Priceless: Bought for the Sicilian Billionaire's Bed / Bought: The Greek's Baby. Jennie Lucas
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unfair. And it’s not true.’
‘No?’
She shook her head. ‘No.’
He tipped her pale face upwards, his thumb beneath her chin. Her grey eyes were smokier tonight, he thought, and her lips gleamed at him enticingly and they were trembling. Very slowly, he lowered his head and drifted his mouth across hers, feeling it shiver and hearing the instinctive little escape of her breath. It was a lingering, unhurried whisper of a kiss, the brush of their lips the only point of contact. She had every opportunity to stop it but she did not.
Salvatore could feel his own desire building. He could sense her impatience, could hear the faint flutter of her hands as she tried to prevent herself from reaching out to touch him. Still he teased her with the merest whisper of a kiss until, with a small cry of her own surrender, Jessica reached up to clasp his face between both her hands.
‘Oh, Salvatore,’ she whispered brokenly. ‘Salvatore.’
He stared deep into her eyes and nodded. ‘Yes, cara. You have proved it to yourself. You want me, and I want you. It is so simple, isn’t it? You are coming home with me,’ he said softly, and thought that he disguised his triumph well.
Jessica stared up into the gleam of his brilliant eyes, her lips parting as he lowered his mouth to kiss her properly this time as the car sped off towards Chelsea.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE front door closed behind them and Jessica stared at Salvatore, unsure of what to do next—out of her depth in a situation like this and weak and dizzy with the sensations which were sizzling over her skin.
She was vaguely aware that Salvatore’s apartment was enormous and that there was the indefinable scent of luxury in the air, but luxury was the last thing on her mind as she gazed up at the man in front of her, wondering if this could really be happening to her. Her gorgeous boss staring down at her with the unmistakable look of sexual hunger on his face. What on earth did she do next?
Salvatore cupped her face in between both his hands, one thumb brushing against the pulse which fluttered furiously by the paper-thin skin at her temple. ‘You are scared.’
It was an observation rather than a question and it sounded almost gentle. Jessica nodded. ‘A little.’
‘Am I to take it that you don’t do this kind of thing very often?’
She shook her head. ‘Never,’ she whispered, slightly hurt that he should ask. And yet, who could blame him for asking—she hadn’t exactly played hard to get, had she? Hadn’t even stopped to think what she was getting into. ‘Look, Salvatore, maybe this is crazy—’
But she got no further, for he had lowered his lips to brush against hers and his touch was intoxicating.
‘No,’ he murmured, breathing in her perfume. ‘Not crazy at all. Perfetto. Perfect. It will be perfect—believe me, Jessica. Now let us get out of this inhospitable hall and go somewhere where we can be more at ease with one another.’
He laced her fingers with his and led her along a seemingly endless corridor, but inside Jessica’s heart was racing. At ease, he had said, and yet she had never felt so nervous in her life. He was so confident, so sure of his own sexual power to assure her that this would be ‘perfetto’—but didn’t he realise that he was dealing with someone who, while not a complete novice, wasn’t exactly seasoned in the ways of making love?
Should she tell him so? And what could she say—that she was afraid she would disappoint him and was completely out of his league? Like a small, scruffy pony used to transporting schoolchildren round a field who had suddenly dared compete with a long-legged and aristocratic racehorse in the biggest race of the season?
But her throat was frozen as he led her into the biggest bedroom she’d ever seen, and no words of protest came.
She was aware of highly polished floors strewn with beautiful faded rugs in different, muted colours. A silk-covered bed dominated a room which was big enough to accommodate a sofa and a couple of chairs, as well. An arched area led to a large study and she could see big pots crammed with amazing scarlet flowers and dark glossy foliage.
‘Ah, Jessica,’ Salvatore murmured as he drew her into his arms and stroked a tumble of shiny hair from her face. ‘You look as though you are about to be thrown to the lions.’
‘D-do I?’
‘Mmm. Shall I be your lion? Your big, fierce lion?’ his lips whispered to her neck. ‘And shall I eat you up, every little bit of you, cara mia—would you like that?’
‘Salvatore!’ she exclaimed, but now she was trembling.
He smiled as he heard the faint shock in her voice, but deep down Salvatore approved of her lack of sophistication. Her relative innocence and reluctance were a welcome change from the lovers he had known in the past.
Unless it was all an act. A wide-eyed sham to make him ‘respect’ her more.
Pulling her a little closer, Salvatore skated his hands over her breasts and heard her breath quicken. Even if it was a sham—what did it matter? In the end, this was nothing but a temporary pursuit. Something to be enjoyed by both of them—and as long as she was fully aware of the rules, then nobody would get hurt …
He glanced down at her. Tonight she was wearing a purple silk dress with tiny buttons all the way down the front, which he began to undo, one by one.
‘So many buttons! Did you wear this to deliberately tantalise me?’ he teased.
Jessica could barely think, let alone speak, as he began to pop each one open and bare her heated flesh to the cooling wash of air. She had worn it because it was the most suitable thing that Willow had been able to find in her wardrobe.
His finger brushed along the edge of her bra—a plain and functional bra, he noted with an element of disapproval. But maybe there would be a lick of lace beneath.
‘Salvatore,’ she whispered, because by now the dress was open to her stomach, and he had bent down and was kissing her there—flicking his tongue into the gentle dip of her navel so that she gasped aloud and clutched at his broad shoulders.
And Salvatore gave a low laugh of delight. ‘What is it, cara mia?’ he questioned, his breath warm against her skin.
She wanted to tell him that she was terrified she would disappoint him, but no words came. ‘I … I … ’
‘Just relax,’ he murmured. ‘Enjoy it.’
Somehow she did as he said, forgetting everything except the pleasure he was giving her as his tongue tracked slowly and erotically down over her belly. Desire began to grip at her in a way she had not experienced before. She felt it gathering pace, like a snowball getting bigger as you rolled it in fresh snow. She wanted him to … to …
But he didn’t. The last button freed, he straightened up to slide the shirt-dress away from her narrow shoulders, so that she was left aching and hungry for him.
Salvatore saw the disappointment on her face and sensed her growing frustration, but he took his time. It was always best for the woman the first time if you made her wait. His eyes flicked over her. Despite her surprisingly expensive dress, her underwear was as disappointing as it had promised to be, plain and functional, her panties obscured by a hideous pair of tights. She would not wear those again, he thought grimly. ‘Take off my shirt,’ he ordered softly.
And Jessica, who was normally so good with her hands, now found that they would not obey this simple command at all. Had she thought he might take pity on her and remove the garment himself? But he did not. In fact, her struggle with freeing the buttons seemed to please him, until at last she slipped the shirt from his silken olive skin.
She swallowed. His golden-olive torso was formidable with not an ounce of spare flesh to be seen. He was all lean and honed muscle. So gorgeous. Too gorgeous, really.