The Temporary Mrs. Marchetti

Cristiano finally pulled back, his hands still cradling her face, his eyes so dark it was impossible to identify his pupils from his irises. He pressed the pad of his thumb to her kiss-swollen lower lip and then to a spot on the middle of her chin. ‘I’ve given you stubble rash.’

Alice traced a fingertip around his mouth, the floor of her stomach giving a kick like a miniature pony when his masculine roughness caught at her skin. ‘I’m running an autumn special on lip and chin waxes if you’re interested.’

His eyes glinted their amusement. ‘Thanks, but I’ll pass.’

She stroked a fingertip down the bridge of his nose and then the shallow trench of his philtrum ridge down to where it met his top lip. His lips twitched as if her touch tickled. Then he captured her finger and closed his lips over it, drawing on it while his tongue stroked its underside, his gaze holding hers in a sensual lock that made her insides shudder.

How could it be possible to want any man more than she wanted this one? Was that why she had bolted when he’d pressured her to marry him in the past? Because he was the one man who could make her forget about her promise never to become enslaved to a man. Never to lose her autonomy. Never to need someone so badly they had the power to destroy her. Cristiano had the power to destroy her self-control. He only had to look at her and her self-control folded like a house of cards in a gale-force wind.

Cristiano took one of her hands and threaded his fingers through hers. ‘I’ve been thinking... I don’t remember ever kissing you before without it ending in sex.’

Alice ran her tongue over her lips, tasting him. Wanting him. Aching for him. ‘I was thinking the same. Freaky, huh?’

His gaze searched hers for a long moment. A small frown tugged at his brow, making a two-pleat fold between his eyes. ‘I seem to remember we didn’t do a lot of talking back then, either.’

Alice gave him a wry look. ‘I don’t know about that. I talked but you didn’t listen.’

His crooked smile had a faint touch of regret about it. ‘We didn’t listen to each other.’ He released a long sigh and looked at their entwined fingers, his thumb rhythmically stroking the length of hers. ‘It was a long time ago, sì?’

Alice settled into the seat, resting her head against his shoulder. ‘It sure was.’

So much so I feel like a different person now.

CHAPTER SEVEN

IT WAS CLOSE to midnight when they arrived at Cristiano’s villa in Milan. Stepping over the threshold was like stepping back through time.

Alice swept her gaze around the stunning entry, taking in the marble floors and the grand staircase that led to the upper floors with its decorative black balustrading. There were priceless chandeliers and wall lights, the marble and bronze statues and artworks that would be the envy of any serious art collector. Some things were the same, and yet others were different. It had been redecorated and repainted but it was still Cristiano’s home—the place where he had spent the first eleven years of his life until the tragic death of his family.

The villa had been rented out following his parents’ and brother’s deaths as Cristiano had lived in Stresa with his grandparents. But Alice knew how much this place meant to him. He had spent the happiest years of his life here.

She had spent the happiest six weeks of her life here.

Cristiano took her hand and drew her to his side. ‘Having second thoughts?’

Alice turned in the circle of his arms and linked her arms around his neck. ‘No. Why would I? It’s just sex.’

His gaze held hers for a long beat. ‘You’re not worried about the boundaries blurring?’

Worried? Damn straight, I’m worried.

‘No,’ Alice said. ‘But clearly you are. What are you worried about? That you might fall in love with me all over again?’

A steel shutter slammed down at the backs of his eyes. ‘I told you before—I wasn’t in love with you. I was in lust.’ He dropped his hold and stepped away from her. ‘I’ll take the bags up. You go on ahead. I’ll be up in a minute.’

Alice stood without moving. Did he have to make it sound so...so clinical? He was making her feel like someone he’d picked up in a bar and brought home for a quick tumble. Where was the man who had once carried her up those stairs like an old-time Hollywood-movie hero? Who had treated her like a princess instead of a prostitute?

‘Are any of your household staff here?’

‘No. I gave them the night off. I called them before we left London.’

Alice could sense he was annoyed with her. Every muscle in his face was pulled tight, especially around his mouth, leaving it flat and white-tipped.

‘Why don’t we go up together?’ she said.

‘You know where my bedroom is.’

Alice lifted her chin. ‘Oh, I get it. You want to play I’m-the-John-and-you’re-the-hooker? Fine—I can do that.’