Nicolo: The Powerful Sicilian

CHAPTER TEN

ALESSIA woke to sunlight, the smell of coffee…

And a heart-stopping view of her lover.

Nicolo had just walked out of the en suite bathroom, drops of water crystallizing on his tanned skin. He was toweling his hair. Which left the rest of him naked. Gloriously, unashamedly naked.

Heat swept through her veins. Such a magnificent sight!

Her lover was beautiful. So beautiful. Until now, she had not had the chance to look at him, really look at him, and appreciate the sight. He’d made love to her again and again through the long, wondrous night. The stroke of his hand on her, of his mouth, the feel of him against her…and under her, she remembered with a soft catch of her breath—all of those incredible things were now hers, forever, imprinted in her mind and on her flesh.

But she had not had the chance to see how perfect he was.

Now, she could look her fill. Without embarrassment, because he had no idea she was awake. And, oh, he was a sight to behold. The muscled shoulders and arms. The dark whorl of hair on his chest. The way it arrowed down his flat, hard belly, tapered to his navel, then flared out again as it surrounded that part of him that was flagrantly, unashamedly male.

Alessia was a child of the city of Florence. She had grown up virtually surrounded by magnificent works of art, including Michelangelo’s David. She’d been stunned by the artistry of the great marble sculpture…and, the same as generations of other adolescent girls, amazed by the depiction of all that intimate masculine beauty. Of course, she had stared. What teenager wouldn’t?

Now, for the first time in years, she thought of the statue again.

David had nothing on her Nicolo.

Nothing at all.

The thought was totally unlike her. It made her giggle….

A mistake.

Nicolo took the towel from his head and looked at her. “Just what every man wants,” he said. “Laughter from his woman, first thing in the morning.” His woman. The words filled her with joy but the expression on his face filled her with laughter and she couldn’t help it, she snorted back another giggle.

He raised his eyebrows, draped the towel around his neck—his neck, she noticed, not his hips—and came slowly toward her. “The sight of me without a stitch on is amusing?”

He looked deadly serious. Had she actually offended him?

“No, of course not. It is only that—that I was imagining the statue.”

“What statue?”

“David. You know the one. And I was thinking that you—that you and David—”

“Go on.”

She couldn’t. Oh, she couldn’t. This was embarrassing. It was humiliating. It was—

She gasped as Nicolo flung himself down beside her, grabbed her wrists, hauled them high over her head…and kissed her. She could feel his lips curving against hers.

“Ah-ha,” he said in a mock-growl, “the lady is a student of art.”

“You are laughing at me,” she said, trying to sound stern.

“Not if you tell me who won.”

Dio, now she knew she was blushing! “Who won what?” she said, trying for innocent indignation and knowing she wasn’t succeeding.

“You know exactly what. David and me. Hey, you’re talking to a guy who has two sisters. Anna and Izzy spent a summer touring Europe when they were, I don’t know, maybe fourteen and fifteen. The trip was supposedly all about art.”

“Art is an important part of a young woman’s education,” Alessia said primly.

“Uh-huh.” Nick grinned at the look on his princess’s face. She was doing her best to sound proper. Not an easy thing when laughter glinted in her eyes. “From what they said, or maybe from the way they said it, it took my brothers and me ten seconds to figure out that the highlight of their visit to Florence was that statue.”