A Night of Living Dangerously Read online

  Kissing down her neck, he pressed his face between her large breasts, barely contained in the tiny triangles of fabric. She moaned as she moved against him, unconsciously grinding her body against him. He looked at her beautiful face. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted, her expression rapt. Even a lifetime wouldn’t be enough to satisfy his endless desire for this incredible woman.

  Twining a hand in her hair, he pulled down her head and gave her a hard, deep kiss as his other hand pulled the strings on her hips. Yanking off the bottom of her bikini, he tossed it to the floor and unzipped his fly, letting himself spring free. Lilley’s eyes flew open as she realized what he intended, but it was too late.

  Lifting her up, he brought her body down hard over him, impaling her in a single thrust. He groaned as he filled her so hard and deep that her body stiffened, even as she choked out a gasp of shock and pleasure.

  He was deep inside her. Stretching her to the hilt. And it was good, so good. And wet. Oh God. Waves of sweet ecstasy washed over him and he closed his eyes. Lifting her a second time, he thrust again and a second, louder groan burst from his lips. But he didn’t get the chance to do it again. She picked up the pace, her breasts swaying against his face as she controlled the rhythm. He leaned forward, breathing in the scent of sunshine and salt. Pushing aside a triangle of her bikini top, he suckled a swollen, taut nipple as his other hand gripped her thigh. She let out a little cry as she arched her body, tossing back her head as she rode him hard in his office chair, going faster, faster, deeper, deeper.

  The pleasure was too intense. He hadn’t taken her since last night, which seemed like forever ago. His stamina wouldn’t last. A low moan came from the back of her throat and he felt her soft breasts bounce against his mouth, felt her deep wet core sucking him further and further into ecstasy. He tried to restrain himself—to hold back the wave that threatened to burst. But he couldn’t—hold back—for much longer—

  Like a miracle, he heard a soft cry from her lips, which became louder as she clutched his shoulders with her hands, her fingernails gripping into his flesh. She gave a final sharp scream and he felt her convulse and tighten all around him. Just in time. In a rush, he surrendered to the pleasure and exploded into her. Lights danced behind his eyelids as he gave a ragged gasp, groaning as he pulsed and poured himself into her.

  He held her for long moments in his office chair. When she finally rose unsteadily to her feet, he stood and zipped up his fly, still feeling disoriented. She was just wearing her bikini top and only half of that, really, since she had one breast exposed. He saw her shiver with cold and pulled off his long-sleeved, button-down shirt, wrapping it tenderly around her nearly naked body.

  “Thanks,” she murmured. She gave him a mischievous smile. “I love visiting you at work.”

  He laughed, then looked down at her. His tailored shirt hung down to her mid-thigh. “You look … cute.”

  “So do you.” She ran her hand down his bare chest. “Because now you are far more suitably dressed …” She gave a sudden impish grin. “For the beach!”

  He blinked at her.

  “Woman!” he thundered. “When will you stop?”

  “When you do what I want!”

  “Not going to happen.” He hesitated. “There’s been a complication, Lilley. I need to leave for Rome.”

  “What’s happened?”

  He scowled. “Théo St. Raphaël happened.”

  She sucked in her breath. To his surprise, she seemed to understand the gravity of the situation even before he explained. “What—what about him?”

  “It wasn’t enough he stole the Joyería deal,” he ground out. “Now he’s after my expansion in Asia as well. Almost as if it’s—personal.”

  “Maybe it is,” she said in a small voice. “I don’t get how you guys fight over things you don’t even need. You have his winery. Call him. Offer an exchange. A truce—”

  “Is that a joke?” he said in amazement. “I’d burn down my palazzo before I’d ask Théo St. Raphaël for a truce.” He looked at her, and his voice gentled. “I am just sorry our honeymoon must end.”

  She licked her lips, then shrugged. “It’s all right. I love Sardinia, but I’m sure I’ll love Rome as well. I’m excited to see the palazzo. Meet your friends.”

  “Lilley.” His good humor fled. “We’ve talked about this.”

  “You’ve talked about it,” she said sulkily, her fingertips curling against the dark hair on his chest.

  “You’re my wife. You promised to obey me.”

  Indignant, she stared up at him. “I did no such—”

  “Your place is at home,” he interrupted.

  “My home is with you.” She looked down at her bare feet. “Unless you’re ashamed of me.”

  Taking both her hands in his own, he pressed them to his lips. “My friends aren’t the warmest, friendliest sort of people. I doubt you’d like them.”

  The cuffs of his long-sleeved shirt hung over her hands, making her look very young as she looked away. “You mean they won’t like me.”

  “I’ll send for you soon,” he said softly, pulling her into his arms. “I promise.” And to seal that vow, he lowered his mouth to hers in the gentlest, tenderest kiss he’d ever given her.

  To his shock, she pulled away, her brown eyes flinty. “No.”

  His eyebrows lowered. “Don’t you understand? I’m trying to protect you.”

  “I don’t want to be protected, I want to be your wife!”

  He exhaled, tried to keep his voice light. “If you’re weary of Sardinia, I could leave you at our country estate in Tuscany. You could see the famous paintings of Florence, decorate the nursery, learn how to make bread—”

  “No!” She stamped her foot against the marble floor, a gesture marred by the fact that she was barefoot and it caused a grimace of pain across her face. Rubbing the sole of her foot, she scowled at him. “I’m going with you to Rome!”

  “Lilley,” he tried, “please.”

  “I’m not afraid of your friends.” When he didn’t answer, she tossed her head. “What do you think they’ll do? Fight me with their bare hands? Wrestle me into the mud?”

  “No,” he said quietly. “They’ll be more subtle. They’ll attack any weakness they can find. Your manners, your clothes, even your dyslexia—”

  “Are you telling me,” she said scornfully, “there’ll be some kind of reading test before they let me in their little club?”

  Trying to keep his patience, he set his jaw. “I am just trying to keep you happy and safe.”

  “By keeping me a prisoner?”

  He folded his arms. “You’re not exactly suffering here, Lilley. Most people would call this place heaven, not a prison.” At her glare, he amended, “And it’s just until your lessons are done. Until you’re ready.”

  “So you are ashamed of me.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous!”

  “I won’t embarrass you,” she whispered. She looked up at him with pleading eyes, pressing her fingertips against his bare chest. “Please. Don’t leave me here without you. I can’t … I can’t bear us to be apart.”

  He felt helpless against that gaze. Setting his jaw, he looked down at the floor. “They will hurt you.”

  “I’m stronger than you think.”

  “Olivia is there.”

  For a second, Lilley fell silent. Then she lifted her chin. “We’ll have her to tea.”

  He snorted in disbelief. “That might be overdoing it.”

  “I’m serious,” she insisted in a small voice. “I feel guilty. She was in love with you, she thought you were going to propose to her, and we eloped. We hurt her.”

  “You didn’t do anything,” he said sharply. “And if I treated her badly, she can handle it, believe me. She’ll find someone else to marry, someone twice as rich and better-looking in the bargain.”

  “No one’s better-looking than you,” Lilley said, then her smile faded. She looked away, chewing on her bottom lip. “
Do you think she was in love with you? Really and truly?”

  Mesmerized, Alessandro watched her white teeth sinking into pink flesh that was full and swollen from days of lovemaking. Then he came back to himself. “Absolutely not,” he said sharply. “She just knew as I did, that on paper, we were perfect for each other.”

  Lilley’s expression fell, and it occurred to him that such an honest statement might hurt her feelings. “But now I have you,” he said reassuringly. She blinked up at him. “The mother of my precious child,” he added. Her lower lip wobbled. He wrapped his arm around her waist and said hopefully, “The woman who’s given me the best sex of my life?”

  A laugh finally escaped her. Then she shook her head, squaring her shoulders. “And I’m coming with you to Rome.”

  Alessandro’s instincts screamed No. But he saw the yearning in her eyes and could not deny her what she wanted. What they both wanted. He didn’t want to be apart from her, either.

  “Very well, cara,” he said quietly. “Rome.”

  She sucked in her breath.

  “Thank you!” she cried, flinging her arms around his shoulders. “You won’t be sorry. You’ll see. I can handle them. I’m not scared!”

  As Lilley kissed his cheeks over and over, murmuring her appreciation, Alessandro almost believed he’d done the right thing. He would protect her, he told himself. And Lilley was strong. She’d gained a great deal of confidence in the days of their marriage. What had caused such a rapid change in her? The Italian lessons? The etiquette classes?

  Whatever it was, she would be fine. He was worrying over nothing. After all, they were married now, and expecting a child. What on earth in Rome could possibly break them apart?

  CHAPTER NINE

  ROME. Roma. The Eternal City.

  What was the Italian word for disaster?

  Another fabulous, sophisticated dinner at an elegant restaurant with Alessandro’s friends, and once again, Lilley was hiding in a bathroom stall. She was becoming a connoisseur of fancy Roman bathrooms.

  Since they’d arrived in Rome three weeks ago, Alessandro had worked endless hours at the office. The only time she saw him—aside from the middle of the night when he made love to her—was at dinner, and that almost always included his friends, who were thrilled to see him.

  They were not quite as thrilled about her.

  For the last two hours, she’d sat at the table with a frozen smile on her face while Alessandro and his friends talked and laughed in rapid-fire Italian. And it was her own fault. But their first night in Rome, Alessandro had taken her to an elegant restaurant with an English menu. A kind gesture, but Lilley was so nervous, trying to make his glamorous friends like her, that the letters on the menus had refused to stay still. In the end, she’d tried to laugh it off, and her husband had taken over and gallantly ordered for her. But ever since, she’d insisted on only Italian menus. At least then she had an excuse for why she couldn’t read them.

  And she’d insisted to Alessandro that she preferred that he speak to his friends in their native Italian. “I’ll learn the language more quickly that way,” she’d said.

  What she’d mostly learned was that his friends made her uncomfortable and she wished that she and her husband could stay home. Home in the bedroom of their palazzo, where Alessandro made her so happy, or creating jewelry in her makeshift studio in the mews, or decorating the large sitting room she was turning into a nursery suite. Heck. Even going for another OB visit, with her chauffeur on one side and her bodyguard on the other, would be more fun than this.

  Hiding in the bathroom stall, Lilley stared down at her beige Prada shoes. She’d lasted two hours before she fled to the bathroom. A new record, she tried to comfort herself. It was helpful to be pregnant, because no one questioned long disappearances. Lilley’s beige designer suit skirt strained at the seams, feeling too tight around her waist, and she wished she hadn’t eaten so much bread. None of the other women ate bread.

  No. They seemed to survive on gossip and malice.

  It’s your imagination, she tried to tell herself. Her Italian was still pretty bad. Alessandro’s friends could be saying anything, and she’d likely misread the women’s sidelong glances. As soon as her language skills improved, she would no doubt discover his friends were actually quite nice ….

  The bathroom door banged open.

  “Can you believe Alessandro is married to that fat pudding-faced creature who can barely read and has nothing to say for herself?”

  Lilley froze, recognizing the voice.

  “A tragedy,” another woman agreed. “I can hardly believe a fine specimen like Alessandro was trapped by a stupid little nobody.”

  “Well. I wouldn’t say she’s little,” the first woman replied slyly.

  Trembling, Lilley peeked through the crack in the stall door and saw Giulia and Lucretia standing at the wall of sleek sinks, refreshing their lipstick in the mirrors. Both of them wealthy heiresses married to still richer men. And they were both so thin they looked like clotheshangers in their designer clothes from Milan.

  “Such a shame,” Giulia sighed, giving her nose a pat of powder as she stared at herself in the mirror. “Olivia should be with us tonight, like always.”

  “She will be again,” Lucretia said comfortingly. Smacking her lips together, she tucked her lipstick back into a tiny crystal clutch. “The fat little gold digger will realize she doesn’t belong here. Once the brat is born, Alessandro will tire of her and send her back to America. Then he will be with Olivia again. As they were meant to be.” She glanced at the other woman. “Are we done?”

  “I think so,” Giulia replied. Smiling at each other, they left the bathroom.

  The bang of the door reverberated behind them. Lilley clasped her hands together, her heart pounding. Her skin felt clammy, her body flashing hot and cold. It was her own fault for remaining hidden, she told herself. If she’d come immediately out of the stall, Giulia and Lucretia would never have been so rude. They would not have been so cruel if they’d known she was there, listening.

  Then Lilley realized—

  The women had spoken in English.

  “Oh,” she breathed aloud, a soft gasp, falling back against the wall as if she’d been punched. Slowly, she swung open the stall door. She saw herself in the mirror, saw how little the stark, minimalist dress suited her taste or her figure. She was wearing the same style as Giulia and Lucretia, but instead of making her blend in with the fashionable set, it only emphasized the rounder shape of her body, and made her normally rosy skin seem washed-out and pale.

  Or maybe their words had done that. Alessandro had said his friends could be mean, but she hadn’t believed him. She’d never imagined anyone could be so deliberately cruel to a virtual stranger, a new bride far from her home country.

  Lilley wondered what Giulia and Lucretia would say if they knew her father was Walton Hainsbury, if that would make her more palatable. But somehow she doubted it. They would simply find new reasons to mock her.

  Staring at her own pale, miserable, and yes—a little pie-faced—expression, Lilley swallowed. The ache in her throat felt like a razor blade, but she wasn’t going to show them they’d hurt her. No way. Straightening her shoulders, she went down the hall.

  Her high-heeled shoes clicked against the floor as she walked across the elegant restaurant, past all the wealthy, gorgeous patrons who actually looked as if they fitted in here. She saw Alessandro sitting beside Giulia and Lucretia and their husbands, tossing his head back in laughter as the women regarded him with sharp, sly smiles. And suddenly, Lilley’s courage failed her. Turning, she veered towards the bar.

  A handsome young bartender in a white jacket, drying glasses with a white towel, turned to her. “Sì, signorina?”

  Lilley looked at the wall of liquor bottles behind the bar. If ever a moment called for liquid courage, this was it. But she was pregnant, and anyway she’d never had much experience with alcohol. Except for the night of the Preziosi di Ca
etani ball, when she’d drunk a glass and a half of champagne. Alessandro had made her feel so precious and beautiful … Her eyes filled with tears.

  “Signorina?” the bartender said. “Prende qualcosa?”

  She wiped her eyes. “Acqua frizzante, per favore.”

  A large hand grabbed her shoulder. With an intake of breath, she turned, but it wasn’t Alessandro. Instead, she saw a dark man with ice-blue eyes, an acquaintance of her husband’s that she’d met at a cocktail party a few nights before. The Russian tycoon who owned gold mines across the Yukon … what was his name? “Prince Vladimir. Hello.”

  The man looked down at her with interest. “What are you doing here, little one?” He looked around. “Where is your husband? You do not look well.”

  “I’m fine. Great in fact.” Blinking back tears, she turned back to the bartender as he held out her sparkling water. “Oh no—I forgot my purse!”

  “Please. Allow me,” Prince Vladimir said, pulling out his wallet. He blinked with surprise when the bartender told him the amount. “So little?”

  “It’s water,” Lilley said. “I’m pregnant.”

  “Ah,” Prince Vladimir said. “Congratulations.”

  “Thank you. Not everyone knows yet.” Lilley glanced back at the table across the room. “Believe me, if I could drink something stronger, I would.”

  Vladimir followed her glance, and understanding filled his eyes. “Ah. But you have nothing to fear, Principessa,” he said quietly. “Your husband is smitten. I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

  Holding the cold glass against the hot skin of her cheek, she whispered, “You mean the way he doesn’t look at me.”

  “Then he is a fool.” He put his finger on her bulky crystal necklace. “This is beautiful. Where did you buy it?”

  Startled by his touch, Lilley nearly jumped. “I made it.”

  “You did!”

  She shook her head. “Alessandro doesn’t want me to wear it in Rome. He said it might make his friends laugh at me, but I don’t care. They’re going to laugh anyway,” she said in a low voice. She straightened. “I have to wear one thing that feels like mine.”