He half laughed again. ‘No?’
‘No,’ she snapped. ‘Just kiss me already.’
He brushed his lips over hers as gently as he was able to, desperately trying to go slowly because she was flighty. He’d pull out every trick he knew to tempt her closer, so she wouldn’t startle and step back. He wanted this too much.
She felt like a fragile flower and he didn’t want to crush her. But then her soft lips parted and she let him in. With his first real taste the attempt to go slowly became strained. Then he felt her tongue shyly seeking, and her arms slid up his back.
His chest tightened and he abandoned all idea of going slowly. Any kind of strategy burned as pure instinct blew his brain out. The kiss was hungry and hot and hard in the thud of a heartbeat. To his immense pleasure, she rose more to meet him, her soft curves pressing against him as a sultry moan escaped her. It felt like the first drink after a long thirst, like finding an oasis after months in the desert. She was lush and sweet and so responsive he lost his head completely.
He swept his hands over her body, feeling for himself that, yes, there was no bra beneath that tight, white sheath, neither was there any underwear at all. Desire stabbed so hard he hauled her closer still, deepening the kiss to a completely carnal one. He wanted more of it—more of the softness in her embrace, more of her ardent response, more of her sweet, sultry heat. He wanted everything.
He was so taken aback by the way she melted that all he could do was pull her closer
until they were sealed from lips to hips in a passionate, never-ending force of hunger. Finesse and skill and seduction be damned. This was too elemental for that. She was too elemental—with unexpected depths and desire.
At the sound of thunderclaps overhead they broke apart. Breathing hard, he glanced up at the explosion of colour raining across the sky.
Damn fireworks.
Grace released a long breath and then he heard her delighted gust of laughter.
‘It’s so beautiful.’
He kept hold of her hands. He wanted her back in his arms, but her hands would have to do because he refused to curtail her enjoyment of this. He watched the colours above reflected in her eyes and skin and waited for the sky to go silent again. Finally, blessedly, it did.
‘Show’s over,’ he said, his voice husky.
‘I guess it’s time to go home,’ she agreed quietly.
As he led her to his car he kept hold of her hand, rubbing his thumb over hers. He didn’t want this warmth to literally slip through his fingers. In that bleak emptiness this afternoon he’d never have imagined his evening would end with such a sweet, insatiable lover in his bed.
‘That was spectacular.’ She sighed contentedly and snuggled lower in the passenger seat.
He quite agreed.
‘I really liked the massive one at the end. It was like a kaleidoscope of colours.’
His hands tightened on the wheel. Was she talking about the actual fireworks? Not the kiss they’d shared? He half choked at being levelled with a casual comment. He’d have to straighten out her priorities. He had far better fireworks than those on the agenda for her.
She quietened as he cruised along the winding lakefront road towards Bellezzo and the Villa Rosetta beyond. The warm breeze tempered the thudding desire roaring through his system. He had no desire to race. Anticipation feathered across his skin like hot silk. He’d take his time and treat her to absolute, exquisite torture. For the first time in weeks he felt invigorated.
‘You’re coming back to the villa with me, aren’t you, Grace?’ he asked softly. But he got no response.
He glanced at her and then braked in surprise. ‘Grace? Grace?’
In the moonlight she was unbearably beautiful. And she simply had to come back with him now given he had no idea where in the village she was staying.
‘Grace?’
It seemed he wasn’t about to get a sensible answer out of her either. Because the maddening, unpredictable minx had fallen fast asleep.
CHAPTER FOUR
GRACIE DREW THE soft blanket closer and blinked sleepily at the beam of light streaming through the small gap in the curtains. She didn’t want it to be morning. She didn’t want to go to work. She didn’t...know where the heck she was!
She jerked upright, staring in amazement at the beautiful furnishings. She was in that massive bedroom in the Villa Rosetta. Mortifying memories slammed into her mind, eviscerating the last of her blissful sleep fog—the crazy hose, that designer dress, that exquisite kiss.
Her pulse fired like a sprinter false-starting from the blocks.
Okay, she was better off not remembering the kiss. Her skin burned and she threw back the blanket covering her. She huffed a relieved sigh when she saw she was still wearing the white dress.
She frowned. The last thing she could recall was getting into Rafael’s car to leave the party. How could she not remember anything more? She’d had only the one glass of champagne. Wild imagination took flight—had her drink been spiked?
She mentally put herself through a physical. She had no abnormal aches or tenderness anywhere. No horrible headache or yucky taste in her mouth. No certain intuition or fear... Only embarrassment.
Yes. The embarrassing truth was she’d been working insanely long hours and yesterday she’d had too little food and just enough champagne to cause a temporary case of narcolepsy. Mortifying.
She glanced across the large room and saw her blouse, skirt and underwear on the plush chair where she’d left them last night, only now her phone was with them. Rafael must’ve put it there for her. So he definitely knew she hadn’t been wearing underwear with this dress.
The cool air from the ceiling fan did nothing to stop the last of her pride smouldering into cinders. He’d put her to bed because she’d fallen asleep on the drive home and apparently he hadn’t been able to wake her. She’d probably been snoring. Or drooling. Or both. She slumped back on the bed, hauling the blanket up like a shroud, willing immediate death.
Her heart denied her, not only refusing to stop but actually sprinting faster, while her equally fickle mind circled back to the highlight of the night.
Not the fireworks. That kiss.
She closed her eyes, toes curling as the merest whisper of memory sent sensations cascading through her. She sighed and resolutely opened her eyes again. This reaction was over the top. It wasn’t like she’d never kissed a guy before. In fact, she’d kissed four—though they’d all turned out to be frogs, no fairy-tale charming princes. It had been a bit like kissing frogs too—cold and slimy—and she’d not been tempted to go further with any of them.
But with Rafael? He was definitely no fairy-tale for ever prince, but what did that matter when with that one kiss he’d obliterated all her preconceived ideas of intimacy? Everything she’d thought—that she needed to be in love, that she needed to truly know and trust a guy before she’d be able to experience real pleasure in intimacy—wasn’t true. It turned out she didn’t need all that. She just needed a man of experience, talent and arrogance. She just needed Rafael. And she was so much shallower than she’d believed herself to be. Fallen angel good looks were all it took.
She might be mortified by her exhaustion, but she’d been saved by it too. Because it would’ve taken only another ten minutes in his company and she’d have tossed caution to the wind and let him do anything he wanted—she’d have cheered him on, in fact.
What had happened to her rational, sane, completely careful self?
Her hidden impulsive side reared again—hitting out at the control she’d just sought to retrieve again. She’d wanted that wildness. She could kick herself for falling asleep so quickly and deeply, like some overtired toddler. She’d wanted what she’d instinctively known he could give her. That was why she’d gone with him in the first place. But that kind of recklessness wasn’t truly her, was it?
She flung the beautiful blanket off once more and this time snapped right out of bed. Fool. She’d had the opportunity for one amazing night, for one blistering moment, and she’d muffed it. He must think her so weird, like Sleeping-freaking-Beauty in reverse, falling into a deep sleep after the kiss of her life. But maybe he hadn’t tried that hard to wake her. Which meant he hadn’t wanted more kissing...
Even more mortifying.
She wriggled out of the beautiful dress and hung it over the back of another plush armchair. In two minutes she was back in her own clothes and tiptoeing through the vast villa, offering thanks that her knee was only slightly stiff. She had to escape without facing Rafael Vitale again. It was early enough for her to get to work on time and no one would know she’d stayed here. Not that she’d be embarrassed, but...well, she’d be a bit embarrassed.
She made it outside, but she had to take a second to appreciate the truly cinematic view. Dawn bathed the lake and garden in that golden magic. She couldn’t resist darting across the lawn to breathe in the beauty of Alex’s roses one last time. The gentle warmth of that just rising sun released their light, sweet scent. Impulsively she decided to take Alex not just a photo, but an actual flower—a perfect example of his amazing work would make his morning. She reached out to pick one of the distinctive creamy-coloured roses, but the plant wasn’t keen to relinquish one of its prize blossoms. She tugged harder to snap the stem.
‘What are you doing?’
The question sounded right
in her ear. With a yelp she spun around, releasing the rose but scratching the fleshy part below her thumb on a thorn as she did so.
‘Ow.’ She shook out her hand and glared at Rafael. ‘Why must you sneak up on people?’
Why must he always look so impossibly handsome? Why was he even dressed? He was all in black—jeans, T—and his hair was a touch damp as if he’d had the time to shower already. But it was super early—shouldn’t he still be in bed? She froze as her reckless imagination instantly conjured up accompanying images to that tantalising thought. A wave of extreme heat scorched her cheeks and her chest and other places too personal to mention.
The freeze gave way to the fidgets as she practically paced on the spot, seeking a way to get past him. But he was planted on the narrow grass path like an immovable plinth of pure masculinity.
‘Why must you sneak around my garden?’ he countered easily, his eyebrows lifting as he watched her wriggle like a damn fish on a line in front of him. ‘What are you doing?’
‘What does it look like I’m doing?’
‘Stealing.’ He grabbed her hand, lifting it to inspect the damage she’d just so uselessly done to herself.
A thin line of blood was rapidly filling the annoyingly deep scratch. Though once more she didn’t feel a damn thing. It was official, Rafael Vitale was the embodiment of the best anaesthetic ever.
But he was frowning. ‘We need to get a plaster on that.’
She tugged her hand from his, as electricity sent her pulse to attack point. ‘It’s not fatal.’
‘I wouldn’t want to take any chances on that.’
She braved a glance back up at him. That handsome smile? The warmth in those bewitchingly dark brown eyes? The man was back to flirt mode and it was too unfair of him to sneak up on her when he was looking so fine. He hadn’t shaved and his morning stubble made him look more like trouble than ever. Devastating, delicious, sinful trouble. She bit her lip, holding back all the apologies. No nervous babbling now.
‘Come back inside,’ he invited, confirming his position as the greatest temptation of her life. ‘We’ll cover that cut and have breakfast.’