Slow Tango With a Prince (Royal Scandals) (21 page)

“We all do it. No one’s perfect.” Though as she stood beside him now, with her mussed hair, wispy tango outfit, and thoughtful expression, he decided she came as close as a person could. Emily Sinclair was, bar none, the most beautiful woman he’d ever met. It wasn’t her long, lean legs or the smooth skin of her bare shoulders than enticed him most, it was the vibrancy of the woman within, the gratitude she expressed to those around her, and the intellectual curiosity with which she viewed the world…even if she tried to insulate herself from the risks it posed by throwing every ounce of her being into her career.

“I know. Even if perfect is what’s expected. Or what we expect of ourselves, even when no one else cares.” Her fingers flexed around his arm. “Just for that, I’m letting you out of it.”

The light changed at last, but confusion made him pause and look down at her. “Out of what?”

“I’m letting you out of your promise.”
 

Ignoring the stopped cars and blinking crosswalk light, she stretched on her tiptoes and brushed her lips against his.
 

Chapter Fourteen

“Thank you,” she whispered against his mouth.

Victor—no,
Vittorio
—remained immobile, his expression betraying nothing as she briefly touched her lips to his once more. When he didn’t respond, she dropped flatfooted to the sidewalk. Behind her, a car honked. She forced a lopsided grin, let go of his arm, and turned to the crosswalk.

She’d utterly confused him. Well, what did she expect? In the five minutes it’d taken them to walk across the park, she’d gone from agitated to defensive to amorous. What he didn’t know was how his words affected her in those five minutes. How he’d affected her from the moment they’d met. He’d challenged all her assumptions about who she was and the direction she’d fought to take her life ever since she allowed Paul to upend it.

And, dammit, Vittorio was sexy as hell. Even with his scratchy beard and longish, wavy hair, which generally wasn’t a look that attracted her, he possessed an undeniable gravitas that drew her as powerfully as if he’d grabbed her and demanded her attention.

He was the first man who’d ever made her feel lonely for not having him in her life.

“Emily, wait.”

“It’s all right. I wasn’t saying you
have
to kiss me, only that I’m not going to hold you to your word. Come on…we’re going to miss the light.”

Before she could step off the curb, he palmed her bare shoulder and spun her to face him. His other hand came up to bracket her in place. “Aren’t you worried about your colleagues?”

“Deep down, I am. It’s habit. But you’re right. I need to trust that my work stands on its own merits and stop second-guessing what others might think of me. Besides, we’re adults. It was a ridiculous thing to request—”

His thumbs slid from her shoulders to her neck. Before she could comprehend his intentions, his mouth was on hers. Blasts from a car horn echoed behind her, followed by a half-dozen more and even a youthful whistle, then the rev of engines as the cars proceeded through the light.
 

None of it mattered. All she could process was the man before her. The heady sensation of his strong hands cradling her. His warm mouth opening against hers, inviting her to deepen the kiss. The firm muscle of his back as she wrapped her arms around him. The heat of his body radiating through the soft, cream-colored tango shirt as her fingertips lingered near the base of his spine.

Then his tongue touched hers, retreated, returned…lingered. She rose on her tiptoes, aching for more.

She’d lived in a state of denial for so long, telling herself it was for the good of the show and the preservation of her career, she’d forgotten what it was like to be the object of a man’s hunger. Or to experience that same, soul-deep hunger herself.

But it was never a hunger like this. Never.

His hands slid from her shoulders and neck to her bare upper back, but unlike the last time they kissed, he didn’t pull away. He took his time exploring her mouth, treating her as if she were a gift to be savored. Gently, he moved his lips from her mouth to her cheek, then exhaled as he pulled her hard against him. In a voice thick with desire, he said, “Not that anyone in the park cares, but I’m not in the habit of doing this in public.”
 

“Nor am I.” She wasn’t in the habit of doing this at all, as he’d astutely pointed out the last time they’d kissed. “We could go to my room.”
 

Probably not the wisest choice, but everyone was either out or in the office, so the risk of being seen was lower than if they continued outdoors, across the street from the bed and breakfast. All she knew was that she wasn’t ready to stop.
 

“My place would be more private. But only if you’re comfortable.”

“I’m not comfortable at all.” His arms tensed and his lips stilled against her temple, eliciting a smile of delight from her as she continued, “But I’m uncomfortable in a good way. Your place it is.”

His mouth found hers again briefly, then he twined his fingers through hers and led her across the street, zigzagging through stalled traffic before guiding her down a narrow side street to a boutique hotel situated in a gracious whitewashed townhouse. The front desk area was empty as he keyed in. Without preamble, he steered her toward the steep, narrow staircase leading to the rooms on the upper floors. When they reached the fourth floor, he paused outside the single door without turning the key.

Her heart pounded against her ribcage, more in anticipation than from the rapid climb. “What’s wrong?”

His golden brown eyes found hers in the semidarkness of the landing. “I just want you to know…I have no expectations. I’ll walk you back to your place anytime you want.”

“A woman’s right to say no?”

“Exactly.”

“The same goes both ways. I’ll leave whenever you give the word.”

“Don’t expect it anytime soon.”

She put her hand over his and turned the key. “Good.”

Possessive hands wrapped around her waist, then he nudged the door with his hip and swung her inside in one smooth motion. Her bag fell to the floor, landing with a thud somewhere near her feet. She caught the flash of a dimmed crystal chandelier overhead before he kicked the door shut behind them.
 

Then she was lost, trapped between the man and the thick wooden door. Hot and demanding, his mouth conquered hers in a no-holds-barred acknowledgment of the sexual tension that had kept them both on edge all day. She opened to him without hesitation, her knees softening even as his arms locked her against him to hold her steady while he fit his lean hips to hers. Heat pooled low in her core as he kissed her with an intensity that defied the coolheaded persona he showed the world.
 

She wanted to know him. Not only his body, but what drove him, what mattered most to him, why he felt it vital he keep his identity shrouded.

His lips parted from hers, but only long enough for him to press a kiss to her cheek. A masculine sound of satisfaction rumbled from deep in his throat.
 

“Your name is really Vittorio?” she breathed.
 

“Yes,” he ground out as he dragged his mouth from her cheek down the column of her neck, the friction from his beard making her want to crawl out of her skin from the blissful mix of pleasure and pain.

“And you’re really from Italy, aren’t you?”

“No. I was telling the truth. And if you recall, I never said my name
wasn’t
Vittorio. You interrupted me before I could answer.”
 

“Then—?”

His tongue danced at the base of her throat, the pressure making her back arch in desire. One of his hands came to cup her breast, teasing her nipple through the fabric of her strapless top. “Not only are you too curious for your own good, you’re too talkative,” he murmured. “Let’s leave a little mystery, shall we?”

“Mmm…” Her mind shut off as she freed his shirttail from his pants, then worked her fingers under the hem to explore the planes of tight muscle that wrapped his sides and rippled across his abdomen. He shifted, leaving enough space between their bodies to enable her to unbutton his shirt, then push the fabric aside. Gingerly, she spread her hands across his chest, awestruck at the perfection of his torso. Muscle covered every inch of his upper body, yet he wasn’t garishly huge, like a bodybuilder who lived in the gym. Vittorio was lean. Honed.
Hers
. Even if only for tonight.

Closing her eyes, she eased forward and touched her tongue to his chest, savoring the taste of him. She heard him draw a sharp breath through his teeth as her mouth drifted toward his nipple, then stilled, allowing her to tease and lick and explore. She thought he hissed her name, but the metallic purr of a zipper being undone and the wash of cool air against her lower back distracted her. Then her top was off—her bra joining it on the floor with a quick snap—and his palms shifted to the underside of her breasts, supporting their weight even as his thumbs grazed the edges of her nipples.

“Too fast?” The question emerged as an afterthought, the habit of a man to whom propriety was second nature. A quick shake of her head drew a husky “thank God” from him before their mouths met again. Talented fingers worked magic against her breasts, coaxing her nipples to taut peaks. A moment later, his tongue followed and he fell to his knees before her, suckling one breast while he held her waist to keep her from tumbling over in ecstasy. Her hands tangled in his hair, then her breath came in gasps as he forged a path to her navel with his tongue.

“Please.” Her head fell back as the word escaped her lips.

The snick of the door being locked echoed through the dim room, then he was standing before her, lifting her, encouraging her to wrap her legs around his waist. Her mouth found his once more as he strode away from the entry, through a darkened sitting area to a bedroom. Without setting her down, he used one hand to pull the shade.

“Last chance, Emily.” He uttered it as both a promise and a warning.
 

She tightened her hold and groaned out her need. His fingers dug into the flesh of her backside as he kicked off his shoes, then lowered her to a luxurious bed, the kind a person could curl into for days. Easing back, he pulled her black tango skirt over her hips, tossed it toward the corner, then pressed his mouth to her ankle as he stood beside the bed and worked the strap of her shoe. Slivers of light cut around the edges of the window shade to partially illuminate his face as he dropped the first shoe to the floor and turned to work on the second, giving her a heart-stopping view of his profile.
 

She’d thought him stunning when she’d first approached him in the café. This didn’t compare. Long lashes swept down toward his cheekbones as he caressed her foot, lashes any woman would kill to have. But it wasn’t the lashes that caught her attention; it was the way the shadows cast his skin and facial hair into a single tone, giving her an image of what he might look like without the close-cropped beard. He radiated confidence and a quiet strength that made her body tighten with longing.

Then he was over her, his hands flattened on either side of her head, his amber eyes ravishing her.

“You are so beautiful,” he murmured, but she arched from the bed to shush him with a deep kiss. Urgency built within her, so hard and fast she teetered on the brink of control…though they’d hardly started. She worked the front of his slacks, managing to undo the hook and zipper at the very moment Vittorio’s hand covered hers in an effort to help. Then he was free, slacks and underwear lost somewhere in the bed or on the floor.

They needed to slow down. She couldn’t. Primal instinct took over, sending rivers of fire through her every nerve ending as her fingers curled around him. She marveled at the heat of him, the length and breadth of him. He swallowed hard, watching her with intense, hooded eyes as she stroked his silken skin.

His chest rose and fell as her pace intensified, then he swore and scooped a well-muscled arm under her shoulders to roll her on top of him. He eased her hands from him and kissed her fingertips before placing them on either side of his hips. “If you want to enjoy this, don’t touch me for a minute. Just…let me…”

Vittorio parted her with his fingers, then inhaled sharply as he encountered her moist heat and realized what touching him had done to her.

He encouraged her to sit up and lean back, allowing him greater access. Masterful hands found the spot just above her entrance and it was her turn for an agonized expletive. Her head fell back as a fresh surge of desire overtook her. The flower Rita had pinned into Emily’s hair for the tango segment bounced down her back as her hair cascaded from the bun she’d so carefully arranged that morning. Her breath refused to fill her lungs, but he didn’t relent. His thumb worked her most sensitive spot as he entered her with one finger, then a second. It occurred to her that he was watching her, that she should be embarrassed, but she wasn’t. All she wanted was more…and more…then she couldn’t take any more.
 

Her hands fisted in the sheets. “Vittorio—”

“I’m here.”

She squeezed her eyes shut against the impending rush. “Yes—”

The pressure building within her erupted, drawing a gasp from her lips as wave after wave of bliss enveloped her. He sat up and lifted her fully into his lap, allowing her to collapse against the curve of his shoulder while his thumb continued its decadent movement until every ounce of tension left her body. When the last tremor subsided, he eased her to the mattress, pillowing her head with his hand.