The Italian's Virgin Acquisition Page 15

  ‘Walk?’ Sebastiano looked at her as if she’d just asked him to swim.

  ‘Yes.’ She laughed at his pained expression. ‘Please, Bastian. It’s so beautiful with the snow falling all around us and I don’t know if I’ll ever make it back to Venice again.’

  Sebastiano bit back a curse, sexual need pushing him to get her back to the hotel as quickly as possible. ‘Of course.’

  He fell into step beside her, an easy silence enfolding them as the enchantment of Venice wrapped them in its hazy black magic.

  ‘Where are we?’ she asked, looking around.

  ‘Venezia,’ he drawled.

  ‘You do have a sense of humour.’ She laughed, punching his shoulder lightly. Sebastiano smiled, enjoying the comfortable feeling between them.

  ‘Are you warm enough?’

  ‘Yes. And I meant where in Venice?’ She pressed closer to his body and he tucked her against his shoulder. ‘Where does this lane lead to?’

  She pointed over a small wooden bridge and down a dimly lit alleyway. Sebastiano shrugged. ‘Let’s find out.’

  They wandered aimlessly, traversing a series of narrow storybook canals and tiny lanes with elaborate shop fronts below lighted apartments, the smell of the sea heavy in the night air.

  ‘Oh, that’s a beautiful building.’

  ‘The Peggy Guggenheim Museum,’ Sebastiano said. ‘It has a wonderful sculpture garden at the back.’

  ‘The Nesher Garden,’ Poppy provided. ‘Eleanore said they have a new controversial artwork. It sounds interesting.’

  ‘Want to take a look?’

  ‘I’d love to, but it’s closed.’

  Sebastiano palmed his phone. ‘Not to us.’

  ‘What are you doing?’ She pulled his arm downwards. ‘You can’t possibly think of trying to get it open.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘It’s midnight and—’ She shook her head. ‘Could you?’

  ‘Of course. CE did the restoration work on the building a few years back. On top of that, we are key patrons.’

  Poppy shook her head. ‘That’s great, but put your phone away. We don’t have to disturb the poor curator, or whoever would have to wake up to open the doors. We can see it tomorrow.’

  Pocketing his phone, he turned to her, giving her a look she couldn’t mistake. ‘I might already have plans for tomorrow.’

  ‘Such as?’

  Her soft whisper was like the sirens’ lure Odysseus would have warned his sailors to ignore. It heated his blood and called to that most primitive, that most male, part of him. The part that wanted to take her right here up against a stone bridge.

  He sucked in a deep breath, misty air mixed with strains of Poppy. He slipped his arm around her waist and drew her closer. Her breath hitched and she whispered his name.

  Another call. Another lure to his senses. He stared down at her beautiful upturned face, her flushed cheeks, her snow-damp hair.

  His arms tightened around her, his nostrils flaring as he looked at her. ‘Such as plans to inspect an important work of art of my own.’

  ‘Really?’ Another breathy whisper that hung on his senses. She arched towards him just a little, her breasts rising between them as if seeking the palms of his hands. ‘What kind of art work?’

  ‘Mmm...’ Sebastiano leant close, inhaling her but not yet touching her; torturing them both. ‘It’s soft and curvy.’ He demonstrated with the sweep of his hands. ‘And it has these hidden valleys and wonderful peaks.’

  Unable to help himself, he cupped one of those masterful peaks, moulding her in his hand, soaking in her soft moans of pleasure.

  ‘It sounds—wonderful.’ Her hands drifted over his arms and shoulders. Stroking. Petting. ‘I wouldn’t mind exploring myself.’

  ‘Oh, yes, dolce mia.’ He groaned. ‘I have much that you can explore.’

  And then he kissed her. Deeply. Drawing tiny cries of pleasure from her throat, murmuring to her in Italian, urging her to give him more. To give him everything. Again a pesky voice in his head said, mine, and his body tightened with need.

  ‘Bastian, I want...’ Poppy widened her legs and he slid his thigh between them. ‘Oh yes, that. Right there.’

  ‘Yes, Poppy,’ he breathed against her mouth. ‘Tell me what you want. What you need.’

  Because he didn’t know what he needed, apart from filling her body with his until he couldn’t think. Until this intense hunger to make her his drove out this feeling that something was missing from his life.

  Missing?

  His life was full. Complete. There was nothing missing. And yet he couldn’t deny the nagging sense that something definitely was.

  Her?

  The unbidden thought was almost enough to have him pulling back but then she moaned and twisted higher against him, her teeth grazing his jaw.

  He should have shaved, he realised, so that he wouldn’t mark her pale skin. And as soon as the thought entered his head it was all he wanted to do: mark her. Fill her. Brand her.

  ‘Sebastiano, please...’

  Uncaring as to where they were, Sebastiano firmed his hand over her bottom and urged their lower bodies together.

  Minutes passed where all they did was kiss, tasting each other until he was so hard he was about to disgrace himself.

  ‘Enough playing.’ Sebastiano growled, having indulged her desire to walk long enough. ‘We need to take this indoors before we get locked up.’

  ‘I don’t want to wait,’ she moaned. ‘I’m so desperate for you.’

  ‘The feeling is mutual, bella, believe me.’

  ‘Buonasera, signor, signorina. Gondola ride?’

  Dazed with desire, Sebastiano turned to focus on the smiling gondolier in the stupid shirt and dark trousers. No, he did not want a damned gondola ride, he wanted a bed, wall, floor—any flat surface—but he knew, as soon as he heard Poppy’s happy sigh, that he was thwarted again.

  ‘When we finally get back to our hotel room,’ he warned, ‘You better be wet and ready for me because I won’t be waiting.’

  He turned to the gondolier and bared his teeth.

  ‘Can you take us to the Gritti Palace?’ he asked, hoping his voice revealed his desire for haste.

  ‘Si, si. Salire a bordo. Come aboard.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Poppy’s eyes shone in the hazy moonlight. ‘This is so magical.’ She turned in the curve of Sebastiano’s arms. ‘I love it.’ She reached up and kissed him. It lacked the heat of her previous kisses but the sweetness of it lingered along with a sense of utter satisfaction. He slung his arm around her shoulders and pulled her in close.

  ‘You want a song, signor? Signorina?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Sebastiano sighed and Poppy laughed.

  ‘Yes,’ he amended gruffly.

  The gondolier grinned, starting a low, melodic tune he became completely caught up in as the little boat rocked gently beneath tiny arched bridges and passed softly lit, enchanting buildings.

  Poppy burrowed closer to him, her body replete as it rested against his, as if they had already made love. But they hadn’t and yet he felt just as contented as if they had. He felt...he felt... He frowned. What did he feel? A sense of rightness? A sense of—happiness? The realisation was like the unfurling of a corpse flower after a decade of dormancy. Something had been going on with him since he’d agreed to come to Italy, something he couldn’t put a name to yet, but he would. He absolutely would.

  ‘By the way.’ Poppy turned her face up to his, a secret smile on her lips. ‘I already am.’

  Sebastiano’s gaze lingered on her mouth. ‘Already what?’

  ‘Wet,’ she whispered impishly.

  ‘You are in so much trouble when we get back to our room, Miss Connolly,’ he warned menacingly, turning her towards him and slipping his hand along her thigh.

  ‘Stop that,’ she admonished softly, checking to see if the gondolier had noticed his hand move beneath her skirt.

 
Of course, the man was too discreet for that.

  ‘We are here, signor.’

  Grazie a Dio!

  ‘Bene,’ Sebastiano said, deftly lifting Poppy out of the gondola, and paying the gondolier who knew what amount.

  Poppy’s face was flushed, her eyes fever-bright as they ran over his arms and chest, her gaze making him burn hotter than the sun.

  Whisking her through the double doors the concierge held open, Sebastiano let her precede him into the narrow confines of the hotel lift. He followed her in, barely pausing to insert the keycard for their floor before pressing her flat against the back wall, angling her head to the side to kiss the breath from her body.

  Her bottom pressed into his groin, her mouth opening wide beneath his, hungry and sweet. Sebastiano groaned. He wanted her. Dio, but he wanted her.

  His hands slipped beneath the hem of her dress, raising it along the outside of her thighs as he stroked her stocking-clad legs.

  ‘These have to go.’ His fingers came into contact with sheer tights, the cloth tearing easily beneath his rough fingers. He groaned her name as he came into contact with warm baby-soft skin. He flattened her against the wall, pressing into her. ‘You feel fantastic. So damned sexy.’

  The lift juddered to a halt and Sebastiano shot his hand against the wall to steady them both, his breathing ragged. ‘Room. Now.’

  Once inside, he shucked out of his jacket and threw off his shirt.

  ‘You are so magnificent,’ she murmured huskily, stepping forward to comb her fingers through the smattering of hair on his chest. ‘I wanted to run my hands over you that morning in your office.’

  ‘Do it now,’ he commanded, reaching around to slide the zipper of her dress down, going stock-still when she leant forward to press her lips against his pectoral muscles.

  They clenched and he felt her smile against his skin. ‘I like that you’re so hard everywhere.’

  Her lips drifted over his nipples and his breath rasped in his throat as she licked him. He forked his fingers in her hair, holding her lightly, letting her explore, but only just. Her lips drifted lower, tracking the trail of hair down the centre of his body, a trail that ended at his throbbing erection.

  ‘Poppy...’ He grabbed her arms and held her in front of him. ‘I need you, bella. Desperately.’

  With swift, unsteady movements he divested her of her dress and scooped her into his arms, his lips finding hers.

  As soon as he reached the bed he dropped her onto it and came down over the top of her, clamping his mouth over one of her gorgeous little nipples and feasting on it.

  She cried out, music to his ears, and he didn’t hold back from delving his hand between her legs, moaning deep in his chest as he found her wet and swollen.

  ‘Poppy, amore mia...’ Senses overloaded, Sebastiano moved lower, peppering her silky abdomen with soft, open-mouthed kisses as he settled his shoulders between her thighs, urging them wider still.

  ‘Sebastiano, I haven’t—’ Her hands lowered to hold him off and he kissed the backs of her hands.

  ‘Now you want to be shy?’

  ‘I’m not shy.’ She moaned as he flicked her with his tongue. ‘But this is so intimate.’

  ‘More intimate than when I’m inside you?’

  ‘Yes, if you must know.’

  He laughed softly. ‘You’re so sexy, Poppy mia.’ He gently shifted her hands and placed them on the bed beside her hips. ‘When it gets too much for you, grab the sheets.’

  His nose nuzzled her silky mound. ‘You’re beautiful, Poppy. Like the Venus de Milo come to life.’ His mouth drifted lower. ‘Perfect here...’ He inhaled deeply. ‘And here where you’re soft and wet and waiting for me to fill you up.’ He licked her, moaning his pleasure at her taste. ‘Mine,’ he said, the word rumbling from deep inside his chest. ‘You’re mine.’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  HOURS LATER THE pale light of the winter sun washed over Poppy, disturbing her sleep. Again she woke alone, the sheets beside her cool to the touch. Feeling a pang of anxiety, she reminded herself that Sebastiano was an early riser and she pulled on the hotel robe and belted it lightly, her feet quiet as she crossed the carpeted floor.

  She found him outside on the small stone terrace, the faint strains of the dawn sun shimmering off the silvery green canal. The sky beyond looked clear, but it was the man filling the small space that took all of her attention.

  A cold breeze ruffled his thick, dark hair and she remembered tunnelling her fingers into the lushness of it the night before as he took her to the dizzying heights of absolute pleasure and far, far beyond. The connection she felt with him when his body joined with hers indescribable and totally scary. It was everything she had unknowingly craved and more.

  Her heart sped up inside her chest.

  He was so powerfully male, standing there with his arms on the balustrade, his muscular legs tanned and long beneath the white robe. He was a miracle of manhood in the prime of his life and he was all hers—or temporarily all hers. Temporarily and fakely all hers.

  Fakely?

  It wasn’t even a word, but it described their situation perfectly. A situation that was fake but didn’t quite feel fake. At least not for her.

  Or at least not right now.

  When she had agreed to this deal over a week ago she had imagined her biggest challenge would be to convince his family that they were a couple. In the end that had been the easy part. The hard part was keeping her hands of her boss-cum-fake-boyfriend and in that she had most definitely not succeeded.

  But she wasn’t going to dwell on that now. She knew what this was. She knew he was out of her league and that he had no long-term intentions towards her. Just as she had none towards him.

  Sure, a cool voice in her head mocked, if he wanted more, you’d jump at the chance.

  ‘Buongiorno.’ His deep, sexy voice dragged her eyes up to his. ‘How did you sleep?’

  Knowing that she had been caught staring, she felt suddenly shy. ‘Like a log.’

  ‘Then I must not have been doing my job properly.’ He held his hand out to her, beckoning her into his arms. ‘It’s a beautiful morning; come see.’

  Pushing her wistful thoughts to the back of her mind, Poppy slipped into place, relaxing in his solid embrace, her back to his front. His arms tightened around her, his chin resting on the crown of her head. ‘What did I tell you?’

  Momentarily confused, Poppy realised he was talking about the view, and she forced herself to focus on the slumbering ancient city as the sun gilded the rooftops bronze and gold. ‘It’s exquisite. Maryann told me it was but I thought she was exaggerating.’

  ‘Who is this Maryann to you?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘Maryann is a saviour to me. She lost her husband to cancer many years ago and when she found us we were like lost souls.’ She smiled at the memory.

  ‘Found us?’

  ‘Simon and I.’

  Sebastiano frowned. ‘How old were you?’

  Not wanting to ruin the moment by delving into the past, Poppy spoke quickly. ‘I was seventeen. Simon was seven. Is that the island of Murano over there? I hear they have fantastic glassware for sale.’

  Turning her in the circle of his arms, Sebastiano studied her face. ‘Explain.’

  Knowing she was thwarted, she pulled a face and let her mind drift back to that awful time, hoping he wouldn’t look at her differently at the end of it. ‘The day I met Maryann, I was at Paddington station trying to find a warm place for Simon to sleep since he was sick and—’

  ‘Trying to find a warm place to sleep?’ His voice deepened in alarm. ‘Why didn’t you go home? Or to a hospital, if your brother was ill?’

  ‘I couldn’t go to a hospital because I wasn’t yet eighteen and I was afraid Social Services would separate us.’ She bit her lip. ‘And we didn’t have a home.’

  ‘Why not?’

  She swallowed heavily. ‘The last foster home we were placed in wasn’t great and—I thought
I could do better on my own.’ She gave a self-mocking little laugh. ‘Turns out I was pretty naïve on that score.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Do I have to?’

  He gave her a look that she knew from working for him scared CEOs and chairmen everywhere.

  ‘Fine.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘I met a guy on the train to London and I was taken in by him. He was well-spoken and well-dressed and I somehow confided my situation to him. Looking back, I think I wanted to believe that there were good people in the world, so when he offered to help us out by lending us his spare room I jumped at the chance.’

  A muscle ticked in Sebastiano’s jaw. ‘I’m not going to like where this story is headed, am I?’

  Poppy pulled a face. ‘Suffice to say he wanted payment for the room, but not of a fiscal variety, and I told him I wasn’t interested.’

  ‘What did the lowlife do then?’ His voice was so deep, Poppy blinked in surprise.

  ‘He forced me to wake Simon and threw us out onto the street.’ She didn’t tell him she had been so foolish she had taken all her money out of her bank account so that Social Services couldn’t trace her and he’d stolen the lot. That was too excruciatingly shameful.

  Sebastiano swore viciously under his breath. ‘Maledizione, Poppy, you could have been hurt. Or killed.’

  ‘It’s just lucky Simon is deaf because he slept through the whole thing.’

  ‘Your brother is deaf?’ His eyebrows hit his hairline.

  ‘Yes, but it doesn’t define who he is. He’s a perfectly normal teenage boy.’

  ‘And you’ve taken care of him your whole life?’

  ‘Since he was two. I used to throw a hissy fit whenever the social workers tried to separate us. It nearly didn’t work on one occasion, but basically no one wanted a deaf toddler, and he would only be soothed when I was around.’

  Sebastiano stared down at her, some of the steely rage that had come into his eyes easing. ‘You’re amazing, you know that?’ He cupped her face in his hands. ‘Strong. Sexy. Beautiful. Inside and out.’

  ‘Don’t,’ she said, uncomfortable hearing his praise. She was nothing special and it was only a matter of time before he figured that out.