He laughed. Happy. Truly happy. He helped her to straighten her legs and put them on the floor so he could pull her into a standing position. "The bathroom is right over there." He indicated a door.
She stood in front of him, her hands framing his face while he looked up at her. "In case I didn't tell you, I'm madly in love with you." She brushed a kiss along his forehead. "I'm not certain where my clothes are. I can't get back into my wedding dress."
He laughed and stood up. He'd set a small bag just inside the door. "Grab one of my shirts. I brought a couple because if you said yes, I knew you'd need something to wear, not that I'd mind in the least if you wanted to walk around just as you are."
"I'm leaking everywhere."
"I like that. Me. In you. That works for me."
She laughed softly and walked to the bag in her silver heels and silk stockings. He watched her, unable to take his eyes from the woman who had changed his life just by seeing him. Recognizing he was real when he'd long ago given up on himself. She was so beautiful. All of her. Inside and out.
He marveled at that. She'd lost everything. Been betrayed by the two people she loved. She had to have had a difficult childhood, being trained as an assassin and set on a course of vengeance for her uncle. None of that had corrupted her. She was pure light to him, a fire that burned hot and bright, cleansing him.
He found the second bathroom and took a quick shower before pulling on a pair of jeans and nothing else. Dinner would be delivered soon. He'd chosen that carefully as well. To surprise her, he'd ordered a mini, traditional wedding cake. The cake he chose was that of millifoglie, layers of a kind of filo pastry, very, very thin, intermixed with light cream, chocolate and mascarpone, topped with fresh berries and a slight dusting of powdered sugar.
He'd left instructions for the champagne to be chilling. There should be strawberries and whipped cream in the refrigerator. He had plans for both items much later. Strawberries mixed with her honey and the cream sounded like a great combination to him. His mouth watered, just thinking about it as he hung up her wedding gown and his suit.
She emerged from the bathroom dressed in one of his tees, a dark navy that fit like a long dress on her. Barefoot, no makeup, her hair wild, cascading down her back in a fiery sheet of red. "They have everything, really good shampoo and a hair dryer. Toothpaste. Even toothbrushes in packages." She grinned at him. "No underwear though. I left my lace ones hanging on the shower curtain all nice and clean, but not dry enough to wear."
"You don't need panties," Casimir assured her. He had to kiss her because she was too tempting looking the way she did. She looked innocent yet, to him, she was a sexy temptress. "They have a pool. We can lie in the sun." He glanced at his watch. "We've got two hours before dinner will be delivered." He held out his hand.
She didn't hesitate, reaching for his hand, threading her fingers through his. He drew her to his side and wrapped his arm around her, holding her there. Pressing a kiss onto the top of her bright hair, he led her down the hallway, outside into the sun. The series of patios led to the long, endless pool. The water looked as if it poured over the edge into the deep turquoise sea below. Loungers lined one side of the pool with a few unopened umbrellas scattered here and there just in case shade was desired. Outside was quiet and very tranquil with the sound of the water looping endlessly.
"Take the shirt off, malyshka, no one can see you but me. The villa is protected on all sides from prying eyes. The sun will feel good on your body."
"I'm a redhead, honey," she murmured, tipping her head up for another kiss. "I burn easily."
He obliged her, giving her what she wanted, taking her mouth and taking his sweet time about it. He loved kissing her. She was great at kissing. Perfection. She tasted of love and her addicting honey. When he lifted his head, he caught the shirt and pulled it over her head.
"Sunscreen." He showed her the bottle of lotion. He looked forward to covering every inch of her with it. His cock jerked again, just thinking about it.
She dragged her hair up onto her head, tying it into a messy, fancy knot, the action lifting her breasts. Unable to resist, he drew her breast into the heat of his mouth, suckling, teeth scraping just enough to have her come up on her toes, gasping, her hands gripping his hips hard.
When he let her go, he was more than satisfied to see he had left more marks on her, just as he'd promised he would. He indicated for her to lie down. She did immediately, stretching out on her belly like an offering to the sun. He crouched down beside the lounger and took his time, rubbing the sunscreen into her shoulders, back and arms, moving lower to massage it into her firm buttocks, paying special attention to every crease, crevice and dimple. He smiled when she began to squirm, unconsciously moving her hips restlessly. He was careful to get every inch of her legs.
"Turn over, Giacinta, let me get your front."
"If you do that, I'll be attacking you, Casimir," she informed him.
"Turn over, malyshka." His cock was already hard and erect and pulsing with need.
She did as he said, presenting her breasts and fiery curls to his hands. Again, he took his time, massaging the lotion into her skin, every little inch, paying extra attention to her breasts and nipples, then moving down to make certain her partially bare mound was properly coated before moving on to her legs. The moment he was done, she reached for the jeans riding low on his hips.
He took her slow, leisurely, there by the pool. They swam, made love again and then fell asleep. He woke her just before dinner arrived, grateful she got in a nap, because he had a very long night planned for both of them.
15
Aldo Porcelli had four bodyguards. Lissa had three days to study the layout of the building where Porcelli's mistress, Lydia Sartini, resided. Luigi had carefully marked the places the bodyguards always waited for him. One stayed by the car at all times. The car was out as a place of attack, not if they wanted Aldo's death to look like an accident.
One bodyguard always stayed at the top of the stairs leading to the second floor where his mistress's apartment was. One remained down the hall, a good distance from the apartment, near the window. His angle on the apartment wasn't the best. Lydia Sartini's apartment was set back, creating a small alcove effect, changing the angle of the hall so one couldn't see anything going on in the doorway. The apartments in the building were deliberately built for privacy. Porcelli wasn't the only man to keep his mistress there.
The fourth bodyguard acted as a roving sentry, prowling through the garage, up the stairs, through the hallway and down the flight of stairs at the far end of the second story. The lift was an open wrought-iron cage, rarely used by the residents' visitors. There were no security cameras for obvious reasons. The men wanted complete privacy and deniability.
Luigi had stayed hidden away, supposedly in his wing of the house, grieving for Arturo. In reality, he was home with his wife and family, a great alibi when he knew Aldo, his wife's brother, was going to die. There was no way anyone could blame him, he was with Angeline and his boys. Casimir and Lissa actually drove by the house to confirm he was there. Even with the knowledge that Luigi had betrayed her father and lied to her for years, pretending to be alone, forsaking a family of his own for her and their ultimate goal to bring justice to those who had killed her parents, seeing him with his wife and sons was a much bigger blow than she expected.
She glanced up from the blueprints spread across her lap, to look at her husband. Husband. In her wildest dreams she had never once imagined herself married, and certainly not to a gorgeous, romantic man. Her wedding day and night had been spectacular. Casimir had planned every minute, every detail. They'd worshiped each other's bodies over and over in so many ways - and her husband could get very creative.
"What is it, golubushka?" His voice was gentle.
He knew. He was like that with her. He knew when she was melancholy, like now. She shouldn't be thinking of Luigi; she needed to concentrate on the plan to take Aldo without harming a
nyone else. Without getting caught. Without anyone suspecting his death was anything else but an accident.
"Talk to me, Lissa."
It was back to Lissa and Tomasso. But now, she wasn't even Lissa. She was Patrice with her glossy dark hair and stick figure. He wasn't Tomasso, he was Steve Johnson from Philadelphia, just in for a few days of sightseeing. Steve looked much older, but distinguished with his graying hair and cool shades.
"I was thinking about seeing Luigi with his family," she admitted.
Although he was driving, he instantly reached for her hand, connecting them physically, pulling her palm to his thigh and holding it there. "Malyshka."
Her heart stuttered. She loved when he called her "baby," or more precisely, "little girl," in his own language. He had different inflections, depending on why he was using the endearment. This was sheer love. She heard it in his voice. Stark. Raw. Honest. Soft and so very sweet when she needed it most. He always seemed to know. He could read her that well.
"I watched him for a long time."