The Italian Doctor’s Mistress Page 13

  In all sincerity, Danielle was able to say, “You did a marvelous job on all three.” Then, staunchly rising above another fit of jealousy as misplaced as it was useless, added softly, “Karina would be proud.”

  “She’d be disappointed that I couldn’t save the bell tower, though. Unfortunately, it was structurally unsound.” He reflected on that a second or two, then shook his head and smiled ruefully. “But why are we wasting this time together speaking of history, when the here and now holds so much promise?”

  The way he was looking at her, the intimate purr of his voice, left her shaking inside. “Does it, Carlo?”

  “You need to ask?” He reared back and stared at her incredulously. “Can you not see that it is only by talking incessantly that I’ve been able thus far to steer my mind away from the temptation you present?”

  “But I thought…” She shrank farther into the corner of the sofa, her nerves in a sudden uproar at the predatory gleam in his eye. “You said we shouldn’t…that it wouldn’t be right—”

  “Do you not understand that, for all my fine, upstanding talk, I brought you to this secluded corner of my home, knowing full well what the probable outcome would be?”

  “No,” she said baldly. “Quite frankly, I didn’t think you were the least bit interested in…”

  She ground to a halt, unsure how to phrase her response. If doing it tonight sounded impossibly gauche, making love didn’t exactly fit the occasion, either. The way she saw it, you couldn’t make love, if you weren’t in love—and he’d made it abundantly clear love didn’t enter the picture.

  “Yes?” He regarded her quizzically. “Not the least bit interest in what?”

  She coughed to hide her embarrassment. “That,” she said.

  He took her brandy glass and placed it alongside his own on the edge of the hearth. “Then let me show you how wrong you were, la mia innamorata. Because that is exactly what I have in mind.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  HEAVEN help her, but now that the moment was upon her, she froze with terror. There was none of that lovely warmth she’d experienced when he kissed her earlier; none of that swirling agitation that left her fighting to breathe.

  Oh, her heart was racing, but with fear, not anticipation. His gray eyes might have turned all smoky with desire. He might think she looked irresistible, with her painted toenails peeping out from beneath the hem of her caftan. But he’d change his mind when he had her stripped naked and found there was really nothing there but a hundred and eighteen pounds or so of skin and bone incapable of responding to his seduction.

  “I’m not…prepared,” she muttered, too many memories clouding her mind.

  Did I hurt you? Tom had once asked, rolling onto his side after they’d been in bed, supposedly enjoying each other when, if truth be told, he’d been interested only in pleasing himself.

  Watching a moth flutter madly inside the lampshade on the dresser, and oddly able to identify with the poor creature’s plight at being fatally drawn to a flame that would ultimately destroy it, she said, No. Why do you ask?

  I thought you moved, he said, then seeing her stricken expression, had laughed and said, Lighten up, for crying out loud! It’s a joke that’s been around for years.

  “I am prepared, Danielle.” Carlo’s voice drifted gently against her ear, soft and beguiling as midnight. “I would not jeopardize your future or mine by making you pregnant. There are already too many unwanted children in the world.”

  If I were to have your baby, I’d want it!

  It wasn’t the first time she’d allowed such a thought to take shape in her mind, and she floundered, horrified by a reaction so instinctive and uncompromising that, this time, she almost uttered it aloud.

  “Do you not agree, Danielle?”

  “Well, of course I do,” she managed. “But you might at least have given me prior warning of your intentions.”

  “And have you find a reason to close your bedroom door in my face?” He curved his hand around her jaw. “My patience is sorely tested, Danielle. I have wanted you almost from the moment I first set eyes on you, and I believe you want me—but if you truly are not ready, you have but to say so. I will not take you against your will. Making love is for two people, not one.”

  “Oh, Carlo!” Her voice broke and she leaned into him. “You know very well that I want you, too, but I’m so afraid you’ll be disappointed.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  She looked at him, pure torment churning her insides. But better he be forewarned than feel she’d deceived him after the fact. “If you must know, I’m…frigid.”

  His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Whatever put such an idea in your head?” Then, disgust filling his voice, he said, “Ah, as if I need to ask!”

  Miserably, she said, “I just thought you had the right to know.”

  He tilted her chin and forced her to meet his steady gaze. “Look at me, Danielle. I am Carlo, not Tom.”

  “How did you know I—?”

  “Hush,” he murmured against her lips, as he shaped his hands over her hair and down her throat. “Let me show you the difference between him and me.”

  She thought she knew what to expect. After all, he’d kissed her more than once. But never at such unhurried length, as if he had all the time in the world.

  He’d touched her, too. Had examined her bruised ribs, her sore ankle. Then his touch had been probing, professional. Had even caressed her in a way that was anything but professional—but never like this, as if he were drizzling warm honey into every pore of her skin. Never with his tongue following his hands, and leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

  He’d spoken to her before, more times than she could count. Sometimes with detached courtesy, as a doctor; sometimes with the gracious ease of a host; on occasion guardedly, as a reminder that, even though they were attracted to one another, at the end of it all, they would go their separate ways. And always, always, in near-flawless English and with absolute clarity, so that she was never in doubt as to the message he was conveying.

  Now, though, muffled syllables rolled off his tongue like dark music that came distantly to her ears in that sequestered room. Yet although he murmured in Italian and she didn’t understand a single word, still she knew what he was telling her. The heated passion in his voice transcended international barriers and spoke to her in the universal language of love.

  Bemused, she let it sweep her past the boundaries which before had always contained her. Borne on its hypnotic current, she didn’t protest as he pulled her caftan over her head and left it to puddle on the rug at her feet. She didn’t cringe when his gaze lingered on her breasts, her belly, her thighs. What she did was rise up to meet his kiss and push aside his shirt.

  His chest was hard, smoothly sculpted, smudged with a dusting of dark hair. She splayed her hands wide, let them roam over him at will, loving the texture of him, the latent strength beneath his skin.

  Not until she heard his sharply indrawn breath did she realize she’d trapped his nipples gently between her fingers. Shocked by her audacity, she went to remove her hands. But he captured them and pinned them against him. Lowered his dense black lashes in pleasure, and whispered, “Ah, si, cara mia! Si!”

  Subsiding against the soft leather, she dared to trespass farther. To his midriff, flat as a board, bisected by a narrow band of dark silky hair which disappeared inside the waist of his trousers. Up his ribs, to his shoulders gleaming bronze in the firelight. Down his arms until she found his hands again and guided them to her own breasts.

  And all the time, a core of fire struggled to ignite within her. Its heat encroached on her skin, impaired her breathing. But it didn’t consume her. Didn’t make her forget she could never go the full distance. Weaving like an insidious disease through her awakening response, the question lurked: when would she grind to a halt? When would he stop murmuring Si, and start asking impatiently, Che cosa c’è? What’s the matter?

  Or, as Tom once put
it: Are we having fun yet?

  Riddled with uncertainty, she turned her face away. Fixed her gaze anywhere but on him. Firelight glimmered on the cut crystal stemware. Roses shone ghost-pale in the moonlight outside the windows—a beautiful, ethereal sight.

  Carlo’s hand swept the length of her with proprietary command. “Look at me, Danielle,” he ordered. “Say Carlo.” He dipped a finger between her clenched thighs, and stroked once. “Say it now.”

  She jolted upright, and thought she might have screamed his name, except, with that one deft touch, he rendered her too mindless to know anything for sure. Strangling on a moan, she hovered somewhere just this side of paradise. A wash in the maelstrom of sensation he’d invoked, she ached for more, and was terrified she might get it and go mad as a result.

  “Yes,” he purred, easing her back against the cushions and stroking the hair from her face. “Just so, tesoro.”

  She relaxed. Closed her eyes. Almost smiled as she felt his mouth at her breast. At least now, she was on familiar, if unremarkable ground. But he wasn’t content simply to latch on and worry her nipple with careless lips and teeth. Rather, he courted it. Danced his tongue over and around her flesh until it fairly sang with pleasure. Finally he drew her deeply into his mouth, and at the same time took a little piece of her soul, too.

  As much as her ribs would allow, she stretched like a lazy cat. Tumbled her fingers through his hair. Only when he abandoned her breast for her waist, and from there traveled to the triangle of skin stretched over her hip bone, then lowered his head between her thighs, did she begin to squirm, all aflutter with nervous dread.

  He wouldn’t…! He couldn’t! Not there!

  She tried to clamp her knees together. Calmly, remorselessly, he pushed them apart, and put his tongue where his finger had been. Right there!

  “Aah!” This time, she yelped, quite literally shocked to the core.

  As if he were soothing a frightened mare, he stroked his tongue deeper, back and forth, up and down, in and out. Not a millimeter of her most private flesh went undiscovered. And try though she might to hang on to her sanity, she could not.

  Her mind turned to mist, but even as it disintegrated, a faraway fluttering of wings gathered momentum deep inside, until her entire body trembled from the force of it. Something tightened low in her belly—an invisible spiral of sensation so exquisitely painful that she whimpered. Clutched at Carlo. Begged without knowing what it was she begged for.

  The wings swooped closer, closer, invading her until she could hear nothing over their ruthless cadence. And then, when she thought she could not endure it a second longer, the tension snapped. Agony peaked into pure, involuntary rapture. Her thighs fell slackly open, and everything she was or had ever been, poured free in a relentless tide of emotion that left her drowning in tears.

  Carlo held her close. Told her she was beautiful, magnificent. Dried her face with the front of his shirt. It smelled of sunlight and him, and she wished he’d never let her go.

  He did—but only for as long as it took him to shed his own clothes. When at last he stood before her, naked and proud, she gazed her fill, unembarrassed. He was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen, as close to a god as it was possible for a mortal to be.

  Tentatively she stretched out her hand and dared to touch him. He covered her hand. Pressed it firmly against him. She closed her fingers possessively over him, pretending, just for a minute or two, that he was hers to caress every night, for the rest of her life.

  I love him… I love him… The words beat insistently in rhythm with her heart.

  He smiled at her, drew her gently down on the thick rug. “I keep my promise, you see,” he said, ripping open the foil wrapping on a condom. “I won’t leave you pregnant.”

  I wish you would…! But he’d already performed one miracle, and to ask for another was unconscionable. It was her turn to give without looking for reward.

  “Let me,” she said, reaching for the contraceptive.

  He relinquished it without a murmur and waited for her to make the next move. He was impressively aroused. If she were dextrous enough, she could probably have rolled the rubber in place without actually touching him. An hour ago, it was what she’d have preferred. That way, she’d have been less likely to make a fool of herself.

  Now, she wasn’t important. Now, finding a way to let him know how deeply he’d moved her ranked above all else. She could not take him in her mouth. Could not pleasure him as he’d pleasured her. She didn’t know how. But on impulse, she knelt before him, and dropped a row of kisses along the silken length of him. Demurely enough, with her lips firmly closed, she’d have said, but the way he grasped fistfuls of her hair and groaned deep in his throat told her differently.

  “Be swift,” he muttered hoarsely, encouraging her with impatient hands to slip the condom in place.

  Fumbling just a little, she accomplished the task. By the time she was done, sweat gleamed on his forehead and his chest heaved. “Tell me if I hurt you,” he said, easing her onto her back. “Your ribs—”

  “To hell with my ribs,” she told him, and pulled him on top of her.

  He braced himself on his elbows, taking the weight from her upper body, but allowing his penis to nudge at her belly. Willingly she opened her legs and guided him home. He slid inside her in one urgent thrust. Filled her completely. She tilted her hips upward, greedy for more.

  “I would like to love you slowly, cara mia,” he panted, his breathing ragged and uneven, “but you test my stamina sorely. Be still, I beg you. I am not yet done pleasing you.”

  Not yet done, when he’d exceeded her wildest expectations? She had dissolved beneath the seduction of his tongue. Had felt her soul fly to the most distant heavens, her heart almost burst out of her chest. How could there possibly be more?

  Yet even as the questions took shape in her mind, he began another subtle assault on her body, retreating and advancing inside her until, in a frenzy of need, she locked her legs around his waist and imprisoned him. She wanted all of him; everything he had to give her. Just for a little while, she wanted to believe he was hers for the rest of her life.

  The only way she knew how to achieve that was to imprint as much of him on her senses as possible—how he tasted when she bit into his shoulder; what he felt like when she dug her fingernails into the smooth skin of his back; how he sounded when he whispered her name in anguished tones—so that, no matter how many years might pass, the memory of him would never fade.

  It wasn’t enough. As he’d promised, there was more. More of the fluttering prelude to ecstasy. More coiling tension exploding free in a blinding array of colors so dazzling, she scrunched her eyes shut.

  This time, though, she didn’t soar alone. He was with her every step of the way, his arms keeping her safe, his kisses anchoring her to earth, his body protecting hers from splintering into a million brilliant shards.

  She felt the shudder ripple over him, the surge of his seed, trapped though it was from reaching its true destination. She knew, when his head dropped heavily to her shoulder and his breath rasped against her neck, that he was utterly spent.

  She knew, because for those few precious moments, her heartbeat echoed his. The same exhaustion sapped her strength, leaving her limp and gloriously sated. They were, briefly, entirely in tune with one another. Two halves of a perfect whole.

  Long moments later, he rolled onto his back, and pillowed her head on his chest to keep her close. Too full of emotion to speak, she aligned herself against him. Pressed a soft kiss to his shoulder.

  “Tell me, cara, do you still believe you’re frigid?” he inquired, with lazy amusement.

  “Why do you ask? Were you disappointed with my performance?”

  Laughter rumbled deep in his chest. “Do I look disappointed?”

  “I don’t know.” She allowed herself a tiny victorious smile. “Did I seem frigid?”

  “You were meravigliosa! Perfetta!”

  “Because
of you, Carlo,” she said dreamily. “I hardly recognize myself, and it’s all because of you.”

  He flung out his free arm and picked up the nearest grappa flute. Leaning on his elbow, he brought the glass to her lips, tipped it so that a little brandy trickled into her mouth, then took a sip himself. “It was a pleasure to awaken such an apt and willing pupil, tesoro.”

  Ah, yes! A timely reminder indeed, and coming not a moment too soon. In the languid aftermath of intimacy, it was easy to forget the real reason she’d had sex with him, and instead drift into the treacherous fantasy realm of “what if?”

  They were not lovers. For them, there was no “forever,” no “happy ever after.” She was the pupil only, and Carlo merely the master teacher. Those were the indisputable facts. Yet accepting the reality all over again ripped holes in her newfound bliss.

  He offered her another shot of grappa. Welcoming its numbing effect, she raised her head to accept, but this time his aim was off. The liquor sloshed over the rim of the glass, missed her mouth completely, and dribbled into the valley between her breasts.

  “Dio mio!” he crooned. “What a shame to let such excellent brandy go to waste.”

  Before she had time to guess his intention, he lowered his head and lapped at the drops, his tongue flirting with the inner curve of her breasts as he journeyed south. The thrill of his touch, light and mischievous, set new flames of awareness dancing playfully over her skin.

  She stretched indolently, loving the uninhibited freedom to enjoy the sensory pleasure he bestowed. “How decadent!”

  “Che deliziosa!” He chased the grappa down her ribs and caught it as it pooled in her navel.

  Until he swirled his tongue in that diminutive, unremarkable hollow, she’d never suspected it was yet another hotbed of erotic possibilities. But he knew. He knew, and he tormented her with the knowledge, blowing a stream of cool air on her heated flesh, then tantalizing her some more with his tongue.