Читать книгу Modern Romance March 2017 Books 5 -8 - Дженнифер Хейворд, Natalie Anderson - Страница 17
ОглавлениеANGIE SPENT THE following week immersed in a flurry of activity leading up to Alexander’s show. Likely a good thing given the confusing mixture of anticipation and apprehension engulfing her at the evolution of her and Lorenzo’s relationship.
Their sizzling encounter in the hot tub had proven she was still as susceptible as ever to his expertly executed seductions, but had done nothing to illustrate they could make their marriage work. That they were going to have to prove in the days ahead.
Her husband, true to his word, was giving her the time she’d asked for. Not that he hadn’t kept up a slow and steady campaign to put his hands on her whenever he could find an excuse to do so. She’d been so distracted at yesterday’s rehearsal thinking about it, Alexander had had to ask her a question three times.
Determined to keep her focus, she’d buried herself in a couple of last-minute fixes to tailor her pieces for a model being substituted into the original lineup, keeping her mind firmly off her husband. Before she knew it, it was 7:00 p.m. on the night of the show, the lights had dimmed in the high-ceilinged Skylight Modern space, one of the premium, architecturally perfect Fashion Week venues, and Alexander’s first model had begun her walk down the spotlit runway.
Anticipation built as one model after the next, with a few supermodels thrown in for good measure, strutted their stuff, showcasing the collection the critics said would catapult Alexander to the top of the design world this season. The buzz and applause was electric as her friend’s brilliance shone, his pieces the perfect backdrop for her jewelry.
It seemed like only a few minutes had passed instead of an hour before the show was drawing to an end.
Her blood fizzled in her veins as Astrid Johansson, the world’s current it girl, stood spotlighted at the end of the runway to wrap the show, Angie’s ruby necklace glittering against her alabaster skin. A shiver chased up her spine. It was perfect, a marriage made in heaven the way the necklace framed the square neckline of the sleek, avant-garde dress.
Lorenzo leaned down from his position beside her in the front row, bringing his mouth to her ear. “The highest paid model in the world wearing your jewelry. How does it feel?”
“Amazing.” And her husband looked equally stunning in a charcoal-gray Faggini suit, his swarthy coloring set off perfectly by the light blue shirt he wore beneath it. She’d seen more than one of the models eye him as they’d walked by, eating him up with their confident gazes.
Astrid made her final pass down the runway, returning hand in hand with Alexander as the music died away and the lights came up, her fellow models falling into place behind them. Cheers and applause greeted the designer, who took it all in with a big smile on his expressive face.
She was shocked when he beckoned to her, motioning for her to join him. Oh, no, she couldn’t.
Lorenzo gave her a gentle shove. “Go. Have your moment.”
She found herself moving forward on legs that felt like jelly. Taking Alexander’s hand, she followed him into the spotlight. The designer turned to her, gave a little bow and clapped his hands. Her chest swelled with happiness, a hot warmth stinging the backs of her eyes as the audience applauded. Her jewelry had been her light in the darkness when everything else had been falling apart. She would never be able to express what it meant to her. She only knew in that moment, it felt as if a piece of her was sliding into place.
She gave Alexander a kiss on the cheek, stood back and returned the applause. The lights went down. Alexander pulled her backstage for interviews with the media while Lorenzo and his mother went to enjoy a cocktail. She had expected only a smattering of media would be interested in speaking to her in the shadow of Alexander’s presence. She was shocked when a handful of them chose to interview her, too.
She did a couple of broadcast interviews for television, then something with a leading newspaper’s style section. Surprisingly, the media’s focus remained mostly on her jewelry rather than on her lineage, the critics giving her collection an enthusiastic thumbs-up.
She was pretty much floating on air by the time Alexander hooked an arm through hers, propelled her into the crowd at the after-party and introduced her to the designers, fashion editors, models and actors starring in his next spring ad campaign, forging so many valuable connections it made her head spin.
An impenetrable glow filled her. Her career was skyrocketing, her marriage on the mend. It felt as if anything was possible.
* * *
Lorenzo watched his wife shine, her bubbly, animated demeanor taking him back to that night in Nassau when she’d transfixed him like the brightest star in the sky. The haunting, mysterious Northern Lights had had nothing on his wife that night as she’d flashed those baby blues at him, silky long lashes brushing her cheeks in a coquettish look she hadn’t quite mastered, and asked him if he was going to brood all night or dance with her instead.
But even then, he realized, underneath all that sultry confidence and gutsy bravado, there had been a vulnerability to the woman in his arms, a sadness he hadn’t quite been able to put a finger on—a knowledge beyond her years.
He had connected to that, even if he hadn’t known it at the time. They had both been looking to escape their pain that night, he from his memories, Angelina from the inexplicably complex relationships that had formed her world. What they had found had been so powerful that for a while they had.
She caught him staring. Smiled. It was a blindingly bright smile that did something crazy to his heart. He had denied her this, the chance to be this shining light. To prove she was more than the sum of her parts. It was a mistake he refused to let haunt him.
He saw her say something to Alexander, nod at the woman they were speaking to and slip away, her long strides eating up the distance between them.
“Did your mother leave?”
“Yes.” He swiped two glasses of champagne off a tray and handed her one. “She said to say thank you. To tell you your collection was impressive. And, yes,” he added, a wry smile twisting his mouth, “she meant it.”
Angie blinked. “Well, that’s...nice. Did she have a good time?”
“She was in her element. Who knows,” he murmured, lifting a brow, “there might be hope for the two of you yet.”
“Don’t get too hopeful.”
He brushed a thumb across the delicate line of her jaw. “Positivity, cara. That’s what we need here.”
Her lashes lowered. “We should circulate if you don’t mind.”
He nodded. Kept a possessive hand at the small of her back as they made a couple of passes of the room. By the time the lights came down and the apparently wildly popular band Lorenzo had never heard of took the stage, he could feel his wife’s energy level fading, her reservoir of small talk emptied out.
Tugging her into one of the intimate lounge areas, he plucked the wineglass out of her hand and pulled her onto his lap.
“Lorenzo,” she murmured, “we are in public.”
“At a party in full gear where no one is paying any attention to us.” Setting a palm on her thigh, he pulled her closer, absorbing the tantalizing feel of her lush curves plastered against him. She looked insanely beautiful in Alexander’s black dress with no back to it. Had turned every male head in the room. The need to have his hands on her was like a fire in his blood.
Bending his head, he traced the shell of her ear with his lips in a feather-light caress. His wife shivered. He moved lower, capturing her lobe between his teeth, scoring it lightly. “You are lit up tonight, mia cara. This is the woman I appreciate. The woman I was looking for.”
She pulled back, eyes on his. “I needed this. For you to understand how important my work is to me.”
“I do now.” His voice was sandpaper-rough. “I am listening now, Angelina. Better late than never.”
Needing to protect, to possess her in a way he couldn’t even begin to articulate, he cupped the back of her head and kissed her. Passionate, infinite, it was a connection between them on an entirely different level than before, as if they were finally beginning to understand each other.
She slid her palm to his nape and kissed him back, the kiss turning hot and fiery. Needy. He moved his hand higher on her thigh, fingers tightening around the sleek, satiny skin he discovered. A primal heat consumed him, his body pulsing to life beneath her bottom. She shifted against him, a low moan leaving her throat.
“I want inside you,” he whispered. “Inside this sweet, hot body of yours. Until you feel nothing but me, cara.”
* * *
Blood roared in Angie’s head. Light exploded in her eyes. She blinked against the sudden onslaught. It took her several seconds to realize it was a photographer’s flash.
Lorenzo brushed a knuckle against her cheek, a wry twist to his mouth. “That must be our cue to leave.”
Her legs felt like spaghetti as he set her on her feet. He kept a firm hand on her waist as he guided her through the thick crowd, stopping to say good-night to Alexander before they exited into the cool night air.
Wrapped in a sensual haze, she curled her arms around herself as Lorenzo retrieved the car. The sports car was deposited purring at the sidewalk moments later. Lorenzo tucked her into the passenger seat, then took the wheel to drive them home.
Her pulse hummed, her blood fizzled amidst the cacophony of sirens and honking horns that was New York, all of it blanking in her head as her senses focused on the man beside her. His quiet intensity as he controlled the powerful car and the hand he kept on her bare thigh were all she could register.
When this does happen, one tame roll in that bed will not be enough.
Her pulse jolted faster, her cheeks heated with anticipation. Her head might be wary about them, but her body was not. It wanted to experience the hunger he had promised. To feel alive again in the way only Lorenzo could make her feel.
Finally they were home. Parking the car in the garage, he helped her out, ushered her into the lift that arrived in a whir of expensive machinery. Up they went to the penthouse, where she threw her purse on a chair, legs shaking. Walking to the bank of windows that looked out on the roughly drawn skyline of Manhattan, she took a deep breath, attempted to center herself.
The soft thud of her husband’s jacket hitting the chair reverberated through the room. The tread of his footsteps across the hardwood floor sent a quiver up her spine.
“You are so damn beautiful,” he murmured, setting his hands on her hips. “You make my heart stop in my chest.”
Her breath caught in her lungs. Frozen, paralyzed, she couldn’t move, her fears, her anticipation, blanketing her in a cloud of emotion. But this wasn’t about the past, she reminded herself, it was about the future. And right now, it felt like they had one. A bright, shining light she was terrified to touch.
She did it anyway. Twisting around in his arms, she took in the dark, sometimes brooding man who’d stolen her heart once and threatened to do it again. His eyes tracked her, hot and focused. Her stomach contracted. Lifting her hand, she traced the sexy stubble shadowing his jaw. It was too tempting not to touch. She pressed a kiss to the abrasive canvas, sliding over the hard line of his jaw, knowing him again.
He let her play, drink her fill. Then impatience won out as he slid his fingers into her hair, tilted her head back and closed his mouth over hers. Greedy, laced with sensual purpose, his carnal kiss telegraphed his intent to know all of her tonight. To erase the pain.
She curled her fingers into the thick muscles of his shoulders, opened to his stark demand. The slow, erotic strokes of his tongue against hers coiled the muscles in her abdomen tight, his dark, sensual taste filling her senses, seducing her with its rich male flavor.
Fingers digging into his shoulders, she hung on tight. Lorenzo slipped a hand lower to her bottom, shaping her against him. The hard thrust of his desire, a thick, pulsing heat beneath his trousers, pulled a low sound from the back of her throat. She pressed closer, drunk on the feel of him. He rocked against her, slid his steely heat against her most sensitive flesh, scoring her through the thin material of her dress. “Feel how much I want you,” he murmured against her mouth. “You make me crazy, Angelina.”
A shudder went through her, her knees nearly buckling beneath her. He backed her up against the windowsill, kneed her legs apart so he could stand between them. Supported by the wall, she welcomed the hot press of his flesh. Allowed him to tease her, play with her until she thought she might go up in flames.
Her hands moved to his belt, greedy, desperate for him. Yanking the leather free of the buckle, she undid it, unbuttoned his trousers and slid down the zipper. Pushing her hands inside his pants, she cupped the thick length of him in her palms.
Lorenzo cursed low and hard. Removed her hands from him. “Mi bellissima. You need warming up or I will hurt you.”
“No,” she said, trying to free her hands. “I need you inside me.”
“Sì.” Hard, uncompromising. He captured her hands, placed them palms-down on the sill. “Keep them there.”
Eyes on hers, he sank his fingers into the knot of his tie, pulled it loose and stripped it off. Tossing it on the floor, he reached for the top buttons of his shirt and pulled them free. Her heart thrummed the frantic beat of a bird trapped in a cage as he dropped to his knees in front of her.
Reaching for her foot, he worked the delicate clasp of her shoe open, slid her foot out and tossed the stiletto aside. He did the same with the other. Setting his hands on her ankles, he trailed them up her calves to her knees. Pushed them apart with a deliberate, firm motion that had her sucking in a breath. “Lorenzo,” she breathed, feeling far too exposed.
He looked up at her, an implacable expression in his dark eyes. “Stay still.”
Oh, dear Lord. A shudder went through her. He pressed a kiss to the inside of both her knees, worked his way up the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs, caressing her with his mouth, the scrape of his teeth. She bit her lip, willing him on.
She was aching, pulsing for him by the time he got to where she wanted him. Ready to beg. Mouth dry, she watched as he pushed up her dress and tucked it beneath her hip, baring her lacy, black panties. A wisp of nothing—meant to seduce.
Hand on her thigh, he considered her. Bold. Focused. “You wore these for me?”
“Yes.”
A smile tugged at his mouth. “I thought you said you weren’t going to wear lingerie for me.”
“I said I wouldn’t greet you at the door wearing it.”
A play of laughter in those dark eyes. “Appreciate the distinction.”
Shifting his attention back to the job at hand, he lowered his head and caressed her through the silk with one long stroke of his tongue. Her knees buckled. Sinking back on her palms, she braced herself against the wood. Closed her eyes as he stroked her again and again, desensitizing her, she knew, for the pleasure he would give her.
When she stopped bucking under his tongue, he pressed a kiss to her trembling abdomen, slid his fingers under the edges of the silk and stripped the panties from her. Moving back between her thighs, he spread her wide. Ran his thumb through her cleft. Blood surged from her fingertips to her toes as he examined her flesh.
“Already wet for me, cara.” He looked up, eyes blazing. “Maybe I should stop.”
She reached for him. Received a reproachful look as he put her palms back on the wood. “Move them again and I will.”
She closed her eyes. Felt the heat of his breath before his tongue found the hard nub at the center of her, nudging it with sensual precision. Back and forth, up and down. When her legs started to shake, her voice a low plea, he licked her slowly, deliberately, talking to her as he did it, telling her the taste of her made him hard. Hot.
Insane for him, at the very edge, she curled her fingers into the wood. He circled her with his finger. Delved inside of her. Her muscles clenched around him, drawing him in. Slowly, relentlessly, he moved his finger in and out of her, another kind of pleasure stirring to life that was deeper. More intense.
“Look at me.” His husky command brought her eyes fluttering open. Seeing him between her spread legs, pleasuring her, sent her right to the edge. “You want it like this? Or with me inside your beautiful body?”
She swallowed past the need constricting her throat, the raging hunger he inspired in her. “With you,” she rasped, keeping her hands on the wood. “I want it to be with you.”
* * *
Lorenzo removed his hands from his wife, swung her up in his arms and carried her into the bedroom, working to blank his mind from the emotion pouring through it. But his wife had always cast a spell over him and tonight was no exception, despite his attempts to tell himself going there was unwise.
He set her down near the bed and moved behind her to lower the zipper of her dress. Pushing it off her shoulders, Alexander’s creation hit the wood floor in a swish of feather-light material.
Hands on her shoulders, he turned her around. Drank in his wife’s mouthwatering curves. Lushly feminine in all the right places, her breasts were more than a handful, perfectly shaped and high, her delectable hips flaring above long, fantastic legs he wanted wrapped around him so badly, it was all he could do to keep this the leisurely seduction he’d planned.
Stripping off his shirt and pants, his gaze never left her. Kicking his clothes aside, he snaked an arm around her waist, pulled her to him and plastered her curves against the length of his body. Fingers curving around her jaw, he dropped a lingering kiss on her mouth. Shared with her the essence of their mutual passion until the raw, unvarnished truth of their connection swelled him so hard he thought he might break in two.
This time when she reached for him, her touch like silk around his throbbing length, he arched into it, desperate for more.
“That’s it.” His breath was hot against her ear. “I’ve missed your hands on me, mia cara. I crave them.”
His skin began to burn, tremble, her exploration of his body firing his blood. He closed his eyes, primal sounds leaving the back of his throat as she stroked him to the edge.
When he could take it no longer, he pushed her hands away, sank his palms into her hips and lifted her onto the bed. The moonlight spilling in the French doors edged across her face, illuminating the beautiful vulnerability he was starting to believe was the truth of her.
He slid his hands around her back, released the catch of her bra and threw it to the floor. Her full, swollen breasts were a temptation he couldn’t resist. A shudder raked through her as he swept his thumbs across the tips.
“Like ripe, delectable fruit,” he murmured, lowering his head to her. He took a nipple in his mouth and sucked hard. She gasped, threw back her head and pushed her flesh farther into his mouth. He devoured her, satisfied his hunger. Played her other nipple between his thumb and forefinger while he brought the hard bud to a swollen erectness with his lips and teeth.
She moaned as he lavished the same attention on her other breast, digging her fingers in his hair. “Please.”
Her broken plea contracted his insides. He joined her on the bed, shackled his fingers around her ankles and bent them back so she was open to him. Moving between her thighs, he palmed his length, brought himself to her slick entrance and rocked against her so just the tip pushed inside.
“You want me, cara?”
She nodded, her big blue eyes glued to his.
“Tell me how much.”
“All of you,” she gasped. “I want all of you.”
Bracing a palm on the bed, he tipped his hips forward and filled her with another inch. “Lorenzo,” she breathed, arching up to meet him, “I need you.”
A primal satisfaction claimed him. All of those nights since she’d left when no one else would do, when her memory had made a mockery of his libido, were vindicated as she lay begging beneath him, beautiful and oh, so vulnerable. Exactly as he’d wanted her. And yet, as he rocked forward again, her body clenching around him like a hot, silken glove, he would have been delusional to deny he was as affected as she was.
He leaned forward, slicking his tongue across her bottom lip in an erotic caress that made her clench tighter around him. “There is no going back,” he rasped, “only forward. Tell me you understand that.”
“Yes.” She arched her hips, eyes glazed. “More.”
He buried himself inside her with a smooth, powerful stroke. Her gaze met his in an electric, soul-destroying connection. “You feel like heaven, cara. Perfection.”
Her slick, aroused body absorbed him, stretched to accommodate his length and girth. He gritted his teeth, forced himself to hang on. Fine tremors snaked through her body, her inner muscles rippling around him. He moved inside her then with hard, powerful drives designed to drive her to orgasm. He lacked his usual finesse, but was beyond caring. Her fingers clutched his hips as his big body rode hers, claimed her, found that spot deep inside her that made her moan with pleasure.
She arched into it, wanting everything he had to give. He braced himself on one arm, slipped the other hand between her legs and found the bundle of nerves at her center. “I can feel you clenching around me,” he murmured, stroking his thumb teasingly over her clitoris. “Like that,” he whispered when she jerked beneath his touch. “And that,” he said as another shiver raked through her. “Come for me, cara.”
His next firm caress set her off. Her husky groan, the way she gloved him in a tight squeeze, pushed him into a violent, body-shaking release. Relinquishing control, he tightened his fingers around her hips, drove into her and made her come apart a second time.
* * *
Lorenzo was awake long after his wife fell asleep in his arms. Soft and warm, her body curved against his, their fit together was so perfect it was as if she’d been made to fill in his missing spaces. To complete the parts of him that had been empty so long he’d had no idea they still existed.
A knot fisting his stomach, he disentangled himself from his wife and lay staring at the sky through the window overhead. He’d crossed a line tonight—allowing this thing between him and Angelina to become emotional when he’d promised himself he wouldn’t. It had been that kind of a night, to be sure, but he knew if he wasn’t careful, he’d start walking down a path he could never go and it would be Angelina who got hurt, not him.
He’d been falling in love with his wife when she’d left, his instincts warning him if he let himself, he would have fallen harder for Angelina than he had ever fallen for Lucia. His love for Lucia had been a pure, untainted first love that lacked the passion and emotion he and Angelina had shared. The depth of his feelings for Angelina, the betrayal those feelings had seemed to Lucia, the youth and unhappiness Angelina had displayed that had made her an unsure bet, had made him cauterize his feelings, refuse to acknowledge them.
And his instincts had been dead-on, he thought, staring up at the cloudy night sky. Angelina had walked out as soon as the going had gotten tough, had made a mockery of the vows they’d made. And that was why certain lines could never be crossed.
If he was smart, he would follow his original plan. Burn out the attraction between him and his wife until it no longer held any power over him.
Now that he had her back in his bed, he intended to do exactly that.
