Release Me (22 page)

The bed shifted behind her. “So beautiful,” he whispered. She felt his hands on her, smoothing up the back of her thighs and over her ass before coming to rest on her hips. He pulled her further down the mattress until her knees were at the edge and he was standing behind her.

Leaning in, his hand swept her hair to one side. She felt his open mouth drag across her bare shoulder, and when his lips pressed against her throat, she wondered if he could feel her pulse hammering inside her neck.

“Have you been thinking about me while you were lying here waiting, imagining all the things I might do to you?” He pushed her legs further apart and then his finger skimmed her sex. She heard his breath hiss when he discovered how wet she was. “Oh, I think you have.” His fingers circled her in a slow, measured caress. “You’re soaked for me.”

She didn’t need him to tell her. She could feel how wet she was by the way he slid through her slick folds. When his hand fell away she heard a quiet sound of appreciation. “And you taste so sweet.” The image of him licking her arousal from his fingers made her long to feel his tongue against her wetness, tasting her in wide, sweeping strokes.

But instead he continued teasing her quivering entrance with his fingers until her core clenched with need. She felt so empty, her body actually ached. Desperate to feel any part of him inside her, she pushed back into his hands. “Please, Hudson.”

“Hush,” he purred. “It’s a long flight, baby. We have hours.”

Allie couldn’t help the whimper that escaped her lips.

Hudson bent over her again and this time she closed her eyes, trying to focus on the sensations of the moment—his lips drifting over her skin, his hair tickling her back—and not the persistent throbbing between her thighs.

“Tell me, what is it that has you so greedy for my cock?” he whispered against her overheated skin. “Is it the anticipation that turns you on, Alessandra? Or is it being poised at the end of this bed, so open and exposed, knowing I’m about to fuck you good and hard?” His teeth grazed the shell of her ear. “Or is it both?”

“Yes, both,” she panted.

He stood and gripped her hips, his fingers digging into her flesh. Somewhere in the back of her mind a part of her hoped they left a mark. She wanted a reminder of how she felt at this moment, how his total possession had ratcheted her desire to an almost debilitating level.

“Please, I want you. All of you.”

He growled and plunged inside her in one long, powerful thrust. Allie gasped, feeling every exquisite inch of him stretching her, filling her. The sensation alone was almost enough to make her come. Wound as tight as she was, she knew she wouldn’t last long once he started to stroke his hard length in and out of her swollen flesh. But he didn’t. Instead he held still, buried deep inside her, until she couldn’t take it any longer. She tried to move her hips, but his grip tightened.

“Don’t move,” he ground out. The strain of his barely leashed control was evident not only in his voice but in the way his fingers flexed against her skin. “I just want to feel you around me.”

Her breath came in short pants as she waited, her body pulsing around him. It was too much; she needed more. She squeezed her inner muscles in a desperate attempt to spur him on. He groaned, a low guttural sound, and then he started to move, thrusting fast and hard and deep.

The bed rocked beneath her as his thighs hit the end of the mattress with each punishing drive. She tried to steady herself, her hands reaching out blindly, clawing at the sheet and twisting it in her grasp. When her arms and legs began to tremble, she dropped to her elbows, her face pressed to the duvet as he continued to fuck her. Because that’s what this was. It wasn’t the slow, sweet lovemaking of the night before. It was raw, carnal fucking, and she loved every minute of it.

“Fuck, Allie, I can’t get enough of you. You feel so good sliding around my cock.”

She garbled incoherent pleas into the duvet. Words like more, harder, deeper. Hudson changed his angle, hitting a spot inside her that brought her to the edge. His breath grew choppy, his rhythm faster and sharper. Then one hand left her hips, sliding around her stomach to the top of her sex. The dual assault was too much. A low, keening cry escaped her lips as his fingers circled and pressed.

“That’s it. Fucking come for me,” he grunted. “Now, Allie. Let me feel you come on my cock.”

She came with a muffled scream, her body clenching around him in waves as one orgasm rolled into another. Hudson stayed with her, his perfectly measured thrusts suspending her in a white-hot bliss while she writhed and bucked beneath him, lost to the mindless pleasure. This was what he did to her, what only he could do.

Behind her Hudson made a rough sound of agonizing ecstasy. His body jerked and shuddered as he emptied himself inside her. “I love you,” he whispered as he collapsed against her. The weight of him, pressing her into the mattress as his chest heaved for breath, soothed and calmed her trembling body.

“I love you, too,” she murmured. And she did. She loved him more than she ever thought possible.

Hudson rolled onto his back, pulling her with him. She nuzzled against his chest, her limbs loose and her eyelids heavy. As the plane dipped and banked to the left, Allie drifted into an exhausted sleep, secure in the fact that the man holding her would always be in her life.

The knock that woke Julian was a real pounder, loud as a ball being shot out of a cannon. He had no idea who it was, or how long they’d been beating on the doors to his master suite, but he was a hair’s-breadth away from shredding them a new asshole.

“Pour l’amour de merde.” He coughed to get his vocal chords working. “Arrêter cette incessante frapper. Je viens.” When he finally opened his eyes, it felt as though the morning light streaming through the windows singed his corneas. He squinted down at the slender arm draped possessively over his chest and shoved it off. The woman—for the love of God he couldn’t remember her name—rolled over with a soft moan as the appendage flopped to the mattress.

Julian swung his feet over the side of the bed, then rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. When he opened them he got his first full look at the room. Clothes were draped on every surface—the twin set of wingback chairs, the lampshade, the dresser—there was even a bra hanging from the chandelier above the bed. Empty bottles of champagne littered the floor and ashtrays overflowed on the bedside tables.

More fucking knocking.

“Une minute.” Palming a pack of Gitanes, he withdrew a cigarette, slid it between his lips, and lit it with a quick rasp of a gold lighter engraved with the letters
JL
. The first drag was always the best, and once againit seemed to do the trick. He tossed the lighter on the nightstand and shifted to his feet. He stood there for a second to let the sudden case of vertigo pass before grabbing the silk paisley robe that hung over the footboard of the intricately carved canopy bed.

As he headed toward the knocking, he slipped the robe over his shoulders and tied the sash. When he yanked the door open, he exhaled, blowing a rocket of smoke out of his nose. “What?” he barked in his accented English.

“Monsieur Lau—”

Julian interrupted the man with the arch of a brow.

“Marquis Laurent,” he said, quickly correcting his mistake. If there was one thing Julian had learned about his hired gun, it was that despite his slip-up, the guy was all about protocol. A soldier broken and reprogrammed by some military regime from which he was undoubtedly AWOL.

“Oui, Philippe?”

“I have an update.”

Julian swung the door open the rest of the way. “Entrer,” he said around the cigarette dangling from his mouth. He gestured for the man to follow as he sauntered toward the wingbacks in front of the fireplace and took a seat.

Philippe’s shrewd gaze scanned the room, stopping abruptly at the ornate turn-of-the-century bed where two women were still passed out from the night before. The statuesque brunette with the olive skin was on her back, one arm over her eyes as if to block out the sunlight and one leg bent at the knee, exposing herself. The other, a blonde, was on her stomach with her arm now draped across the other woman.

Julian smirked. The women were as significant as the brocade curtains that framed the windows. Just as useful, too, but a hell of a lot more fun.

Philippe circled the wingback, unbuttoned his dark suit coat, and took a seat opposite Julian. “I have information on the whereabouts of Alessandra Sinclair and Hudson Chase.”

Julian took deep drag of his cigarette, the tip glowing bright orange. “I don’t give a fuck about that prick.” His thick accent curled around the words and smoke wafted out of his mouth with the syllables.

Philippe pulled a small notebook out of the breast pocket of his jacket and flipped it open. “Miss Sinclair will be boarding the Venice-Simplon Orient Express in a few hours, final destination London, with a brief stopover at 48.8567 degrees latitude and—”

Julian cut him off. “Enfer putain. In English, as the Americans say.”

“Yes, sir. Paris, France.”

His eyes grew wide. “When?”

Philippe consulted his notebook again. “Tomorrow morning, zero-eight-hundred.”

“Perfect.” Julian’s lips drew back in a sneer. Things couldn’t have worked out better, even if he’d been the hands of God pulling the strings. He leaned back in the chair and stubbed his cigarette out in a crystal ashtray.

It was time to put his plan in motion.

Allie had never been to Venice. Rome, Milan, even Florence, but never to the waterfront municipality commonly referred to as the “floating city.” She loved the idea of visiting what was arguably one of Europe’s most romantic locations for the first time with the man she loved. Which was why she was so disappointed when they spent the majority of their one day in Venice sleeping off their jet lag.

Most travelers tried to sleep on the plane during their overnight flights, arriving the next morning well rested and acclimated to the time zone. But other than her one brief nap, there’d been no sleep aboard Hudson’s jet. Not that she was complaining. A smile curved her lips as she thought of their transatlantic flight and almost involuntarily she sought him out across the hotel lobby.

He was standing at the front desk speaking to the concierge. His back was to her, affording her the opportunity to admire his very fine, denim-clad backside. As smoking hot as Hudson Chase looked in a suit, there was just something about the way the man wore a pair of jeans that had her shifting in her chair.

As if hearing her wayward thoughts, Hudson turned. Judging by his expression, it was quite possible he
had
read her mind. That or he’d merely caught her checking out his ass. She watched him as he sauntered across the marble floor, marveling at how he managed to make even a simple pair of jeans and a cashmere sweater look so fucking sexy.

“You have that look on your face,” he said, his blue eyes lit with amusement.

“Which look is that?”

“The one that says you’d like me to check us back into the hotel.”

Allie blushed. “Tempting. But we’d miss our train.”

“Ready to go?”

She stood, gathered her purse and coat, and smiled. “Lead the way.”

Hudson placed his hand on the small of her back. But instead of guiding her to the front door of the hotel, where she’d half expected to find Max and an Italian security team waiting with an armored car, Hudson led her to the rear entrance.

“Aren’t we headed to the station?” Allie asked as they stepped out into the crisp morning air. The temperature hovered just under fifty degrees, but in the sun it felt much warmer.

“I thought we could take the canal.” He gestured toward a gondola waiting alongside the hotel’s dock. “Couldn’t have you leave Venice without experiencing their most famous form of transportation. I’m afraid it’s not as romantic as it would be at night, but—”

“It’s perfect.” Allie launched herself at him, throwing her arms around his neck and pulling him into a tight embrace.

Hudson steadied them and laughed. “I take it this was a good idea, then?”

She pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “It was a great idea. Thank you.”

His gaze softened. “I’d do anything for you,” he whispered. Then his mouth slanted over hers, kissing her long and slow and deep. Her arms tightened around his neck, holding him to her as their tongues stroked and their breaths quickened. His hand slipped inside her jacket and she felt the weight of his palm pressing against her back. She arched into him, wishing she could feel his bare skin against hers and wondering if it was too late to explore the idea of checking back into the hotel.

Behind her someone discreetly cleared his throat. Allie turned to find their gondolier gesturing to the boat. He was dressed in the traditional uniform of black pants, a black-and-white striped shirt, and a wide-brimmed straw hat with a red ribbon tied around the middle.

“Scusi, but the stazione,” he said in a mix of English and Italian.

Hudson glanced at his watch. “Grazie,” he thanked the gondolier, then to Allie he whispered, “We’ll continue this on the train.”

Warmth spread through her body at the silky, sensual tone of his voice. “I’ll hold you to that, Mr. Chase.”

His answering grin was almost boyish as he climbed gracefully onto the rocking boat. He held his hand out to Allie and she grasped it, somehow managing to climb into the gondola without tumbling into the canal.

“What about our luggage?” she asked as they settled onto a bench that was fashioned to look like a tufted red-velvet settee.

Hudson reached for the folded blanket on the table in front of them and draped it across their laps. “Max took it in the car. He’s meeting us at the station.”

Allie reared back to look at him. “No security? Aren’t you afraid ninja scuba divers might attack us?”

Hudson tried his best to hide his smile. “No, Alessandra, I’m not worried about ninja scuba divers. But we’re covered in the event that they do.” He nodded to the far side of the canal. Allie followed his gaze to a small motorboat driven by two rather imposing-looking men in dark jackets and aviator glasses.

She rolled her eyes. “I feel like I’m in a Bourne movie.”

Hudson chuckled. “Just enjoy the ride.” He wrapped his arm around Allie’s shoulders and pulled her tight against his chest as the gondolier took his place at the rear of the boat. With a smooth stroke of his oar, they began to glide forward through the water. He steered them effortlessly through the winding waterway, past hundreds of pastel buildings dating back as far as the fourteenth century, until they reached the terminal.

The Venezia Santa Lucia sat at the foot of the Grand Canal and served as the main train station in Venice. It was a modern building made of concrete and glass, which made it look more than a little out of place among the grand palazzos and hotels. Outside, dozens of people crisscrossed through the courtyard, and even from the dock Allie could see the large crowds milling about the expansive terminal. But once they reached the platform it was though she and Hudson had taken a step back in time.

With its restored 1920s vintage cars, the mere sight of the Venice Simplon-Orient-Express conjured images of the elegance, sophistication, and romance of a bygone era. The carriages themselves were nothing short of a rolling work of art. Painted a gleaming midnight blue, they were trimmed in gold and capped with a snowy white roof.

A row of stewards dressed in a livery of white jackets and gloves stood in a line alongside the train. As they approached, one stepped forward and greeted them by name.

“Mr. Chase, Miss Sinclair.” He bent slightly at the waist. “Welcome to the Orient Express. My name is Andrew and I will be your steward for the duration of your journey,” he said in a refined British accent. “Should you require anything at all, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

Allie smiled. “Thank you, Andrew.”

“We’ll be departing precisely at 10:57, where upon our chefs will preside over a three-course lunch in our Etoile du Nord dining car. If you’d like to go ahead and get a table, I can wait for your driver to arrive and see to it that your bags are delivered to your cabin suite.”

Hudson thanked the man with a generous tip before helping Allie up the steps of the dining car. The interior of the world’s best-known luxury train was a heady mix of prewar glamour. Varnished marquetry panels lined the walls of the car along with antique light fixtures and tapestry drapes. Along each side sat tables covered in starched white linen and surrounded by dark green velvet chairs. The crystal goblets sparkled in the late morning sun, and the silver was polished to a high shine. Everything was ready to whisk one hundred travelers on a mystical journey through the Italian Dolomites and the Swiss Alps.

Once the train pulled out of the station, Allie and Hudson enjoyed a leisurely lunch for two, gazing at each other more than the Italian countryside. Andrew appeared shortly after the waiter served dessert to inform them the train was about to arrive at their first destination. Allie was grinning from ear to ear by the time he finished talking.

“I assume Verona is a city you’d like to tour?” Hudson asked when they were alone.

“I’d love to visit Casa di Giulietta.”

“Ah yes, Juliet’s house,” he said, referring to the home where the Cappelletti family is said to have lived.

“I know they might have only been figments of Shakespeare’s imagination, but—”

“But never underestimate the power of storytelling,” Hudson said, finishing her thought.

Allie nodded. “Exactly. So can we go?” Excitement bubbled up inside her. She was practically bouncing in her seat as she waited for his reply.

“I was thinking we could spend the time in our cabin, perhaps pick up where we left off at the hotel.” He smiled at her indulgently. “But if you have your heart set on Juliet’s balcony, Verona it is.”

***

The driver dropped them at the Piazza delle Erbe, where they wandered the cobblestone streets eating gelato and browsing the various vendors selling everything from jewelry to soccer jerseys. Max was never far behind, although he followed at a discreet distance. Allie still thought the security unnecessary, but Max’s constant presence brought her comfort of a different kind since she knew his watchful eye allowed Hudson to relax and enjoy himself.

When they reached the center of the square they stopped in front of a marble fountain so Allie could consult her guidebook. “It says we should look for the graffiti-covered sign post.”

Hudson read over Allie’s shoulder. “It also says that Shakespeare never even visited Verona.” He lifted the book out of her hands and continued reading while following her through the crowded streets. “And that the balcony was added by the local government in the 1930s to increase tourism.”

“Shhh,” she shushed him, ignoring his dose of reality. Because while it was true that Romeo and Juliet were likely nothing more than fictional characters, what Hudson failed to understand was that their actual existence was inconsequential. The thousands of tourists who flocked to the thirteenth-century home each year came not to stand on the actual balcony where Juliet caught Romeo’s eye, but to experience, even for a moment, what that balcony represented.

Allie rocked on her tiptoes, scanning the alleys and passageways until she found what she was looking for. A smile stretched across her face. “Come on,” she said, grabbing Hudson’s hand and leading him to a stone archway. A plaque with one of Shakespeare’s most famous quotes hung above them while in front of them stretched a long, dark tunnel covered with thousands of small scraps of paper.

“What’s with all the notes?” Hudson asked.

“They’re love letters. Legend says that posting a letter to your true love on Juliet’s wall will make that love everlasting.” Allie slowly walked the length of the tunnel, stopping every so often to read a few of the messages. “It’s a shame people don’t write love letters anymore. All these emotions poured out onto paper. Imagine if they’d have sent them to the person instead of sticking them to a wall with . . .” She lifted the edge of a pale blue page and grimaced. “Chewing gum.”

From behind her, Hudson wrapped his arms around her waist. He dropped his lips to her ear. “Would you settle for a naughty text message?”

“Not quite Romeo and Juliet.” She laughed. “Then again, things didn’t work out so well for them.”

“Good point.” He tucked her under his arm as they strolled the rest of the tunnel. When they reached the brick and stone courtyard, Allie asked a woman to take their photo. She was quite sure Hudson found posing for a photo in front of the legendary balcony on par with posing for a picture with Mickey Mouse, but he humored her nonetheless.

“What’s inside the house?” he asked.

“A museum, costumes and props from the Zeffirelli movie.” Allie started toward the house. She’d only taken a few steps when she realized Hudson hadn’t followed. “Aren’t you coming inside?”

Hudson looked up from the guidebook. “If memory serves, the balcony is for Juliet. You go ahead. I’ll be over there.” He nodded to a bronze statue in the corner of the courtyard. A wicked gleam lit his eyes. “According to this book of yours, rubbing Juliet’s right breast brings good luck.”

“Might need to knock the other fifteen-year-olds out of the way first,” she teased.

“I’d rather rub your breast,” he said with a smirk. “But I didn’t think that was an option at the moment.”

Allie turned, laughing and shaking her head as she made her way inside the stone building. She moved quickly through the various exhibits, pausing only once to snap a photo of the platform bed used in the Academy Award–winning film. Her phone was still in her hand as she stepped out onto the balcony. The moment she did, it vibrated with an incoming text. Her heart swelled as she read Hudson’s words, artfully blended with those spoken by Romeo as he watched Juliet from the courtyard below.

What light through yonder window breaks. . . And in a glance, in the wake of a moment, you’ve seized my heart . . . Oh, it is my love.

Allie’s gaze lifted, searching the crowded courtyard for Hudson. She found him not standing in line to grope the breast of a bronze statue, but leaning against the entrance of the tunnel with his phone in his hand. The instant their eyes met she felt it, the connection that had vibrated between them since the day they’d first met. It had always been there, even when she’d tried her best to push it to the far corners of her mind. And Hudson felt it, too. It was evident in the way his eyes darkened when they raked her from head to toe, in the way his stance changed when she entered the room, or the way his lips parted when she touched his skin.

She clutched the phone to her chest and mouthed the words, “I love you.”

“Let’s go,” he mouthed back.

Allie couldn’t get downstairs fast enough.