Nicolo: The Powerful Sicilian

He was wonderful. And sophisticated. And very much at ease in this sophisticated setting.

The women in the room couldn’t take their eyes off him, and who could blame them? He was, without question, gorgeous. He’d have laughed at the word but it was accurate. The men hung on his every word. The mayor, the art dealer and another man, a wealthy eccentric, discreetly handed him their business cards.

He was charming to them all but she knew who really held his attention.

She did.

And when all these people finally left, when she and Nicolo would, at last, be alone…

The coffee cup shook in Alessia’s hand. Carefully, she set it on the table.

She thought of what he had done all evening. How he had touched her. How his caresses had excited her.

She thought of how it would be, when everyone was gone and there was nothing to keep him from touching her more intimately, nothing to keep her from parting her legs, giving him deeper access to her body…

Dio.

Her pulse was thundering. She was wet and hot and she thought how readily she could give him that access now. She had only to place her hand under the table linen, place her fingers over his. Ease her thighs apart, guide his hand up and up and—

A little sound burst from her throat. Conversation stopped and she realized, to her horror, that every eye in the room was on her.

She told herself to say something. Anything. Her mind was blank. In desperation, she looked at Nicolo and saw that he knew what was happening to her.

Triumph blazed in his eyes.

Then, slowly, he moved his hand from her leg, made a fist of it and brought it to his mouth, smothering a polite but audible yawn. It was a good approximation of the sound she had made and everyone looked from her to him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, with a charming smile. “Mi dispiace. I assure you, it isn’t the company. This has been a wonderful evening. It’s just that I’ve been on the go ever since early yesterday morning.”

Everyone murmured their agreement. The guests tossed their napkins onto plates. Pushed back their chairs. Said buona sera and arrivederci, good-night and goodbye, and said it had been a delightful evening.

Nicolo politely helped her to her feet, held her elbow as they both accompanied everyone to the door. Car doors slammed. Headlights came on. A procession of elegant cars crawled down the long driveway.

And Alessia stood in the open front doorway, Nicolo beside her, smiling and waving as if she were simply a polite hostess seeing her guests off when, in truth, she was facing a moment of stark reality.

She and Nicolo were alone.

It was what she had longed for.

Now, it was what she feared.

The game they’d been playing had suddenly taken on a new dimension.

And it scared the hell out of her.

She didn’t fear him. Never that. What she feared was herself. If he was not quite the man she’d thought, she was most certainly not the woman he thought, either.

Her behavior this afternoon, then this evening, surely would make him assume she was experienced in the ways of sex. Sophisticated. Worldly. A woman who was accustomed to pleasuring a man and being pleasured by him in return.

Nothing could have been further from the truth.

All of this was new to her. Everything she’d done, everything she’d initiated and responded to… She had never done anything even remotely like this before.

No, she wasn’t a virgin. She was a modern woman. But what she knew about sex compared to what Nicolo must think she knew…

It was laughable.

She’d slept with a boy at school. He’d been as naive as she and, after a couple of weeks, they’d drifted back to being friends instead of lovers. Then, three years ago, there’d been an older man. A graphics artist. That had lasted all of a tepid month before he’d admitted he’d finally realized he preferred men.