The slow seep of anticipation began to ensnare him and, compelled by some primitive instinct, Gianluca did what he had never done before. He picked her up in his arms and carried her up towards the house.
‘Put me down,’ she whispered.
‘No.’
‘I’m much too heavy.’ ‘No. You are perfect.’
It felt like being in a dream, as if she had spent her whole life waiting for just that moment. Cradled in Gianluca’s strong arms with her head resting against his chest in the warmth of the balmy night and a silver moon blazing overhead.
She barely noticed the cool, dim house with its ancient flagstones and its worn stone steps and beautiful old furniture—all she could feel was the pounding of his heart against her body. Gianluca didn’t even put her down once they were inside—instead he began to mount the stairs with Aisling still in his arms. How strong he was, she thought, in admiration and slight bewilderment.
The first moment of panic she knew was when he kicked open a door which revealed a huge bed, its counterpane and cushions covered in some dark, silky material. An unashamedly masculine bed which looked made for seduction—and Aisling suddenly wondered what he would expect of her in return. Would she let herself down with her relative inexperience?
Her tongue snaked out over bone-dry lips. ‘Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,’ she whispered.
He had been expecting this, but it didn’t stop him from laying her down on the bed as carefully as if she had been composed entirely of something fragile. He smoothed a stray tendril of hair from her cheek, his black eyes suddenly serious. ‘Oh, yes, it is,’ he affirmed softly. ‘It is the best idea I’ve ever had.’
And then he bent over her and kissed her with a different kind of kiss from the one beneath the tree—it was all soft and tender and stomach-melting—the kind of kiss which said: Trust me. Could she? More importantly, could she trust herself not to read anything more into this than what it really was? If she was prepared to accept reality for just this once, then she would be safe.
Gianluca felt another unexpected kick of something which seemed to exceed mere desire as her arms looped up behind his neck and her lips parted as she stared up at him in silent invitation. Her dark hair was fanned out against the gleaming backdrop of the bed, the filmy top outlining her amazing breasts and her denim-clad legs splayed out in careless abandon.
His lips began to graze over her eyelids. ‘Do you know how beautiful you look tonight, cara?’
‘Seriously?’ she questioned uncertainly, guessing that this was what he said to every woman he took to his bed. But it unsettled her. She might have scrubbed up well tonight, but no way was she beautiful.
‘Oh, yes.’ He felt her tense and his hand cupped her breast until he felt her nipple peak against his palm and he wanted to say to her—Why the hell don’t you dress like this normally? Except to say that risked bringing work into the bedroom and destroying the enchantment.
So instead, he whispered to her in Italian, telling her that she was much too beautiful to hide her hair and body away—allowing himself the luxury of knowing that she could not understand anything he was saying. So there was no chance his words could be misinterpreted … only their sensual tone would be taken on board.
He felt the apprehension begin to leave her as he told her that her hair was as dark as the night and that she looked like a sorceress. He told her that her body was everything a woman’s body should be, and as he tugged off the jeans he realised that he had been right. Madonna mia, but she was a Venus! It was true that her lingerie was a little on the plain side, but he wasn’t intending that she wear it for very much longer.
‘Gianluca,’ she breathed as he slid off her panties and tossed them aside to join the other garments on the floor. And suddenly the uncertainty began to dissolve with the sure caress of his fingers against her nakedness and his murmured words.
He was just so gorgeous, and he was making her feel gorgeous—and hadn’t she been nurturing a fantasy about this man from the very first moment she’d met him? Reaching up, she burrowed her fingers beneath his silken shirt, feeling the flat, hard planes of his torso and the rough