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“I’ll make sure they do.” He ran the back of his hand along her cheek. “I want to see you again.”
Oh, so did she. “Would you like to see my neighborhood?”
“What?” He looked out the window at the identical row houses stretching as far as they could see.
“Tell your driver to cruise around in this area for a little while. I’ll give you a private tour.” She was practically crawling out of her skin with lust and finally gave in.
He pressed an intercom button and gave instructions in Italian. “There. He will drive around until I tell him to stop. He cannot see or hear anything in the back so you can feel free to say whatever you want.” He pressed a button that turned on hidden dim lighting. “I want to see you while we talk. You are the sexiest woman I have ever met.”
She snorted.
“What?” He furrowed his black brows. “You do not think you are sexy?”
“Oh, I know I am.” And that had been hard-won self-knowledge. “But I’m no six-foot, one-hundred-pound supermodel.”
“Thank God,” he said fervently. “I’m not a man who likes women with more muscle than me.” He caressed her cheek. “A real man wants a real woman, soft and smooth.” He trailed his hand down her neck to her shoulder. “Round and ripe, like a juicy peach plucked from the tree.”
Renata was ready to be plucked, backseat of the car or not. Her nipples were as hard as peach pits inches from where his fingers stroked the base of her neck and her “fruit juices” were definitely ready for sampling. “And you are a real man, Giorgio,” she purred.
“You know I am, Renata.”
“Tell me what you think of me—all real, by the way.” She sat back and slowly unbuttoned her blouse, her eyes never leaving his. He swallowed hard as her black lace bra appeared.
“Bella, che bella.” Still he hesitated, so she shrugged the blouse off her shoulders.
“All for you, Giorgio.” She unfastened her French twist and shook her red hair loose like a pinup girl. “I’ve been waiting all day for your touch. Don’t make me wait anymore. You don’t want to get a reputation for a tease, do you?”
He groaned, his cock stretching his Italian wool pants in a way the designers never intended. She crawled over to him and cupped his erection. His green eyes practically rolled back into his head. He was huge even through the cloth, his plump head firm and round under her fingers. The thought of all that Italian goodness inside her made her shiver. She started to unzip him.
The next second she was flat on her back on the seat, her bra gone and her breasts bare. His mouth was firmly fastened to one nipple, his fingers playing with the other. He sucked on her as if he were starving for her, and she was starving for him. She arched her back, pushing her breast up for his easier access.
He switched to the other breast, leaving her nipple moist and swollen in the cool air. She shivered and hardened even further.
So did he, his cock pressing against her inner thigh. She wiggled under him and he lifted his glossy black head. “You make me crazy.”
“Then go crazy with me.”
“Not yet.” He slid his hand up her thigh and stopped. “Ah, Dio mio, you are wearing giarretterre—I do not know the word in English.”
“Garters,” she supplied. “I’m glad you like them.”
“I love them,” he said hoarsely. He caressed the slice of thigh between her panties and stockings and cupped her bare ass. “A thong? You are going to set me off like a rocket and I have not even seen you yet.”
He shimmied her skirt up around her waist and stared down at her in rapture. “Look at you. So beautiful.”
Renata looked down at herself. Her lower half could be described charitably as curvy and fat by several skinny bitches she’d run into over the years.
He kissed her soft belly and she jumped at the ticklish sensation. He grinned up at her. “You give up another secret to me, Renata. You are ticklish.”
“You just startled me,” she informed him loftily and jumped a second time when he darted his tongue into her navel.
“And again?” He made circular tracks with his tongue, widening out from her belly button and down to the tiny black ribbon at the top of her thong.
“Well, yes.”
As he nuzzled the ribbon, his breath was hot on her belly. He hooked the front panel of her thong and pulled it free. “Are you ticklish here?” He slid his finger between her folds and zoomed in on her clit.
Her back bowed as he lazily circled that greedy bit of flesh and all she could do was groan.
“If you don’t like it, I can stop.”
Renata smiled at his blather and her eyes rolled back in her head as he lowered his mouth to her thong. With his tongue he caressed her clit, soft and wet at first and then harder as he pressed her with its tip. Her legs fell apart and she gave herself up to his tongue. His big hands had gone right where he wanted, cupping and molding her ass with fervor and appreciation.
Then her mind shut off and her body took over. Or Giorgio took over her body. His five o’clock shadow rasped her inner thighs but his lips were gentle as he drew her clit into his mouth and sucked.
Her fingernails left marks in the soft leather upholstery. Anticipation raced up her belly into her breasts, tightening her nipples even further. She rolled them between her fingers, earning a groan of approval from Giorgio as he raised his head to watch her.
Her brazenness inspired him and he dived back down—this time slipping a finger inside her as he licked her. She immediately clamped down around him. He slid in and out, adding a second finger and flicking her clit hard with his tongue.
Renata propped herself up on her elbows to get a better look at Giorgio. Seeing him even added to her arousal. She was dying, panting, sweating—and loved it. Spread open wide in the backseat of a limo with a man she’d met less than twelve hours earlier going to town on her, his face slick with her juices and his Egyptian cotton shirt damp with sweat.
He pulled his fingers out and stuck his tongue inside her. She collapsed back on the seat, her insides pulsing around his tongue in some dimly remembered but familiar feeling. “Oh, yes, Giorgio. Oh, just like that…” She slapped her hand over her mouth as her moans increased in volume.
He held her tight despite her body’s frantic movements, knowing she was very close. He moved his mouth back to her clit and that was enough for her. Pleasure from his mouth shot all through her body, her head whipping back and forth as she fought back a scream of pure delight.
On and on the sweet torture went until she was too limp to do anything but finally put a hand on his head. He lifted his face and gave a satisfied smirk. “What, no more?”
“I am all done, and you know it.” Renata was glad the limo driver didn’t hit any potholes because she would have slid bonelessly off the seat. On the other hand, she was so floppy she wouldn’t be injured. She struggled to her elbows. “My God, Giorgio, where did you learn to do that?”
He moved to sit back on the seat, sighing in relief as he stretched out his back and shoulders. He pulled her to his lap and she noticed he was just as aroused as before. “A trip through the fleshpots of Europe, of course,” he enunciated with a perfect upper-crust British accent.
She cracked up. He sounded like the leading man of a Masterpiece Theatre miniseries but was probably telling her the truth. “Sounds like a fun trip to me.”
“This trip is much better,” he assured her, caressing her bare breasts. They both sighed in pleasure as he cupped the heavy weight, lazily brushing her nipple with his thumb. “Renata, you have the most perfect body. Le tette bellissimas.”
She gasped in mock horror. “Why, Prince Giorgio! Such slang from your royal lips.” He had told her she had beautiful tits.
“You understand that slang? Then how about this? Ti voglio fare l’amore questa notte.”
“You want to make love to me tonight.”
“There is always the Plaza,” he offered.
Renata glanced at the small digital clock in the back of the partition and almost cried with disappointment. “Is it so late already?”
Giorgio stroked her knee. “Is that a problem?”
She nodded. “I have an appointment at seven tomorrow morning.”
He groaned. “Why so early?”
“The bride has a last-minute business trip and it’s the week before her wedding. These high-powered brides can be a lot of work.”
“Lucky for Stefania that you are so conscientious.” He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “Tell me when you are free and I will be waiting on your doorstep.”
“How about now?” She certainly hadn’t minded the backseat atmosphere.
He looked tempted for a second but shook his head. “I am selfish. What I have in mind will take more time than Paolo has gas in the tank. And if I let you touch me, we will be parked at the side of the road making the limo rock while Paolo walks to a gas station.”
She didn’t doubt for one second that Giorgio could go for hours, judging from what was poking her through his pants. But, oh, what was she missing tonight? Stupid high-powered bride.
It took all of her willpower to decline his offer but she needed to be alert for her appointment since that bride was a live wire at best and out-of-control crazy at worst. “I’m sorry I can’t go to the hotel with you, but I have to get at least a few hours’ sleep. My client is difficult and I need my wits about me.”
He flopped back onto the car seat. “Duty first. Unfortunately I understand.”
“Thank you.” She cupped his jaw and kissed him slowly and passionately until they were both breathing hard again.
He suddenly jerked away from her. “Stop that. Or else I will not wait until tomorrow.”
Renata grinned. “It is tomorrow. Almost one-thirty.”
“Ah, better. Then I will see you later today. That sounds much better.” He programmed his number into her phone and took her number. “That is my private line. Only my family and my personal assistant have that number.”
“Wow.” She checked her phone’s display and he had programmed his name in as G.
He smiled at her. “We try to guard our privacy but it doesn’t always work out.”
“I won’t let this fall into the wrong hands,” she promised.
“I know you won’t.” He kissed the tip of her nose, surprising Renata with the pure affection behind the gesture.
Her surroundings finally caught her eye. “Oh, we’re a block from my place. Turn left at the next light.” She directed Giorgio and he relayed the directions to his driver.
“I’m going to ask you to park here around the corner. Many of my neighbors are elderly insomniacs and me pulling up in a limo this time of night will only further convince them I’m a woman of dubious morals.”
“I will testify on your behalf that your morals are not nearly as dubious as I would prefer.”
She choked with laughter and slapped him in the chest. “Somehow I don’t think they would believe you.” He looked dangerously sexy with his shirt yanked out of his waistband, his hair mussed and a glittering look of barely suppressed lust in his green eyes.
“Pity.” The limo stopped and he handed her out of the door. “I will walk you to your door.”
Her neighborhood was fairly safe but she wanted to drag out every moment with him that she could. He constantly glanced around them and inspected her dark exterior basement entrance for any stray wino or mugger. The only man she wanted to take advantage of her was standing beside her. “All clear.”
She unlocked her door and was struck by a weird wave of awkwardness. “Well…thank you for everything.” That should cover it. Wedding dresses, art museums, chili dogs, heavy petting in the limo backseat—what a wild day.
He drew her into his arms. “Don’t thank me, Renata. I owe you much more than a dinner. Your dress has made Stefania extremely happy and meeting you has made me extremely happy, as well.” He lowered his head and kissed her lips softly. “Until later, Renata. I’ll call you later in the morning after your appointment.”
She hated to leave him but a big yawn escaped her mouth.
Giorgio smiled and shooed her into her place. “Go, get some sleep. I can take a hint.”
“Fine.” She floated into the tiny entryway and locked the door behind her. Once he was sure she was tucked away, he gave a wave and took the steps two at a time up to street level.
Renata glided to her bathroom and gazed at her reflection. Her hair was tousled, her blouse was buttoned crookedly and her face was flushed. So was her mouth, her lipstick smeared.
She grinned. Giorgio was a man who kept his promises. Given enough time and effort, he had smeared her smear-proof lipstick.
5
GIORGIO WET HIS HANDKERCHIEF and cleaned his mouth of traces of Renata’s lipstick, a wide smile reflected in the small mirror in the backseat. The day certainly hadn’t turned out the way he’d expected, but he took pride in the fact that he had been smart enough to take the opportunity of getting to know Renata.
Especially since Stefania had accused him of being a, what was the American expression? Ah, yes, a stuffed shirt. The girl certainly had a way with words, much to his chagrin. Perhaps his day-to-day duties had encouraged a certain amount of rigidity—and not the good kind.
He laughed out loud. Oh, the tabloids would laugh if they saw what his true life was like. The Crown Prince sneaking around and making out in the backseat of a car like some teenager, stopping his pursuit of passion because of his archaic ideas of proper behavior. He already went further than he intended with the lovely Renata, but her words and body had urged him on past his good sense.
Stuffed shirt, hah! He rubbed his chest—no stuffing needed thanks to dutiful workouts, but maybe a bit sore. He took a deep breath and his muscles loosened a bit.
The Brooklyn Bridge loomed overhead and they sped over it for the second time in a day. It was impressive, young or not. These Americans had an eye for design, he admitted to himself. Whether it was the bridge or Stefania’s dress, New Yorkers knew how to make things work.
He patted his chest again—heartburn from that damned chili dog? He pressed a button to roll down the partition. “Have any antacids, Paolo?”
“You are ill, signore?”
“No, I don’t think so.” He chewed the chalky discs Paolo found for him and chased it down with a bottle of water. He closed his eyes, feeling Paolo’s worried gaze on him. Not to worry, the worst thing he had going was a bit of indigestion and a massive case of blue balls. And yes, he’d known that American phrase all on his own.
They weaved through Manhattan traffic toward the hotel and Giorgio felt every bump. This was not good. The antacids hadn’t helped a bit and he was starting to sweat.
Agonizing pain ripped through his chest up into his shoulder and down his arm. Dear God, was he having a heart attack? His sister’s face flashed to mind, strangely followed by Renata’s. Stevie he understood, but Renata? Stevie needed him—her only brother. And Renata—he needed her and he’d only met her.
It felt like a fist was squeezing his heart. He couldn’t help groaning.
“Signor! Signor! Are you all right?”
Giorgio looked up at Paolo’s panicked face and spoke with a calmness he didn’t feel. “I don’t think so, Paolo. Get me to the hospital.”
“MR. MARTELLI? I’M DR. WEISS.” Young and skinny with glasses, the E.R. physician was in need of a shave but looked awake enough.
Giorgio extended his hand, IV tubing dangling from his arm. “I am George and this is my friend Paul.”
Dr. Weiss laughed. “And where are John and Ringo?”
Ah, a jokester. Giorgio suppressed a sigh. He guessed working in a New York City emergency department was grim enough that even the doctors tried to lighten things up.
“Chè dice? What is he saying?” Paolo asked in Italian.
“Niente—nothing. A Beatles joke,” Giorgio replied in the same language.
“A joke? He dares joke with the Crown Prince of Vinciguerra when he is ill?” Paolo had no sense of humor under normal circumstances, and a doctor who thought he was a comedian was not helping.
