Malavita (28 page)

He unbuttoned his cuffs, then started on his shirt. She waited until he had his shirt off before taking off her bracelet. He smiled at that and tossed his shirt onto the floor. He toed off a shoe, and she followed suit, removing the other as he did.

She’d never seen him without a shirt, and she found the rippling of the muscles in his well-defined torso and arms entrancing. She wanted to run her fingers all over his skin, to feel the hardness of his body with no barriers between them.

To her surprise, he had a tattoo on his right bicep. It appeared to be new. “What’s that?” she asked and pointed to it.

He shook his head. “Later.” He pulled off a sock, and she removed her necklace. He took off the other and she removed a ring from her right hand. He let out a sigh. “I should’ve excluded jewelry.”

“But you didn’t,” she teased. “Not my fault.”

He grinned and moved his hands to his belt buckle. She bunched up the skirt of her dress and pulled off the keepsake garter she was still wearing around her thigh. “I wish I’d taken that off with my teeth,” he said.

When the image of him doing just that flashed through her mind, her skin flared with heat. She had to take a breath before carefully removing her pantyhose as he dropped his trousers to the floor.

Hooking his thumbs in the waistband of his boxers, he gave her a mock pout. “How is it that I’m nearly naked, and you’re still almost dressed?”

“You didn’t think this through. Again, not my fault.”

He pushed off his trunks as she raised her hands to the nape of her neck to unzip her dress. When his
cazzo
was revealed, springing up unrestrained and unobstructed, she let out a little sound of surprise. That was supposed to… fit inside her?

When she continued to hesitate, he stepped forward with a grin. “You stopped. Which means I win.”

“You surprised me.”

He motioned her to turn around and his hands went to the zipper at the back of her neck. As he slid it down, baring her skin to his gaze, he whispered against her neck, “You’ve been to museums. You had to have seen pictures.”

She shook her head. “You seem much larger. Too large.”

He rubbed the part in question against her lower back and buttocks. The feel of it—steel encased in velvet—made her arch her back. She had the sudden desire to know what it would feel like inside her.

His hands descended to the clasp of her bra and she moved to stop him. “Toni,” he said, his voice low, his tone firm. “I told you what you would be wearing when I put you across my knee. Do you remember?”

“Nothing.” The word almost stuck in her throat, and she lowered her hands, letting him finish unhooking the bra, letting it fall away to join her dress on the carpet. He hooked his thumbs at the top of her panties on either side and dropped kisses along her shoulders and the nape of her neck as he pushed the last vestige of her clothing to the floor. Except for her wedding and engagement rings, she was completely naked.

“
Bellissima
,” he murmured against the skin of her right shoulder, his hand squeezing the soft flesh of her hip. “
Troppo
bella
.”

She turned around, resisting the urge to cover herself, but tried to press herself against him as another form of cover. He wouldn’t let her, instead stepping back and holding her at arm’s length. “No fair,” he said. “You saw me. Now I get to see you.” His eyes swept over her, top to bottom, lingering on her breasts and the place between her legs before coming back to her face.

He walked over to the bed and sat on the edge of it, then patted his lap. “On your belly.”

“You’re not really…?”

“A deal’s a deal.”

Blushing furiously, she lay down across his knees. He caressed her bottom for a moment, then brought his hand down in a hard smack. “Ow!” she said and started to rise.

He put an arm over her back to hold her in place. “That didn’t hurt.”

“It stings.” He was right, but she didn’t want to concede the point.

He rubbed the area he’d hit, which tingled under his touch and felt deliciously warm. Just when she was relaxing, he smacked her again on the other cheek.

“Hey!” she protested.

“I didn’t say I was going to stop.”

“I thought it was over.”

“It might be. If you stay still.” His hand caressed the spot he’d smacked, which she was sure must look as red as her cheeks felt. They reddened further as she pictured what he must be seeing, which part of her he was staring at.

His hand moved lower, until it played along the crease of her buttocks where they met her thighs. Some strange impulse urged her to spread her legs, to let his fingers go where they seemed to want. Would he touch her
figa
? She parted her legs ever so slightly, and he didn’t disappoint her.

She stiffened when his fingers made contact with that tender flesh, and he stopped until she relaxed, then he started again. His hand moved deftly, drawing from her new sensations that made her moan. She’d touched herself before, in secret, even though it was a sin. But his fingers felt so different, so much larger, so out of her control. What he was doing felt more wonderful, more exciting than her own private explorations.

When he stopped, she let out a moan of frustration that made him laugh. “Ready for more?” he asked, as he helped her off his lap until she stood in front of him.

“Please.”

His eyes descended to her breasts, making them ache for his touch. When his hands and mouth followed her silent desires, she let out a moan that shocked her. She was turning into some brazen
troia
, wasn’t she?

He seemed not to notice the change in her, seemed to think it unremarkable. Maybe how she was feeling was normal. Natural. Right. It certainly felt that way.

She wanted him closer and stepped up to the bed, cradling his head in her arms, delighting in the waves of electricity arcing through her, sending unfamiliar sensations to every cell in her body. She was on fire, she ached, she yearned. She wanted him inside her.

“Rico,” she said. “I’m ready. Just please… be gentle.”

“Of course.” He looked up at her, his face solemn. “It’ll hurt, a little, that can’t be helped, but I promise you’ll enjoy it.”

He made room for her on the bed and then moved over her, his hands and his mouth caressing her everywhere, making her want, making her need.

And when the time came, he was true to his word. The pleasure far outweighed the momentary pain, and as he moved above her, inside her, whispering how much he loved her, she felt the most incredible bliss, the most incredible happiness. He was hers, she was his. And nothing could ever change that.

After they’d caught their breath, Rico settled down beside Antonella, and she got a good look at the tattoo on his arm. It was all in black, a circle of roses around three words done in a swirling script:
Quattro in tre
. She traced a finger over it. “Four in three?” she asked.

He frowned and scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’m tired, Toni.”

Her stomach tightened in an unpleasant way. “What aren’t you telling me?”

With a sigh, he rolled onto his side, facing her, the tattoo hidden now by the sheets. “It has to do with my family.”

“Oh.” But judging by the crispness of the ink, the tattoo was new. “I know what the three is. But not the four.”

He traced a finger along the edge of her face, his eyes following its path, not meeting her own. “The four refers to the men who killed them. The three is the number of days it took me to kill those men.”

She’d known that he’d done it, but it didn’t seem real until just now. “So you got a tattoo to commemorate the occasion?”

His hand stilled and his eyes locked on to hers. “The tattoo is so I never forget.”

“You said we needed to put the past aside.”

“And I mean that.”

“But—”

“But that doesn’t mean I’ll forget it.”

She searched his face, saw his strength and his sadness. “You still want to see my father dead, don’t you?”

He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her lips. “I promised you,
cara
. I will not kill him.”

“You’re evading the question.”

A wistful smile curved up the corners of his mouth. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.”

He was right. She didn’t want to hear him say it, not really.

She touched his jaw, felt the light scratch of his stubble against the pads of her fingers. “The past is the past,” she whispered.

“I’m glad we agree,
bellissima
.” His mouth descended on hers and he rolled her onto her back, surprising her with the ferocity of his kiss. He nipped down along her neck, his tongue soothing the bites, and one of his hands stole between her legs, drawing a moan from her.

This passion, this love—
this
was their future.

Antonella took a long shower afterward, surprised by the twinges of soreness in her legs and lower back, but overall she felt wonderful. Floaty. She put on one of the fluffy hotel robes, luxuriating in its plushness. When she came back to the room, Rico was asleep, and she pulled the bed linens over him. Then she set about straightening up. There were clothes everywhere. She gathered them up and set them on the dresser.

Rico’s jacket had fallen off the back of the chair in the corner, and she picked it up, surprised by its weight. She patted the pockets and realized—the weight was from a gun. Curious, she pulled it out, and a photo fluttered to the carpet. She picked it up and could hardly process what she saw: Rico, a lovely blonde-haired girl beside him, and an infant in his arms. Judging from the blue blanket, it was a boy. He was kissing the child on the cheek as the girl looked on, a broad smile on her face. That must be her, and the baby must be… his.

She sat down hard in the chair and stared at the photo.
This
was why he hadn’t wanted to marry her.
This
was why he’d been so angry.

Her throat clamped shut as she looked at the picture. Oh
Dio
, what Rico was giving up for her. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right.

But it was done.

She pressed a hand over her mouth, struggling to keep from crying. He’d told her he didn’t love this girl, and she believed him. But surely he loved his son? What could possibly induce him to walk away?

She looked over at him, fast asleep, his breathing light and even. What could make him leave his child? But what other choice did he have? If he’d tried to stay in England, her father and the whole of the ’Ndrangheta would have hunted him down for breaking the contract, for turning his back on his vows to the society.

“Oh Papà, what have you done?” It was bad enough that Rico had lost his mother and his brothers. Now he’d also lost a son.

Unless he did mean to go back. Had he told her the truth?

She searched her heart, replayed everything he’d said, and all she could conclude was that he’d meant every word. If he’d lied to her, he was very, very good at it. And he had, in his own way, tried to tell her the truth. He’d hinted at the child, however obliquely. His son was the “important” thing he had with this girl. That was why she was special to him.

Rico stirred in the bed, and she stuffed the gun and photo back into his pocket. She wiped her eyes and took a deep breath. He’d said they needed to let go of the past. She hadn’t told him all of her secrets either, and that was for the best. If he ever knew what she’d done, if his son ever came to light, there would be horrible repercussions. Neither one of them would ever find peace. Their families would make sure of that.

She rose and went to turn off the light on his side of the bed. When she reached for the switch, his hand snaked out from under the covers and grabbed her wrist, making her gasp. He immediately let go, his eyes wide open. “Sorry,” he said. “You startled me.”

“Likewise.” He patted the mattress beside him, and she sat down, leaning forward to brush a hand across his short hair. “I love you, Rico,” she said, her voice thick with emotion.

He took her hand in his. “And I love you.” He kissed her palm. “Is something wrong? You sound like you’ve been crying.”