Happy Mother's Day!

chapter THREE


HIS body was hard, his breath was warm as he pulled her close against him and Aisling could scarcely breathe as every longing she’d ever had about him fused into that single moment. ‘Gianluca!’ she gasped, her voice a mixture of plea and protest.

‘Mia bella! Kiss me. Just kiss me!’

‘But this is wrong!’

‘Why is it wrong? How can it be wrong?’ he demanded.

She tried to think of a reason but her brain had gone to mush and so had her body. Was it the raw urgency in his voice which made her want to obey him without question, or her own overwhelming hunger which made Aisling stay right where she was? Perhaps it was simply the fleeting feeling that if she didn’t, then she would regret it for the rest of her life. That she would become one of those bitter old women who had rejected a taste of paradise when she’d had it offered to her on a soft, warm night in Umbria.

‘You know you want me,’ he asserted harshly.

‘Yes,’ she assented breathlessly. And with a little moan, she wrapped her arms around his neck, lifting her mouth to meet his hard, seeking kiss.

A thousand fireworks exploded in his head as her lips opened beneath his. ‘Aisling,’ he groaned, her name as unfamiliar on his lips as the taste of her, the smell of her, this sheer unexpected reality of having her soft and compliant and oh-so-hungry in his arms. The ice-queen melting! The cool Englishwoman kissing him!

Aisling swayed as she responded with a fervour which seemed to sap her of strength and reason. His hands were touching her breasts, and—oh, heavens!—she was letting them, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Fingertips moving over her body, as if examining her by touch alone. Lingering at the indentation of her waist. Skating over the curve of her hips. Cupping the swell of her buttocks and pulling her into the hard rock of his arousal.

‘Oh!’ she gasped.

‘You like that?’

‘Yes!’

‘And that?’

‘Oh, yes.’ She breathed. ‘Yes!’

‘You want me to keep doing it?’

‘Yes!’

He flicked his tongue over her bone-dry lips. She was like molten lava, bubbling beneath his touch—so responsive, so unbelievably receptive in a way which belied her normal cool image.

Gianluca thought quickly. If his barn were not filled with villagers and local dignitaries, he would have thought nothing of taking her there, beneath the tree. He could have fought to get her jeans down and thrust deliciously into her. Then they could have gone back to the party afterwards as if nothing had happened.

He frowned with concentration. If he kissed her thoroughly enough, silenced the sounds of her orgasm, he might yet be able to accomplish it. And yet he was still not certain of her. Some women were needlessly sentimental when they took a new lover—insisting on the formality of a bed rather than a shadowed space in an orchard. Would Aisling be one of them?

He realised that this was madness—that there were a million other women more suitable to take to his bed than this one. She was a good head-hunter and this could impact badly on their professional relationship. Yet for once he failed to heed the note of caution in his head. He wanted her in a way which surprised him. Against her lips, he smiled. He wanted her and he knew how to guarantee that she would be his.

He moved his hand to touch her thigh through the thick material of the denim, feeling her shudder against him.

‘Gianluca?’

The word came out breathlessly against his lips and he heard her uncertainty. Ruthlessly, he moved his fingertips upwards, alighting and burrowing over her mound with irresistible precision, and heard her helpless little moan.

‘You like that too, I think, cara mia,’ he murmured, and now he began to move his hands with accurate sweetness, knowing that the barrier of her jeans was exciting her as much as frustrating her. ‘Don’t you?’

The world tipped on its axis as for one second Aisling really thought she was about to lose it there and then.

‘Don’t you?’ he prompted huskily.

Mutely she nodded her head—words beyond her ability as she clung to him with all the hunger of someone who hadn’t had sex for so long, she’d almost forgotten what to do. But it was more than that, wasn’t it? It was because it was him—her every fantasy personified. ‘Gianluca,’ she moaned.

‘We can’t stay here,’ he ground out.

Again, it was a statement. He was not given to asking permission, Aisling realised weakly—in the same moment realising that she didn’t want him to ask. She wanted him to take control in that masterful and autocratic way of his. Because that will take some of the self-recrimination away—is that why? questioned a mocking voice in her head, but she silenced it.

‘I know,’ she whispered, her answer making her complicit in what they were doing.

Those shaky words were all he needed—and he didn’t realise how much he had been fearing that she would tear herself away from him and let sanity prevail until he heard the rush of pent-up air escape from his lips. The slow seep of anticipation began to ensnare him and, compelled by some primitive instinct, Gianluca did what he had never done before. He picked her up in his arms and carried her up towards the house.

‘Put me down,’ she whispered.

‘No.’

‘I’m much too heavy.’ ‘No. You are perfect.’

It felt like being in a dream, as if she had spent her whole life waiting for just that moment. Cradled in Gianluca’s strong arms with her head resting against his chest in the warmth of the balmy night and a silver moon blazing overhead.

She barely noticed the cool, dim house with its ancient flagstones and its worn stone steps and beautiful old furniture—all she could feel was the pounding of his heart against her body. Gianluca didn’t even put her down once they were inside—instead he began to mount the stairs with Aisling still in his arms. How strong he was, she thought, in admiration and slight bewilderment.

The first moment of panic she knew was when he kicked open a door which revealed a huge bed, its counterpane and cushions covered in some dark, silky material. An unashamedly masculine bed which looked made for seduction—and Aisling suddenly wondered what he would expect of her in return. Would she let herself down with her relative inexperience?

Her tongue snaked out over bone-dry lips. ‘Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,’ she whispered.

He had been expecting this, but it didn’t stop him from laying her down on the bed as carefully as if she had been composed entirely of something fragile. He smoothed a stray tendril of hair from her cheek, his black eyes suddenly serious. ‘Oh, yes, it is,’ he affirmed softly. ‘It is the best idea I’ve ever had.’

And then he bent over her and kissed her with a different kind of kiss from the one beneath the tree—it was all soft and tender and stomach-melting—the kind of kiss which said: Trust me. Could she? More importantly, could she trust herself not to read anything more into this than what it really was? If she was prepared to accept reality for just this once, then she would be safe.

Gianluca felt another unexpected kick of something which seemed to exceed mere desire as her arms looped up behind his neck and her lips parted as she stared up at him in silent invitation. Her dark hair was fanned out against the gleaming backdrop of the bed, the filmy top outlining her amazing breasts and her denim-clad legs splayed out in careless abandon.

His lips began to graze over her eyelids. ‘Do you know how beautiful you look tonight, cara?’

‘Seriously?’ she questioned uncertainly, guessing that this was what he said to every woman he took to his bed. But it unsettled her. She might have scrubbed up well tonight, but no way was she beautiful.

‘Oh, yes.’ He felt her tense and his hand cupped her breast until he felt her nipple peak against his palm and he wanted to say to her—Why the hell don’t you dress like this normally? Except to say that risked bringing work into the bedroom and destroying the enchantment.

So instead, he whispered to her in Italian, telling her that she was much too beautiful to hide her hair and body away—allowing himself the luxury of knowing that she could not understand anything he was saying. So there was no chance his words could be misinterpreted … only their sensual tone would be taken on board.

He felt the apprehension begin to leave her as he told her that her hair was as dark as the night and that she looked like a sorceress. He told her that her body was everything a woman’s body should be, and as he tugged off the jeans he realised that he had been right. Madonna mia, but she was a Venus! It was true that her lingerie was a little on the plain side, but he wasn’t intending that she wear it for very much longer.

‘Gianluca,’ she breathed as he slid off her panties and tossed them aside to join the other garments on the floor. And suddenly the uncertainty began to dissolve with the sure caress of his fingers against her nakedness and his murmured words.

He was just so gorgeous, and he was making her feel gorgeous—and hadn’t she been nurturing a fantasy about this man from the very first moment she’d met him? Reaching up, she burrowed her fingers beneath his silken shirt, feeling the flat, hard planes of his torso and the rough texture of the hair which grew there.

‘Sì, touch me,’ he urged, and closed his eyes as she began to unbuckle his belt, as he had prayed she might. ‘Do not be shy, cara. Ah, sì—touch me right there.’

The momentary inhibition Aisling felt at the formidable length of him against her palm was soon banished by the groan of pleasure he made and now she felt powerful. Equal. Because she wanted this, too.

She wanted it enough to forget everything but the potent strength of her own desire, which had her tugging off his jeans and hearing his low laugh until suddenly they were both naked, their bodies and limbs entangling, and Aisling gave a little cry of delight.

Gianluca kissed her and touched her until she cried out for him to take her and that made him laugh and kiss her some more. ‘Shall I make you wait?’ he teased.

‘Don’t you dare!’

‘Or, what?’

‘Or … this …’

She took her hand away from where it had been playing with him and he groaned, even while he wriggled with pleasure. So the cool and contained ice-maiden was melting, was she? Inside she was as hot and as sexy as any woman he’d ever made love to. He moved over her, brushing aside a few wild strands of dark hair, kissing the tip of her nose, and suddenly he was overcome with a need to make love to her.

‘Aisling?’ he said unsteadily. ‘You are protected?’

As Aisling shook her head he groaned and reached for some protection, stroking it on with shaking and impatient fingers and then moving over her once more.

There was that split-second before he entered her which somehow felt as intimate as anything could be. She wanted to tell him that she never normally did this kind of thing, that this was special, but she sensed that it would be inappropriate. As if she was expecting too much from it.

And besides, Gianluca was too aroused to be able to hear anything and so she just drew him down to her, wrapping her arms possessively around his bare back, wanting him closer than close—on her and in her and … ‘This is …’

‘I know it is,’ he groaned as he delayed for one more blissful and agonising second. ‘Il settimo cielo.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘It means that it feels like heaven. That you feel like heaven.’ And then he thrust into her—slow and hard and deep—enjoying the cry of delight which was torn from her lips as they moved in the act of life itself.

Again and again, he brought her to the edge—teasing her into writhing submission until suddenly he knew that he could wait no longer. He bent his mouth to her nipple, his teeth grazing against the sensitised bud, so that her nails gripped into the flesh of his shoulders when at last she tumbled over the edge and he winced with the heady combination of pleasure and pain before he climaxed himself.

They lay there, tight together, moist bodies mingling as their breathing and their hearts slowed, and as a delicious torpor began to creep over him he lifted his arm up to glance at his watch and swore very softly.

Sleepily, Aisling lifted her head. ‘Is something … wrong?’

He yawned and shrugged. ‘I’m not exactly behaving like host of the year, am I?’ he murmured. ‘We’ll stay here for a while, but then we really ought to get back to the party, cara.’ But the temptation of a goose-down heap of pillows and a warm, naked body next to his was just too much to resist and Gianluca fell asleep—a naked thigh spread carelessly against the curve of her hip, one hand lying lightly just above her waist, a few stray tendrils of hair like silk bonds against his skin.

Aisling must have slept too, because when she awoke she felt both disorientated and yet utterly contented. Her limbs felt heavy and her body warm and replete—its sticky heat and the tingling sensation of her skin reminding her of … of …

Her eyes flew open and she experienced a momentary feeling of sheer, blind panic as she realised just where she was.

And with whom!

She swallowed. It couldn’t be. She must have dreamt it. Please may this be a dream.

But then she heard the sound of a small sigh and the stirring of a body beside her and she knew that it was no dream.

Scarcely daring to breathe, she carefully turned her head to look at the figure on the bed next to her, as if seeking visual reassurance that she had really just slept with her client.

In sleep, Gianluca’s face was much softer. The ruffled hair and dark sweep of his lashes made him seem a million miles away from the high-powered executive with the restless nature and rather cruel smile. For one mad moment she almost gave into the overwhelming desire to lower her head and to whisper her lips along the olive silk of his bare shoulder and to move her body over his, until a wave of reason washed over her like a cold shower, bringing her to her senses.

In the air was the sense of utter silence which told Aisling that it must now be the middle of the night—and, apart from the dawning realisation of what she had done, something else jarred at her conscience.

Jason!

Aisling froze. She had brought her young assistant to a party in the middle of nowhere and she had disappeared halfway through without a word, in order to sleep with their host!

A tiny moan escaped from her lips before she could stop it and the figure beside her stirred again. Aisling hastily clamped her lips shut. She needed to think. To decide on a plan of action—or rather a damage-limitation plan.

Ruthlessly, she quelled the aching in her heart and the wistful little voice in her head which kept telling her how wonderful it had been. Maybe it had, but it should never have happened—and whether she blamed the wine or the moonlight or her longstanding infatuation with him, none of that mattered. It had happened—that was the only thing which counted, and now she had to get out of here. She ran through the options in her mind.

If she waited until morning, then not only would she have the embarrassment of facing Gianluca, but also of facing however many staff he had working here. How the hell would that look? She bit her lip as she remembered him introducing her to his old nanny last night and that nice local lawyer. It would look exactly what it was—that she had behaved like a tramp! And then she remembered Gianluca looking at his watch after they’d made love and saying that they really ought to get back to the party.

Now that didn’t sound like the behaviour of a man who wanted to eke out every last moment or lie around stroking her face and telling her that it had been wonderful, did it? No, it sounded exactly what it was—that she had presented him with an opportunity for seduction and he had seized it like the red-blooded man he was.

But what did she do now? And where the hell was Jason? Had he taken the chauffeur-driven car back to Rome or was he asleep in one of the bedrooms of this large house?

With all the stealth of a cat-burglar, Aisling wriggled slowly from beneath the muscular body of Gianluca—but he was so deeply asleep that she was able to extricate herself and her clothes and handbag and slip from the room without him waking. She found a bathroom down the corridor and as silently as possible scrambled into her underwear and jeans and tugged on her top. Then she pulled her mobile from her back pocket and found two text messages there from Jason.

‘Where are you?’ read the first. ‘Gone back 2 Rome. C U on flight 2moro?’ said the second.

Aisling breathed a sigh of relief. At least Jason wasn’t stranded out here as well—which meant that she didn’t have to worry about finding him.

The question was how she intended getting back to Rome in order to guarantee catching her early morning flight and putting as much distance between her and Gianluca as possible. Surely that was the best possible scenario—allowing them both the dignity of pretending it had never happened.

If only she weren’t stranded.

But then Aisling remembered Gianluca’s entrance in the gleaming sports car and an idea began to slowly grow in her mind. A plan so unlike what the usual cool and careful Aisling would have devised that it made her realise just how much her senses were spinning. But not enough to stop her thinking it through.

What was to stop her borrowing his car to get back to Rome? He was bound to have a satellite-navigation system to guide her to the city—and the roads would be empty at this time. He’d easily be able to find another form of transport.

She bit her lip. True, he wouldn’t be best pleased that she’d taken his car without asking—but it wouldn’t be the first rule of etiquette she’d broken. Sleeping with the boss without him ever having taken her on a date was right up there with the major social no-nos.

It might be completely out of character, but so what? Things couldn’t really get much worse. Her contract with Palladio’s would inevitably be over after this—so what did she have to lose? And what the hell would Suzy, her partner, have to say about that?

Her cheeks burning with remorse, Aisling crept back into Gianluca’s bedroom, breathing a sigh of relief as she located his car keys in the back pocket of his discarded jeans and carefully extracted them—and still he slept on.

She stole towards the front door and her heart pounded with guilt and she quietly took from her bag a pen and a postcard of the Trevi fountain, which she’d never got around to posting. Silently, she wrote: ‘I’ve borrowed your car—will leave it at your office.’

And then she hesitated. How should she end it? Love Aisling?

No.

Just her name, then?

No. Just stick to facts and fade away into the dawn. Propping the note onto a small table, she gave a wry smile. Why, he might even thank her for it. They would both be spared the embarrassment of the morning after. The long, shared journey back to the city, heavy with awkward silences. Not that she’d ever had a one-night stand—but from everything she’d read, she knew it wasn’t the best way to earn his respect or admiration.

But it wasn’t until she was out on the open road, being guided by the rather spooky robotic female voice of the satnav system and heading towards Rome that she dared to put her foot down, her heart sinking with the horror of what she’d done as the sun began to rise high over the Umbrian hills.