Читать книгу Modern Romance Collection: February 2018 Books 5 - 8 - Kelly Hunter, Kate Walker - Страница 21
ОглавлениеTORTURE BEGAN TO take on a new personal meaning for Raphael over the next month, thanks to his unofficial fiancée’s unwillingness to let him give them both what they desperately needed.
If he had thought Pia biddable, she had proved he was utterly wrong. Dio mio, under the naive, smiling, ready-to-please demeanor was a core of steely stubbornness.
When she’d said she wanted to spend time with him, she’d meant it. And not in his ex-wife or mama and sisters kind of way, where what they wanted was for him to show them off in their designer gowns, the latest of Milan’s haute couture fashion, at parties, and theaters. Where they could show off their connection with Raphael Mastrantino, CEO of Vito Automobiles, a man with powerful friends.
With them, it was always about the glitter he could add to their standing in society. It was the veneer of power that spread to them when they could claim a connection to him. It was what Raphael could provide and nothing else.
But with Pia, Dio, when she’d said she wanted to spend time with him, she’d meant she wanted time with him. Learning about him. The two of them hanging out with each other.
It had become Raphael’s favorite phase in all of the English language.
She had insisted that he show her the vintage car he was restoring currently. So Raphael had taken her to his house in Como one afternoon. What he’d expected was for her to ooh and aah over it, and then expect him to show her the sights of Como, the only village along the lake she hadn’t seen.
Instead, driven by Emilio, Pia had arrived in the cutest overalls he had ever seen. Uncaring of the fact that her hands could get greasy or that her hair would be messed up—though Pia’s hair was always messy and he loved it like that—she had crawled under the hood with him, asking him to explain what it was that he was currently doing.
Talking about the chassis and suspension while the scent of her curled in his muscles, her hot breath stroked his cheeks—he had never had a more diverting evening.
They had ended it with a glass of Chianti and mac ‘n’ cheese that Pia had cooked in his kitchen, having informed him that that was the extent of her culinary abilities.
Having never spoken to another soul at such length about his passion, Raphael had spent most of their dinner in quiet rumination and with a burning need to peel the overalls off her lithe body. To kiss and lick every inch of her silky curves.
Sharing even silence with Pia was wonderful.
They had ended the night, because she had a test early in the morning, with a soft kiss that had left him with blue balls. But also with a thread of quiet, incandescent joy he’d never known before.
Another time, she had invited him to sit through her class, and then made him model for her first face carved from wood, because as she had put it, he had classically handsome features with a bold nose and an arrogant chin that would lend itself to that particular type of wood.
He had sat still for almost an hour while the minx had worked with her hands, only to find her dissolving into giggles when he’d asked her to show him what she had so far.
“Mi dispiace, Raphael. I’m so bad at this, I’ve made you into a monster,” she had sputtered amidst her laughter. “I’ll ask Antonio to sit for me next time.” Of course he had said no, to which she had responded by crawling to him on her knees, tracing those blunt-nailed, callused fingers over his nose, temple and then over his lips. She had then taken his mouth in such an erotic kiss, swirling tongue and biting teeth and all, that Raphael had been harder than the block of wood, and said, “I can’t bear to ruin this gorgeous face, Raphael.”
Since he was busy with work and Allegra’s custody suit, and she was busy studying and carving and meeting the new friends she had made, all they could manage one week was two evenings spent together holed up in Gio’s study, which he had been far too happy to give up.
While Raphael had spread out his paperwork on the vast mahogany desk, Pia had settled her textbooks around the sitting area. It was the most enjoyable quiet evening of his life. The sight of Pia with her glasses perched on her nose, studious concentration furrowing her brow, had driven him half-crazy.
The thought of spending the next fifty years in such close quarters with her was surprisingly exciting. He imagined looking up from his work to find her gaze on him with a slight smile, sitting in comfortable silence but with an ongoing sizzling awareness; the absolute knowledge that it wouldn’t make a difference to Pia if his assets grew another billion or not, or if he lost most of it with some bad decisions like his father. The trust that she would never stop looking at him as if he were the most perfect man she had ever met—it filled him with the desire to wrap his arms around her and never let go.
Locking the door against any servants, uncaring that he was dishonoring her under Gio’s roof, he had crossed the room, knelt in front of her, pulled her hair from the tight braid she had forced it into and drunk greedily from her welcoming mouth.
He’d meant to keep his word. He’d meant to let her come to him, to give her the time she’d asked for. And yet, her responsive moans had had him spreading her legs wide, pulling up the long skirt she had worn that day, and then kissing his way up the silky skin of her thighs, all the way to the damp center of her sex.
He had tasted her desire for him while she had sunk her fingers into his hair, gasping and moaning, scandalized by his actions and yet thrusting against his ministrations until she was falling apart against his mouth while digging her teeth into his lower lip. The most potent masculine satisfaction had surged through him when she had collapsed into his arms, limbs trembling.
Cheeks pink, breath serrated, hair in wild disarray and her eyes, those wide, deep brown eyes glittering with an emotion he didn’t want to give a name to. Dio, she’d been the wildest, the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
Fingers sinking in his hair, she had guided his mouth down to hers for a quick press. “I didn’t know I could feel so much pleasure that I could happily die from it.”
“You’re not dying until I have punished you for your no-sex rule,” he’d said, sinking his teeth into the rough cushion of her palm.
“Poor Raphael, it has been, what? Three weeks?”
A soft flick at the center of her palm with his tongue. Like a spark plug when combusted, she immediately slithered in his lap. “Five weeks and four days, you minx.”
She had crawled to her knees, stroked her palms up his chest, cheeks flaming pink and with the most mischievous grin said, “Raphael, can I...?”
He hardened into stone. Her hands on his thighs, yes, but the shy desire, her hesitation, got him every time.
“Can you what, cara mia?” If she had asked the world of him, he would have agreed.
Her face burrowed into his chest, her fingers drawing mesmerizing lines on the back of his neck. “I... I want to return the favor.”
He swallowed the jolt of lust that shot through him. “What favor?”
“I want to do to you what you did to me just now,” she had finally whispered at his ear. “I want to make you lose control too.”
How he hadn’t combusted right there, Raphael had no idea. Wedged against the taut curve of her buttock, his erection had twitched in his trousers at her innocent suggestion.
“Are you agreeing to marry me then?” he’d taunted instead.
He had no idea what she’d been about to say because his infernal cell phone had rung, disrupting the pregnant moment.
Somehow, what had begun as a convenient arrangement had morphed. It wasn’t just the prize of finally owning Vito Automobiles that lured him anymore. It wasn’t the convenience of returning all the favors Gio had bestowed on him by marrying Pia. It wasn’t taking on the responsibility to protect her and Gio’s wealth.
It was Pia herself.
He knew as surely as the beat of his heart, while he waited at the center in front of Teatro Alla Scala for her to arrive for her special opera night, that he wanted Pia in his life.
He wanted the woman who looked at him as if he were the world to her. And in return, he would give Pia everything she could ever want, everything that he was capable of giving.
* * *
Pia stepped out of the limo on a side street, an unnecessary indulgence Raphael insisted on, and walked the last few steps to the front of the historical opera house Teatro Alla Scala and gaped with her mouth open. She could have just as well caught the light rail, but of course he wouldn’t listen.
Glad that she had worn her soft silk emerald-green dress that made Milan’s humidity bearable, she looked around herself. Typical of the busy city’s evening, Piazza della Scala was busy and noisy, mostly with tourists. Locals, she’d learned, had already escaped to the beach, especially as it was the weekend.
She had barely breathed in the architectural marvel all around her when the hairs on her nape stood up with that familiar prickle. Turning around, she spotted Raphael instantly among the elegantly dressed men and women in front of the famous opera house.
Tall and wide and impossibly gorgeous, he stood out. His shoulders looked broader than ever in the handmade suit, his looks even more breathtaking in the magnificent lights of the square.
Clad in a black suit with a white shirt underneath, hands loosely tucked into his trouser pockets, he was leaning against a pillar and watching her with a curious smile playing around his lips. As if knowing that she wanted to linger, he crooked a finger at her.
That playful arrogance, that wicked promise in his eyes sent a shiver down her spine. He looked good enough to be devoured. And he looked at her as if he was ready to devour her.
It had been a whole long, utterly miserable ten days since she had last seen him, ten days since he had sent her into spasms of unbearable pleasure with his mouth at her most private place. Just thinking of that scandalous moment, the pleasure that had filled her sent blood rushing to her ears.
And he knew. Even across the ten feet or so that separated them, she could see the gleam of that hunger in his eyes, sense the attraction arc between them.
Heart beating a thousand beats a minute, aware of more than one woman stumbling to a stop at the breathtaking sight of him, Pia reached him.
He is mine, a part of her cooed in joy.
Holding her at arm’s length, he swept that possessive gaze over her arms and shoulders left bare by the thin straps of the dress. A much-needed breeze wafted by, revealing the thigh-length slit in her dress. She saw him swallow as a partial view of her toned leg flashed and she was fiercely glad for swimming all those hours and keeping herself fit.
And then his arm was around her, his mouth at her ear. “I do not like any other man getting such a good view of your legs, cara mia. They are only for my pleasure, to be wrapped around my hips while I move inside you.” His hand rested possessively on her waist as if to warn off any approaching man. “I think I like you all covered up in your jeans and my shirts.”
Luckily, Pia wasn’t required to respond as the ushers were showing them to their seats on a balcony, which she was delighted to find was an individual room with a private coat closet across the hallway from the box.
While Raphael exchanged words with the usher, Pia took in the historical circle-style theater that she’d heard so much about. The energy of the place was incredible. Gorgeously decorated in gold and stunning red velvet, the teatro was everything she’d hoped it would be. Pushing up her glasses, she began to people watch, because the women and men were dressed in elegant designer outfits that would probably rival the costumes themselves.
When Raphael tapped on her shoulder and showed her to a seat, Pia smiled sheepishly. “I’m sure my enthusiasm must look very provincial to you. But Nonni described this very theater to me so many times and all the wonderful productions she had seen here before she left Italy that I can’t believe I’m finally here.
It feels as if I have waited forever to see this. I think she wanted me to come here too.” Tears filled her eyes, a sudden ache filling her to her very soul.
She knew Lucia had come here with Giovanni once. The special friend her Nonni had always mentioned with melancholy in her eyes could be no one else. And yet, soon after, they had had a big row, and Lucia had fled Italy while Gio, in a fit of anger, had engaged himself to a heiress.
Suddenly, that Raphael had brought her to the same theater, to the same opera, struck a chord of fear through her. She shivered, and instantly Raphael pulled her into his embrace.
Pia hid her face in his chest, embarrassed by her irrational fear. This was ridiculous. She and Raphael were different from Gio and Lucia.
For one thing, they were older and wiser. They understood each other much better. And yes, at every chance possible, Raphael stubbornly claimed that he didn’t believe in love while she still did. But hadn’t he shown her that he cared for her in a million ways over the last month and a half?
Weren’t actions worth more than words?
Despite his cynicism because of his marriage to Allegra, despite his hardened exterior from having to raise his family from sudden calamity to prosperity, wasn’t his desire to marry her based on loyalty and respect? Didn’t it prove that somewhere in his heart Raphael did care for her?
The man who had so ruthlessly accused her of being an impostor and a cheat the night of the ball, the man who had threatened to cut his ex-wife out of their child’s life, Pia would have never expected him to consider marriage at all.
But it was he who had accepted the consequences of their night first. He who hadn’t hesitated even for a moment over the step they would have to take for the future.
What she felt for Raphael—she was so scared of calling it love—was so much more complex than what she felt for Frank. Frank had only pandered to what she had so desperately needed at that time in her life whereas Raphael could be infuriating and arrogant but he would never lie to her.
He would never deceive Pia, would never make her feel as if he needed an added incentive to be with her, to somehow make up for her plainness and her shyness. For the glitter she lacked.
So what if he would never admit in so many words that he loved her? Wasn’t what they had better, more real than some notion of love she had cooked up in her head?
His abrasive palms covered her bare arms and moved up and down. “Your skin is ice-cold, Pia. What is it?”
“Nothing. Thank you so much for this, Raphael.”
“Never apologize for your enthusiasm for everything in life, cara mia. Haven’t I convinced you yet that your pleasure, in all things, leads to mine?”
Pia blushed and cast a confused gaze at the empty seats in some of the private rooms for the opera was about to begin soon. “Antonio told me this particular production of Rigoletto had been sold out months ago.” She sat down next to Raphael and adjusted her dress. “Do you think they’re late?”
“I asked a friend of mine to buy as many tickets as he could on this level.”
“But why?”
“Because I wanted you all to myself. And I wanted this night to be special for you.” Pia gasped as only now she noticed a bucket of champagne on the table and a small velvet box in his palm.
Her heart thudded. Her mouth went dry as he opened the box and pulled out a magnificent princess-cut diamond with tiny emeralds around it, set in a simple white-gold setting.
“Pia Alessandra Vito, will you be my wife?”
“Oh.” It was all the sound Pia could make, all the response her brain could come up with. Because just as she knew this theater, she knew of this ring too.
It was the ring with which Giovanni had proposed to Lucia. The ring that Lucia had sent back to Gio after their fight. Another tremor slid down her spine as she stared at it.
Something about this ring made fear bubble up in her.
“Pia?”
She jerked her head up, met his gaze and the desire she saw there fragmented her silly fears. “I’m sorry. I... Gio gave this to you?”
“Si.”
“When?”
A shadow fell over that dark gaze. “Is that important?”
The impatience brewing in his carefully controlled tone told Pia how insensitive she was being. Heart thundering, she extended her left hand to his and smiled. “Yes, I will be your wife, Raphael.”
With a victorious smile, he slid the ring onto her finger. Pulling her down to his lap and sinking her hands into his thick hair, Pia poured herself into his kiss. His mouth was warm and fluid over hers. They kissed softly, slowly, nibbling at each other, playing with their tongues, until passion was simmering in their very blood. With an arch of her back, restless with need, Pia wiggled in his lap. The length of his hard erection caressed her buttocks, sending a groan from her lips.
With a chuckle, Raphael pushed her off him and settled her in the next seat. Still in a haze, Pia gazed widely and he brushed a kiss over her temple. “If you wiggle anymore in my lap like that, cara mia, I will shame myself and then we’ll have to leave before you see this grand production of Rigoletto. And then you’ll not forgive me for spoiling your evening.”
A hush fell over the theater and the red curtains were pulling aside when Pia murmured, “I think I would forgive you anything, Raphael. As long as you keep kissing me like that.”
* * *
Raphael gently tapped on Pia’s shoulder while the audience clapped thunderously at the end of an outstanding performance of Rigoletto. This particular story wasn’t a great favorite of his but even he’d been moved by the top-notch performances and the intricately detailed sets.
Or maybe it was the woman he had shared the experience with. The woman who now belonged to him, body and soul. For a man who had vowed never to marry again, it was a bit of a shock to realize he very much wanted Pia’s soul to belong to him too.
A savage sense of satisfaction pounded through his veins, made even hotter by the magnificent drama they had just seen. Not even the pride he had felt when he had made his first million, or when he had bought back the house his father had lost to creditors, could parallel his sense of possessiveness as he stared at the diamond glittering on Pia’s finger.
She hadn’t come to Teatro Alla Scala on his arm because it was the “in” thing to be enjoying high culture or to be seen in designer outfits, but to immerse herself in the drama played out on stage. She had tears in her eyes because she could see the majesty of the theater through her Nonni’s eyes and relive it for her.
Pia had watched transfixed, every emotion portrayed on the stage reflected on her own face.
And watching her, understanding the depth with which she felt things, Raphael couldn’t help but be moved. Couldn’t help but feel a strange turmoil that he couldn’t calm.
They emerged from the theater into the pulsing energy of the pedestrian square. Something feral throbbed in his veins and since he didn’t want to scare Pia, he offered, “We’re mere steps from the Duomo. Would you like to get a gelato to cool off? Or a coffee, which by the way I should remind you is an espresso in Italy and not the watered-down junk you call coffee?”
She turned to him and the candid emotion he saw in her eyes rooted him to the spot. “Not tonight, thank you. Nothing could top that performance.”
As if it were an uncomfortable, unwanted weight, she twisted the ring on her finger. She had fiddled with it self-consciously during the performance too.
“Pia, if you do not like the ring, we will get you something else. I could not refuse Gio in that moment but I will absolutely understand if it does not please you. I want you to have whatever you want, cara mia.”
“No, of course I love the ring, Raphael. Nothing could make this night more glorious than it already has been.”
“Then let’s finish it with some of the calamari you like so much. With Gio visiting his sister today, I’m sure you’ve forgotten to eat.” He let his gaze settle on the upper curves of her breasts.
It was the first time Pia had worn something so silky and revealing. And it was driving him crazy.
“Because I can’t afford to lose any of the few curves I have?”
The vulnerability in her eyes snagged at him. “Because you’re now mine to protect. I wish I could show you how perfect you are to me.”
“I think I’m beginning to believe it.”
“Bene.” He inclined his head, waiting for whatever was in her head to come to her lips with bated breath, for he knew only one thing made Pia so self-conscious.
Even white teeth digging into her lower lip, she adjusted her clutch, and then looked up again. That hint of hesitation in those eyes pierced him. And made him wild with desire, for he knew what it meant. “I just want to go home.”
But he still waited. He wanted to hear those words from her mouth. He wanted her surrender. He wanted her to choose this, him. Again and again. He had a feeling that even a lifetime wouldn’t be enough. “I will take you home then.”
“No.”
Covering the distance between them, she laced her fingers with his, pressed her body to his in a side hug that sent a shudder through him. If they lived a hundred years together, he would never get used to how freely she expressed her affection. How easily and naturally it came to her to show what she was feeling. That diamond sparkling brilliantly on her finger reminded him that the generosity of her spirit was his too now. His to guard from anything that could hurt her. Including himself.
A weight unlike any responsibility he had shouldered so far in his life.
She made a moue of her mouth, and then completely negated the saucy effect by pushing her glasses up on her nose.
He chuckled.
“I don’t want to go back to the estate and I don’t want a gelato.”
“No? What are you interested in then, bella?”
A soft kiss on his cheek. Her breath fluttering over the rim of his ear. And then those warm brown eyes pinned him.
“You.” There was no coyness in her gaze. No sultry invitation. No feminine arch of her body or fluttering of her eyelashes. Just pure, artless need. “Tonight, I want you, Raphael. Just you.”
