The Marriage Trap (14 page)

He kissed her. So different from the raw, carnal passion in their last encounter, the kiss shattered his soul to the very core. Her taste was pure sweetness as her lips opened under his, and her tongue met his with a humble giving that shook his body like a storm. He groaned and deepened the kiss, drowning in the silk of rose petals hidden beneath the thorns. She arched upward and let him in. He devoured her, claiming every slick, hidden recess of her mouth, then moved down her neck to nibble and bite, wringing shudders from her as she clung to him.

Michael readjusted his position and pushed her beneath him, deep into the pillows. Hip to hip, leg to leg, his erection pressed between her thighs, and she yanked the material of his T-shirt from his jeans and pushed her hands underneath the fabric. He uttered a half prayer, half curse at the feel of her warm palms tracing the muscles in his chest, the tiny bite of her nails in his back, the way she raised her legs to cradle him more intimately against her. Mad with the urge to strip her clothes off and take her on his cousin’s couch, he breathed deeply in an effort to calm his nerves. “We have to slow down,
cara,
or I’m going to take you here.”

He prepared himself for the chill once she came to her senses, but all she did was grip the back of his head and force his lips back to hers. Between deep, hungry kisses, her whisper raked across his ears. “I want you, Michael.”

The sound of his name squeezed him like a hot vise and he grew harder. He slid his hands underneath the full curve of her buttocks and lifted her up. She gasped as he rocked against her with teasing motions, but while he was busy, the loud snap of his jeans ricocheted in the air. “Baby, I think we need to—
Dios!
”

Warm fingers dove under his waistband and grasped his erection. Fireworks exploded in his vision, and he’d never been so damn happy in all his life that he didn’t like to wear underwear. She squeezed gently, then began pulling down his jeans to get more exposure and—

The door opened.

The sound of laughter cut through the scene like a bad sitcom. They both moved like naughty teenagers, removing hands and fingers, and adjusting clothing as his cousins bounded through the door. One look at Lizzie’s rosy cheeks and Michael bet they’d gotten reacquainted in the car. After all, if four boys was any indication of their lifestyle, he figured they skipped the token movie and went straight for the fooling around.

Michael sat up and pulled Maggie with him.

Brian’s grin widened. “Well, well, what do we have here?” He crossed his arms and clucked his tongue. “My four innocent sons are sleeping down the hallway and you’re conducting yourselves like an X-rated movie.”

Michael called him a dirty word, which only made Brian laugh harder. One look at Maggie’s face caused his cousin to frown. “I’m just kidding, Maggie.”

Her lip caught between her teeth, his
tigrotta
had lost her growl. She stood and shifted foot to foot, looking embarrassed, uneasy, and vulnerable.

Michael grabbed her hand and pulled her against him, snagging his arm around her shoulders. “Sorry, Bri, we’re both exhausted. The boys are fine. They trashed the house and I didn’t clean it up.”

“Asshole.”

“Ditto.” They said good-bye, Lizzie and Brian giving Maggie hugs and kisses, and Michael got her into the car.

She rested her head against the seat and stared out into the night, not speaking. For the first time in his life, he felt completely uneasy around a woman, unsure what her thoughts were, and only wanting to comfort. No, he was a liar. He wanted to make love to her,
then
comfort her.

“I’m sorry.”

Michael shook his head and wondered if he’d misheard her softly spoken voice. “About what?”

She gave a sigh. “About before. In the bathroom at your mama’s house. I was a bitch.”

Great. A woman who admitted she was wrong. What was he going to do about her? Why couldn’t she just stay in character and stop surprising him? “Accepted.” He paused. “Mind telling me why?”

She stiffened but didn’t avoid the question. “I’m screwed up.”

He laughed. “Who isn’t? I moved too fast. These past few days have been overwhelming, and I surprised you.”

She let out a snort. “Oh, please. I had planned to seduce you, so you didn’t overwhelm me. Don’t think I’m some ditzy shrinking violet you can manipulate with your charm.”

He grinned. This was the Maggie he was used to and enjoyed battling with. “If that’s so, I hope you make up your mind fast. I don’t think I can take another night with a hard-on.”

That remark earned him a sneer. “Maybe if you’d stop driving like an old man, we’d get home before you lose it.”

He didn’t answer. Just stepped on the gas.

•   •   •

They snuck inside the house and locked the door. Maggie kicked off her shoes and motioned toward the bathroom. “You go first. I need to grab something from my suitcase.”

Michael rushed through the minimum of necessity, deciding to remove his shirt but leave his jeans on. Barefoot, he walked out of the bathroom, his heart pounding like his first woman was waiting for him, and he didn’t know if he’d be able to last.

When he finally spotted her, he realized he was doomed. She was heaven and hell in one, and he’d greet the devil with a smile on his face.

She stood under one of the antique lamps cast half in shadow. The dim light emphasized the high thrust of her breasts encased in delicate black lace. The fall of her silky hair as it brushed her shoulders. The full curve of her hip and the bare expanse of leg where the slip stopped above the knee.

As he moved forward, he realized it was more than her body that mesmerized him. For the second time tonight, a flash of vulnerability shone from her cat-green eyes. Her feet shifted just an inch as if she was still unsure, but he already decided he’d waited too long to claim her.

He grasped her shoulders as he closed the space between them. The tips of her nipples teased his bare chest, and she let out a tiny gasp. Satisfied, he gazed down at her in silence, taking in every inch of her body that was about to belong to him. His tigress scrambled for footing.

“Um, Michael, maybe we should—”

“No,
cara
.” He smiled and tipped her chin up. “It’s time.”

•   •   •

Maggie wondered if all those BDSM romance novels weakened her mind. Instead of taking charge in her normal sexual capacity, she watched with trembling knees as the man before her told her exactly what was going to happen.

God, she loved every moment.

The heat of his body pulled and tantalized as he lowered his head. A catchy little gasp escaped from her throat, but she was past caring. She needed his mouth and his hands and body to drive away the demons of doubt and vulnerability that tore her apart. The same ghosts that waited in her closet late at night to taunt her about not belonging dissolved in smoke as Michael Conte finally kissed her.

No-holds-barred.

The time of seduction and slow kisses was long gone. Maggie was completely overtaken by the assault that pushed and prodded every crevice of her mouth until she opened further and dived in. The taste of coffee and mint and raw hunger swamped her senses, and she slid her arms around his shoulders and hung on. He bent her backward and devoured her, promising her heaven and hell, while excitement pounded her body in waves. Control long gone, the kiss was pure survival, and she reveled in every stroke of his tongue, each nip of his teeth, until his thrusts parried his erection as he rocked between her thighs.

He ripped his lips from hers and breathed hard. Savage lust gleamed from the coal-black of his eyes while his gaze roved over her half-naked body. A thrill shot through her at the need that shook his hands as he traced a line down the valley of her breasts and around the cups. Her nipples rose in demand. His thumb tweaked one, then the other, and her knees grew weak as a spear of hot need shot straight to her clit.

He took half a step back and studied every inch of her. Then with a wolfish grin, he pushed her back on the bed.

Maggie had no time to gather her thoughts as he divested himself of his jeans in record time. The sheer power and length of his erection stole her breath. She reached out to touch him, but he moved too fast. His fingers grasped the fragile straps of her slip and worked the fabric down over her breasts, her thighs, her calves, her feet. He threw the lace away, then slowly eased her legs apart.

Maggie moaned as she lay open to his demands. The helplessness under his hungry stare caused a ripple of panic to flutter low in her belly. She lifted her hands to push him away, but as if he sensed her sudden unease, he raised his head to look at her.

“You are so fucking beautiful,” he murmured. His fingers gently parted her swollen folds and dipped into her wet channel, thrusting slowly. “
Dios,
if I don’t taste you I’ll die.”

“Michael—”

“Yes, Maggie, show me your pleasure. Tell me how much I please you.”

His mouth dived. His hot tongue circled around her swollen clit as one finger joined the other and plunged deep. She arched upward and cried out. The overwhelming sensation of his thrusts, combined with the teasing licks around her bud, pushed her slowly toward the edge. Her fingers grabbed at the blanket in an effort to ground herself but he never let up, swirling and sucking with a gentle, steady pressure that heated her blood and drove her faster and faster toward orgasm.

“I’m going to—oh, God, I can’t—”

“Come for me, Maggie.” With one final thrust, he nibbled ever so gently on her clit and she flew over the edge. She screamed and convulsed, her hips arching up for more. Thrusting over and over, he took her deep and lengthened her climax until every muscle shuddered in agony and ecstasy.

Michael pressed kisses to her inner thighs, then slid down and came back with a condom. He threw the packet to the side and covered her body with his. Maggie moaned at the feel of his hot skin over hers, each muscle pressed into her curves, his hard length throbbing.

She tasted the musky essence of her pleasure as he kissed her long and deep. Helpless from the intensity of her orgasm, she let him take what he wanted, bringing her back up the slow ladder of tension, as he played with her nipples. As he rolled them between his fingers, the sharp pleasure rocketed her to the top until she surrendered completely and gave him what he wanted.

“Take me, Michael,” she begged. Her hips thrust up in demand, and she hooked one ankle around his leg and tried to urge him down. “Please.”

He laughed low and wicked, his teeth raking across her nipple and causing shivers to wrack her body. “You ask so nicely,
cara
. I can’t wait to bury myself inside you.”

He grabbed the condom and sheathed himself, then paused at her entrance. Wetness leaked down her thighs and welcomed him further. He teased her a bit, pushing in an inch, then another, until her head thrashed back and forth on the bed and her nails dug punishingly into his back.

“More,” she demanded. “Damn you, give me everything.”

He held her head still, his dark eyes drilling into hers with a promise to take and plunder everything she had. Then he plunged deep.

Maggie gasped as he filled her to the hilt, his massive size overtaking not only her body, but her mind and her soul. Panic hit her full force—the invasion by a man who’d be able to strip her of every surface barrier and unearth the truth.

“No!” She panted, the wild beating of her heart strangling her very breath. “I can’t, I can’t.”

“Shush,
mia amore
. Relax. Let me in.”

Her body eased, and the feeling of fullness caused a sharp rush of heat. He groaned, obviously struggling for control, and Maggie panted, his body pinning her down into the mattress with no escape. Helplessness flooded through her.

Tears pricked her eyes. “I can’t.”

He pressed a kiss to her brow, every muscle locked. “Here, baby, I know what you need.” With one quick movement, he rolled until she straddled him.

The freedom and sudden control whooshed through her. She relaxed and arched, ripping a groan from his lips.

“Better?”

The joyous smile curved her lips and broke over her face. “Yes.”

He cursed, his hands cupping her breast. “I’m never going to last. Ride me,
cara
. Ride me hard.”

She threw her head back and moved up and down his penis, reveling in his raw, naked response, in her ability to make this man weak with want for her. She sucked him in deep and the bruising pace quickly brought her right back to the edge. Her hair fell down her back, and his fingers worked her nipples as she reached for the pinnacle, feeling free and beautiful above him.

“Now,
mia amore
. Now.”

With one final plunge, Maggie shattered. She screamed his name, and heard his hoarse shout right behind her. The world broke around her in jagged pieces, and she rode out the pleasure to the very end. When she collapsed on top of him, and his arms came around her, one word echoed over and over in her mind, her heart, her soul.

Home.

Then she closed her eyes and slept.

Chapter Nine

M
aggie sipped the strong, steaming brew and stared at the magnificent view before her. The sunlight washed over the green hills, highlighting the vast expanse of mighty, snow-tipped mountains. Terra-cotta sloping roofs spotted the horizon. The scent of olive and lemon wafted in the warm breeze, and she breathed deep, trying desperately to calm her racing heart.

Last night, Michael made love to her.

Pieces of memory flashed before her. The delicious heat and explosion of her orgasm. The gentle curve of his lips as he smiled. The strokes of his hands against her flesh as if she were breakable and precious, not just a one-night stand.

But she was. Or at least, maybe a two-night stand. Because at the end of the week, this whole charade would end, and he’d leave. Like they all did.

How had it happened? She’d confessed her secrets freely at his uncle’s house and had no one to blame but herself. His gentleness encouraged her to open up easier than any hot demands ever had. One moment she swore she’d be on the next plane out. The next, she’d challenged him to a bout of lovemaking with the stupid idea she’d be able to wring him out of her system.

She nibbled at her lip and took another scalding sip. When she woke up he’d left her a note that he’d run into town for a few hours and would be back to bring her to the headquarters of La Dolce Famiglia. The disappointment of an empty bed rattled her foundation. She always fought the need to escape as fast as possible once dawn hit. For the first time, she craved a morning snuggle with the man she made love with. He consistently surprised her, challenged her, and made her long for more. He was dangerous. Not just to her body. But to her heart.

She had to get out of here.

Her heart pounded and the blood roared in her veins. The oncoming panic attack gathered speed and Maggie grabbed her camera, desperate to control her ridiculous physical defaults. Breathe deep and clear her mind. She began snapping shots of the landscape, sharpening her focus to the frame in front of her, looking to find something unique and incredible. Her mind clung to the noise of the shutter and the flash of the light of the lens as she moved around the back terrace. Anything but the dizzy pull of alarm taunting her to lose all control.

“Meow!”

The half shriek of the cat caused her to stumble back and almost fall on her ass. She caught a whirl of black fur as the thing launched through the air, and she scrambled away, desperate to avoid the sharp sting of claws.

“Crap!” she yelled, heading toward the safety of concrete and away from the bushes. “Get away from me.”

The cat, or whatever the thing was, stalked her. Blazing green eyes dominated the black face as massive paws closed the distance between them. Maggie jumped behind a wrought-iron chair and glared at it. She did not like cats. Never did. Dogs were sufferable because they were generally affectionate and only lived for you to pet them. Cats were different—they were like high-strung divas who assumed your only job in life was to serve them. They scared the bejesus out of her—even more than children—and there was no way she was sticking around a moment longer. But this creature was three times the normal size, almost like a small dog. He’d do a wicked witch proud because he stared her down like he was about to cast a spell, and he freaked her out.

“Ah, I see you met Dante.”

Maggie spun around. Michael grinned down at her, clean-shaven, with his long hair neatly tied back. He looked rested and refreshed, while she still felt completely out of sorts and scrambling for her composure. “What do you feed it? Small children?”

He chuckled and knelt down, trying to call the cat over. Dante swished his tail and hissed. Maggie jumped back another step. “You’re not afraid of cats, are you,
cara
?”

She shuddered. “I just don’t like them. They’re demanding and spiteful.”

His lip twitched. “Seems like you’d go perfect together.”

“Funny. Is he yours?”

Michael shook his head. “Nope, he’s a stray. Visits a regular route for food, but won’t let anyone near him. Even Carina, whom we call the animal whisperer, hasn’t gotten close. Dante has issues.”

She stared at the cat. Pretty clean, definitely not starving, but he seemed to dislike people. The sudden humor struck her. “So Dante gets fed and catered to by the same people he openly despises. Interesting.”

“Yes, I guess it is,” he murmured. Suddenly, she was in his arms. His minty breath rushed across her lips and made her belly tumble. “Did you sleep well last night?”

“Yes.”

“Liar.” His dark eyes glittered with promise and a hint of danger. Shivers raced down her spine. “But if three times still gave you enough sleep, I’ll need to do better tonight.”

Oh. My.

She cleared her throat and reminded herself another night with him may be dangerous. She blinked and pulled back, needing the distance. His arms closed around her. “Michael—”

“I love hearing my name on your lips.” His mouth lowered and took hers, kissing her deep and long and slow. She opened up and thrust against each silky stroke of his tongue, pressing close. He caught her low moan, then slid over her bottom lip to nip. The sharp pleasure-pain shot a rush of heat between her aching thighs. He tasted so good she wanted to devour every inch and discover all those hard muscles straining under his clothes. Drowning in sensation, she let herself slide headlong into a pit of seething heat and fire and—

“Owww!” He thrust her away and jumped on one leg.

She looked down in horror to see Dante’s teeth stuck in Michael’s pants. The tiny puncture holes through the thin fabric caused her to freeze, afraid she was his next meal. The cat’s face turned upward in a sneer and he disengaged from Michael. He hissed low, then stalked toward her with intention.

“Dante!” Michael let out a rush of Italian and waved him away with a threatening gesture. The cat ignored him and reached her. She closed her eyes, unable to move and—

Dante rubbed his body against her calf. The low hum of a motor reached her ears. She opened her eyes and realized that noise was purring. He pushed his face hard into her leg, his long whiskers twitching with pleasure as he circled once, twice, then settled beside her.

Michael just stared at the cat, then back at her. “I don’t believe this. He’s never done that before,” he murmured. “And he’s never bitten.”

“What? It’s not my fault—I told you I don’t like cats. I didn’t tell him to bite you!”

“No. It’s deeper than that. Perhaps he sees something we’ve all been missing.”

Maggie watched with widened eyes. “And you feed this thing so he comes back?” she asked in amazement. “What is wrong with you? He came at you like he smelled a tuna dinner.”

The electricity between them jumped and burned like a live fuse gone wild. Her pulse rocketed. His eyes darkened with purpose, and he reached for her.

“Margherita? Michael?”

They both jumped back. His mother stood framed in the doorway, an apron covering her dress, her hair twisted neatly into a chignon. The aristocratic lines of her face shimmered with a classical power that had launched a successful business and raised four children. “What is happening out here?”

“I was just introducing Maggie to Dante.”

Mama Conte gasped. “Why is Dante near Margherita?”

“Yes, that seems to be the question of the day.” Maggie shifted uneasily and took a step back from the man-eating cat. Dante only stared with disgust at her cowardly retreat. “Mama, we’ll be going to the office with Julietta in a bit. Do you need anything?”

“I will give you a list of ingredients I’m running low on. Margherita, I need help in the kitchen. Will you join me?”

She hesitated. As much as she liked Michael’s mother, a deep-seated fear lodged in her gut. The woman was too sharp and asked too many questions. What if she slipped up and blew the whole cover story? Michael motioned for her to go, but she shook her head. “Um, I really don’t like cooking. Maybe Michael can help you.”

His mother crooked a finger. “Michael already knows how to cook—you do not. Come with me.” She disappeared back into the house.

Maggie cursed under her breath, indignant at Michael’s shaking shoulders as he smothered his laughter. “I hate cooking,” she hissed. “Your mother scares me. What if she suspects?”

“She won’t. Just be nice,
cara
. And don’t blow up the kitchen.”

She scooped up her camera, shot him a dirty look, and stomped off. A low meow sounded behind her but she refused to acknowledge the sound. The irony of her current situation blew her mind. She seemed to be confronted at every turn with all the items she refused to deal with back home. Already, she felt responsible for Carina and her current activities, she had to make sure she didn’t kill four small children, she had to deal with psychotic cats, and now she needed to please his mother by not poisoning the food. Muttering under her breath, she put her camera down on the table.

Michael’s mama already had a variety of bowls and measuring cups stacked on the long, wide counter. Shiny red apples that would do Snow White’s evil queen proud gleamed in a row. An expensive blender thing with wheels took up the center. Various containers of powder—which she guessed as sugar, flour, and baking soda—were neatly lined up.

Maggie tried to feign enthusiasm for the task ahead. God, she wanted some wine. But it was only 9:00 a.m. Maybe she’d spike her coffee—Italians liked their liquor.

She smiled with false cheer. “So what are we making today?”

Mama Conte slid a well-worn piece of paper over to her and pointed. “That is our recipe.”

“Oh, I figured you knew enough not to need a recipe.”

His mama snorted. “I do, Margherita. But you need to learn how to follow instructions. This is one of our signature desserts at our bakery. We shall start simple. It’s called
torta di mele,
an apple breakfast cake. It will go nicely with our coffee this afternoon.”

Maggie scanned the long list and got lost on step three. She’d made chocolate cake from a mix once be
cause she wanted to try it. It sucked because she hadn’t realized you had to mix the batter for so long, so clumps of dry powder got stuck in the middle. Her then-boyfriend had laughed his ass off and she’d broken up with him that night.

“I will supervise. Here are your measuring cups. Begin.”

When was the last time an older woman ordered her about? Never. Unless she counted Alexa’s mother, and that was only because she’d spent time at her house when she was young. Slowly, she measured each dry ingredient and poured it into the huge bowl. Ah, well, if she was going to be tortured, she might as well be nosy. “So Michael says you taught him to cook at an early age. Did he always want to run La Dolce Famiglia?”

“Michael wanted nothing to do with the business for a very long time,” the older woman answered. “He had his heart set on being a race-car driver.”

Maggie’s mouth fell open. “What?”

“
Si
. He was very good, though my heart stopped every time he went out on the track. No matter how many times his papa and I tried to discourage him, he found a way back on the track. By then, the bakery was taking off, and we had opened up another one in Milan. His papa got into many riffs with him about his responsibility to the family and the business.”

“He never told me he raced cars,” Maggie murmured. The words escaped before she caught them. Holy crap. Why wouldn’t she know her husband’s past? “Um, I mean, he doesn’t say much about his previous racing.”

“I am not surprised. He rarely talks about that part of his life anymore. No, Margherita
,
you crack an egg like this.” A clean break sliced the egg open and, one-handed, she expertly dropped it in the bowl.

Maggie tried to copy her and the shell exploded. She winced, but Michael’s mother took a bunch of eggs and directed her to start cracking. Maggie tried to concentrate on the eggs, but an image of a young Michael Conte defying his parents and racing cars stuck in her head.

“What happened?”

His mother sighed. “Things were difficult. A friend of his was injured, which made us even more upset. At this point, we knew Venezia wanted nothing to do with the bakery, and our dream of a family business began to die. Of course, we had other choices we could make. My husband wanted to expand; I liked cooking and wanted to remain with the two bakeries. Who knows what we would have done? God stepped in and Michael made his choice.”

Maggie hit the side of the bowl with an egg. The egg slid neatly inside with no shell, and an odd satisfaction ran through her. Seven must be her lucky number. “Michael decided to quit racing?”

Mama Conte shook her head, an expression of regret flickering across her face. “No. Michael walked out and decided to race cars for a living.”

Maggie sucked in her breath. “I don’t understand.”

“He left and did the circuit for a year. He was young but talented, and his dream was to race in the Grand Prix. Then my husband had a heart attack.”

The image hit her full force. She stared at his mother, as if on the verge of a terrible truth. Every muscle tensed with the urge to run and cover her ears. Her voice broke on the two words that broke from her lips. “Tell me.”

Mama Conte nodded, then wiped her hands on her apron. “
Si,
you should know. When Michael’s papa had the heart attack, Michael came right home. Stayed at the hospital day and night and refused to leave his side. I think we all believed he would be all right, but the second one struck hard and we lost him. When Michael came out of the room, he informed me he had quit racing and was taking over the business.”

Maggie remained silent as the older woman pondered the event with the flicker of demons in her eyes.

“I lost something in my son that day, the same day I lost my husband. A piece of wildness, of freedom from restrictions that always burned bright. He became the perfect son, the perfect brother, the perfect businessman. Everything we needed from him. But he left something of himself behind.”

Her throat clogged with emotion. Maggie gripped the spoon so tightly she was amazed it didn’t shatter. No wonder he seemed so faultless. He gave up his own dreams and became everything his family needed. With no thought of himself and no whining. Not once had he even hinted this was not where he wanted to be.