Читать книгу The Notting Hill Diaries - Sarah Morgan - Страница 11

Bodies, mouths, every part of us that could touch were touching, and although I had no idea who made the first move I didn’t care any more because his mouth was warm and skilled and his kiss confirmed what I’d already suspected—

That he was the hottest man on the face of the earth.

Whatever else it was, this wasn’t a scripted kiss.

I doubted either of us would have known or cared if anyone else was watching. We were so wrapped up in each other, so absorbed in the moment, we wouldn’t have noticed if a horse had leapt from one of the paintings and started galloping around the room.

I felt the erotic slide of his tongue in my mouth and moaned aloud because what he was doing connected a million tiny circuits inside me and set off a chain reaction until I was fairly sure my body was close to meltdown. I didn’t care that he never smiled because I knew now his mouth was made for kissing and he proved it with every delicious, skilled stroke of his tongue. My arms were round his neck, my body pressed against his—and his was hard, muscular and just about perfect. Under that shockingly expensive suit, the man was ripped. Everything was ripped. My dress, his body and my reputation.

I couldn’t help myself. I covered the front of his trousers with the flat of my hand and felt him, hard and thick against my palm.

‘Cristo—’ he muttered against my lips and slammed me back against the wall, his mouth hot and demanding on mine. His hands had moved from the jacket to my breasts and I felt a thrill of delicious excitement as his thumbs grazed my nipples.

Usually I closed my eyes when I kissed, but not this time.

His eyes were fixed on mine, dark with heat and raw desire. It was the sexiest experience of my life and I didn’t want to miss a single moment of it.

My mind wasn’t capable of much coherent thought, but I knew I’d been wrong about one thing—

Nico Rossi wasn’t a good boy. He was a bad boy dressed in a good suit.

Heat pulsed between us, the chemistry screaming, scorching and intense. His fingers drove into my hair, which tumbled out of its clip and slid over his hand. His mouth was pressing hot, sensual kisses against my neck and lower.

He murmured something in Italian and I was about to ask him to translate when I realized I didn’t want him to. Knowing what he was saying might spoil everything. There was no way I was ever going to understand what was going on here anyway, so what was the point in trying?

I felt the thrust of his hard thigh between mine and there was another ripping sound as the seams tore a bit further. If the bridesmaid dress hadn’t already been ruined it would have been now. I didn’t think he even noticed. His mouth devoured mine and he yanked what was left of the stupid dress up and locked his hands on my shifting hips.

I strained against him, feeling the hard thrust of him against me and then I felt his hand move to my inner thigh. The anticipation almost killed me, and then he was stroking me with those long, knowing fingers, somehow programmed to touch me in exactly the right place even though I hadn’t said a word or made a sound. My mouth was on his, we were breathing the same air, biting, licking and it was the most erotic thing I’ve ever experienced. I wasn’t thinking about anything except how good it felt and then he slid his fingers inside me and good became incredible and I could feel myself pulse around him. I was gripping his shoulder because my knees were so weak I thought I might slide to the floor if I wasn’t holding on, but that left me with one hand free and I wasn’t going to waste it.

I wrapped my hand around him and felt him thicken in my grasp. As I stroked him I heard him growl deep in his throat and it was the sexiest sound I’d ever heard, even sexier because I knew I was the one who had done that to him. This man who was so big on control was losing control, and he was losing it because of me.

His fingers were skilled, finding that exact spot with unerring accuracy and I felt the first flutters of orgasm.

We’d barely exchanged a word before today, this man and I, and yet here we were locked in this unimaginable intimacy. His knee nudged my thighs further apart, giving him full access and he kept using his fingers, kept kissing me until I felt everything inside me tighten and pulse. I was close, so close, and he knew because he was right there with me, his fingers controlling everything I was feeling, his mouth breathing in my gasps.

‘Come,’ he ordered softly, and normally I was very bad at doing what I was told but this time our objectives were clearly aligned and I tightened my hand around the glorious thickness of him and then heard someone calling my name.

‘Hayley?’ It was my sister, using one of her frantic stage whispers, knocking on doors as she searched for me. Presumably she’d finally stopped laughing for long enough to work out I might be in trouble.

Shit.

Nico and I stared at each other, eyes and mouths still locked together. My body was suspended in a state of intense excitement.

For once in my life I wished Rosie had just carried on laughing and not tried to help me out.

Here I was, hovering on the edge of what I knew was going to be the best orgasm of my life with the hottest man I was ever going to meet and my sister was banging on the door.

I was going to kill her. Slowly. If I was going to die in agony then I was going to make sure she did, too.

‘Hayley? Are you OK?’

It was a measure of how turned on I was that having my sister banging on the door hadn’t made any difference to the way I felt.

Nico swore against my mouth (in both Italian and English, in case you were wondering), and I was just about to ask whether he’d locked the door when it burst open.

Fortunately Nico had his back to our audience, shielding me. I had yet another reason to be thankful for those broad, muscular shoulders.

With admirable calm, he removed his fingers and his mouth from my body and somehow managed to pull my dress down and draw the lapels of his jacket together at the same time. He was impressive in a crisis—smooth and composed. Rosie had seen most of it before, of course. We’d lived together since we left home to go to college and we didn’t lock doors very often, so at this point I was more exasperated than embarrassed.

But then I looked past his shoulders (and that took some willpower, I can tell you, because it was the best view I’d seen in a long time) and saw a shocked face that didn’t belong to my sister.

Nico’s sister was staring at him as if she’d never seen him before.

Oh crappity, crap, crap.

Her eyes were wide and shocked, her mouth slightly agape.

She obviously thought I’d corrupted her usually controlled brother. And maybe I had. I was certainly well on my way. From the moment he’d touched me, I’d thought about nothing but him. And before you judge me I can tell you without a flicker of doubt that if this man had kissed you, you wouldn’t have been thinking of anything but him either.

He swore under his breath. ‘Go back to the church, Kiara.’ It was a command, and she colored and stepped back without question.

If he’d spoken to me like that I would have posted his Tom Ford suit to a worthy charity, but she didn’t say a word. Just obeyed him like a puppy in an obedience class.

I decided it must be the shock that had stopped her from standing up for herself. And I was responsible for that shock.

So much for having a sexual relationship without emotional involvement. It seemed that no matter what rules you played by, someone always got hurt.

I wanted to tell her not to worry, that we hated each other really, but she’d already gone and I was left with more than a split dress to worry about.

I’d thought my embarrassment couldn’t get any deeper.

Turned out I’d been wrong about that, too.