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Nolan braced his packages under one arm, pushed open the door and stared in amazement. This was his room? For a moment he thought perhaps he’d gone to the wrong place. In all the weeks he’d lived here, it had never looked like this: candles flickering, the curtains pulled back to reveal the lanterns on the canal, the long, highly polished but little-used dining table set with white cloth, silver and crystal. This was a setting fit for a prince. It carried an elegance far beyond that of an itinerant gambler who had money but not much else in life. If he’d known what was waiting for him, he might have come back sooner. Or, he might be highly suspicious.
Nolan chose to be the latter. This was the same woman, after all, who had tried to suck him and then slapped him for a kiss moments later. This was a woman who was with him because he was her only alternative for the moment, a rather lowering thought for a man who prided himself on the ability to seduce anyone.
Gianna moved from the shadows. Her entrance was masterfully staged. She only drew his attention after he’d had a chance to absorb the scene. And rightly so. Nolan thought he might have missed the table and all its finery if he’d seen her first. She was a queen in the candlelight, dressed in a silver-grey silk gown banded at the waist and trimmed at the hem in bands of black velvet. Her dark hair was piled high, exposing the slender column of her neck, a few curls left loose to tempt a man’s hand. ‘Welcome home.’ She moved forward, a glass in her hand, its cut facets catching the light of the candles. ‘There is chilled champagne and dinner will be here shortly.’ She handed him the glass and took his packages to set aside. Now, he was officially suspicious. She played the hostess far too well. A less-cautious man would be drawn in before he even knew the net had been cast.
‘What is all of this?’ Nolan kept his tone casual.
‘This is thank you and I’m sorry.’ Her hands were at the shoulders of his coat, helping him out of it. ‘I should not have slapped you last night. You have been kind to me none the less.’ She folded his coat and draped it over the sofa. She gave him a sly smile. ‘Don’t worry, it’s all on your bill if that makes you feel better. I can hardly seduce you on your own money.’
‘Is that how it works? Perhaps that explains why my other mistresses failed,’ Nolan said coolly. He was finding her premise fairly debatable. The candlelit suite, the cold champagne and the woman herself were doing a fine job seducing his senses and his body, although his mind was holding out for something more rational before he was entirely persuaded there was no other agenda.
A knock sounded at the door, and Gianna moved to answer it, favouring him with a chance to watch the grey silk move over her curves. Apparently, the session with Signora Montefiori had gone well.
The facchini stepped in with trays and laid the rest of the table with quick efficiency. Covers were removed, a second round of champagne was poured, bread was sliced in advance. Gianna dismissed the porters and stepped towards the table, holding a hand out to him in invitation, her voice husky. ‘Will you come and dine with me?’ She might as well have said, Come to bed with me.
Her eyes were on him. He felt his body start to fire with arousal. Direct eye contact with a woman who knew her own mind had always turned him on. Tonight was proving to be no exception. She was all Eve with the apple, tempting him to believe in the mirage she’d created—this elegant domesticity mixed with sophisticated intimacy. He found her intoxicating, this beautiful woman in grey, who had so effortlessly taken charge of the setting. It conjured up thoughts of other settings in which she might take charge; what would it be like to take such a woman to bed? Would she take charge of her own pleasure? Would she take charge of his? It was certainly probable. His cock recalled the feel of her hand on him and his body raced at the prospect of such possibility.
He joined her at the table, holding out a chair for her, thankful for the shadows that disguised his response to the fantasy she’d created. ‘Everything looks delicious.’ The compliment was designed to encompass more than the food, although everything on the table was in fact his favourites—the trota al burro, the thin strands of angel-hair pasta, the careful geometric piles of white polenta and at the centre of it all was the bowl of steaming go risotto.
Of course, the kitchen had all of his favourites on file. All one had to do was ask the kitchen what Signor Gray liked to eat. He was known throughout the markets of Venice for his love of Venetian seafood. It wasn’t the resourcefulness that touched him, it was her thoughtfulness. She’d gone to the trouble of asking. If she even guessed how compelling he found that little courtesy, he’d be entirely vulnerable despite his rather healthy layer of cynicism. Oh, it would be very prudent indeed to expedite their association as quickly as possible if this was her effect on him. Randy, well-fed men didn’t always think with their brains. He was on the verge of becoming both, a very dangerous fate considering he lived by his wits.
‘More champagne?’ She poured him the rest of the bottle and then opened another. ‘You have fallen in love with our seafood, it would seem. The lagoon is a fisherman’s paradise. But the risotto dish is hardly rich man’s fare.’
‘Perhaps that’s why I like it.’ Nolan sat back in his chair, letting his food settle. ‘Or perhaps it’s the risk in it that appeals to me. I’m a gambler by trade, I thrive on it. Once, on Burano, I saw someone make the go risotto. I saw the chefs carefully prepare the go fish so that they didn’t ruin the broth, I saw the risotto flipped in the air for aeration. There were so many variables needed to make perfection.’
He watched her take in his words, unravel their meaning. Her hand stilled on the stem of her flute. Did she know she did that? Whenever she felt caught, her body stilled while she gathered her mental resources. It was her tell. Everyone had them. Some just hid them better than others. He pitched his voice low, caressing each word deliberately. ‘One false move, one missed step, and the dish becomes disaster.’
Her hand came up and played with the pearl drop that lay just below her throat. Nolan’s hand itched to take its place. Perhaps she’d made the gesture on purpose to distract him, to redirect his thoughts. He could almost feel the pearl in his hand. It would be warm from the heat of her body. It would be a natural progression of movement to draw a finger down the column of her throat to the shadow between her breasts. As lovely as this interlude was, he needed to end it before he was entirely at her mercy.
‘Is that what we’re doing tonight, Gianna? Making perfection? If so, a man has to wonder why?’
Everything had been going perfectly until now. She’d known from the outset Nolan would have to be massaged into compliance, but she’d not guessed it would be over this. These—the dinner, the dress, the direct looks—were all designed to ensure his compliance, not to rouse his suspicions. They were supposed to help her avoid suspicion and now, her efforts had accomplished the very opposite of her intentions.
She’d left nothing to chance: not the foods for dinner, not the temperature of the champagne, nor any aspect of her appearance seen or unseen from the elegant fall of the grey evening gown Signora Montefiori had left to the silky undergarments beneath, compliments of an unclaimed wedding trousseau. And it still wasn’t enough.
Nolan leaned across the table, his eyes on her, dark and serious, his sharp mind already a step ahead of her. ‘Is this about the count, Gianna? If so, it’s wasted effort. I’ve already pledged my assistance.’ He paused. ‘Unless there is something you haven’t told me? Does this have to do with the item we need to retrieve?’
The truth was her only option. This was not a question she could answer with a pretty dress or champagne or silky undergarments. ‘Retrieving it will be a delicate task, one that will require some stealth...’ Gianna began, watching Nolan raise an eyebrow. At least he hadn’t thrown her out for what she implied.
‘Is there any chance in this discussion that you have substituted the words “retrieving” and “stealth” for “stealing”?’ Nolan swallowed the last of his champagne, giving every appearance of a man who was making usual conversation over dinner.
‘No.’ She was on definite ground here. ‘It is mine, legally.’ More legally in four weeks, but it had been willed to her and that made it hers no matter what her age. ‘But the count will be reluctant to give it up.’ The count’s reluctance stemmed from a different reason than hers. He wanted the item for its overtly displayed contents and what money they could bring. She wanted it for what it hid, for what it protected. Those secrets were still safe. The count would not have proposed otherwise—there would have been no reason to.
‘May I infer that we will not be able to simply ask him for it?’ Nolan pushed back from the table to give himself room to cross one long leg over another. ‘We will have to take it? Will the sight of my knife be suitable enough force for him to concede the object?’
Gianna set her jaw. He knew very well it wouldn’t be. There were just two of them. They could not lay siege in broad daylight to the count’s palazzo simply by walking in. His footmen, all burly, highly trained brutes, would evict them in short order, or at least evict Nolan. They might not let her go. The thought of being trapped in that house again made her shudder. ‘It is important that he not know we have it.’ The longer her ‘retrieval’ of the item went unnoticed the better. She would not hesitate to use it as leverage later. But without it, she would have nothing to bargain with.
‘You’re asking me to burgle the count’s house?’ Nolan’s tone registered a certain amount of incredulity.
‘I’m not asking you to do it alone,’ Gianna answered swiftly. ‘I’ll be there with you.’ She’d meant it as encouragement, but, yes, she was asking him to break into the count’s house. ‘I have a plan.’ As if that made it better. She rose from the table. ‘We need to go tonight, while the count is out. His staff will have the evening off.’
Nolan’s hand closed about her wrist, the steel of his voice matching the steel of his grip, his answer firm. ‘No.’
For the first time, Gianna began to panic. He couldn’t refuse. He simply couldn’t. She’d not allowed herself to contemplate what to do if he said no. She’d been so sure. Everything hinged on going back. She would lose Giovanni if she didn’t.
Chapter Nine (#u74f51329-3077-5fc2-9a52-b93f355dc298)
‘We have to. You said you would help and I need your help tonight.’ She tried to stay calm. Too much panic and he’d suspect there was more she hadn’t revealed.
Nolan did not yield. ‘I also said the perfection of go risotto was ruined by the smallest of missteps. You cannot simply go breaking into someone’s house without careful planning, no matter how prettily you sulk.’
Perhaps if she argued prettily enough, then. ‘What is there to plan? I know the house, I know the schedule of the servants. I know the location of the item. I am your plan and I assure you, I have no desire to be caught.’ No one would be more careful than she when it came to that.
Nolan dragged her over to his packages and let go of her wrist. ‘I have a better plan. We go tomorrow night. Open these.’
The packages were soft and pliable. Gianna undid the string and tackled the brown wrapping. Inside one package was a heavy, red-damask gown trimmed in velvet and done in the medieval style. Beneath it lay a matching, fur-trimmed cloak and a final paper-wrapped package, this one hard and contoured. A mask, beautifully painted in red and white and sequined. She turned the mask over in her hand with a dubious scowl. ‘This is for a masquerade, not a break in.’ No doubt the second package, similar in shape, contained a male costume to match.
Nolan gave her a smug smile and fished out a heavy white square of paper from his coat pocket. ‘I believe Count Minotti’s annual masquerade ball is tomorrow night.’ He passed her the invitation.
‘Are you crazy? There will be people crawling all over the palazzo,’ Gianna argued. Was he suggesting they try and remove the item during the masquerade? It was madness.
‘The more the merrier.’ Nolan grinned. ‘No one will even know we’re there. We’ll go, we’ll drink a little wine, we’ll dance, we’ll make free of the count’s hospitality, we’ll help ourselves to this item of yours, and be off. We won’t even have to skulk around.’
His plan was starting to sound plausible, safe even, when Nolan said it. There was only one thing. Did they dare wait one more day? How long would the count wait before he demanded she come back to him? If confronted, would Nolan make good on his word not to send her back? Above all, how long would it be before the count could get to Giovanni and hold him for ransom against her return? Against her secrets? She knew already she’d give those secrets up to protect Giovanni, but then how would she support them?
Gianna did quick calculations in her head: How long would it take a message from the count to travel? When would he send it? Surely, not until tomorrow at the earliest and only then if he felt sure she was not coming back. Perhaps she could afford to wait twenty-four more hours, especially if waiting ensured her success and reduced her risk. With Nolan’s plan, they wouldn’t have to break in, only retrieve the item in question.
‘Now that’s settled...’ Nolan smiled, sensing her acquiescence before she gave it ‘...I must thank you for the delicious meal and make my excuses. I need to change and be off.’
‘You’re leaving?’ Gianna trailed behind him into the bedroom. This was not going as planned, but why did that surprise her? Nothing had gone as planned.
Nolan pulled off his coat and undid his cravat, quick hands undoing the buttons on his waistcoat and pulling out the tails of his shirt. ‘Yes. I am committed to a card game this evening and I cannot be late. Can you pass me my evening jacket?’
‘No, I cannot pass you your jacket.’ Gianna fumed. This was not where she’d imagined the evening headed. They were supposed to be in a gondola by now, headed towards the count’s house. Since they weren’t burgling him tonight, she didn’t have a back-up plan for the evening—perhaps do a bit of planning with the masquerade? Go over the layout of the count’s palazzo? Whatever it was, it wasn’t this.
Her temper started to rise. ‘I’ve been stuck in this room all day, I’ve been pricked with needles and pins, draped with bolts of fabric and discussed as if I was nothing but a doll. On top of that, I planned you an excellent meal and all you have to say is “I’m going out”?’
Nolan tossed his old shirt on to the bed, obviously less concerned than she that he was undressing in front of her. He faced her, hands on hips, chest gloriously bare, his arms and torso an exhibition in lean, muscled strength. ‘Yes, I am going out. I am committed to a card game this evening and I cannot be late, not if your penchant for spending my money is any indication of what it will cost me to keep you for the interim. You, my dear, have proven to be a very expensive acquisition. You have me buying wardrobes, eating silver-plated candlelight meals, drinking French champagne and burgling the homes of nobility.’ He reached for a clean shirt and slid his arms into the sleeves. ‘Now, I am going to change my trousers. You are welcome to stay and watch.’
Gianna fought the childish urge to stomp her foot. His arrogance was insufferable! He knew he was an attractive man in and out of his clothing. Two could play this game. ‘I am not that desperate for entertainment. Perhaps, I shall go out as well. There was a concert at San Giorgio I wanted to take in.’ It was true, a quartet of some talent was performing Vivaldi tonight. She moved with brisk efficiency towards the wardrobe where she’d stored some of the items Signora Montefiori was able to leave behind this afternoon. There was a gorgeous, fur-collared cloak she was eager to try.
Nolan’s hand came over her shoulder and slammed shut the wardrobe door, his voice a growl in her ear, ‘Don’t be a fool, Gianna. You can’t possibly go out, not if the count is as dangerous as you say.’
‘Let go of the door, Nolan. You’re being ridiculous. I’ll be perfectly anonymous. It’s dark out, there are revellers everywhere. No one will notice me.’ She flashed him a coy smile over her shoulder, trying to ignore the fact that his half-dressed body was mere inches from hers. ‘The more the merrier, isn’t that right? Why is it that we can hide in plain sight at the masquerade tomorrow, but I can’t hide in plain sight tonight?’ There. Hoisted by his own petard, she thought smugly.
‘Because there’s no “we” tonight. You cannot go out in the dark alone.’
He had a point. Secretly, she was starting to rethink her hasty decision. Hardly anyone would notice her, that much was true, but that also meant no one would notice if anything untoward happened to her. Carnevale was a fun time, a free time, but it could also be a frightening time if one wasn’t careful. She wouldn’t be the first to go missing during Carnevale and never be heard from again. ‘Come with me, then,’ she challenged.
That was the last thing he wanted to do. The longer he was with Gianna, the further from sanity he slipped, and admittedly, he didn’t have the world’s tightest grasp on it to begin with. He needed distance and the card game would provide it. Just being in close proximity with her as he was now, breathing in the herbal scents of her toilet, rosemary and sage with a hint of lavender beneath, was enough to throw caution to the proverbial winds. Having already sat through a dinner, staring at her expressive face, watching her caress the pearl pendant at her throat, he thought caution might as well pack up and leave. It didn’t stand a chance.
Ignoring caution was by no means a rare occurrence for him, he was a risk-taker by nature and by trade, after all. Caution spelled doom. The moment a gambler started being cautious was the moment he lost. But his risks were calculated. Most of the time. He’d gone a little berserk at the Palio in Siena for a good cause, but that could not be the case tonight. He needed his wits. An idea started to form, his mind ran the calculations. His hand released the wardrobe door. ‘All right, we’ll go to the concert.’
He stepped back, distancing himself from the smell of her, the heat of her, watching her as she gathered her things. Gianna flirted and enticed for all the wrong reasons. He wasn’t about to take her to bed under those auspices no matter how tempting she was. As long as she used sex as a weapon, he had to be vigilant for both of them even if his body would prefer otherwise. Before that could happen, he needed her to recognise the power of the weapon she wielded. What would she do if he actually took her up on her offers? There might be a lesson for her in that. The sooner she learned it the better.
Still, Nolan was honest enough to admit that in the past twenty-four hours, Gianna had managed to get him to act not out of logic but out of emotion, not once, but three times. He was helping her because he empathised with her, not because there was any logical reason to do so. There was nothing logical about compassion. As long as he could recognise that, perhaps he wasn’t as far gone as he feared.
Tonight, he would convince her she didn’t want to be anywhere near him and that would buy him all the freedom he needed to keep his distance. He’d invest his time now for freedom tomorrow. If his plan went well, he wouldn’t need to see her at all tomorrow, except for the masquerade. And if that went well, she’d be gone the day after, out of his life, just another adventure that had come and gone. He merely needed to survive the next forty-eight hours. But he was good at surviving. He’d been doing it for years.
* * *
Downstairs in the lobby, Nolan hired a gondola to take them across the canal to San Giorgio Maggiore and whisked Gianna outside into the dark. The fewer people who saw her the better. There was a wide hood on her cloak, but Nolan encouraged her to leave it down. Hiding her face only sent the message that they didn’t want anyone to recognise her. Mystery bred attention.
‘Get in and sit down. No rocking the boat this time,’ he scolded her teasingly as he handed her in. ‘I have no desire for a swim tonight.’ He gave the gondolier their direction and ducked under the felze, taking his seat beside her as the boat pushed away from the pier.
‘Thank you.’ Gianna’s gloved hand squeezed his in friendly appreciation where it lay on his leg. It was an honest and spontaneous gesture devoid of her more sensual flirtations.
Nolan chuckled. ‘Oh, no, you’re thanking me again. That means you want something.’
‘It does not,’ she protested with a small bit of outrage and a large bit of defensiveness.
‘Yes, it does,’ Nolan insisted with a laugh, enjoying this particular argument. He covered her hand with his. ‘The first time you thanked me, you wanted to know why I was being nice to you. The second time you thanked me was followed up with a request to have me burgle your father’s home. So, you’ll have to excuse me if I’m a little suspicious.’
‘Stepfather,’ she interjected firmly. ‘I don’t know who my real father is, but it’s not the count.’
Touchy subject, that. But the count was also a subject about which Nolan needed, wanted, to know more. He was going to burgle the man’s house, he wanted to know what he was up against. And of course, there was the issue of knowing her. If he wanted to truly know Gianna, he had to know her past. Who was Gianna Minotti? That was the question that concerned him most as the gondola glided over the canal.
Nolan moved his thumb the length of her hand in a slow caress through the leather of their gloves. ‘And your mother? Where is she in all this?’ A low, quiet voice, the soothing motion of his thumb, the privacy of the gondola all made for a most intimate atmosphere conducive to sharing secrets, and he would take advantage.
She looked down at their hands, her voice quiet. ‘My mother has been dead these last five years.’
She’d been alone with only the count to guide her into adulthood. She’d been seventeen? Sixteen, maybe? On the verge of being presented to society. What sort of effort or commitment would the count have made on her behalf? Nolan had no sisters, but he had cousins and he’d watched them prepare for their débuts. Mothers were essential. What did fathers know of gowns and parties and navigating society when one was a young girl? Boys simply threw themselves on society, their wildness, their wilfulness, their mistakes tolerated as the sowing of oats. But girls had no such luxury. One mistake was fatal, like go risotto.
‘Do you have any aunts nearby?’ He knew before she answered that she did not. She would not have stayed with the count otherwise. But he was unprepared for the leashed vehemence in her response.
‘My mother had no friends, not females friends at any rate. She was a high-class courtesan who managed to marry a nobleman before her looks went. So, no, I don’t have any aunts, or any of the extended family Italians pride themselves on. The count does, of course, but there is no use in me accessing any of them even if they would acknowledge me.’
‘There is just you?’ Nolan traced circles on the back of her hand, feeling some of the tension go out of her. That gave rise to innumerable scenarios. A young woman alone, under the care of a guardian who had no compelling reason to look out for her best interests. The situation was ripe for all nature of scandal and the abuse of power. But it wouldn’t last for ever, would it? Nolan thought about majorities and coming of age. ‘At some point, you will outgrow the count’s power. Is that what the other night was about?’
‘He didn’t think he’d lose. He meant only to use the wager as leverage to blackmail me into marriage.’ Her voice was quiet.
‘With whom?’ A suspicion started to lay down roots in his mind. If she came of age the count would no longer have control over her. To some that would be a boon, a welcomed burden removed. Nolan would have thought the count would be overjoyed to be free of the obligation. Unless the count didn’t want to lose control of her.
‘Preferably with him,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘You do see why I can’t go back to him now. Going back would be a rather permanent arrangement.’ Of course it would be. She had something the count wanted and every man and legal system in Europe knew the best way to control a woman and her property was through marriage.
‘What is the item we’re going to get tomorrow night?’ It must be of great value if she’d risk walking back into the count’s house. He’d seen her shudder earlier. Now he better understood what going back meant to her. It must also be the item the count wished to control through her.
‘My mother’s jewel case,’ she said simply. Too simply. Nolan stopped caressing her hand. He didn’t quite believe her. She’d told him more in this boat ride across the canal than she’d told him all day and while the atmosphere certainly prompted confidences, he had to wonder about the last. He didn’t doubt that it wasn’t true, only that the truth wasn’t quite complete. She was still hiding something.
The gondola bumped against the pier at San Giorgio Maggiore and Nolan handed her out, keeping a hand at her back as they made their way into the church. The crowd was negligible. There were grander festivities all over Venice tonight. A few folding chairs had been set out and they found two on the far side of the aisle where they’d be out of the direct light. All the better for the lesson he wanted to teach.
He’d learned a great deal about this woman tonight, but he wasn’t certain it had advanced his plan of convincing her how much distance she needed to keep from him. If anything, it had done the opposite and drawn him closer. A woman’s physical beauty was something he’d disciplined himself to understand as a superficial characteristic and if need be to resist. But physical attractiveness coupled with a sharp intelligence that sparred with his wit, that defended her secrets—well, that was nigh on irresistible. It didn’t help that his body was so keen on remembering the way her hands had felt and less keen on remembering why she’d done it. She’d wanted him distracted. Her gamble had been one-part genius and two-parts desperation. As such, it had and hadn’t worked. He might have stopped her from seducing him, but her strategy had also succeeded in stopping the conversation.
The musicians took the small stage and the quartet settled into their chairs, giving their instruments a final tune-up. The audience went collectively still in anticipation. Silence filled the church and the music began, the plaintive strains of a lone violin announcing Vivaldi’s ‘Adagio in D’.
This was why he didn’t go to concerts. The music was too damn beautiful, too damn soulful. It made him feel, it eroded his edge. It was why he pushed music away, but not Gianna. The music drew her. Beside him, Gianna was enrapt, the willingness to give herself over to the music evident in her eyes, in the soft smile that lingered on her lips over the familiar tune.
She looked over at him and that soft smile became his. He knew a moment’s victory in that smile. He’d managed to steal it from the music. Her mouth began to move, to form words of gratitude. ‘No,’ he stopped her with a whisper and private smile. ‘Don’t even think about saying it, because I can’t imagine what you might want next.’
He had no trouble imagining what he wanted next, though. He wanted to make love to her, wanted to show her sex was so much more than a weapon. But not yet. First, he had to show her how dangerous it was to wield, especially for a purported novice in the arts. Was the count’s claim true? If so, it was all the more reason to protect her from herself and from him. Nolan nearly laughed out loud. There was a certain irony to the situation. In London, he was the man most likely to seduce, well, anything. Now, he’d become a protector of virgins.
The adagio ended and the quartet launched their full assault on his senses with their main presentation, the classic Four Seasons: forty-three minutes of mental lovemaking. Nolan did not try to fight it. He gave his imagination free rein. He wanted to pull the pins out of her hair to the languorous melodies of summer, wanted to watch her hair fall in slow accord to the violins’ indolent, lazy strains.
The quartet moved into the rousing melodies of autumn and he imagined dancing her up against the wall of the church, running playful kisses down her neck, over her breasts, kneeling before her and skimming her navel with his lips in a celebration of passion and life before he took her with hard thrusts, to the sharp, icy rhythms of winter, letting passion break over them with the force of an avalanche. He let his eyes slide in her direction. Did she have any idea of the thoughts running through his mind as she sat there? This was why he was dangerous to her, why she should have let him play cards tonight instead. She thought he was her assistant, that she had somehow manoeuvred him, when really he was winter’s wolf and he would ravish her with the slightest of invitations.
Chapter Ten (#u74f51329-3077-5fc2-9a52-b93f355dc298)
The music faded in a single, quivering note, followed by the applause of the modest audience. ‘Did you enjoy it?’ Gianna reached for her cloak where it draped over her chair, but Nolan was faster. He held it out for her, letting his hands linger firmly at her shoulders in a gesture that left no room for misinterpretation. This was no subtle brushing of hands that might be dismissed as accidental. This was a man issuing an invitation, and it made her mouth go dry. This particular man didn’t have to ‘invite’, he could have simply announced his intentions. She was technically his and she hadn’t forgotten. Yet, he’d given her the choice.
His voice hovered warm and private at her ear. ‘I did. However, I enjoyed watching you far more.’ She’d known that. She’d felt his gaze on her throughout the concert, hot and intense but she’d not found it repellent or frightening. Just the opposite. Heat had pooled low in her belly as if he were the flame to her match and her pulse had raced at the thought of attracting the attentions of a man like Nolan Gray; a man who was powerful, handsome, skilled in the art of seduction.
She should not be excited by him. What did that say about her? Did such an attraction make her wanton? Did the blood of a courtesan run in her veins, too? Perhaps there truly was no escaping her destiny. The strategist in her whispered the tempting thought: If it is inevitable, why not embrace it, embrace your power? He desires you. Use it to your benefit.
Gianna turned in his grasp, a coy smile on her lips as she raised her eyes to his, her voice pitched husky and low. ‘Was I a worthy subject for your ruminations?’ Her hands rested on the lapels of his coat, against the strength of his chest.
His hands reached behind her neck, drawing the pins from her hair. She could feel the coiffure loosen, a few curls fall. His fingers combed through them, his touch brushing against her neck, sending a shiver of delight down her spine. She suddenly wanted his touch on her everywhere. ‘You were more than worthy.’
Those words had her making rapid justifications in her mind now. If she chose this course, there would be no going back, but Giovanni needed her even if he didn’t know it yet and she feared she would not be able to reach him alone. The greater good would be worth it. She would not be the first woman to use that most feminine of powers for gain.
Even as she bargained with herself, she knew the real fear was that Nolan would not be the only one swept away if she committed to this path. The race of her pulse when he touched her, when he looked at her, was indication enough that she could very well become caught in her own web. That had been her mother’s downfall—not that she was a courtesan. Gianna had never faulted her mother for that, only for falling in love or what passed for it.
Nolan’s voice was low for her alone. He gave a half-smile, his fingers tracing a lingering trail at her neck. ‘You inspire a man to wickedness, Gianna. Shall I show you?’
Around them, the church had emptied quickly. There was only the two of them and the light of the votive candles in the prayer racks. Her back hit the smooth wall beside the little flames. She hadn’t realised they’d moved. ‘I thought of taking down your hair and watching it fall through my fingers.’
The pins disappeared out of her hair with alarming swiftness, the length of it pooling in the hood of her cloak. Nolan’s hands were at her temples, smoothing away her hair, his eyes dropping to her mouth. ‘After your hair was loose, my hands tangled in its length, I would put my mouth on you.’ His lips hovered above hers, her body on fire at his words, her head tilted up to his, all of her eager for his touch.
‘Where, Nolan? Where would you put your mouth?’ She breathed the question in the merest of whispers.
‘Here.’ His mouth covered hers, and she opened for him, ready for him as she’d not been quite ready last night. There was no hesitancy tonight. Tonight, she was his partner, coaxing and encouraging him to give free rein to his fantasies. His tongue teased her mouth, running over lips, teeth, even her own tongue in slow, exploratory strokes. She leaned into him, into the kiss, answering his exploration with one of her own, and it stoked the fire in her higher.
‘And here.’ Nolan’s mouth moved to her throat, pressing a kiss to the pulse point that beat at the base. His hand reached beneath the folds of her cloak to push back the shoulders of her gown, his mouth finding her skin above the lace trim of her chemise, his lips skimming the hint of bare breast that rose above the lace. She arched against the wall, arched into him, her body begging, inviting more as his hand slipped beneath the fabric. This was torture, to have his touch, but not enough of it. His mouth, his hands, it was not nearly enough. She wanted to be naked beneath him, wanted him to strip away the garments that kept his mouth from devouring all of her.
His mouth returned to hers, leaving her breast to the warm competence of his hand and the wicked caress of his thumb over the peak of her nipple. She kissed him with abandon this time, her hands in his hair, her body pressing recklessly against his. But she was not the only reckless one, his body was hard against hers, his own heart beating strong and fast in rhythm with the madness. Somewhere in the distance, bells chimed.
Midnight! The thought registered vaguely in Nolan’s heated brain, but it was enough to sound the alarm. He’d been in Catholic Italy long enough to know what midnight meant. Nolan broke from her, his voice hoarse with need unfulfilled. ‘Right yourself, we must go. The monks will be here for matins soon.’
Nolan stepped back, giving her a chance to arrange her bodice. What had he been thinking? He’d nearly ravished her in a church! If it hadn’t been for the risk of monks discovering them in flagrante delicto, he would have. He raked a hand through his hair. His father would have had a fine time with that—Oliver Gray’s son tupping women in churches would be a sin beyond imagining, worse than anything Nolan had done to date in his father’s eyes.
