An Offer He Can't Refuse (40 page)

In the master bedroom, he suggested lighting the candles he'd bought before, claiming they'd help her "headache."

She played along because… well, because she felt like playing.

And she did. In the candlelight ringing the bed, with their reflection flickering in the mirror overhead, she watched him make love to her. She watched herself make love to him.

Without shame. There was no shame in this.

Her hair rippled in untamed waves down his wide chest. It swirled around his lean thighs as she swirled her tongue over his erection. It draped both their faces as she straddled his waist and rode him.

Groaning, he gripped his fists in the wild stuff. "Contessa. God, Contessa."

She straightened, changing the angle, changing the pleasure. She shook her hair back and undulated. She
was
a contessa. A princess. No, a queen.

His hands circled her waist and held her down against him. She undulated again.

He palmed her breasts and groaned again. "I can't hold on anymore, Contessa."

"I don't want you to," she whispered, from her place above him. The beautiful man between her thighs was her serf of passion, her slave of sex. Hers to command.

She cupped her hands over his. "I order you to come."

And as he did, so did she.

She awoke a long time later. The candles on the floor around the bed were guttering in their holders, with wide puddles of wax around their bases that looked as warm and formless as she felt. Johnny lay sprawled on his back; she was curled on her side, her head pillowed on his arm.

I know who you are.

He'd said that. Oh, God.

He knew who she was.

Her heart tripping, she tried to shift, but then realized a swathe of her hair was trapped beneath his bicep.

She couldn't get away from him.

Her heart tripped again. Maybe her tension woke him, because his eyes suddenly opened. His head rolled toward hers and in silence he studied her face. As usual, she was unable to read his expression, but his searching look set her to trembling again.

She wanted to hide, but there was nowhere she could go.

Then he smiled.

And she remembered begging to be naked for him.

But telling him her secrets had already done that. She'd bared her soul and he'd bared her body and if being a good girl meant never knowing this… this lightness of being combined with this heaviness of passion, then she planned on being very, very wicked for as long—or as short—as Johnny would have her.

Johnny traced Téa's features with his eyes. "You're made for candlelight," he said, his voice still raspy from their burning, bruising bout of sex. He stroked his hand over the velvet warmth of her face, the edges glowing as if they'd been dipped in gold. Her sloe eyes were mysterious pools, framed by the mass of dark hair that winked with just the slenderest threads of bronze and copper.

"Such a smooth-talker," she chided.

'Truth-teller. I'm too exhausted to be charming right now."

But she deserved charm. And rose petals, and every other beautiful thing he could think of for her. Instead he'd lost control again, the sight of her body rising above his, with its womanly breasts and tiny waist, the curvy hips that took him in, had shoved everything from his mind but getting it, having it, getting her, having her.

"I left you behind again. I'm sorry."

A crease appeared between her dark brows. "No you didn't. You just didn't notice my, uh, response when you were so caught up in your own." Her lashes swept down and she peeked at him from beneath them. "Besides, you were at my command."

Her command. That should scare him.
She
should scare him, now that her sensuality was coming out from under all those tailored wraps.

But there wasn't room in their bed for regrets. Not tonight. Unless… "What time do you think it is?" It felt like the midnight hour plus one.

She shrugged. "Does it matter?"

He hesitated. "Not really." Then he rolled over on top of her, loving her little squeak of surprise.

"Embraceable You"

King Cole Trio

Vocal Classics
(1955)

Johnny had never felt any ghosts in the tiki room, but
maybe that was because he and Téa had made the place their own the first night they'd danced there. Tonight, she was snuggled against him on the love seat, their legs tangled on the matching ottoman. The tiki torches flickered at the entrance, the light from their orange flames licking color over Téa's naked flank and shoulder.

He ran a possessive hand over the smooth curves of both. His to touch. His to lick. His.

He focused on that alone, he focused on Téa alone, just as he'd been doing for the past few days since they'd been in his bed by candlelight. There was no hell to pay, not yet, and he wasn't going to anticipate future trouble or dwell on the ugly past when the present was sleek and warm and scented like his contessa.

It was supposed to be a man thing, this inability to concen-trate on more than one task at a time, and he was damn grateful for it.

He was grateful that he'd been sleeping well, too, and even now let his eyelids drop though it couldn't be later than 10 p.m. "Maybe we should head back to the house," he murmured against her hair. "Get into bed before we doze off out here."

"Why don't you ever watch sports?"

His eyebrows rose and his eyelids reluctantly followed.
She
didn't sound the least bit tired. He rallied his brain, not liking the sense of being caught off-guard. "You don't really want to talk about football now, do you?"

"No." She stacked her hands on his chest and propped her chin on them to look into his face. "I want to talk about you."

"You know about me."
All I ever want you to know
. With his palm, he stroked her hair back from her forehead. "You know I like dark-eyed, dark-haired women with great asses… and sulky mouths."

"I'm not sulking, but if I was, it's because you're trying to avoid the subject."

Fine. I like dark-eyed, dark-haired women with great asses and who are too smart for my own good
. So he shrugged. "I don't watch the games because I'm not an action-hungry fan. I manage money, I don't personally care about the teams or the outcome of the seasons."

"Why do you manage gambling money, then? Why not do something more mainstream? Wall Street or something like that?"

"Because…" He struggled for words. He didn't know why and he didn't care to examine it either. It probably was some weird impulse to follow in his father's footsteps, but then beat the game that had gotten the best of Giovanni so many times. Johnny couldn't tell Téa that, though. "Do you know how early you have to get up if you're a West Coast trader? I'm not a morning person."

His prevarication smelled like bad fish apparently, because she pushed off his chest. "I think I'll go home."

"No."
Shit
. He watched her scoop her fallen clothes off the floor. "Can't we just enjoy each other? Enjoy the moment? Why do we have to talk?" It was the masculine lament of all shallow assholes, he was acutely aware of that, but he couldn't seem to help himself.

"You're right," Téa said. "We don't have to talk."

Which meant, of course, that
unless
they talked there'd be no more nookie for Johnny. He ground his back teeth together and tried reminding himself that she didn't know what she was asking for. Getting to know more about him was only going to get
them
into trouble.

He groaned, and shoved his legs into his boxers and then his pants. "Contessa, hold on."

But she was already dressed and reaching for her purse. It took him another second to realize her cell phone was ringing. Oh, yeah. Good. It would give him time to come up with an explanation or an excuse or some sort of conversation to make her happy.

He didn't want to sleep in his bed without her.

Not now. Not yet.

"
What
?" she said into the phone, then sank down on the cushion of the wicker love seat. "Of course I'm okay. But what about everyone else? Joey? Mom? Grandpa?"

Grandpa? Did she mean
Cosimo?
The Caruso connection was just something else he'd put from his mind since embarking on this affair with Téa. He'd been surprised, amused, then finally relieved to discover that she had cut her ties to her grandfather and that part of her family. It had quieted some of his guilt and sex had tranquilized the rest.

Johnny sat down beside her and rubbed her back with a light palm. She propped her elbows on her knees and held her forehead in one hand. "He told you he has extra security with him now? That's good, that's good. No! Don't let Joey call the FBI. She'll only make matters worse. Well, sit on her until I get there if you have to. Eve, you've dated five men at a time. Surely you can manage one pesky little sister. Yes, yes, I'm on my way."

She flipped off the phone and stood up. "Now I really have to go."

"What happened?"

"Just another day in the life of your average Mafia family. The resort where my grandfather's birthday party was to take place at the end of the month burned down tonight. It's pretty clear that it was arson… and pretty clear that someone's sending a message to my grandfather."

"A message saving what exactly?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I'm sure he does."

"But he's all right?"

"Yes." She raked her fingers through her hair. "I shouldn't care. I shouldn't worry—"

"But you do." He rose and took her hand and was glad when her fingers automatically tightened on his. It was a sign of trust. "Come on, where am I driving you?"

"I don't need—"

"
I
shouldn't care,
I
shouldn't worry, but I will, unless I'm with you. Let's go."

Her sisters were at her mother's house, located on the spa property. Téa was quiet on the drive there, and Johnny kept his mouth shut too. The silence between them was only broken by the directions she gave to a side street closer to the entrance to her mother's place. Once he pulled to the curb, her fingers went to the handle of her door. "Thanks," she said. "I'll see you later."