“Sofia Valenti, that’s who.” Caroline shook her head in disbelief. “Don’t you care that she adores you?”
A smile curled across his lips, masculine and just a little smug.
“Sì. I know.” He shrugged his shoulders. “What can I do? She will outgrow it, but until then—”
“She certainly will outgrow it. Marriage to you will surely cure her of any last—”
“Marriage? To me?” Nicolo stared at her as if she’d gone mad. “That child?”
“I agree. She is a child, but then, neither you nor her father would let that stop you. In fact, that’s probably what makes her so desirable, the fact that she’s young enough to be molded into whatever you think she ought to be—”
“By the bones of St. Peter! What are you talking about, woman?”
“—and that she’s about as strong-willed as a—a rabbit!”
Nicolo stared at her as she fought for self-control. She was angry, yes, but why was her voice shaking like this? Why was her pulse galloping, as if her heart were surely going to leap from her breast?
“Let me understand this,” he said slowly. He walked to the table where he’d left his brandy snifter, lifted it, and drained it of liquid. “I am to marry Sofia so that I can bask in the glow of her—her kitten love—”
“Puppy love,” Caroline said furiously.
“Once we are wed, I will whisper some magic incantation into her ear and turn this—this bambina into a woman who will eagerly obey my every command. Is that what you think?”
Caroline shrugged. “That sounds close enough.”
Nicolo’s mouth turned down. “And who gave you all this priceless information, cara?”
“You’re breaking the girl’s heart, Nicolo. She loves you, and—”
“She has a schoolgirl crush on me, for God’s sake!” He slammed down the snifter again and flung his hands onto his hips. “Her father and I wait for the day she grows out of it, but—”
“Don’t lie! You’re going to marry her! She told me that you and Valenti have worked up an arrangement…”
She broke off in bewilderment. Nicolo had flung his head back; he was laughing as if she had just told the world’s funniest joke.
“She told you? The girl tells you this—this fairy tale, and you believe it?” His laughter stopped as quickly as it had begun. “Show me some respect at least, cara,” he snapped. “Do you really think a man like me would be interested in a child like that? Her father and I have talked, yes. We have discussed her infatuation, which we agreed we would best handle by ignoring it.” His eyes turned as cold as his voice. “I assure you, Caroline, when I decide it is time to take a wife, I will choose the correct one for a man in my position.”
Of course he would. She had never thought otherwise. Then, why did the blunt words hurt?
“What I fail to understand is why you should have been so distressed by Sofia’s fantasy.”
“I told you why. I thought—”
“You have already told me what you thought.” He gave her a long, searching look, and slowly, the coldness in his face began to fade. “You thought I had tried to make love to you despite this supposed betrothal.” He smiled. “And,” he said, very softly, “you were offended.”
“Of course. It wouldn’t have been right if—”
“Why were you offended? Even if you think me the most immoral bastard ever to walk the face of the earth, why would you react so personally? And why would you have set out to humiliate me?” His hand curled around the nape of her neck, the pressure of it light but steady so that she had no choice but to lift her head and meet his gaze. “I find something—how do you say it?—I find something very much out of kilter here.”
She wanted to look away, to look anywhere but into his eyes, but it was impossible.
“If you don’t understand something as simple as—as morality,” she said stiffly, “then—”
He smiled again and ran his knuckles lightly along her flushed cheek.
“You were jealous,” he said softly.
“Jealous?” she said incredulously. “You have your English twisted again, Nicolo. I wasn’t jealous. I was angry. There’s a difference.”
He gave her an amused smile. “Is there?”
He was standing very close to her now; she could smell the scent of him, see the tiny laugh lines that fanned out from his eyes. A lock of dark hair had fallen down over his forehead and she was swept by a sudden yearning to put up her hand, feel the silken texture of it with her fingers.
She turned away sharply, but he caught hold of her arm.
“Look at me, cara.”
Caroline’s heart clenched. “It’s late. I only came here to—tell you I’m leaving in the morning.”
Gently, he turned her to face him. Her head drooped, and he put a finger beneath her chin.
“Cara. Mia bellissima. Look at me, please.”
“I told you, it’s late. And—”
“I agree.” His arms went around her; she wanted to push him away, but his skin, naked and warm beneath the open shirt, brushed hers and she felt suddenly boneless. “It is very late.” He bent and touched his lips to her hair, to her temple, and she swayed a little in his arms. “I should have made love to you long before this.”
His whispered words sent a wave of longing through her body. She shook her head in a desperate denial.
“How can you say that? I don’t—”
“What? Don’t want me?” He urged her face up, until their eyes met and he smiled, showing a glimpse of even, white teeth. “Very well, cara. Tell me so, and I will let you go.”
“You think you’re so clever. But I—I—”
Her breath caught as his lips brushed her ear.
“I dream of you, cara.” He nuzzled the hair back from her throat and pressed his mouth to her skin. “Can you imagine? I have not had such dreams since I was a boy.” She sighed and her head fell back as his lips found the pulse beat in the hollow of her throat. “Do you dream of me, even a little?”
Had she dreamed of him? She thought she might have, that he had come to her in her sleep, whispered to her as he was whispering to her now, but she had forced the dream images away, she had denied them as she had denied what he wanted of her from the beginning.
But how could she deny anything now, when she was in his arms? He had kissed her before and turned her to fire, but now—oh, now she was more than fire, she was a glowing rivulet of flame, pulsing with heat.
“Nicolo,” she whispered.
The word sighed softly into the shadows of the room. Nicolo murmured something soft and passionate into her ear. Caroline didn’t understand the
words, but there was no need for words now. He had gathered her closer in his arms, he was holding her so tightly that she couldn’t tell whose heartbeat it was she felt throbbing within her bones, his or hers.
“Say it.” His hands cupped her face. “Look at me, and tell me what it is you want me to do, cara.”
She looked up slowly, her gaze moving over his face. That arrogant face. And it was true. He was arrogant. He was demanding. He was the Old World and she was the New.
But oh, he had set her heart to racing the instant she’d first seen him. I don’t want you, she’d said, and he had insisted the same. But it had been a lie. They had wanted each other from that first night, and now, in this dimly lit room, with Nicolo’s mouth on hers, with his hands on her breasts, she had finally run out of lies and excuses, not just for him but for herself.
She smiled languorously as she put her arms around his neck.
“Nico,” she whispered.
It was just that one word, but it was enough. He groaned, caught her hand in his and pressed his mouth to the palm.
“Carissima,” he said in an urgent whisper, and then he swung her into his arms and his mouth dropped to hers, slanting across her lips with hot, savage passion that drove the last bit of rational thought from her mind.
A table lamp threw a pool of soft luminescence across his bed. He put her down gently in the circle of golden light, then shrugged his shirt from his shoulders.
“You’re beautiful,” she said softly, watching as the light played across his skin, turning the tanned flesh gold.
Nicolo smiled. “It is you who are beautiful, bellissima mia.” Slowly, his eyes never leaving her face, he reached behind her and undid the closure of her gown. It fell away from her shoulders, a spill of black froth in her lap. Nicolo drew the gown from her, and a thrill of pleasure raced along her spine as his eyes dropped to her body and the wisps of lace that still covered her.
“Amore,” he murmured. He stroked his hand lightly over her mouth. Her lips parted and she sucked on his forefinger, and then he trailed it down her throat, to the shadowed cleft between her breasts.
A shudder went through her as he bent his head and kissed them, and when his teeth closed lightly over the sheer fabric, first on one nipple and then on the other, she cried out.