A Sicilian Husband

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‘Bellezza… Mia bella…’

The rough sound of his muttered words was blurred by the heavy pounding of his heart under her cheek, a throbbing that was echoed in her own veins as she surrendered willingly to his embrace.

Earlier in the evening she had dreamed, wondered—fantasised—about the way his touch would feel, the sensations that being in his arms might produce. And she hadn’t even managed to come close. The reality was so much more—more intense, more sensual, more arousing—more than she had ever imagined it could be.

The heat of his body enclosed her. The scent of his skin was in her nostrils. The sound of his breathing filled her ears at the same time that the warm current of his breath whispered over her sensitive skin, making the delicate nerves tingle all the way down to her toes.

‘Teresa…’

Once again that delightful accent turned her name into something new and exotic, something special only to him, and simply hearing it made her heart turn over in delight.

From the moment that she had made her decision it had been simply a matter of seconds to find a waiter, put in the order for the coffee to be taken to her room.

‘Of course, Signor Cardella,’ the man had said, clearly knowing only too well just who Gio was. ‘Shall I bring it to your suite?’

‘No.’

An abrupt shake of his head had emphasised the crispness of his answer.

‘To…’ Ebony eyes had been turned on Terrie, a question and a prompt combined in the one glance.

‘Room five three four.’

Five three four. Her room was on the fifth floor of the hotel, which meant that, even in the speedy, efficient lift, it inevitably took some time to reach their destination.

Some time in which Gio laced his hands around the fine bones of her skull, lifting her face to his, hard fingers massaging her scalp. Time in which his kisses drifted over the surface of her hair, the warmth of his mouth touched her forehead, her closed eyelids, her temples, but never reached her mouth. And most of all time in which the hard, hot pressure of his body revealed forcefully and dramatically the potent power of his desire for her, the swollen force of his erection up against her stomach triggering off a near-delirium of yearning that made her head spin wildly.

‘Gio…’

Her fingers clenched in the fine material of his shirt, pulling it loose at his narrow waist. She could no longer wait for the sanctuary of her room and the privacy it would afford them. She wanted to—needed to—touch his skin, feel him properly now.

Her hands shook as she ran them up the ridged strength of his ribcage, stroking the warm satin of his skin, brushing across the scattering of crisp hairs that her fingertips encountered. She felt him shudder violently in reaction to her touch and with a muffled curse he rammed her into the far corner of the lift, opposite the door, with her back against the cold metal of the compartment.

His body was against every inch of hers now. Chest to breast, thigh to thigh, his heat and desire crushed into the cradle of her pelvis. And his hands were urgent on her flesh, stroking down her face, along her arms, roughly tugging the white top up to expose more of her skin to his knowing fingers. Moaning aloud, Terrie writhed against his imprisoning strength, throwing her head up and back to allow for more of the hard, snatched kisses that plundered her face and neck.

But still he hadn’t kissed her mouth. And she felt that she had never known what it was to feel deprived until this moment, when he continued to deny her that basic intimacy.

‘Gio!’ she gasped again. ‘Gio—kiss me!’

But still his mouth eluded hers. Even though his hands roamed higher and wilder. Even though he caught and cupped the soft swell of her breasts in his hard fingers, sensually tormenting her by rolling her aching nipples in a touch that was such a devastating form of pleasure it came so very near to pain, still he didn’t kiss her.

‘Gio, damn you! Please!’

Driven beyond endurance, she pulled her hands out from under his shirt, hearing something rip faintly as she did so. Ignoring it, she reached up and fastened wildly clutching fingers in the midnight-dark silk of his hair, forcing his head down to meet her own upturned face.

At first she felt his resistance, thought she would never overcome it, but just when she was convinced that he had won and a faint whimper of defeat almost escaped her, she made one desperate, final effort, and at last his mouth touched hers.

For a second or two Terrie thought she might actually faint in sensual delight. That the warm, firm caress of Gio’s lips would actually send her tumbling into an oblivion of pleasure, a world in which nothing mattered but herself and this man and the union between them. But then two things happened at once to jolt her back to the present, reality intruding on her with a jarring shock.

At first she was aware only of Gio’s sudden stillness, the swift, disturbing stiffening of his powerful body, the way that his mouth hardened on hers, not in desire, but in a rejection that tore at her heart, slashing a deep wound into it. The other, more mundane event was the creak of the lift, its slowing to a halt, juddering faintly as it reached the fifth floor and stopped.

It was a moment or two before Terrie had collected the composure to realise where they were, drawn in enough breath to mutter, ‘I think this is our floor.’ And even then she realised that she had recovered well before Gio; that he was not anything like as alert as she had been. When she looked into his face he seemed to be only barely conscious, his eyes glazed and unfocused, two vivid flares of colour scoring along the high, wide cheekbones, his breathing raw and uneven.