The Heir

“One day that smart mouth of yours is going to earn you a good spanking, Signorina.”

“Is that a promise?” I tease, knowing I’m completely safe.

“Getting cocky, are we?” Dante asks as he reaches out to grab my hand. I evade his hand and start running away from him. Catching me he whirls me around so I am inside the circle of his hands. My palms are on his chest and I can feel his heartbeat.

“I like it when you laugh,” he says softly.

For a second my breath catches at the expression in his eyes, then I remember myself. I cannot let myself be swept up in his professional charm. “Where to now, Mr. Tour Guide?” I croak.

“You will soon see,” Dante says, and leads me back to the Vespa. “All aboard for the last sight!”

“I’m sure it can’t surpass this one.” I climb up behind Dante.

“Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” I say, and then squeal like a schoolgirl when the Vespa lunges forward. “Do you bring all your lovers here?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I never felt like it,” he says simply.

“So why did you bring me?”

“Because I knew you’d enjoy it and I wanted to.”

My belly feels warm. I turn my head to one side and press my cheek against his broad back. I feel like little Kai being taken by the Snow Queen in her sleigh. I feel enchanted.

Feeling the Vespa slow down, I raise my head. We have hit the narrow streets of downtown Rome.

“Oh, wow!” I exclaim as Dante stops the scooter.

“Fontana di Trevi, the largest fountain in Rome!” Dante announces as I climb off.

“It’s golden! How beautiful! And it’s so big!”

“The lights turn it gold at night. It’s beautiful during the day, but at night it is very special. And no tourists!” Dante says sweeping his hands around.

“I love the winged horses.”

“I like the statue of Poseidon most,” Dante remarks.

“Being a macho man, you would.”

I dig into my purse as I walk to the edge of the fountain. “I’ve got to toss a coin in,” I say beaming.

“Be sure to close your eyes and make a wish.”

I lean my upper body over the water, close my eyes, make a wish, and toss the coin into the air. When I hear it make a splash, I open my eyes.

Suddenly, Dante spins me around and presses his lips to mine. It feels as though an electric wire has touched my lips. As his tongue slips into my mouth, I swear I almost faint. He lifts his head and looks into my eyes. I can’t look away. Then his powerful arms catch me as he bends his head and continues kissing me passionately.

I think of the Snow Queen kissing little Kai. Once to numb him from the cold, a second time to make him forget about Gerda and his family. I forget everything with that second kiss. It is the most romantic thing that has ever happened to me, and I know instinctively that as long as I live I’ll never encounter such a kiss again.

Later, I surreptitiously kiss Dante’s back as he drives us back to my house.

He waits for me to get off the scooter, takes my helmet, and buckles it on to the holder.

“Thank you, Dante. The night was enchanting, but especially the fountain.”

And the kiss. God, the kiss.

“I would insist that you come up but I can barely hold my eyes open it’s so late.”

Chapter 15

Dante

I stroke her soft cheek. This woman makes my dick rock hard and my insides melt.

Her lips tremble apart. “I guess you can come in for a quick coffee.”

I smile. In my mind, she is already riding me, her warm pussy milking my cock, sucking every last drop of cum out of me. Her gaze stays locked on mine. I take the key from her fingers and slip it into the lock. Then I stand back and allow her to precede me. Her tight little ass trapped in her white jeans wriggles as she runs up the stairs. I catch her at the top. My cock is aching for her.

“The coffee,” she whispers.

“Fuck the coffee,” I growl.

There is not an ounce of fight in her when I sweep her into my arms and carry her into the bedroom. I lay her on the bed. Street light streams in from the window and falls on her cheek. Fuck, she is so damn beautiful. I’m going to do everything in my power to make her mine.

She stares up at me with wide eyes.

“Slide out of those jeans and show me your pretty cunt, Princess.”

She gets up on her elbows. “Fuck you,” she whispers back.

I grin. She likes it when I talk dirty but she just won’t admit it.

“Go on. Show me what a dirty girl you are.”

She kicks off her pumps and they fall to the floor with a soft thud, then she looks at me, a challenge in her eyes. I’ll tame her, if it’s the last thing I do.

I move my hand to the waistband of her jeans. She does nothing, but as I slide her zip down, her fingers reach out to grab me. I shake my head.

“It’s all mine, bella,” I tell her and her hands fall back to her sides. She watches me with those enormous, angel eyes, as I yank her jeans and panties down her legs and off her feet. I grab her ankles, open her legs, and look down at her wet cunt. I can see her little pussy pulsing with impatience, but I take my time. Slowly, I run my hands up her silky thighs and widen them so her whole pussy is completely exposed to my gaze.

“Fuck, you look so beautiful when you are spread open.”

She inhales sharply, and I watch her thighs quiver with anticipation.

“Next time I ask you to show me your pretty cunt, you spread your legs real quick, because I’m going to see it and fuck it, anyway.”

She wets her lower lips with her tongue. “So quit your talking and get on with it then.”

Fuck, I love it when she’s mad for me, but she tries not to show it. I place my palm on her dripping pussy and rub it gently. Her eyes glaze over and she moans softly. The wet heat from her pussy makes my cock swell to the point of pain.

I dip my finger into her sweet hole, and she groans and pushes up towards it.

I pull out of her.

“Don’t stop,” she begs. “Remember what you did that first night …” she bites her lip. “That’s what I want again.”

Hearing her ask for it makes me feel like a god. Her hands claw into my hair as I slip three fingers into her and suck her off. Her clit throbs in my mouth. Her scream of pleasure is wild and long, and she damn near pulls my hair out. As I unzip my pants I kiss her, forcing my tongue between her lips, so she can taste her own sweet pussy. I let her suck my tongue for a little while longer before I flip her around, and slam into her.

It’s pure heaven.

She is hot and wet and tight as a virgin’s ass. I’ve never fucked anyone else bare and it’s amazing. From the time I was a teenager I knew I couldn’t afford a mistake. An unplanned pregnancy. A disease. But she is just perfect. Perfect.

She raises her hips and bucks back against me, taking me even deeper into her body. She likes it rough and I give it to her rough. I want my cock to be the first thing she thinks of in the morning when she wakes up sore.

“Play with yourself,” I grunt.

Her hand reaches under her body. “Oh fuck,” she groans.

I watch my glistening shaft ram in and out of her until her pussy starts to clench. She comes hard on my cock. Watching her come makes me lose it. I hold her hips in place and empty every last drop of my cum inside her.

My climax lasts and lasts.

“I wish you could stay inside me all night long,” she says softly.

I pull out of her and turn her around. Her eyelids are already half-closed.

“I was going to give you a blowjob,” she whispers. “You like that, remember.”

I shrug. “Nothing could make this night any better anyway. It was perfect.” I lean forw

ard and plant a kiss on her forehead. “Go to bed, Mommy. I’ll come by early tomorrow morning.”

“Goodnight,” she mumbles sleepily.

Chapter 16

Rosa

Something warm and soft touches my lips and moves insistently against them. It feels so delicious as it gently wakes me from my sleep. I moan softly, the heavenly sensation goes away, and I reluctantly open my eyelids. A pair of whiskey eyes gaze down at me.

Sensuous lips curve upwards. Jesus, does the man have to be this sexy so early in the morning?

“You make me feel like the Prince who woke Sleeping Beauty,” he drawls.

If there’s one thing I don’t feel like first thing in the morning, it’s Sleeping Beauty. I rub my eyes. He went home last night. I heard the door close. I stop rubbing my eyes and stare at him. “Dante? How did you get in?”

“Since you haven’t had the good sense to entrust me with a key, I had to ask your landlord, the owner of the pizzeria, to open your door.”

My eyes pop open with surprise. “He did?”

“Of course. This is Italy, the land of passionate lovers. Only a smitten fool would come bearing coffee and cannoli this early in the morning.”

I scowl. “He shouldn’t have done that. You don’t have a key because I don’t want you to have a key. I’m not Italian. I’m English and we value our privacy.”

Dante grins. “Good luck with convincing him.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ll find out when you go have a pizza.”

I think of pizza, all that melted cheese, and suddenly my stomach swirls.

“Now how about some breakfast?” Dante offers cheerfully.

I scrunch my face. “Oh, God. I feel sick. I think it must be morning sickness.”

His eyes widen. “Charming. I bring you your breakfast in bed and you experience your first bout of morning sickness.”

With a groan I push him away and dash toward the toilet. Thank heavens, I make it in time. I lean back against the tiles. Dante comes and crouches next to me.

“This is all your fault,” I grumble.

“I’ll go down the street and get something to make you feel better.”

“Knowing my luck, I’m going to be nauseated for the rest of my pregnancy. Just see yourself out and leave me to my misery.” I close my eyes.

He stands. “Be right back.”

I make it to the bed feeling horrible. I lie back on the pillows and close my eyes. The sensation of wanting to throw up doesn’t go away. I don’t even open my eyes when I hear Dante running up the steps, and feel my bed depress with his weight.

“Sit up and take a bite,” Dante says.

I reluctantly open my eyes. Of course, he looks as fresh as a daisy. “What is it?”

He grins. “It’s a magic potion.”

“Uh huh, your magic potion looks a lot like stale biscuits.” I observe as I take one from him and nibble at it. “Yuck, it tastes as old as Rome.”

“Magic potions have to be old,” Dante replies sagely. I can see he is making a great effort to keep from laughing. “Soon your stomach will settle.”

“It doesn’t feel like it will ever stop,” I mutter as I take a second bite, and make a face.

“Oh, ye of little faith.”

“Are you just going to sit here and watch me eat these biscuits?”

“Yeah,” he says, folding his arms and making himself more comfortable.

I carry on nibbling the biscuit even though I can’t imagine how it is going to help.

To my surprise though, half-way through my second biscuit I realize the queasy feeling is going away. “Hmmm.”

“Yes?”

I brush the breadcrumbs still clinging to my lips and lean over to kiss Dante. “There might be a little bit of an old witch buried deep down inside of you, after all.”

He shoots his cuffs and looks pleased with himself.

“How did you know to get those biscuits?” I ask curiously.

“I told you Parenting Magazine.”

“You were serious about that?” I ask, staring at him in surprise.

“I’m serious about our baby, Rosa.”

I try not to show how confused I feel. It’s true for most part I can’t think straight around him, but what if …

“Get ready, bella mia. I’m taking you to the cemetery in Testaccio.”

My jaw drops. “You are?” I told him while we were out at dinner that I loved walking through old cemeteries, but I never expected a Casanova who lives in a hotel suite to take me to one.

“Yes, I am,” he says briskly. “A pregnant woman should never be denied anything her heart desires.”

As hard as I try to dampen it, I can’t help the flush of warm pleasure surging through my body. Hmmm … it is going to be very hard to resist him if he is going to be this nice and thoughtful. “Er … why don’t you wait in the living room while I get ready?”

“You mean I can’t stay and watch?” he asks incredulously.

I widen my eyes meaningfully.

“Probably best anyway. I’ll just get turned on and you’re obviously not in the mood,” he says with a rueful shrug. Then adds hopefully, “Or are you?”

I shake my head in wonder. “Have you shake me around like a bottle of hot sauce when I feel this way? No thanks.”

I watch him walk out of the bedroom with a little sigh. That’s one sexy man-butt.

“Vespa again?” I ask pretending to be disapproving, but secretly pleased.

“It’s the best way to see the sights in this city, and it’s perfect for parking.” Dante hands me a helmet. “Although, it is a shame to hide that beautiful red hair of yours. I love to see it glow like a flame in the sunlight.”

“You didn’t by any chance stay up reading poetry?”

“Why do you ask?” Dante says, putting on his helmet.

“Your choice of words.”

“Well, if one is going to visit Keats’s grave, one must get in the mood.”

I stare at him. “You know the location of John Keats grave?”

“Of course. As well as the grave of my favorite poet, Percy Bysshe Shelley.”

“I should be surprised, but I’ve learned from watching American Gigolo that playboys must have a certain amount of culture.”

He looks amused. “Isn’t that movie about a male prostitute?”

“Frivolous playboy, male prostitute, what’s the difference?” I say airily.

Dante gives the little scooter enough throttle to lift the front wheels clear off the pavement as we lurch forward suddenly.

I scream and he laughs.

“You do that again, Dante, and you’ll be lying next to Percy Bysshe Shelley’s bones!”

That makes him laugh even harder.

I try not to join him, but his laugh is infectious and it is impossible not to give in as we zip down the narrow streets on the Vespa. Before I realize it the side of my cheek is once again pressed against his back. Contentedly, I watch the buildings flash past in a blur of sun-warmed ancient stone.

Dante parks the Vespa under the leafy canopy of a large tree. “We walk from here.”

As I climb off the back of the scooter, I glance around taking in the gnarled trees and the weathered gravestones nestled between shrubs and bushes. I beam at him. “What a great last resting place. Cemeteries make the most peaceful gardens.”

“You weren’t joking when you said you liked cemeteries, were you?”

“No, I wasn’t. I love beautiful old graves. I don’t know exactly why. Perhaps it is the wonder I feel that the nameless skeletons underneath were once flesh and bone like me. I guess it reminds me that time is short and I must leave my mark on the world in some manner, or another.” I shrug. “Maybe a hundred years from now a stranger will visit my grave and say what a fantastic fashion editor I was,” I joke.

Under the dappled shade of the tree we are standing Dante smiles indulgently, but his eyes are serious. “Actuall

y, I bet lots of people will visit your grave.”

I look at him curiously. “Why do you say that?”

“I’ll tell you another time.”

“Tell me now,” I insist.

“Soon.”

“Fine. Dante, the man of mystery.”

“Come on,” he says, taking my hand, and heading purposely down a path. We move from gravestone to gravestone stopping to read the inscriptions on the grander ones. “How surprising to see so many Russians and Englishmen buried here.”

“It’s a Protestant cemetery,” he explains.

Quite close to the pyramid, Dante stops in front of a large rectangular gravestone with an arched top, and motions at it. “Keats.” He says the name quietly with respect.

I move closer and read the inscription aloud. “‘This grave contains all that was mortal, of a young English poet, who on his death bed, in the bitterness of his heart, at the malicious power of his enemies, desired these words to be engraven on his tombstone:

Here lies one whose name was writ in water.

Dante rubs my back. “Did I just see you shiver?”

I nod slowly. “I felt as if Keats had reached from beyond the grave and touched my soul.” I look up at him. “Dante, why do you live in a hotel suite?”

He shrugs. “I move around a lot, and living in hotels mean I don’t have to keep households full of staff everywhere I go.”

I stare into his eyes. “Are you happy?”

“I thought I was.” For a second something throbs between us. It could be the stillness of the cemetery, the strange expression on his face, or the way my heart thuds loudly against my ribcage, then the moment is gone when he grins and says, “Come, I have more graves to indulge your morbid tastes.”

“Lead the way,” I say, but as we walk away from Keats grave I can’t help glancing back as though I’m leaving a precious moment behind.

“I’m getting hungry. How about you?” Dante asks.

My stomach rumbles. “Yes, but the thought of a real meal still makes me queasy.”

“After we are done with the graves we’ll go to the market and I’ll buy some bread, olive oil, and balsamic vinegar for us. It will settle your stomach.”