Pride (In Wilde Country Book 1) (22 page)

He felt foolish and told her so.

“No,” she said, “don’t feel foolish! It’s a new field—why would you know about it? Besides, I love that you were willing to donate money to an organization you believed had to do with animal welfare. You’re a truly good person, Luca Bellini.”

He shook his head.

“You are what is good,
bellissima
,” he said.

She looked deep into his eyes. Then she framed his face between her hands and brought his mouth down to hers.

He kissed her, and then there were no more words.

There were only the things that lovers had always told each other with their hands, their hearts, their very souls.

* * *

Luca phoned his P.A. and told her to cancel his appointments for the rest of the week.

“All of them, sir?”

“All of them,” he said.

When he ended the call, smiling at how politely shocked Jessica had sounded, he began planning the first real vacation of his life.

He wanted to show Cheyenne Tuscany, but what parts? Should they drive through Siena and stop at the small, family-owned vineyards that dotted the hills? Head for Florence, the Uffizi Museum and some of the most beautiful paintings and sculptures in the world? Visit La Torre di Pisa and snap one of those silly photos that made you look as if you were holding up the leaning tower?

That night, as she slept, he left the bed and sat mapping things out by the light of a small lamp at a desk in his bedroom. He was quiet and the light was on low, but she woke anyway and asked, sleepily, what he was doing.

“I am trying to figure out what I should take you to see and when.”

He was frustrated. She could tell by the strength of his accent. She sat up against the pillows, the light blanket over her breasts, ready to pull on the silk robe—his silk robe—that lay on a chair beside the bed and see if she could help him when an amazing thought occurred to her.

“Luca?”

He was sitting with his back to her. She could see his dark hair standing up in little tufts and she knew that meant he’d been running his hands through it.

“Luca.”

He sighed and swung toward her. “
Si, dolcezza.
Is the light keeping you awake? I am almost done here and then—”

“I have an idea,” she said softly. “Why don’t we just get into the car and drive?”

He frowned. “No plan?”

“No plan.” She smiled. “Should be interesting, don’t you think? A pair of control freaks like us, just going wherever the mood takes us.”

For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, a smile she’d come to know and adore curved his lips.

He’d been working on an iPad. She watched as he shut it off and placed it on the desk.

“Wherever the mood takes us,” he said.

She nodded. “Why not?”

He rose to his feet. The way he was looking at her, combined with the heat of his smile, sent her heart racing.

“A good idea,
bellissima
. An excellent idea.” He walked towards her, his steps slow and deliberate. He’d pulled on a pair of sweatpants when he left the bed, only the pants and nothing more. She looked at the beautiful lines of his body, the muscled shoulders and chest, the tight abs, and the race of her heart quickened.

“Luca?” she whispered. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that going wherever the mood takes us is an interesting idea.” Without taking his eyes from her, he opened the door to his closet, reached inside and plucked something from it. A scarf. A blue scarf. Silk. Or maybe cashmere, the sort of thing he might tuck into a coat collar on a cool day.

“For instance,” he said, his voice gone thick and low, “I am in the mood to have you feel, but not see. To feel, but not touch.”

They had gone out to dinner; his jacket, shirt and tie lay on a chair and he paused only long enough to pick up the tie. A blue silk tie.

Her mouth had gone dry, but not the rest of her. She could feel the dampness starting between her thighs.

He stopped beside the bed. Undid the cord of his sweats. Stepped free of them.

His erection was huge and powerful, but when she reached for him, he shook his head.

“Let go of the blanket,
cara
.”

The blanket fell to her waist.

He looked at her breasts. It was enough to make her nipples bud. A little moan rose in her throat.

“You have such beautiful breasts,” he said softly. “Such perfect nipples.” His eyes met hers. She felt as if she could fall into the darkness of those eyes and stay there forever. “Do you like it when I look at your breasts,
bellissima
?”

She nodded.

“Tell me.”

“I like you to look at my breasts,” she whispered.

“And when I touch them? Taste them? How do you feel when that happens?”

“I feel—I feel as if my bones are turning to liquid.” She gasped as he bent to her and sucked the tip of one breast into the heat of his mouth. Her hands rose; she dug her fingers into his hair, but as soon as she did, he lifted his head.

“I am the one who will touch,
cara
. Not you. Do you understand?”

She nodded. Her heart was beating hard and fast. He was going to make love to her in the way that had become their own.

He would dominate her and in submitting to that domination, she would become powerful. He would be as much hers as she would be his, and nothing, absolutely nothing in the universe could equal the feeling of it.

“Tell me that you understand.”

“I understand.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I understand, Luca. You are the one who will touch. Not me.”

“Good girl. Now, put your hands behind your back.”

Her hands shook, but she did as he’d instructed. He sat down next to her and pressed his lips to the place where her neck and shoulder joined as he wound the silk tie around her wrists. She could hear the little sounds she was making, soft whispers and softer moans. She was desperate for him to be inside her. Instead, he reached for the scarf.

“I’m going to blindfold you,
cara
. You won’t be able to see what I do to you. You will only be able to feel. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Say it. Say, ‘Luca, I understand.’”

“Luca,” she whispered, “I understand.”

He leaned in, took her mouth in a deep, drugging kiss.

Then he drew back, looped the scarf around her eyes and tied it behind her head.

Now she was in total darkness. And her hands were bound.

She was his. Completely his.

Her body throbbed. Melted. She could hear the rasp of her own breath. She waited, waited…

Oh God!

The lightest brush over her nipples. His fingers? His hand?

She moaned with pleasure.

And again. No. Not his fingers. His lips. The whisper of his breath against her sensitized flesh. She arched toward him, wanting more. The heat of his mouth. The caress of his tongue.

The bed sighed.

He was stretching out beside her.

He was watching her. She could feel his eyes on her. But she needed more. His touch. His kiss.

A cry broke from her throat.

His hand was tracing the outline of her body. Throat. Breast. Hip. Her skin felt singed.

It wasn’t enough.

“Please,” she whispered.

He caught the plea with his mouth. His tongue swept over hers. She gave a little sob; her head fell back as he cupped her breast and feathered his fingers over the dusty rose tip.

“Is this what you want,
dolcezza
? Me, touching you? Kissing you?”

“Yes,” she said, “yes yes yes yes…”

At last, he drew her nipple into his mouth. The sensation was indescribable. She could feel herself coming apart and when he slid his hand between her thighs, found her with his fingers, she cried out in ecstasy.

She wanted to hold him. To see him. She begged him to free her hands, uncover her eyes, but he wouldn’t, he wouldn’t, and she sobbed with pleasure, with frustration as he kissed his way down her body, over her belly, to her thighs, as he nuzzled them apart and put his mouth to her, God, his mouth…

The wave broke over her, more powerful than any before. She felt herself rise with it, felt it reach its apex before it drew her down and down, taking her under, and she was breathless, she was dying, and then the wave lifted her, brought her out of the darkness.

“Cheyenne,” Luca groaned as he entered her, and she screamed his name as he took her with him into the hot, bright light of the sun.

* * *

Seconds passed. Minutes. She had lost all concept of time.

Luca lay over her, his heart hammering against hers.

He had reached back and untied her wrists; now, her arms were wrapped tight around him. The scarf had loosened and was draped around her throat. Her mouth was pressed against his shoulder. The taste of his skin—salt, heat, man—was on her lips.

What was happening to her?

She was losing herself.

Everything that she’d believed herself to be was changing. She was a leaf drifting from shore, drifting on the slow current of a stream.

She didn’t understand it.

What had become of her need to control? To command? To be in charge of herself, her life, of everyone and everything around her?

And yet, she still was in charge.

Her decisions were her own—including the decision to let the man in whose arms she lay show her a side of herself she’d never known existed.

He stirred. Shifted his weight. Started to lift himself off her.

She held him more closely.

“I am too heavy for you,
cara
,” he said.

He was right. He was much too heavy for her, but she wanted his weight on her, wanted the feel of his body against hers.

“Stay,” she whispered, and she felt his lips curve against her throat as he smiled.

“I would not dream of going anywhere.”

She sighed as he rolled to his side with her in his arms, heart to heart, belly to belly. His face was a breath from hers. She looked into his eyes and what she saw there was what she knew he must see in hers.

It was a time for complete honesty, and she knew it.

“I don’t,” she said, “I don’t understand what’s happening.”

He didn’t try to pretend her words confused him.

“No,” he said. “Neither do I.”

“I’m going to tell you something…” She swallowed dryly. “Don’t laugh.”

He raised his head a little, just enough so he could kiss her.

“I would never laugh at you, sweetheart.”

She nodded. “You need to know that I—I never liked sex very much. It was just something, you know, something people do.” The truth went well beyond that. Perhaps some day she could tell him so. For now, this admission was enough. It was more than she’d ever made before.

“And now?”

“And now—and now, I know that you were right. What we do isn’t sex. It’s—”

“It is making love.”

“Yes. And it’s…it’s…”

“Amazing.”

“Yes.”

“Incredible.”

“Uh huh.”

“Magnificent.”

She laughed. Who’d ever have believed you could lie in a man’s arms and laugh?

“Don’t get carried away, Bellini.”

He grinned. “Male ego,
cara
. My apologies.” He propped himself up on his elbow, kissed her mouth, her throat, her breasts, and a bolt of that very ego he’d just apologized for shot through him when she stirred under his kisses. “But I wonder…”

“What do you wonder?” she said, catching her breath as he drew her nipple into his mouth.

“Well, I wonder about plain vanilla.”

His hand was on her belly. On the soft curls below it. Impossible, that she should want him again. Need him again.

She smoothed her fingers through his hair.

“Plain vanilla what?” she murmured, even though she knew.

“Lovemaking. No games. No toys. Just you and me.” His fingers moved lower. Over her. Into her. “Could we have sex that way and still find it amazing?” The world began to tilt. “And incredible?”

He moved over her, slid inside her. She clutched his shoulders.

“And magnificent,” she said, because no matter how they made love, it was all of that.

And more.

* * *

They spent the next day driving the countryside, stopping for lunch at a charming café in the village of Montepulciano and for espresso at a
piazza
in Montalcino.

Hand in hand, they headed back to the Ferrari. When Cheyenne said she wanted to drive, Luca clapped his hand to his heart.