Happy Mother's Day! - By Sharon Kendrick Page 0,71
a lot of irresponsible things?’
‘You sound envious.’
‘A little.’
‘Your friends didn’t look happy when you came with me.’ ‘They weren’t; they think I have lost my mind,’ she admitted frankly. ‘They suspect you prey on silly, impressionable female tourists like me. They think your intentions are dishonourable.’
‘Your friends are right—my intentions are entirely dishonourable.’
She blushed a little, but did not drop her gaze from his. ‘I’m relieved to hear it. They were actually green with jealousy.’
‘Perhaps,’ he suggested, playing devil’s advocate, ‘they had your best interests at heart. You know, I didn’t intend it to be like this.’ His frustrated scowl encompassed the borrowed beat-up truck.
‘I feel quite insulted. I thought running out of petrol was some elaborate plan to seduce me,’ she pouted. Behind the teasing words and smile her eyes still held that dazed, bruised quality.
‘I did have a plan to seduce you, but it wasn’t this.’
‘Was your plan nice?’
‘It depends how you feel about candlelight and silk sheets.’ And a meal served by an internationally renowned chef who had been flown in from Paris for the occasion on his private jet.
‘Oh, that was very sweet. Why are you laughing?’
‘I’ve never been called sweet before,’ he admitted.
‘Well, you are very, in a wolfish sort of way. You know, there is an upside to this situation.’
‘There is?’
‘I’ve never made love in a car. Actually, I’ve never …’ She stopped and spoiled the bold invitation by giggling nervously as if surprised by her own audacity.
He caught hold of the small hand and pressed her palm to his lips. The shudder that rippled through her body was visible. He imagined how she would respond to a more intimate touch and realised that he was shaking with anticipation as much as she was.
‘This is not a car,’ he said, thinking about how she would taste when he ran his tongue down the valley between her breasts.
‘No, there’s much more room. And you shouldn’t be embarrassed,’ she added, her expression growing earnest. ‘I’m not the sort of girl who’s impressed by flashy cars, Francesco, and what would you need with a flashy car? You work with horses and you couldn’t fit a bale of hay or something in the back of a Porsche.’
‘How do you know I work with horses?’
‘You mean you don’t?’
It was at that point that Francesco chose to lie, telling himself she’d laugh when he revealed the real truth. And it wasn’t as if it were an outright lie—as often as his hectic schedule would allow he tried to spend time training the horses on his estate, which had been in his family since the thirteenth century. He had come there more frequently of late, feeling the need to escape from conversations that stopped abruptly when he walked into a room.
‘Anyway, it’s a well-known fact men who drive those sort of cars have something to compensate for.’
‘Is that so?’ he said, thinking of the several gleaming models, including a Porsche, sitting idly in his own garage.
‘You don’t think I have anything to compensate for? You wouldn’t prefer me if I had money and could afford to take you to a smart hotel?’
There was a long silence while she just gazed up at him. ‘I like you just the way you are.’
Unable to resist any longer, he bent forward, framed her face between his hands and kissed her with the same combustible results!
‘Dio mio!’ he groaned, dragging his head away. ‘We’re here for the world to see!’
Undeterred by the lack of privacy, she continued to press hot, hungry kisses to the damp skin of his throat while her trembling fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt.
‘We should wait.’
‘Just thinking about you makes me ache deep inside,’ she confided huskily.
Francesco groaned. ‘Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?’
Her breasts strained against the silk of her blouse as she gave a shuddering sigh in response to his throaty confession. ‘Do you know how totally beautiful you are, Francesco?’ She traced a line down his sweat-dampened skin from his throat all the way to the waistband of his trousers. ‘Of course you do, but I’m trying not to think about all the—’
‘We are neither of us thinking.’ The effort of will required to remove the small hand that was tugging at the buckle of his belt made him physically shake like someone in the grip of a fever.
Her searing blue passion-glazed eyes lifted to his face. ‘Did I get it wrong? I thought you said you intended to seduce me.’