BY THE TIME they entered the reception area of their hotel, Antonio’s thoughts were no longer on Bartlett or his father. Something which, at one point he’d thought almost unimaginable. But that had been before they’d come to Argentina—before Emma had worn the dress he’d chosen for her, and before he’d kissed her in a crowded restaurant and wanted the whole world to burn with him.
So instead of planning his next step he was still tasting her on his tongue. Instead of feeling the black plastic key card in his fingers he was feeling her skin beneath the palm of his hand. And there was nothing he could do to relieve the ache in his chest.
Not just because Emma wasn’t like the women he usually spent his nights with—women who agreed to his unemotional demands. He saw in her all the goodness, all the soft, delicate parts of her life that had come together like a silk tapestry—one that he should admire and leave untouched. She deserved someone better than him. Someone who wasn’t focused on a path straight to hell...someone who wouldn’t drag her there with him.
He slid the key card into the slot beside the door and walked into the suite. When he’d left earlier that night, with Emma wearing his ring, on his way to meet Bartlett, he’d imagined that when he returned he’d feel...different. That he’d feel the thrill of satisfaction at ensuring his father’s destruction. That somehow meeting Bartlett would have eased the adrenaline he’d felt rushing through him for over a week—would have settled the raging beast within him.
But he didn’t and it hadn’t.
Instead a different kind of heat burned within him—one that made him feel just as restless and just as dangerous. He stalked over to the bar area, poured two whiskies—one over ice for Emma—and after a second thought added two ice cubes to his own, hoping to cool the fervour of his libido. In his heart, he hoped that she would refuse the drink, that she would bid him goodnight and leave him alone with his new demons.
But she didn’t.
*
Emma closed the door behind her, turning her back momentarily on the man who had come to mean so much to her. She was buying herself time. She knew it. Had known it since before their meal with Bartlett—since the moment Antonio’s lips had crashed down onto hers. Perhaps even since the previous night.
It was as if her skin was feeding off the strange tension that had been summoned by their bodies’ wants and desires in the car journey back from the restaurant. The silence that had fallen between them only seemed to place a spotlight on it, illuminating what she wasn’t naïve enough to dismiss.
But was she brave enough to ask—demand for herself what her body wanted?
Looking at Antonio now, standing before the large windows, his broad shoulders and lean hips accentuated by the smooth planes of his suit, staring out at the stars, she knew that it had always been going to come to this.
He had coaxed from her body things she had never imagined. He had made her feel sexy, wanted and desirable. And Emma didn’t want to let go of it—didn’t want to sever the strange thread that bound them together.
Her cancer had struck at a time when she had been inexperienced, and nothing and no one had tempted her since.
Until now.
And if some part of her warned that this wasn’t just about claiming her body, that it was much more to do with her heart, then she ruthlessly forced that thought aside. She wanted to strike through that invisible wish on her Living List. The one that she’d never had the courage to write down, but now had the courage to ask for.
‘Antonio—’
‘No.’
‘I haven’t—’
‘You don’t have to say it, Emma. You shouldn’t say it. Shouldn’t ask it of me. You should go to bed.’
His tone was dark and heavy—rough like bitter coffee and as tempting as sin.
‘You don’t know what I’m going to ask,’ she assured him...assured herself.
He turned, then. Pinned her with his hawk-like gaze. She knew it was meant to intimidate, but instead it served only to enflame.
‘Really? I am a man very well versed in feminine desire, Emma. A woman does not...you do not need to put into words what I see in your eyes. What your body is crying out for.’
Embarrassment stung her cheeks. She had thought that he might be as surprised as she was to find herself asking for such a thing. But he had known. Had seen it in her. Had everyone else?
But she refused to be ashamed of it. She held his gaze, used it to empower her. She felt herself stand tall against the onslaught of his presence.
‘You asked me what I wanted, Antonio. Back at the gala. And yesterday you said that I had not asked anything for myself. So now I’m asking. I want you. This night. Just one night,’ she said, leaving the rest of her thoughts unspoken.
She wanted to feel cherished...wanted to love her body. Wanted him to love her body.
‘Do you know what you’re asking, Emma?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you really? A no-strings affair? Just sex? You are too innocent to know the consequences of your request.’
‘I’m not going to lie and tell you that I’m experienced, because I’m not,’ she said, taking a step towards his forbidding frame. ‘I’m not going to lie and tell you that I’m not terrified, because I am. But I know what I want. And now I’m asking you for it. Just one night, Antonio.’
She was only asking for one night because she knew instinctively that she couldn’t risk anything more. Yes, she might be inexperienced, but she knew that much.
‘Emma—’
It was a plea from his lips. One that she couldn’t allow herself to listen to.
She took the final step towards him, closing the distance between them. Looking up at him, standing chest to chest, she saw his lips hovering so close to her own. It was intoxicating. She’d never tasted need, actually tasted it on her tongue, but she knew that it would be nothing like the taste of him, his true self. Without the masks, the fakery of performance.
Her chest rose, trying to contain the beating of her heart, pushing against the silk that cleaved in a V to her breasts, as if inviting his gaze, begging for his touch. She had never felt like this. Had never felt the power of desire rushing over her skin, making her bold, making her needy.
‘You said I could have anything I wanted. Please...please don’t make me—’ The word beg stuck in her throat.
She reached up, her hand cold against the hot skin of his clenched jaw. He hadn’t moved a muscle, but she felt emotion swirling within him with the force of a storm. He was almost vibrating with it.
Their breathing was harsh and it echoed within the silence of the suite. Antonio’s eyes were a molten mixture of fury and desire, matching her own. She allowed the heat from his body to lap against hers like a tide, threatening to overtake her and knock her down. Her mouth was inches away from his. But she wanted him to make that last move. She wanted it, needed it—needed him to prove that it wasn’t just her in this. That he was as weak as she in this moment.
And suddenly his lips were on hers, almost punishingly. His arm snaked around her back, holding her against the onslaught of passion that was so much stronger than a tide. For a moment she basked in that power, in the feel of him encompassing her completely. She allowed it to happen to her, to shock her as his tongue demanded entrance and his body commanded surrender. Then she came to life under the sheer level of need that was binding them together.
She pushed back against the kiss, opened herself to him. Tongue clashed against tongue, teeth nipped at lips. Her hands unclasped from his shoulders and ran down the shirt covering his chest. She pushed with one and pulled with the other, desperate to feel more. His hands wound their way into her hair, and she thought she might have heard a groan as he sank his hands into the sleek knot and sent the pins flying, leaving her dark auburn hair to cascade down her back.
He started to walk her backwards and she felt his strong thighs against hers in an almost erotic slide. The slit of the silk skirt parted, allowing her bare legs access to the rich material of his trousers, making her feel naked against him.
As if he, too, was thinking the same thing, one of his hands left her hair, trailed over the naked V left by the silk around her chest, down to her waist. His hand flared to span it for just a moment, before lowering even further down, skating over her hip before his fingertips traced their way to the cut in the skirt and slipped through to the bare skin of her thigh.
Emma gasped as his hand wrapped around her bottom, bringing her thigh up, allowing him to step fully between her legs, and gasped again as she felt the hard ridge of his arousal at her core. It was a promise. It was a threat.
He pulled back from their kiss, gazing down on her as if warning her that this was the point of no return, failing to realise that she’d crossed that bridge a long time back. As if her body was completely his now, her hips pressed forward against his, desperate to feel him deeper, needing to feel him deeper.
They came up against the arm of the sofa and he guided her back, perching her there.
‘Had you asked any other man, Emma, he would have taken you to a bed covered with roses,’ he ground out against her lips, unaware that that she wouldn’t have wanted that. Simply because it wouldn’t have been him. ‘Had you asked any other man, he would have showered you with gifts and seduced you with words,’ he continued, unaware that he had given her the greatest of gifts, offering her words of truth instead of lies, and that it meant so much more.
‘I am not that man,’ he said, as if answering her thoughts. ‘But,’ he said, with a fierce sincerity that pinned her heart, ‘I will stop at any point. Know that. You are in control here, Emma. This is your decision. If you want me to—’
She cut off his words with a kiss of her own—just as powerful, just as impassioned as any of those he had given her.
As if the last barrier had been broken, a flood of need passed between them in that kiss. His hands ran the length of her chest and breasts, down once again to the silky slit in the dress. She nearly cried out as his hands caressed the soft skin of her thighs, as his hands found the thin piece of material holding her thong together and pulled, tearing the string as if it were nothing and tossing it aside. He brought his hands down around her bottom and lifted her up against him, the material of his trousers pressed against her core, shocking her and setting a fire within her.
He stepped back, and the loss of heat from where his body had pressed against hers allowed the cool air of the room to raise goosebumps on her arms. At least that was what she told herself as she shivered against his touch. His fingers found the slick wet heat of her core, at first gently running over her clitoris, bringing an unbidden cry from her mouth.
She thought she heard him curse, but she couldn’t tell. The sensations he was wringing from her body were overwhelming. She might not know what to do, but her body moved instinctively, her legs opening to his hand as his fingers mirrored his tongue as he kissed her, pushing into her, delving further and deeper. Her body arched back over his powerful arm of its own volition, pulling her away from his kiss.
Need rose deep within her, yearning, demanding something that she couldn’t fathom. Her breath became gasps, and she felt unable to contain all the emotions, all the sensations within her. She cried out, his wicked sensuality bringing forth even more want, and found herself begging, pleading for something she couldn’t quite name.
She barely noticed him settle between her legs, but the moment his tongue pressed against her core, wet heat against wet heat, a wildness was wrenched from her and she came apart in an explosion of white firebursts. Stars dusted the back of her eyelids and she fell into an abyss.
*
Antonio watched as Emma’s orgasm spilled waves of shivers across her skin, flushing her cheeks with pleasure, and he was speechless. He had never seen anything so beautiful, tasted anything so sweet, experienced anything so humbling as this moment.
But as she opened her eyes, and he saw wonder and awe painted in them, he knew it wasn’t enough for him to know these things. She must too.
‘Do you trust me?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ she said simply.
He gently reached for the shoulder straps of her dress.
Emma stiffened.
He knew that she was scared, embarrassed...he couldn’t even begin to imagine what else she might be feeling. But he wanted to help give her back her body. He wanted her to appreciate it as it should be appreciated.
He moved slowly and gently, allowing her to get used to the idea. He pushed aside the thin straps of silk and bared her to him. He could see that she was struggling, but all he saw was perfection. Beautiful and powerful. Her breasts bore faint scars from the surgeon’s knife, and as he pressed open-mouthed kisses to her skin he marvelled at the tattoos that had skilfully created nipples and areolas.
He brought his hands round to cup her breasts and nearly groaned out loud at their rightness. They felt heavy as they spilled into his hands. His thumb ran gently over her skin, and her answering shudder as it did so almost brought a smile to his lips as he bent forward and took one breast into his mouth. He laved her breasts with his tongue, first one, then the other. Emma hung her head back, pressing them further into his mouth, and he returned the favour as he pressed his groin into hers, bringing her back to him with a piercing need that nailed them both.
*
The sensations Emma felt were foreign and strange. She wanted his touch so much, and frustration, resentment and sadness warred in her chest. She hated it that her nipples were no longer there. This was the bit in her treasured romance books that she always skipped over. How the hero would touch, kiss and tease the heroine’s nipples until they became taut and tight. She missed that feeling with an ache so deep. She hated it that her body would never be able to do that.
She had feared so much that this would hurt even more in practice than in thought. But she had been wrong. Antonio had caressed and kissed her breasts, rather than avoiding them, had touched her so much that she wasn’t sure she could take it any more.
Her hands went to the silk straps of the dress. She wanted to turn away.
‘Don’t hide from me, Emma. You’re so brave and so very strong,’ he said between each kiss and caress of her breasts. ‘You said that what you wanted most was this...but this isn’t about me.’
She wanted to tell him that he was wrong, but in the deepest part of her she knew that he was right.
‘This is about you. You’ve had the courage to ask for what you want...it’s time to take what you want. It’s time to stop hiding in the shadows and step into the light. You’re beautiful. So beautiful, Emma...’
She hated it that his words stirred her heart, felt tears forming at the edges of her eyes, betraying her.
‘I want you to say it,’ he told her.
She turned her head away from him. The words were locked in a throat tight with emotion. She didn’t want to say it, but Antonio asked again. Not angry, not frustrated, but with understanding and compassion shining from his eyes.
‘I’m beautiful...’ she whispered.
‘Again, Emma,’ he commanded.
‘I’m beautiful,’ she said, this time with a little more strength. ‘I am beautiful,’ she said, finally allowing belief to make the words strong.
*
Antonio scooped her up from where she was perched on the arm of the sofa and carried her through to the bedroom. And when her head rested on his chest he shook away the thought that it felt as if it had always been there.
He gently laid her on the bed, watching her eyes slowly focus on him where he stood over her, still dazed from her own empowerment and her orgasm. And even though he was so ready to take her, so ready to find his own release, he wanted her to be with him, wanted her to feel everything that he felt.
If this was his one stolen moment, then he would make it count.
Antonio’s hands left her chest to pull at the edges of his shirt. Impatient to feel her skin against his, he ripped the shirt apart, sending buttons flying across the room, watching as Emma’s eyes widened in both shock and arousal.
As his hands went to the waistband of his trousers, hers found the zip at the side of her dress.
‘Stop,’ he commanded. Her eyes found his, her cheeks painted red with desire and perhaps just a trace of embarrassment. He leaned forward. ‘That’s for me to do, Emma. That’s my pleasure.’
He leaned back and brought down the zip on his trousers, relishing every second as she watched him slowly push them off his legs. He watched her restless legs, sliding up and down against each other as if the friction might get close to the pleasure he could administer.
He smiled knowingly, stepping forward, pressing her thighs apart and bringing the palm of his hand to rest at her centre.
Emma jerked her hips against the contact of his hot palm between her legs. There was nothing but the autumnal silk of the dress between his skin and hers, slick and ready.
He sat on the bed next to her, reaching around to her side and slowly, ever so slowly, releasing the dress’s zip from its casing, drawing it down to where it ended at the top of her hip. His hands swept under the material, feeling their way across her stomach and up to her breasts. He moved one hand down in between her legs and parted her there with his fingers.
As her hips rose off the bed to meet his hand he swept the burnt orange silk from beneath her, moved it up above her waist with his other hand. He brought her breast to his mouth and whipped the material over her head as he savoured her breasts, relishing each cry that fell from Emma’s lips.
He gathered the dress in his fist and threw the crumpled silk onto the floor, then leaned back and took her small dainty feet in his hands. He stroked the insides of her feet and placed them apart, moving in between her legs. As his hands caressed their way up her calves, over her knees and up her thighs, Emma sighed, watching his hands work their way up over her hips towards her breasts, her spine arching off the bed, pressing them into his palms.
For what seemed like hours he stayed there, caressing, licking, tasting all that she had to offer. Watching her both lose herself and find herself in the passion they were creating together.
Reluctant to leave the soft satin of her skin, he leaned towards the bedside table and took protection, tearing off the foil and positioning the latex over himself. Her small hands came over his as he rolled the condom over his length, her fingers wrapping around his erection, smoothing down to the base.
Before she could chip any more away from the last shreds of his will power he picked up one of her hands, whilst positioning himself at her slick core.
He looked at her, silently begging her... For refusal or acceptance, he didn’t know any more. Her hands slid around him, clasping his hips and gently pulling him towards her, sealing their fate.
As he slowly pushed himself between her thighs he kissed the inside of her palm and entered her so carefully it was almost torture. But it wasn’t torture at all. It was bliss. She was so wet, so ready for him, and he sank deep into the tight, wet heat of her, allowing her body to shift and make room for him entirely.
Never before had he felt so deeply connected, so deeply with someone. And something inside him shifted. Something he couldn’t allow to take hold.
He inched forward just a little more, and Emma’s eyes widened and locked on to his.
He waited for her to acclimatise to him, and when he saw that she had he withdrew and plunged back into her, deep and hard. Her cries of pleasure rang out in the room, urging him on, into her again and again. An incredible sensation was stretching throughout his body, taking a firm hold on his chest and what lay hidden there beneath his ribs, and he knew—knew that this wasn’t just sex.
His cries soon joined hers and he grasped her wrists, holding them above her head, staring down into her eyes. He couldn’t hold back any more—he couldn’t hold anything back any more.
Sensing that she was on the brink of her second orgasm, feeling the tightening of her muscles around him, hearing that special, perfect pitch of her voice, he thrust into her one last time, and they fell together even more deeply over the edge than ever before.
*
Antonio woke in a panic. His heart pounded in his chest, a cold sweat gathered on his brow, and his head was filled with thoughts of his father cruelly ripping him from Emma’s sleep-fuelled embrace.
It took him a moment to place himself. A thing that had never happened to Antonio before in his life. Not when he, his mother and sister had been wrenched from America and sent back to Italy...not in any of the numerous hotel rooms where he had spent countless nights for his business.
But the fear didn’t recede. Unaccountably, Antonio couldn’t shake the feeling that something awful was on the horizon—waiting to crash down and blow everything to smithereens.
Emma turned beside him, the smooth sleek line of her spine exposed where he had pulled the sheets back from their stranglehold around his chest. He needed to move, needed to leave the safe haven of her bed, was reluctant to somehow infect her with his thoughts.
He grabbed his trousers from where he’d thrown them off only hours before and padded his way through to the living room, gently closing the door on the passion and emotion of earlier hours.
He forced his legs into the trousers and fastened the zip and the button around his waist. Signs of their lovemaking were everywhere. Discarded clothes, rumpled paper and documents from the Bartlett deal neither of them had seen in the urgency of their need.
He paced the room. Back and forth. And still couldn’t shake the feeling of impending doom. His father had something. Something that Antonio didn’t. Something on Bartlett, he decided. He was too self-assured for a man on the brink of destruction. That was what had bothered him most about his father. Yes, he’d seen desperation—but he’d also seen triumph.
And then he did something he’d never thought himself capable of.
He found his mobile phone amongst the chaos of the room and pulled up the number of Arcuri Enterprises’ private investigator.
Not caring what time it would be in America, he spoke quietly and efficiently, outlining his need for the man to dig up anything and everything he might be able to find on Bartlett, or his family. Only days ago Emma had pointed out that Bartlett’s daughter was something of a party girl. She might be on to something.
If Antonio felt any guilt then he forced such a feeling aside, bringing to mind instead that horrible confrontation with his father. The only way to fight a monster was to become one himself. His father would pay for what he’d done. And if that meant reducing himself to his father’s level, ruining his soul, Antonio was willing to do so.