Secrets and Seduction Las Vegas (Sexy Italian Imports Book 1) (34 page)

She stood, one foot on each side of his chest. He reached for the hem of her sundress, and she slapped away his hand.

He smiled up at her, but she forced herself to remain serious. Damn, this was fun.

She pulled her dress over her head and tossed it on the couch. She wore a lavender bra and panties set, very lacy. The way she felt, it should be leather and whips. She looked down at him, watching the way his gaze traveled over every inch of her. He started to sit up, and she put a bare foot on his chest. “No.” She pushed him back down.

“Oh, yeah, take control, baby.” His eyes were nearly black, his lids drooping with his need.

She turned around and bent over, giving him a sexy view of her bottom, then tugged his jeans and boxers down. She took off his boots then his pants, socks, and underwear followed into a pile. She turned and looked him slowly up and down.

He lay there, his T-shirt ripped down the middle, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his cock as stiff and pulsing as she’d ever seen it, his hands in fists at his sides. She moved to stand over his hips and stared into his eyes. White-hot passion in his gaze blazed back at her, daring her to keep it up. To be the aggressor.

Emboldened by his intense look, she grabbed the sides of her panties.

His nostrils flared, and his jaw clenched.

She ripped them off her body, watched him tense as if she’d punched him again.

She tossed them toward him. He caught them, brought them to his face, and took a deep, sexy smell of then, then, staring at her, he licked the crotch of her panties. The sight made her belly contract sharply, and she became so wet she felt herself drip down her leg. “Oh, God.” Her body raced toward a climax.

“Play with yourself.” He whispered it, his voice so low and sexy, it sounded like her own subconscious.

She touched her finger to her muff, slid it in, and cried out with pleasure.

“Your breasts,” he groaned.

She unfastened her bra, threw it then ran her fingers over her distended nipples. When she felt herself begin to float, she touched one finger to her clitoris and rubbed, the other hand tweaking her nipple. Within seconds she was flying, her head thrown back, her knees shaking, her lips quivering and so wet that he’d be able to see the moisture on her thighs.

She wanted to collapse but kept her eyes open, staring at him.

He was breathing hard, his jaw clenched, his eyes radiating desire. He needed her. Now.

She turned to face his feet and sank to her knees, grabbed his hard shaft, and poised herself over him. Waited a long moment then looked over her shoulder at him.

“Cry mercy.”

“Mercy. Please. Mercy, baby.”

She touched his manhood to her wet entry and dropped all her weight onto him, taking every inch of him.

“Valerie,
amore mio
!” His shout echoed to the ceiling.

She rode him hard, fast, her leg muscles aching, but loved every minute of the exquisite torture. She listened to him struggling for breath. Throwing her head forward, her hair brushed against his thighs. He groaned, cried out, stiffened, then she felt his release pulsing inside her. It was the loudest she ever heard him come. His shouts gave way to laughter, his body so rigid his leg muscles bulged, his toes curled.

When she took his last drop, he sat up and wrapped his arms around her and pulled her down next to him, tucked her into his arm, her head on his chest. She couldn’t tell which of them was more exhausted. They both panted like they’d run a marathon.

“Incredible,” he said between gulps of air. “Absolutely mind blowing.”

She loved to hear him say things like that. It made her feel powerful, sexy, and truly a woman.

“Where did you learn to do that?” His fingers traced the swell of her breast.

She smiled. “
Cosmopolitan
.”

“The magazine? Jeez, I’m going to get you a subscription.”

“Jules gets me one every year for Christmas.”

He laughed. “I wondered where you got all your sexy moves.”

“I hide the magazines under my bed.”

“So your mother doesn’t find them?”

“Yup. She’d make a fuss.”

“She’s a challenge.”

“Nice way to say she’s a pain in the ass.”

“Mm. Runs in the family.”

She popped her head up. “What?” He was calling her…

He laughed. “No, not you, sweet. Your sister.”

Laying her head back on his firm muscles, she sighed. “What can we do? Short of moving to Italy.”

He chuckled as he kissed the top of her head, brushed her hair away from her face, and smoothed it down her back. The motion made her sleepy. “We’ll deal with it.”

“Thank you for being so…” She yawned. Her voice came out groggy. “It’s only nine, and I’m tired already.”

He reached for the afghan on the side chair, covered them with it, and grabbed a pillow for under his head. “I’m done in, too. I haven’t slept well this weekend.”

She could guess why—worrying about telling her his secret. As she drifted off to sleep, she plotted ways to get it out of him.

****

“Ti amo con tutto il cuore.”

Valerie heard him whispering in her ear. They’d slept for hours in front of the fireplace. He was trying to wake her gently. He loved her with all his heart.

“Vuoi dirmelo ancora?”
She whispered, asking him to repeat that.

“Si. Ti amo con tutto il cuore.”

“Antonio.” She responded in English. “I love you, with all my heart.”

“Ancora?”
He wanted to hear it again.

She lifted her head from his chest, her neck stiff from sleeping in one position for so long. She touched his cheek. “Antonio,
ti amo. Il mio cuore è tuo.
”

“
Bella
mia
.”

She heard his stomach rumble. “My lasagna!” She jerked her gaze toward the kitchen. The pan of lasagna was still in the oven on low. She jumped up and ran into the kitchen, pulled out the pan, and peeled off the foil. “Oh, crap.” She poked at it with a fork. The three inches on the outside were pretty well crust, but the middle was still soft and cheesy.

He came up behind her and put his arms around her. “I’m sorry I ruined your meal.”

“Do you think we should risk it?”

“Sure. Dish it up, and I’ll go clean up the beer spill.”

“Thanks.” She threw on a cover-up and fixed two plates and two glasses of ice water and set them on the island.

He came back into the kitchen wearing his boxers, carrying his empty beer bottle and wet paper towels. “Forgive me?”

“Yup.” He was continually asking. She was always forgiving. Would it ever get to be more than she could bear?

He must have sensed her uncertainty.

“I’m working on it, Valerie. I have a ways to go, but I know I’ll be able to beat the anger.”

“I know. And I’m willing to be here for you.”

He looked into her eyes for a long moment, seeming to search for the truth in them. Right now, at this moment, it was the truth. She was here for him. But she hated the feeling—that psychologist’s voice inside her head—that said she should set boundaries. Set expectations. Set deadlines.

“Antonio, I hate to bring it up again, but the private investigator?”

“Mm hm.”

“I was wondering about the man following you.”

“Yeah.” He rubbed her arms. “Would you get the name of Monica’s PI? I’ll have my investigator call him and get copies of those pictures to Betina. She might know him.”

“Good idea.” She turned to pick up her phone.

“Wait, I have something to say.” He took her hands in his. “What you did tonight was good for me. Good for us.”

“Beating you up? Or tricking you out of your bad mood?”

“I deserved the beating.” He kissed her knuckles. “The sex was amazing. But I’m sorry you had to see me like that.”

She put her arms around him. “It’s part of being a couple. We’re not always going to be happy and relaxed.”

“You always seem to be. You’ll have to teach me.”

“I’d be glad to. First lesson. Make love to me, slowly. And tell me you love me.”

****

Sunday evening, Joe cooked steaks and baked potatoes on the grill then they dressed in eveningwear for the show. He’d left his tux in the trunk, and Monica laughed at how much planning he’d done to surprise her.

He let her drive his Porsche to The Strip but made her promise to let him drive her pickup someday. Only a couple hundred thousand dollar difference in price between the two vehicles, but he joked that he was getting the better end of the trade.

When they entered the showroom, they were escorted to a booth at the center front of the audience.

She leaned in to him. “How did you ever get these tickets?”

He helped her into the booth. “She’s a family friend.”

Monica rolled her eyes. “You are way out of my league.”

He smiled, a crooked smirk. “I am, but I love you anyway.”

She laughed and said a quick prayer of thanks for the miracle that was her life, her future.

The show began, and Joe lifted his champagne glass in a toast. “To an unforgettable evening.”

She touched her glass to his. How would a casino show make for an unforgettable night? He must be a big Cẻline fan. He didn’t look like the type—the radio in the Porsche always blared Maroon Five, which seemed more his style.

Cẻline was excellent, an unbelievably talented woman who put on a spectacular show.

Toward the end, she chatted with the audience but seemed surprised when a crew member stepped out on stage and handed her a note. She read it, her eyebrows furrowing.

Looking into the audience, she said, “I have to apologize, this is highly unusual. Is there a Dr. Monica, a cosmetic surgeon, in the room?”

Chapter Twenty Nine

A few people laughed, thinking it was a joke, but Monica was shocked, couldn’t move for a second.

“Dr. Monica?” Cẻline visored her hand over her eyes and looked around the room.

Monica let out a surprised squeak, but Joe spoke up for her.

“She’s right here.” Joe got up and pulled back the table.

Monica stood, her adrenaline level rising. Was this about her emergency patient? How would the hospital have known she was at a concert? She looked at Joe; he had a devious smile. Turning toward the stage, she saw Cẻline, Joe’s “family friend,” looking just as devious.

She grabbed Joe’s arm. “What the hell are you doing?”

Cẻline overheard, and put the microphone to her lips. “Monica just asked Joe, ‘What the hell are you doing?’”

The crowd laughed.

Cẻline gestured toward the ceiling. “Can we get a spotlight on these two?”

Monica squinted as a bright light flooded them.

Into her microphone, Cẻline chided, “Boys, boys! A little more romantic, please!”

The spotlight turned pink, and Joe took both Monica’s hands.

Monica’s heart palpitated so hard she was glad Joe knew CPR.

“Joe is an old friend of mine.” Celine said quietly. “He has something very important to ask the beautiful Monica.” She stepped back a few paces and signaled her orchestra.

“My Heart Will Go On” began playing, and Joe went down on one knee in front of Monica.

Cẻline started to sing, and Monica immediately embarrassed herself by bursting into tears.

Joe smiled. “Be my wife, Monica.”

She glanced up at Cẻline, who smiled and nodded encouragingly.

“I would be honored to become your wife.”

He laughed. “Our life together will be absolutely amazing.” He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a ring.

“She said yes!” Cẻline narrated.

The audience erupted in cheers and applause. He slipped the ring—a large, square diamond—onto her finger, stood, and took her in his arms.

“My love.” Joe dipped her backward, kissing her thoroughly.

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, hanging on with all her strength, all her love.

Joe stood her upright, holding her so she didn’t keel over backward.

“Ladies and gentlemen.” Celine gestured toward them. “May I present the newly engaged Joe and Monica.”

Joe turned them toward the clapping audience and waved. Monica managed a shaky smile.

Cẻline made shooing motions. “Go, you two, Pierre at the door has the key to a suite for you. My gift.” She blew them a kiss.

“Thank you.” Monica smiled at her new favorite celebrity in the whole world.

Joe grabbed her purse and slung it over her shoulder, ushered her out, picked up the room key, and got her into their suite and completely undressed—except for her engagement ring—within ten minutes.

As he slid his hot manhood into her, she teared up again, looking at her ring. “Joe, I’m never going to forgive you for this.”

He smiled and nipped at her breasts. “You’re never going to forget it either, are you?”

She closed her eyes, her body arching back as he brought her to climax. “Never. Never in a million years.”

****

When Valerie’s phone rang at ten the next morning, she felt groggy, but when she saw Monica’s name on the ID, she immediately snapped awake. “Hello?”

Antonio stirred, opened his eyes, and stretched.

Her blood heated as his muscles flexed. She looked away and focused on her phone call.

“Hi, Monica, what’s up?” Antonio heard the name and made a face. Valerie smiled at him.

“I’m engaged!” Monica squealed.

“What?” Valerie yelled. “Engaged? Ohmigosh, congratulations!”

Antonio sat up. “Yay!”

“Is he there?” Monica had heard Antonio.

“Yes, and he’s excited for you, too.”

Antonio lay on his side and propped his head on his hand, using a finger to draw circles around her belly button. Valerie listened to Monica tell how Joe proposed then relayed the highlights to Antonio. Monica promised to let them see the video of the engagement that Cẻline had her crew make and send to their suite.

Monica had Valerie open her meeting planner and plug in the engagement party their parents were planning at the Mirage in three weeks.

“Valerie, are you sitting down?”

“Yes. What’s wrong?” Valerie looked at Antonio, and he stopped his caress.