Chapter One
Hallie
Movement in the bed roused me enough to crack open an eyelid and watch the gorgeously tanned piece of Italian ass ease from between the sheets.
He glanced over his shoulder and paused, smiling when he saw me watching. “I’ve got to go. Thank you for last night; it wasstupefacente.”
I rolled onto my back and stretched luxuriously, not caring that the sheet slipped to reveal my breasts. Biagio’s eyes dropped to my chest and filled with ever-heightening hunger.
I trailed my fingers over one crest, smirking when the nipple puckered. “Want round four, Biagio? Or are we up to five?”
“I lost count many times over,la mia donna.”
“Soooo…” Suggestively skimming my fingertips over my other breast left a shiver of goosebumps across my skin.
A hissed curse came from Biagio’s parted lips, and he paused as he reached for his clothing. “You tempt me,piccola tentatrice.”
“In English, Biagio.”
“Little temptress,” he growled, prowling to the side of the bed. His expression held fervor and regrets as he gazed down at me, visibly torn between staying and leaving.
I ran my fingertips up his thigh, grinning triumphantly when goosebumps pricked along his olive skin.
“How much teasing will it take for you to give in to temptation?”
He snagged my hand before I could cup his balls.“Minimo.”The single word was hissed out from behind his clenched teeth as his grip tightened in warning.
“Sure you can’t stay?” I arched a brow.
Deep brown eyes the color of the richest melted chocolate fell upon me, and his smirk cocked one corner of his mouth. “I’m already late,bellissima.”
I feigned a glare as I tweaked one nipple. “I know where you live, Biagio. Or at least, I know where you work, and I can hunt you down whenever I want.”
His smooth chuckle danced across the early morning light that filled my room. “You must come back to Tuscany, yes?”
“I must.”
“And I must go.”
“Family lunch, right?”
“Sì. Your memory from last night serves you well,Helga.”Last night Biagio refused to call me Hallie like everyone else and insisted on using my full first name. Oddly, I didn’t mind it; his accent gave a sensual rhythm to my name that had me biting my lip.
I seldom drank, and when I did, it was barely a shot or two. My outlet—my stress relief—came from a cock or two on any given night of the week, not alcohol. If I did drink, it was citrus liqueur. What could I say? Liqueur ran in my South African blood from the moment I was conceived. Johannes van Staden—my father—owned one the largest liqueur distilleries in Cape Town. It was a family legacy founded by his grandfather and passed onto the eldest son of the next generation. Which left me wondering who the next heir would be considering I was a woman and an only child—as far as I was aware.
I tugged my hand free of Biagio’s warm grip and pushed up to my elbows. “Can’t keep the family waiting, right?”
He tsked while eyeing my naked torso. “Sì. Never keep an Italian mamma waiting for your attendance to a meal.” He chuckled despite the craving in his gaze.
As if physically torn from the bedside, Biagio whipped around and paced back to his pile of clothes with admirable determination.
I stayed silent while he dressed in his underwear and dress pants that I’d haphazardly stripped last night. Lean muscles rippled across his back and arms as he shook out his dress shirt and shrugged it on. Biagio’s long tanned fingers worked the buttons closed with a dexterity that had provided untold pleasure last night, and the sight of them flicking each button had me mashing my lips together.
Re-dressed and looking devastatingly presentable for the “morning-after,” Biagio half-crawled onto the bed and dropped a kiss on my forehead.
“Viaggi sicuri.”
I ran my nails down his forearm, soaking in one last touch of this gorgeous Italian. “I don’t know what that means, but thanks.”