Malavita (7 page)

The molecules of air between them seemed to thicken, time slowed down, his heart ceased to beat. All he wanted in that moment was to kiss her. He started to close the distance, mere centimeters between them—

She slid out from under his left arm and dashed out of reach. “Catch me if you can, Enrico Lucchesi!”

This time she took off across the grass, heading uphill toward the house and a loggia with three vine-covered arches.

Had she known what he’d been about to do? Did she not want to kiss him? Or was she just making him work for it?

He scrambled up the slope behind her, the tinkling music of her laughter causing a grin to spread across his face. She reached the loggia first and pretended to hide behind one of the columns. He let her circle away from him, but when she tried to break away again, he caught her around the waist and swung her up in the air. “Put me down!” she demanded through her laughter.

He set her back on her feet and pushed her up against a column, using his body to pin her in place. Both of them were breathing fast, and this time he didn’t hesitate. Framing her face in his hands, he touched his lips to hers, making the kiss a mere ghost of a touch. She trembled against him and let out a soft sound he couldn’t interpret. Pulling back, he saw the glisten of tears in her eyes, and his belly clenched. “What’s wrong?”

She closed her hands over his, where they cradled her cheeks. “You don’t have to,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

“I want to.” And he did.

“I don’t believe you.” She looked at the stones beneath their feet as she spoke.

He shifted his weight, pressing his hard
cazzo
against her belly. “Feel that?” he murmured.

Her eyes flew back to his, but she said nothing. Letting go of one cheek, he took her hand and brought it between them, grazing her shaking fingers over the bulge in his trousers. “Do you doubt me now?” he asked.

She stiffened, but her hand tentatively stroked him, and his
cazzo
twitched beneath her fingers, making him take in a sharp breath and her jerk away as if she’d touched a hot kettle. He stepped back from her.
Madonna
. What was he thinking? She was a virgin, and here he was, treating her like some
troia
.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I forgot myself.” He started to turn away, but stopped when she placed a hand on his shoulder.

“You just startled me, that’s all,” she said, her voice low and filled with a heat he couldn’t mistake.

Before either of them could say anything more, a small boy came barreling out of the house and tripped as he entered the loggia, falling and skinning his knee. He let out a wail, and Antonella was by the boy’s side in an instant, wrapping an arm around him and shushing him. “It’s okay,” she said, her voice calm and reassuring. “Just a scrape.” She turned to Enrico. “Do you have a handkerchief?”

He pulled one out of the inner pocket of his jacket, feeling the raised embroidery of the dark blue monogram of his initials. His mother had done the needlework herself. With a pang, he handed the handkerchief to Antonella, and she folded it into a smaller square and pressed the cloth to the boy’s wound.

“
Nonno
!” the boy called, and soon Signor Sporelli appeared in the doorway.

“What’s happened?” he asked.

“Someone took a fall,” Antonella answered.

Sporelli’s look of concern eased. “Taddeo never listens. Does he?” the man added, his voice deepening with meaning as he gazed fondly at his grandson.

“
Nonno
,
mi dispiace
,” Taddeo mumbled.

“It’s all right,” Signor Sporelli said and held out his hand to the boy, who left Antonella’s embrace with some reluctance. She’d held him for what—a minute, perhaps?—and already he was attached to her.

But Enrico understood the feeling. He understood it all too well.

Antonella Andretti had a way of getting under someone’s skin. Somehow she’d slipped past his defenses. Defenses she’d rendered worthless.

As Signor Sporelli led his grandson inside the house, Enrico offered Antonella a hand up. She rose from the stone floor of the loggia and dusted off her dress, then turned her back to Enrico. “Do I look all right?”

His hand brushed along her hip, leaving tingles in its wake. “You look lovely.”

The deepened tones of his voice, the slow, appreciative way he delivered the compliment, started her heart pounding, made her breath catch in her throat. Could he possibly mean what he was saying? Well, he
had
kissed her, and then when he’d taken her hand and placed it on his…

She could hardly believe any of it had happened. But it had. That kiss, so soft, so gentle, so delicious. And then that hardness—
she’d
caused that.
She
had.

It was enough to make her head spin.

Enrico’s fingers closed around hers and he tugged her to him. “I’m sorry we were interrupted,” he said, a smile curving his mouth.

The fluttering in her chest intensified. Was he going to kiss her again? She’d dreamed of this moment for so long, she felt almost sick with anticipation—and fear. What if she disappointed him? What if he laughed at her?

What if… he was toying with her?

She searched his face, trying to read his intentions. His chocolate brown eyes twinkling, he bent down until his lips hovered over hers. “I promise to be a gentleman,” he said before kissing her again, more firmly this time, his lips coaxing a soft sound out of her as an indescribable pleasure swept through her body.

Every place they touched, every bit of skin, lit up as if it were giving off sparks. He slid a hand up to cup the base of her skull, and the other pressed against her lower back, urging her against him once more. But it was his mouth—his wonderful, sinful mouth—that truly undid Antonella. His lips parted, moving against hers in a slow feathering caress that she mimicked, pleased to hear him groan low in his throat and clutch her more fiercely.

His mouth opened wider and his tongue traveled across the seam of her lips. Did he want her to…? He did it again, and she opened up for him, shocked and amazed when his tongue swept inside her mouth, finding hers and stroking it. She’d never have guessed she’d enjoy such a thing, but now she understood why the girls in her class had giggled about it.

She clutched at his broad shoulders, her knees feeling suddenly weak. How had he reduced her to a quivering mass so quickly? She was nothing but raw emotion, raw reaction. It was all so overwhelming, she needed to sit down. She broke the kiss, and his eyes opened. He looked as stunned as she felt. “Are you okay?” he asked.

He hadn’t let go of her, and she was grateful for it. “It’s just so… much,” she finally whispered.
Dio
, she must sound like an idiot! Heat raced over her neck and face, making her ears burn.

He chuckled, but he still held her. “I’d forgotten.”

“What?”

“My first kiss. It shocked the hell out of me.”

Jealousy swamped her. Someone else had kissed
her
Rico. She straightened and held his gaze. “I’m not shocked.”

“Surprised, at least?”

“A little,” she allowed.

“Want to do it again?” he asked with a wicked grin.

Did she ever. But… “How many girls have you kissed?”

He shrugged, and a shadow flickered across his features. “My share.”

“Avoiding the question.”

“Toni, a gentleman doesn’t discuss other women while he’s holding one.”

His tone was so arch, he made her laugh, and then his archness dissolved into a laughter that matched hers. He let go, then spun her around as if they were dancing, catching her around the waist and dipping her before hauling her back to her feet.

Someone coughed behind them. Signor Sporelli stood in the doorway to the house, a bandaged Taddeo in tow. “Ready for that drink?” he asked, a broad grin on his face.

Had he seen them kissing? She blushed and nodded, surprised when Rico kept hold of her hand. They followed the caretaker inside and into a light, airy room filled with books, where a tray of meats, cheeses, and olives nestled beside a bottle of white wine and a carafe of mineral water.

Signor Sporelli poured them glasses as they helped themselves to the refreshments, then he raised his glass in a toast, Taddeo aping him with a glass of water. “To young love,” Sporelli said, his gaze resting on Toni. Her cheeks flamed again, and Rico laughed.

He put an arm around her as they touched glasses. “
Salute
,” he said, seemingly to her alone.

“So you are back from school,” Sporelli said to Enrico.

Rico nodded. “Yes. My English is much improved, so now it’s time I came back to finish my studies.”

Sporelli sipped at his wine, his eyes assessing the two of them. “I’d heard there was bad blood between your families. I’m surprised to see you together.”

Antonella looked at Rico, not sure what to say. How much did this man know about who they were?

Enrico nodded. “There was. But now Toni and I are to be married.”

Sporelli raised a brow, his eyes searching Antonella’s hands. “No ring?”

Enrico set his glass down. “I plan to give it at the formal engagement party in two weeks.”

“Ah.” Sporelli nodded. “
Bene
. I would not want Carlo Andretti upset with me for letting you run about unsupervised.”

Toni watched Rico closely, but other than a tightening of his jaw, he hid his reaction. “Signor Andretti is well aware that we are together.”

Guilt stabbed at her. Enrico had been right. She should have told Papà. If word got back to him that she’d been with Enrico, that they’d been fooling around—“My father doesn’t need to know
everything
,” she said. “Yes?”

Sporelli laughed. “I suppose not.” He shook a finger at Enrico. “I was your age once. Behave yourself.
Capisci
?”

With a low chuckle, Enrico relaxed. “
Capisco
.”

But
she
couldn’t relax. Somehow she’d managed to forget the gulf between her and Enrico, the secret shame she carried. Should she tell him about her involvement in the deaths of his family?

Part of her desperately wanted to confess. But if she did, the results could only be catastrophic. Rico might reject her. Her father’s strategic advantage would be lost, and
he’d
be infuriated with her too. People would die, not the least of them being Enrico.

It was best to remain quiet. For now. Perhaps someday, after the wedding… but would Enrico take the news any better then?

Her stomach knotted up, and she twisted her hands together in her lap. “Are you all right?” Enrico asked, leaning closer, his deep voice a rich rumble in her ear.

“Everything’s fine,” she said. “But I’d promised to meet up with Ilaria at four, and I just noticed that it’s a little past three.”

“We must be going then,” Enrico said. He turned to Signor Sporelli. “
Mille
grazie
for your generous hospitality.”

“Any time,” Sporelli said. “Tell your father to stop by. We haven’t seen him in a while.”

“I will,” Enrico promised, and they said their goodbyes, Taddeo’s a little downcast when he realized they were leaving.

“But you just got here!” he protested, stamping his foot.

“We’ll be back,” Enrico assured him. “And I’ll bring Toni.”

Taddeo crossed his arms, his little face screwed up into a suspicious squint. “You’d better.”

Enrico ruffled the boy’s brown curls. “Try to be more careful, yes?”

They descended hand in hand to the boat, but Enrico had gone quiet. “I don’t think Signor Sporelli will say anything to Papà,” she said.

“Probably not.” He handed her into the boat, then cast off and swung himself up over the railing again with that grace she so admired. “You might want to tie your hair back,” he said as he started up the motor.

He was saying all the right things, he was being polite, he was even taking off his jacket and patiently holding it as she worked on her hair. But he wasn’t looking at her, and there was a crispness, a clipped quality to his speech, that made her gut tense up.

When she finished with her hair, he helped her into the coat. “Rico, I’ll tell him,” she said.

Finally he looked at her. “I don’t think he’ll be happy hearing about it after the fact.” He turned his focus back to steering the boat away from the dock and turning them south.

She wanted to comfort him, but he was right, and the roar of the engine effectively cut off any attempt she might have made to reassure him.

They’d had a lovely afternoon, and she’d gotten what she’d wanted. Hadn’t she?

But what about Enrico? What did he want? And was he getting any closer to being happy about this marriage?

The grim set of his jaw, the knitting of his brow, and the stiff way he held his shoulders all said no.