Текст книги "Italian Kisses"

Автор книги: Lucy Lambert

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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

Chapter 2

I’d been so caught up in Liam’s spell that I’d almost completely forgotten about the reason for my being at this party.

I say almost forgot because the reason for my coming planted himself in front of the two of us, using his body as a barrier that would need to be conquered if we wanted to pass it.

“Emma! Ah, yes, I have found you.” Unlike Liam, he didn’t stop his eyes from wandering up and down my body. I could feel his gaze sliding down from my face, catching for a few moments on various parts of my body before continuing down like an obscene game of Plinko.

Professor Giuseppe Aretino stood before the two of us, his arms outstretched as though he meant to catch me up in an enormous hug. He was maybe a couple inches taller than I was. Which is actually one of the main reasons I chose to wear flats to the party rather than any sort of heel. Dr. Aretino could be somewhat touchy about his height (or lack thereof). He would take offense if I was taller.

An issue which became apparent a moment later, when he looked up into Liam’s face.

They examined each other quickly, in that way men sometimes do. Sizing each other up. Liam in his dark Armani that accented his body and Giuseppe in a grey three piece that had probably cost a quarter the price despite his somewhat prestigious position at the university.

They both had black hair, yes. But where Liam’s was soft and glossy Giuseppe’s was oily and slicked so that I could see the shiny expanse of his forehead. A forehead gaining wrinkles with increasing speed as the smaller Italian man found the scales swinging against him in this particular weigh-in.

Giuseppe was also considerably older. He was in his late forties while I doubted Liam had even seen thirty yet.

Anyway, all this arithmetic added up to one rather annoyed Italian professor of art history. An Italian professor of art history who had it within his power to fail me in his course, bringing my average down to an unacceptable level to continue my stay at Sapienza.

It was an old story: the professor uses his position of power to try and take advantage of his student. Except in my case I had stuck a bookmark before the part where the student gives in or falls prey to his wiles and did my best to put the story to bed. I didn’t intend on reading any farther than I had to.

I’m not stupid. I knew the game he wanted to play, and I did my best to keep myself benched, figuring (hoping) he would get the hint and stop.

I think he’d gotten it into his head that tonight was finally going to be the night when he’d win me over to his charms. In reality, I’d only really come to try and stay as much on his good side as I could.

And by showing up arm-in-arm with Liam here I’d just managed to jeopardize the whole shebang.

“Ragazza d’oro, who is this man? Please, you must introduce us immediately!” Giuseppe said, irritation flashing in his eyes for a moment before he could cover it up with a smile that showed far too many teeth. That smile had always set me on edge.

It was either wolfish or shark-like; I couldn’t decide which simile was better. Either way, it was a predator’s grin.

I must have given the crook of Liam’s arm a squeeze. Or maybe he really was as good at reading people as he said, because he picked up on my nerves.

Dr. Aretino looked at me expectantly, clearly wanting me to give a brief introduction and then send Liam packing so that he could take me out on the dance floor and tell me that my grades were slipping (I knew that already) and that he knew a way I could bring them back up (like hell).

I swallowed heavily, my good, flirtatious mood washing away like so much water down the Roman aqueducts. Then I tried to smile. “Liam, this is Dr. Giuseppe Aretino, my professor of classical art history at Sapienza...”

Giuseppe gave a little bow, his chest puffing out at the same time.

“Dr. Aretino...” I continued before I was cut off.

“Giuseppe! How many times must I tell you it is Giuseppe! Dr. Aretino is so formal. Am I really so formal? No! So Giuseppe, if you please.”

I squeezed Liam’s arm again, the remaining muscles in my body following suit as though by clenching they could armor me against Dr. Aretino.

I started again, but Liam interrupted. Which was good, since I remembered that he hadn’t told me his last name, and I have no doubts the good professor would have had some lecture ready about being a young woman out and about in Rome meeting strange, handsome men.

Liam smiled, offering his hand, which Dr. Aretino accepted. “The Dr. Aretino? I have heard of your work. The university must think highly of you, asking you to appear at this fundraiser to court all the wealthy benefactors here tonight. Very important business.”

Giuseppe puffed up in pride to such a degree I thought there might actually have been enough hot air in him for him to lift up off the floor like a balloon. “You flatter me. I am but a modest professor... But yes, I am here to raise funds for the program. And you are...?”

Liam gave the slightest bow of his head, barely disturbing the expertly tufted black hair on his head. Again, I had the urge to run my fingers through it. I wondered if it smelled as good as his cologne.

All this wondering created a warm, excited tingle along the front of my stomach that I did my best to ignore. Why did Dr. Aretino have to be here, ruining this?

“I am Emma’s dance teacher, Dr. Aretino.”

“Dancing? I am an excellent dancer. Come, Emma, I will show you how it is done,” Giuseppe said, reaching for my hand.

Then Liam put his body between us, a wall to block out the professor’s advances. Before Dr. Aretino could bluster too much about this, Liam sprung his trap.

“I’m sure you’re an excellent dancer, professor. However, don’t you have much more important business? I see several lonely old Italian matrons whom I’m sure would love to donate to the school with only a small amount of your expert and esteemed coaxing required. And while you do that, I will teach Emma some of the basics so that when you cut in you can cut out those lessons.”

Liam didn’t give Giuseppe a chance to answer, assuming assent and beginning to lead me out to the dance floor. I was in awe. Liam had played Giuseppe perfectly. The small Italian didn’t know whether to puff up in pride again or protest. Besides, if he did protest, he would look ungracious.

Liam had it all wrapped up in a neat little bow the same baby blue of his eyes.

I could have kissed Liam then and there. And he knew it, too. I could tell from the way he looked down at me.

“That was...” I started.

“Bold? Decisive?” he supplied.

“Impressive. Maybe you are good at reading people, after all.”

We stood in the middle of the dance floor. Couples wheeled around us in time to the music in near perfect synchronicity. If I were to look down from the mezzanine it would have been mesmerizing. And there we stood in the middle of that maelstrom of dresses and tuxedos, the calm eye of Hurricane Armani, Bardelli, Rubinacci, and whatever other designers were represented.

“I don’t like to boast,” Liam said.

“I’m sure you don’t. So, if you’re so good at reading people, did you notice anything else interesting when you perused my table of contents?”

He slipped one arm around my waist and drew me in closer, our bodies touching. My throat tightened. He really did smell good. The other hand he slid slowly down my arm, the tips of his fingers leaving trails of gooseflesh like a farmer’s plough leaves churned earth. Then he threaded his fingers through mine and lifted our hands up so that we stood in position. But we didn’t start dancing, not yet.

Liam wet his lips, making them even more inviting. My heart thumped against my ribs so hard I knew he could feel the beats against his stomach. “I know that you don’t need any dancing lessons, Emma.”

I put my hand on his shoulder, the top of my thumb brushing against the starched collar of his shirt for a moment. “And how could you possibly know that?” A tingle that had started in my thighs began spreading its tendrils throughout my body, leaving me pleasantly warm all over.

“It’s in the way you move, actually. The way your hips sway, the way you walk. You’re graceful. You’ve had lessons.”

I hadn’t caught him looking at my hips, at my legs. But he had. He’d checked me out and he liked what he’d seen. That tingling turned to buzzing, low in my stomach. Despite the air conditioned air circulating around us, I flushed with heat.

“Care to prove that theory?” I said.

His smile grew, both corners of his mouth twitching up. He leaned in closer, his handsome face looming in my vision, his mischievous blue eyes latching onto mine and refusing to let go.

He’s going to kiss me! My heart tried to escape the prison of my ribs. Wouldn’t that be just the thing, too? A handsome, charming guy leaning in to kiss me and I ruin the whole occasion by bursting. At least I’d chosen the red dress for tonight. If I did burst, at least everything would match.

I responded, my lips parting in anticipation, my eyes hooding, my body ready to melt in his arms as soon as our mouths met.

But he didn’t kiss me. Instead, his mouth slipped past my cheek, dangerously close to grazing my skin. “I intend to,” he whispered.

Before I could protest, we whirled off in unison with the other dancers. He led expertly, never having to glance down at our shifting feet. His hand on the small of my back held me steadily against him, leaving no chance for escape.

We whirled and whirled. I didn’t think we moved fast enough to make me dizzy, but dizzy I became.

More than once, I caught sight of Giuseppe glaring at us from the sidelines. The first time, he spoke to an older man and woman, probably extolling the virtues of the department. But he appeared to pause in the middle of the sentence to shoot a look out at me, weaving his gaze through all the bodies marauding between us.

Then another time I saw him on the opposite side of the floor, speaking to a sharp-nosed woman who appeared annoyed when he turned his attention from her to me.

This wasn’t going to end well, I knew.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Liam whispered. Despite the volume of the music and the conversations all around us, a whisper was all he needed. He held me so closely I could hear him easily, could feel the warm tickle of his breath against my neck and shoulder.

“This isn’t going to end well,” I said, voicing my thoughts.

He considered that for another revolution of our bodies, then he leaned in closely so that his lips grazed my earlobe, sending a spark down my spine. “Who says it has to end?”

I’d been operating this entire time under the assumption that at some point we’d part ways that night. Maybe after another pleasant dance or two or however long Dr. Aretino could spend collecting donations for the school.

Only that at some point in the very near future we would part and this would be nothing but one of my only pleasant memories of my time in Rome.

But maybe this was what I really needed. I knew I needed something, some change, some drastic event. Maybe Liam was that change? That brush that would sweep across the dusty chalkboard that was my life here this past semester and give me the second chance I needed.

So many little warnings and caveats popped into my head, my tendency to over think things over thinking this. But that was my problem, too. Maybe my life was the way it was because I never took chances, never went on impulse. It was time for me to act on impulse.

I can give in. Just for one night, I can give in. Because that was all this could be, just one night. That’s what I told myself, anyway.

Except for one niggling caveat. One whose eyes I could feel drilling through Liam and into me from the other side of the room.

“What about Professor Aretino?” I said. Surely if Liam could read people as well as he seemed to, he must have apprehended how things went between the good professor and me.

“Don’t worry about Aretino. Not tonight,” Liam said, his lips so hot against my ear.

That warmth helped break through the final barricade, to burst the dam and down the shrill warning voices.

“Okay,” I said, my body beginning to shake against his.

“Come with me now,” Liam whispered.

“I will.”

He kissed me, then. Lightly on the neck, just below my earlobe. Soft, pliant, and warm lips pressed against the sensitive skin there, followed immediately by the light and delicious prickle of his stubble.

Liam finished the dance, each shifting step more aching than the last for the both of us. It was the best foreplay I’d ever had, the burning, secretive looks we gave each other. The light touches that could only go so far with all these people around. The feeling of his hot breaths against me and the sensation of his lips on me when he dared place another delicate, trembling kiss on my throat.

By the time the quartet announced a break I could barely stand, Liam holding most of my weight against him by main strength. My legs felt like two worn out rubber bands.

And we haven’t done anything but dance yet! I kept thinking. Who was Liam? He could flirt, he could flatter, and he could dance. He danced better than my instructors had. What else could this body of his do?

He let go of my waist, but kept a strong grip on my hand. This grip he used to lead me through the crowd, the two of us weaving around the other dancers and guests like a warship twining its way through mines bobbing in the ocean.

Dr. Aretino’s eyes tracked us the entire way, but he couldn’t catch us. He’d been speaking with an older man in a military dress uniform when the quartet had stopped playing, and he could do nothing but watch.

This isn’t going to end well, I thought again as we slipped into the foyer where I’d bumped so serendipitously into him. The same doorman saw us and opened the door, letting the warm air of the Roman evening spill into the room. “Your car will be ready, sir,” he said.

Liam didn’t drive a Lambo, as I’d imagined. It was a new BMW M3 coupe, the same ashy grey as a cloudy sky in the evening, and it was a rental.

So I learned more about mysterious Mr. Baby-Blues. He didn’t live here (but then again, neither did I). And he had a suite at a place called the Inn at the Roman Forum. A five star place, of course. We pulled up and I could actually see the lights the government used to illuminate the Coliseum. Which I actually hadn’t been to see yet since arriving at the beginning of the school term.

I hadn’t seen much of the city at all, really.

A valet came out and took the car and I forgot all that, though, suppressing the nagging, concerned voice at the back of my mind yet again.

***

We got into his room, the beep of his cardkey against the electric lock the sweetest sound I’d heard all evening. There was a fireplace. Several tapestries, all copies of various Renaissance artists.

There were large bay windows covered in sheer drapes through which I could see the Forum, but it registered as only an afterthought in my mind. The only piece of art I wanted to see that night was the sculpted body I’d felt beneath that Armani suit of his earlier.

And of course there was the bed, an enormous, decadent thing loaded with pillows and thousand-thread count sheets. He took me over to the bed but didn’t throw me down onto it like I so desperately wanted him to.

But then his hands grabbed me, pulled me close. There were no more judging eyes anymore, just the two of us.

No one to see him take a handful of my hair and make a fist in it, the pressure it made it my scalp delicious. No one to see the way he canted my head back in his grip and kissed me on the mouth.

It was light at first, exploring. His stubble prickled me again, those prickles working their way down the front of my stomach, adding to the heat blossoming between my thighs.

The kiss deepened, our lips writhing together. God, his mouth was so hot on me. I groaned when he slid it down my neck, kissing my bare shoulder as he pulled the strap down my arm.

His fingers brushed back across my clavicle, dipping so achingly close to my chest, evoking an erotic response by avoiding the erotic areas of my body. For a few moments, anyway, while he could control himself.

How long that control of his impulses would last, I didn’t know. But I didn’t want him to control himself. I wanted him to lose himself in me just as badly as I wanted to lose myself in him.

His kisses became more desperate, then, as though he picked up on my desire.

“I need you,” he said.

“Then take me,” I breathed back. My breaths burned up through my throat. I didn’t know my body could get this hot. But he’d stoked my fire so well back on that dance floor.

The barest hint of a smile touched his flushed lips at my response. He spun me around so that I faced away from him and pulled me against him, my shoulders touching his chest and my hips touching his.

His mouth kissed a line of fire along my shoulder, then up the side of my neck. I tilted my head, giving my body to him while his hands smoothed the front of my dress over my stomach again and again.

“Liam...” I said, reaching back with one hand, running my fingers up into his hair. It was as soft as I’d thought it might be, and he let out a low groan when I made a fist in that hair.

I heard the slithery sound of my zipper going down. Putting his hands on my shoulders, he smoothed the straps down my arms, leaving my biceps and forearms sprinkled with goosebumps.

My breaths came quick and hot when he slipped my dress down to the waist. Sensitive skin crinkled when the cool air touched my bared body. After several aching moments, his hands moved up the smooth skin of my stomach, sliding up to better cup and appreciate me.

His lips slid down my neck, down my shoulder blade, down the curve of my spine as he sank to his knees behind me.

And then he gripped my dress, pushing his fingers down between the fabric and my skin. He bared me slowly, drawing the dress down until the silky material pooled around my ankles.

I thanked God at this point that I’d chosen not to wear my sensible underwear, choosing instead a much more barebones pair with lines and seams that wouldn’t show through my dress.

And also that I’d showered and ran my razor over my calves and thighs. Calves and thighs which Liam proceeded to knead and massage with those strong, hot hands of his. They worked up first one, then the other, stopping for a few agonizing moments before drawing closer and closer to my heat.

My heart quickened the nearer he drew. I gasped when he began following his hands with his lips.

The muscles low in my stomach, in my bottom, in the back of my thighs, began tightening.

The heat of his breaths against my inner thighs was almost too much to bear, my body responding in an instinctual, primal manner to his advances, his two steps forward, one back manner of teasing me up to incredible heights.

He almost finished me when he pushed his fingers down into the waistband of my panties and began drawing them down. He followed the waistband with his lips, too.

“Not yet,” he said, “I’m not finished with you yet... I haven’t even started yet.” There was a promise in his deep voice that electrified me, that had saliva squirting into my mouth as the hunger built within me. And then he lifted up my feet one at a time to slip my panties all the way off, his fingers like hot shackles around my ankles.

“When?” I replied, my voice husky with desire.

“When I say so. I’ve been wondering something about you since we danced,” he said, in between kissing up the back of my thighs.

“What’s that?”

“How you taste,” he said.

He gave me no time to reply, pushing me down onto the bed and flipping me over onto my back. He moved to sate his desire right away, finding the source of my heat, tasting me.

Liam really did know his way around a woman’s body. Knew just where to kiss. How to put his tongue to good use. When to go faster and when to slow down.

He was also merciless, and it wasn’t long before I had all my fingers threaded into his hair, my body bucking against the mattress while my climax tore through me, hot and unstoppable, every muscle in me tensing to the point of snapping before relaxing.

He wrung out every ounce of pleasure that I had in me and more besides. Like I said, merciless.

And he still wasn’t done. He’d shrugged his jacket off quickly when we’d come into the suite, but still wore everything else. Standing from the foot of the bed, he grabbed his shirt and tore it open, the buttons pinging off. The sudden, savage jerking motion left my heart pounding. That, and what I saw beneath the shirt.

Liam kept himself in shape. Abs everywhere, the shadows filling the little clefts between each individual muscle. A chest and a pair of shoulders that begged for me to touch and scratch them.

I couldn’t resist sitting up and running my hands down those abs. Running them right down to his belt. He watched as I tugged the end out and then ripped the length of leather through its loops.

And then it was his turn for his clothes to pool around his ankles, the expensive fabrics not deserving of such indignity but neither of us caring.

He produced a condom from the nightstand, taking only a moment, building my need to desperate levels again through impatience.

Both of us on the bed, he urged my thighs apart and settled himself between them. When he sank into me, I gasped, my aching body not used to the touch of a man but needing it so badly.

He saw my expression and kissed my bottom lip, sucking it between his teeth and biting down on it gently before letting it slide out. We kissed again then, fiercely, as our two bodies joined into one.

He took control, took charge of my pleasure and his. Soon, beads of perspiration formed on our writhing bodies.

Effortlessly, he transitioned smoothly from one position to another. Working each angle, he found the positions that made me moan the most for him. Then, as he took me full force, I rode the waves of my climaxes higher and higher.

He took me every way I’d ever been taken before and more. Over me, beside me, behind me. In our embraces we kicked the bed sheets down off the bed.

The whole while, his curious hands explored me, sliding up and down my stomach, down between my thighs, turning my face to kiss him.

We both sank fully into that moment, becoming timeless, feeling nothing but each other for those endless minutes.

And then came the point where he kissed me roughly, my name escaping through his clenched teeth over and over, his hands catching mine up and squeezing them, both of us locked in our shared bliss.

“Stay the night with me,” he said as we recovered, both of us naked and spent on the bed. My whole body felt like a pile of limp elastic bands. I wasn’t going anywhere.

“If you insist,” I said, managing a smile. Already, I could feel the soreness building inside of me. It had been well-earned and, I think, well-deserved.

He kissed me again, smoothing some sweat-stuck strands of curly blonde hair off my forehead.

In the darkness of his five-star suite, I curled up next to Liam’s warm body, leaning my cheek against his chest, listening to the thump of his heart and smelling his clean sweat.

I went to sleep knowing that this was a one-night affair, but wishing that it could have been so much more. Especially after that performance, after the way he’d coaxed things from my body I’d never thought I’d feel. Maybe that was the way it was supposed to be, though.

But did that mean everything was downhill from here?