corps, and the habit stuck even after he’d returned to civilian life, though by now it was more a preference than a habit. There was something restful about early morning silence, especially in Manhattan; a run through Central Park before it was flooded with tourists, before the surrounding streets were jammed with traffic…

Unless, of course, there was a woman in his bed.

Wake-up sex was one of life’s absolute pleasures.

But there was no woman in his bed today, no Central Park just across the street. What he woke to were thoughts of a woman and, dammit, those thoughts had kept him awake half the night.

Who was Alessia Antoninni? Maybe the better question was, what was she? A princess—hell, an Ice Princess. And why should it matter? He didn’t like her, he resented the class system to which she belonged and there was no doubt that she felt exactly the same way about him. Heaven knew he didn’t have to love a woman to want her—if such a thing as love even existed—but he sure as hell had to like her.

The situation didn’t make sense—and as dawn painted the sky with streaks of crimson and pink, Nick gave up all pretence at sleep, flung back the covers, tugged on an old corps T-shirt, shorts and sneakers, made his way down the balcony steps and took off on a run he badly needed.

Five miles. Seven. Eight. He had no idea how far he went, only that he couldn’t find a way to get all his questions about the Ice Princess out of his head even as sweat blurred his vision and his lungs began to labor.

The sun was climbing the sky by the time he returned to the villa. He ran inside, up the staircase and to his suite, went straight to the bathroom, turned on the water in the sink and scooped some into his hands.

The good news was that the water was wet. The bad was that it was warm. What he wanted was a long, cool drink. Surely there’d be bottled water in the kitchen.

It was definitely worth a try.

Nick blotted his face and shoulders with a towel, draped it around his neck, shoved his dark hair back from his forehead, then opened the door that led to the hall.

The place was still quiet.

Okay, then.

He went down the stairs and headed toward the rear of the house, where he guessed the kitchen would be.

Excellent.

There wasn’t anyone in sight, not a cook or a maid or the butler. The big room was empty….

Except, it wasn’t.

Alessia was there, standing in front of the open refrigerator, head tilted back as she drank from a bottle of water.

The sight startled him. He came to a fast stop and the sole of one sneaker caught on the tile floor. The resultant squeak was as shrill as the cry of a nighthawk.

She spun toward him. The bottle slipped in her hand; she caught it but not before some of the water had splashed down her chin, her throat and onto her cotton tank top. Nick watched the water darken the fabric over one breast.

His belly knotted. Stupid, he thought, to react to the sight of a wet tank top.

“What are you doing here?”