Untamed Italians: Innocent in the Italian's Possession / Italian Tycoon, Secret Son / Italian Marriage: In Name Only. Kathryn Ross
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the sun. Her papa had had skin like leather.
Not so for Stefano. His skin looked smooth and soft, stretching taut over hard, unyielding muscles. Soon she’d know what he looked like without clothes. She’d feel that strong hard body moving on hers.
She clasped her hands together to still their trembling. And instantly noticed something very wrong.
“No!” She stared at her ring finger. Her bare ring finger.
“Bella, what troubles you?” he asked, his voice a rich baritone that stroked over her skin and left her trembling.
“My ring,” she said, and quickly described the marquise cut aquamarine flanked by two tiny diamonds that matched her necklace. “I’ve lost it somewhere.”
“I’ll have the servants search the boat and helicopter for it,” he said “D’accordo?”
She nodded, even though it was not okay. Her papa had given her that ring when she’d gotten her degree. Losing it was like losing her papa all over again.
She hugged her waist when she ached for someone to hold her. No, not someone. Stefano.
She’d lost too much. Her parents. The inn. And now Cesare’s life hung in the balance.
“I would like to accompany you to the hospital tomorrow,” she said, desperately needing to see the older man.
Again that abrupt tightening of his shoulders and back. “The doctors have stressed he is not to think of work.”
“I won’t mention the shipyard except to say all is fine,” she promised, not about to be dismissed so easily. “Please. I am worried about Cesare and will be a nervous wreck waiting at the office for news.”
“Of course.” His smile was tight, and a hardened glint sparked his eyes now. Anger?
Yes, he was likely annoyed that she’d insisted on coming to the hospital. He must know he couldn’t stop her, that her being there was simply a show of support.
She was first and foremost Cesare’s personal secretary! This unsavory agreement she made with Stefano fell below that—as he’d said, it was simply business.
“Sleep,” he said. “I can promise you that you won’t get much rest tomorrow night.”
And with that predictive remark he was gone.
She stared at the closed door a long moment, but the subdued light and luxurious bed called to her. He was right. She needed rest.
Gemma found a silk gown in the bureau, one of a dozen that still had tags on them. A good deal of her pique drained away knowing she wouldn’t be wearing his lover’s castoffs.
Yes, morning would come far too soon, she thought as she crawled into bed and doused the light. She sank into the down topper and sighed.
All she needed was a few hours’ sleep.
But she couldn’t close her eyes for when she did, she saw Stefano’s arrogant face and the dark desire that lit his eyes, which stirred an unsettling restlessness within her. So she paced the large bedroom in the velvet hush of night and prayed for exhaustion to overtake her.
How appropriate that he was as difficult to remove from her thoughts as he was from her life! When her mind grew too crowded with imaginings of what he expected of a mistress, she peeked out into the salon.
It was empty. All was quiet, and why shouldn’t it be since it was nearly four o’clock in the morning.
Gemma slipped into the salon and paused, her brief silk nightgown cool against her bare skin. She debated going back to find a robe or coverlet, then decided not to bother.
She was alone here. Stefano was asleep, and hopefully if she paced between the porthole and exterior door another thirty minutes she’d grow too weary to keep her eyes open, too.
“You should be in bed,” Stefano said, his deep voice reaching her from the dark recesses of the room.
She stopped and stared at him bathed in shadows. How long had he been standing there watching her?
“I couldn’t sleep,” she said. “A problem I’ve had for years.”
“Does nothing help?”
“If I grow tired enough from pacing and fretting, I will usually fall asleep for several hours.”
“You need a better diversion than pacing.”
She was tired and cranky and in no mood to spar with Stefano tonight. “What do you suggest?”
“Facciamo l’amore.”
Making love was not a good idea, not without her new contract in hand.
“We agreed to begin tomorrow night.”
One broad, masculine shoulder lifted in a lazy shrug, and as the faint moonlight played over his olive skin she realized he wasn’t wearing a shirt. Her throat went tight as her gaze lowered, admiring his taut belly ribbed with muscle, lean hips that would make a god proud and the evidence of his desire that jutted hard and long toward her.
Gemma’s legs turned to jelly, refusing to support her. Or maybe the heat from his gaze and the fire now sparking to life within her melted whatever usually held her upright.
She managed a weak, “Oh,” as she crumbled.
But she never hit the floor.
No, Stefano moved like lightning to catch her up against him. Gemma pushed against his chest, but the effort was halfhearted.
Her palms skimmed that unyielding masculine wall she’d longed to touch and she simply forgot how to breathe.
He was hot and strong and oh so sexy. Even in the dim light she could see his eyes weren’t a solid brown but dusted with flecks of gold.
Right now those specks were molten, melting any reservation that dared to cross her mind. Not that much was crossing her mind except how wonderful it felt to be held this close to this man.
“I can’t let you do this,” she said, the words tumbling from her in a breathy whisper as she realized that he was going to kiss her.
Or was she simply seeing what she wanted to see?
The seductive slant of his smile warmed her more than a full sun. “Why try to stop what we both want?”
His mouth captured hers, the kiss long and deep and drugging. Passion sang through her veins in a virtuoso’s concerto, bringing tears to her eyes for the sheer beauty and power that flowed from him into her.
She didn’t know how a kiss could muddle her so, but she was lost in his embrace, in this moment. He pressed her into the bed without breaking the kiss and she started. How had he carried her to her bedroom without her being aware of it?
Then the question was lost as he stroked her arms, her back, her breasts, taking his time with each. The glide of her silk gown was a barrier she loathed and an aphrodisiac that heightened her pleasure.
Oh, and what pleasure he gave!
His mouth moved over hers with ravenous passion and she trembled, starving for more. Each bold thrust of his tongue parried with hers sent an answering throb to the very core of her.
She writhed against him, wanting something she could only imagine. It was as if she’d slumbered all her life and just came awake now.
“Kiss me, bella,” he murmured against her lips. “Kiss me like you want to.”
Dare she? Her experience was laughable, but her desire was great.
Her small hands glided up his bare chest, awed and emboldened by the telling tremors that passed from this tall, muscular man into her. His hands weren’t passive, either, and those long fingers gliding over her sensitized skin adored and teased in turn. How could she have thought this