The Virgin's Shock Baby. Heidi Rice
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and fizz beneath her skin, without a single regret.
It took ten minutes to drive through the moonlit park, a few hardy and fearless joggers still peppering the well-lit streets as they passed Belvedere Castle’s fairy-tale turrets. Megan felt almost as fearless as those intrepid joggers when the car drew to a stop and Dario got out. He hadn’t spoken during the journey, and neither had she. But the fever of anticipation stirring her blood made her fingers shake as he helped her out of the car.
‘So this is your love nest?’ she said.
‘My what?’ he asked as she tilted her head to take in the two towers of the art deco building, the ornate and opulent architecture a luxury statement from a bygone era.
But the laugh at his puzzled expression got trapped in her throat as he escorted her into the building, past the doorman and a receptionist, until he reached the antique lift. The intricate iron filigree gates opened as the uniformed operator beckoned them inside.
‘Good evening, Mr De Rossi.’ The man in his late-fifties tipped his hat at Megan. ‘Miss.’
‘Buonasera, Rick.’ Dario’s tone was clipped, his hand gripping hers so tightly she could feel her pulse punching. ‘This is Megan Whittaker.’
‘Nice to meet you, Rick,’ she said, her voice distressingly husky. Heat scorched her neck. How many other late-night lovers had Rick been introduced to on their way up to Dario’s love nest?
The term felt quaint instead of romantic—which was for the best, she decided. She wasn’t here to make love, but to have sex for the first time.
Suddenly the enormity of what they were about to do occurred to her. They hadn’t even kissed yet. What would that firm sensual mouth feel like on hers? How would his body look naked? She assessed the width of his shoulders in the perfectly tailored designer coat. He was a well-built guy; what if all of him was as generously proportioned? Would it hurt?
Should she tell him she’d never actually gone all the way before?
Her pulse rabbited against her collarbone as she watched the gold arrow above their heads swing in an arc signalling the floors.
Despite the antique design, the lift whisked them up to the twenty-sixth floor without a single creak. Too soon, and yet not soon enough. Dario bid the operator goodnight and led her into a palatial lobby area. Fresh flowers stood on a side table, the only touch of softness against the sleek modern lines.
Shrugging off his coat, he dumped it on an armchair, then lifted her wrap off her shoulders. Despite the warmth pumping out of a central air system, she shivered.
Callused hands settled on her bare shoulders and he turned her to face him.
His handsome face, rigid with desire, should have frightened her, at least a little bit. But somehow it felt compelling, for him to want her so much. His thumbs glided over her collarbone. His fingers curled around her nape with exquisite tenderness. And trapped her in place. Then his lips. Firm, sensual, and unapologetic, slanted across hers, triggering a tsunami of sensation.
Her breath got trapped somewhere around her solar plexus. The hard, unyielding line of his body imprinted itself on her curves, making her want to yield. Instead of demanding or devouring, his lips were coaxing, gentle, until her mouth opened on a huff and his tongue plundered.
He explored, exploited, taking control of the kiss. Shivers of awareness reverberated in her core, then his fingers fisted in her hair to angle her face so he could go deeper, take more. Her heart beat violently against her ribcage, like the wings of a trapped bird trying to escape. She plastered herself against him, absorbing the heat of his body, and kissed him back, her tongue darting out to duel with his. The sudden feeling of weightlessness was as terrifying as the desperate flare of longing, the shocking well of desire surging up her torso to obliterate everything but the sight, the sound, the taste of him. Earthy and raw and so staggeringly real.
The kiss could only have lasted for a few moments, but still she staggered, unsteady on her feet, when he lifted his head abruptly. His brows lifted, his eyes flaring hot, and she wondered for a second if he were as stunned as she was by the intensity of feeling that had passed between them.
Taking her hand, he led her down the corridor and into a huge, double-height room. A majestic sweep of stairs led to a mezzanine level, the deep leather sofas along the back wall the only furnishings. Huge floor-to-ceiling leaded windows looked out over the dark expanse of Central Park, the lake and the twinkle of lights from the East Side skyline beyond.
She could see her own reflection in the mullioned glass, her breath heaving in and out, her satin curves shimmering in the light from the hallway as he stood behind her. He glided his thumbs under the gown’s diamanté straps.
‘Yes?’ The low question shattered the silence.
‘Yes,’ she managed around the thickening in her throat.
He eased the straps over her shoulder blades. The rasp of the gown’s zip seemed deafening. Satin caught at her waist, and then slid down to pool around her feet, revealing the lacy royal-blue lingerie Annalise had insisted on buying to go with the gown.
Her breath hitched painfully as she heard the click of her bra releasing. He dragged the lace straps off her shoulders to slide down her arms. Her heavy breasts were released from their confinement. His lips caressed her neck, suckling on the pulse point as his hands covered the swollen mounds, his fingers circling her nipples.
Sensation tugged at her sex as he rolled the rigid peaks between thumb and forefinger, plucking then squeezing. Her knees went liquid, and a strong arm banded around her waist to hold her up. Her pale flesh shone white against his darkness.
His lips caressed the side of her neck as he growled. ‘I can’t wait any longer to have you.’
She pulled away and turned to face him. Her pulse was going berserk. She dragged a precious lungful of air into her lungs and tasted him, the subtle aroma of sandalwood and clean laundry detergent.
His thumb skimmed her cheek. The gentle touch had all her nerve-endings springing to high alert.
No man had ever looked at her with such hunger in his eyes. She absorbed the heat and intensity and it felt like a benediction, a celebration of everything she was that she had always been terrified to admit to.
The heat between her legs melted into a puddle of need, making her skin sensitive and her senses alert to the scent and taste of him, the rough sound of his breathing.
She squeezed her thighs together. ‘Neither can I,’ she said.
* * *
Dario stared at the girl in front of him—an artless seductress whose acute awareness of his touch had been torturing him all evening.
He had become spellbound by his own lust. He’d never wanted a woman this much, so much he wasn’t sure he could be gentle—and that frightened him. He could actually read every one of her emotions as they flitted across her face, her attempts to wrestle them under control almost as bewitching as the hard peaks of her breasts, which begged for his mouth.
Need coiled hard in his gut, the pounding in his crotch unbearable.
He cupped her breast. She jolted but didn’t draw away.
‘Are you sure, cara?’ He wanted no lies or obligations between them. He’d promised not to destroy her father’s company. But it had never been his intention to destroy it, only to take it from the man...tonight, when the final deal with the last of Whittaker’s shareholders went through at midnight.
‘Yes,’ she murmured.
He threaded his fingers in her hair, loosening the up-do. As the soft, silky strands teased his fingertips, her scent curled around him, fresh and vivid, and heat powered through his body. Her eyes widened, her breathing coming in harsh pants now. And he knew she felt it too, that tug of yearning, the driving need to finish what they’d started.
Her teeth sank into her bottom lip, mesmerising him, and calling