Pride (In Wilde Country Book 1) (18 page)

“Cheyenne,” he whispered, and he groaned, shifted his weight, his jeans, and suddenly he was deep inside her. “Cheyenne,” he said, “
mia bellissima
Cheyenne.”

She sobbed his name.

Clasped his shoulders.

And rode him, rode with him, into the blazing inferno of a million billion stars.

* * *

They slept tangled in each other’s arms, Luca as naked as Cheyenne, skin against skin, soul against soul.

She woke first.

He was still asleep, his face turned toward hers on the pillows.

It was an amazing face. Hard. Masculine. And beautiful. It was an amazing face for an amazing man.

Why had she run from him last night? She’d given herself lots of reasons, but not the true one.

She’d run because she was afraid.

Not of Luca.

Of herself.

She come awake in his arms yesterday, exactly like this, and realized that she was no longer in full control of her life. She had given some of that control to him.

It had seemed impossible.

So she’d run. Such a cowardly thing to do, but the fear of what was happening had been overwhelming. She’d gone over and over it for the rest of the day and no matter how she tried, she’d still been unable to make sense of it.

She had let Luca seize command.

She’d spent years creating the woman she was. Had she given up that woman for a few hours of sex?

She’d told herself she hated herself for letting it happen, hated him for making it happen, and whenever a memory intruded—Luca kissing her, Luca gathering her in his arms, Luca possessing her, oh, the sensation of him possessing her, she’d shuddered and told herself she wasn’t shuddering with passion, but with humiliation.

And yet—and yet, early in the evening, when she’d heard a man’s footsteps climbing the stairs outside her apartment, her first thought had been
Luca
. Her heartbeat had skittered. She’d waited beside the door, listening, listening…but the footsteps had plodded to the Stein’s apartment and she’d realized it had only been their nephew, come to visit.

“Grow up,” she’d told herself, and she’d stomped into her bedroom, showered, washed her hair and tweezed her eyebrows. She’d been contemplating giving herself a manicure when she’d heard other footsteps.

She’d known instantly that they were Luca’s.

Good.

He’d come after her.

Now, she could tell him what she thought of him. That he was overbearing and self-centered and she despised him. And by the way, she’d only pretended to enjoy the sex.

Except, when she opened the door and saw him, felt the waves of fury and desire coming off him, the truth had almost sent her to her knees.

She loved what had happened between them. His domination, her acquiescence.

They were dancers, moving to a melody only they could hear.

He led. She followed—except they both knew that under it all, she led, too.

She’d convinced herself that showing need was weakness, but he’d shown her that it could be empowering.

Just thinking of his hands on her made her come alive—but it was she who made him come alive.

She, of all people. She, who’d always believed that sex was about men taking what they wanted and if it degraded a woman in the process, so be it.

But Luca took only what she wanted to give, and he gave back more than she’d ever dreamed she could want or have. He’d freed her of a past she thought she’d conquered, but which had, instead, almost conquered her.

She thought about telling him that, but why would she?

They were making love, not falling in love, and what man would want to hear a lover’s dark secrets, especially when those secrets were ugly?

“A penny.”

She blinked. “You’re awake.”

“Uh huh.” He slid his fingers into her hair and brought her to him for a kiss. “Good morning,
cara
. And I’m still offering that penny.”

“For what?”

“For the thoughts that made you look so serious.”

“Ah. Those.” She forced a smile. “They’re so important that I don’t know if I can share them with you.”

He smiled, too. “Try me.”

“Well…I was supposed to water my cactus garden yesterday.”

“Your cactus garden,” he said solemnly.

“It isn’t a garden, of course, it’s just a bowl. And the plants are really succulents. I water them once a—”

She caught her breath as Luca drew down the sheet and comforter and ran the tip of his tongue around one nipple.

“Such a lovely word,” he murmured. “Succulent.” His hand replaced his mouth. “Go on. Tell me more about these succulents.”

“I—I started keeping them because—because when I traveled a lot, they didn’t require much… Luca, are you trying to distract me?”

“Would I do such a thing,
cara
?”

She almost laughed. His attempt at sounding innocent was worse than hers at sounding exasperated.

“You would. You are. You—you—”

He was moving over her, kissing her mouth, trailing his hand over her hip and thigh. Her heart went into overdrive as teasing gave way to hunger, and she raised her arms and put them around his neck.

“Luca,” she whispered.

“Cheyenne.” His lips curved against hers. “It is time for a proper good morning.”

He slid into her as if he belonged there. Her body welcomed him; her muscles tightened around his erection as she arched toward him.

The sensation was exquisite, beyond any she’d ever known.

“Succulent,” he whispered. “So succulent…”

The world fell away.

* * *

He knew Soho, but not as well as she.

They strolled the cobblestone streets hand in hand.

The architect and builder in him was entranced by the handsome cast-iron buildings that dated back to the 19
th
century.

She loved the feeling of history. In a city known for replacing the old with the new, Soho was a treasure trove of handsome old architecture.

“Have you lived here long?” he asked.

“Since I came to New York,” she said. She looked at him and laughed. “Well, maybe that’s a bit of an exaggeration. I couldn’t afford much of anything when I first arrived. I ended up taking a share in a loft.”

“Sounds very bohemian.”

“Not really. The realtor said the loft was in Soho, but it was on the edge of it, and I do mean ‘edge.’ The bathtub was in the kitchen, the stove was a two-burner hotplate, and the first time I came home after dark, I saw what I thought was a dog running up the stairs. A chihuahua, or maybe a fox terrier. Well, I love dogs so I called to it and when it didn’t stop, I went after it.”

Luca raised her hand to his lips and kissed it.

“Why do I suspect this will not end well?”

“It was a rat. I’d seen rats before. Where I grew up… But I’d never seen a rat that size. Luckily, I realized what it was just before I cornered it.” She shook her head. “I was very, very careful after that.”

“How old were you when you came to the city?”

“Seventeen.”

“So young? And you were already on your own?”

It was the wrong thing to say. He could almost see the walls going up.

“Models usually start their careers at an early age.”

“And your parents had no objections?”

Another bad question. The walls were not only going up, they were starting to sprout crenellations and towers.

“Forgive me,” he said, kissing her hand again. “I ask too many questions.”

“No,” she said quickly. “I just—I don’t like talking about myself, that’s all.” She smiled, and he could see the wariness beneath it. “It’s a boring topic.”

“Nothing about you is boring,” Luca said, and he stopped in the middle of the crowded sidewalk and kissed her. This was New York; nobody objected. The crowd simply parted and swept around them as if they were boulders in a stream.

When he raised his head, what he saw in her eyes filled him with joy. “Are you happy,
bellissima
?” he asked softly.

He’d half-expected her to hesitate before answering, but that didn’t happen

She laughed and touched his cheek. “Very happy.”

A dozen thoughts skittered through his head. Most of them were dangerous because they made no sense. He reminded himself that they hardly knew each other and besides, the relationship wouldn’t last.

He never wanted relationships to last.

He was not a man seeking permanency. He had places to go, things to do. Aside from all that, he had seen far too many fools believe in something as useless and meaningless as love.

Not that what he felt for Cheyenne was love, or anything even close to it. He liked her; he found her desirable.

Incredibly desirable.

No surprise there.

She was a beautiful, bright, sophisticated woman, fun to be with, interesting to talk to, and as eager to explore the pleasures of their sexual relationship as he was.

And yet—and yet, there was more to it than that.

There was a vulnerability to her that was at odds with the tough exterior she presented to the world. A softness. A sweetness. He had the feeling he’d found a part of her she kept hidden and that there was still more to her than she’d permitted him to see, and if he let himself think about that too long, if he let himself think that there was more to this than terrific sex…

“A penny,” she said.

She was laughing up at him, repeating what he’d said to her last night.

He wanted to offer a clever answer, but his thoughts were spinning and all he could manage was to kiss her again.

Then he cleared his throat, laced his fingers through hers, and led her into
Balthazar
for brunch.

The café was, as always, crowded, noisy and wonderful.

She ordered strawberries and coffee.

He looked at her as if she was a creature from an alien planet.

“I have to watch my weight,” she said. “In my profession…”

“I’ll watch your weight,” he said, stroking an imaginary handlebar mustache.

She laughed. It was an old, foolish joke, but she loved that he’d made it. Besides, why worry about her weight? She really didn’t have much of a profession anymore. The calls her agent sent her on were more and more scarce.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll have a poached egg. Dry toast. And coffee.”

“The lady,” Luca said, “will have Eggs Benedict.”

“Luca. All those calories!”

He took the menu from her hands, added it to his and handed them to the smiling waiter. “I’ll have an omelet. Mushrooms, cheese, whatever. And don’t forget those strawberries.”

“Yes, sir.”

“We’d like a bottle of champagne to start.”

“Will Dom Perignon Brut be all right, sir?”

“The 2003? Yes. That will be fine.”

The waiter left. Luca reached over the table for Cheyenne’s hands.

“You’re spoiling me.”

He grinned. “Am I succeeding?”

She smiled. “I take it you’ve been here before.”

“A few times.”

“With women you date who live in Soho?” she said, and instantly hated herself for asking the question. “Luca. I’m sorry. That is so unlike me—”

“With my brother,” he said gently, “and, once or twice, with my sisters.” He leaned forward. “Are you jealous,
cara
?” His eyes darkened. “I hope that you are.”

“No. I’m not jealous. I…”

She ran the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip. He considered leaning in a couple of inches more and replacing the tip of her tongue with his.

“I don’t—I don’t usually… You’ve found a version of me that I don’t know. Does that make sense? I don’t know how else to phrase it.”

“It is the same for me.” His voice was low; his fingers tightened on hers. “It is as if we are on a journey of discovery.”

“Yes. That’s the way I feel, too.”

“So stay with me,
bellissima
. We will travel this road together,
si
?”

She nodded, but he saw the uncertainty in her eyes and he silently cursed himself for being a fool.

“Nothing will harm you, Cheyenne. I swear it.”

Something would. Life would. Reality would, because this was not reality and she knew it. This was all a risk, but she would take it, gladly. She would take any risk for him.

The champagne arrived and as the bottle was opened and poured, they both sat back and returned to the easy give and take of two people just beginning to get acquainted.

Over the eggs, she asked about the brother and sisters he’d mentioned.

He told her about Matteo, who, it turned out, had his law offices nearby. About Bianca, who was studying for her Master’s degree in psych at New York University. About Alessandra, who had studied design at the Fashion Institute and was seeking a job in the industry.