Secret Heirs And A Forever Family

‘Stop biting your lip,’ he said, his voice a low husky croak he barely recognised as his own.

‘Dario! Don’t speak to me like that.’

He wrapped his hands around her upper arms and hauled her to him.

Her eyes popped even wider as his heat and hardness rubbed against her naked belly through confining denim.

Then all coherent thought fled as his lips landed on succulent skin and his hands captured the lush curves that had finally pushed him over the edge into madness.

Megan sucked in a shocked gasp, the pulse point in her neck battering her collarbone as Dario bent his head to press his mouth to her neck.

Everything burst inside her, all the hopes and needs and wants that had been escalating for days.

Pulling free of his controlling hands, she plunged her fingers into his thick hair, and dragged his face up.

He wanted her too. She hadn’t imagined it. She hadn’t.

The truth felt like a sunbeam, bursting inside her, as hunger darkened his hot blue eyes to black.

‘Kiss me,’ she demanded.

His tongue thrust into her mouth as he massaged her bottom, notching the apex of her thighs against the mammoth ridge in his jeans.

She almost wept for joy, kissing him back for all she was worth, her heart ready to explode right out of her chest.

He held her easily, forcing that thick ridge against the one place where she needed it the most. A guttural moan seemed to reverberate in her chest. Was that her or him? Did she even care?

The pleasure mounted, her whole body on fire now, her melting core seizing into greedy knots of desperation, coiling tighter and tighter.

She wanted him inside her, but before she could think or talk or even respond the wave crashed over her in one titanic surge of pure unadulterated bliss.

She tore her mouth from his, her broken cry shattering the harsh grunts of his breathing.

He swore suddenly and let her go, his eyes still turbulent with need. But instead of taking her back into his arms the way she wanted, the way she was desperate for him to do, he looked stunned.

‘Don’t stop,’ she begged. ‘Please don’t stop.’

Her chin and cheek stung from the rough abrasion of his stubble. Her whole body shuddered from the force and fury of the spontaneous orgasm.

‘I should not have touched you,’ he said, his voice brittle.

‘Why not?’ What was he talking about? ‘I wanted you to,’ she added, in case he hadn’t realised it. But surely he must have realised it. She’d had a climax from little more than a kiss, for goodness’ sake.

She felt herself flush at the gaucheness of that. But she refused to care. Why should she be embarrassed by her wildfire response to this man? They were a couple, engaged to be married.

He raked his hands through his hair and took another step back. Why did he look so tortured? ‘This cannot happen.’

‘Why not?’

‘I…’ He hesitated, and for the first time ever he seemed unsure of what to say. ‘I could have hurt you. I should not have put my hands on you.’

Oh, for—Not that again.

Temper, rich and fluid, and surprising in its intensity, rose up. ‘I’m not made of glass, Dario. And I’m going to be your wife. I want your hands on me.’

He stared at her, as if he were lost for words. She could see the huge erection outlined by battered denim. Then he said, ‘You have bruises still.’

‘No, I don’t. You can see, they’re as good as gone.’

His gaze went all glassy again, before he suddenly jerked his head up.

‘I smell,’ he said, his voice a harsh croak now. ‘I must wash off the scent of the fish.’

‘You smell of the sea. And of you. Both scents that I love.’ As much as she must love him in order to have agreed to marry him. Did he doubt her commitment to him? Was that it? Because she couldn’t remember why and how she had fallen for him? But how could she know if he would share nothing of himself with her? Not even his body.

‘Please don’t do this,’ she said, determined to find out why he was so reluctant to repair what seemed to be broken between them. ‘Don’t shut yourself off from me.’

She reached out a hand, wanting to stroke that rigid cheek, to reassure him. But he jerked back, out of reach.

‘I must go and shower. I will be out this evening.’

‘Why? Where are you going?’ she asked, trying to stifle the bitter stab of rejection. And hurt.

‘I have important business to discuss with Matteo Caldone, a local farmer… A new irrigation system. I will eat when I return, but don’t wait for me.’

Before she could get in a word of objection, or shout at him that she did not want to wait any longer, he had marched past her and headed up to the house.

She stood by the pool, stunned by the encounter. But as she dug her teeth into her lip she remembered that flash of pure unadulterated need that had darkened his eyes to black before he’d swooped down on her, and she realised one incontrovertible truth.

The only way to bridge the huge chasm that had opened up between them was to get Dario back into her bed. Everything else would surely follow. Because wasn’t that how they’d fallen in love in the first place? Through their shared passion for each other?

And if their mad kiss a minute ago had proved one thing above all others, it was that Dario De Rossi still wanted her as much as she wanted him.

All she had to do now was make him admit it.

There would be no more polite requests. No more sitting meekly every evening while he directed the conversation, staying obediently in the villa all day or standing silently while he gave her that one peck on the forehead and left her alone for another night.

The only way Dario would ever see her as an equal, the only way he would ever open up to her, was if she started behaving like an equal. And started demanding that he satisfy the hunger that was eating them both up inside.

No way was she going to let him run off to yet another crucially important meeting. A crucially important meeting she was fairly sure he had made up on the spot.

Rushing over to her bag, she stuffed everything inside. She dashed across the pool terrace and headed towards the villa.

Time’s up, Dario. You’re not running away from me again.

* * *

It took her ten minutes to find his suite of rooms in the opposite wing of the villa from hers. Rooms she had never been invited to. That was going to stop too. What was the point of her being here, if they spent no time together? She wanted to know everything about him—all the things she must have discovered that first night in order to have agreed to this engagement, but which she had forgotten about because of her accident.

She passed through a simply furnished but beautifully appointed office, equipped with all the things necessary to run a multinational business. That he’d had all this equipment installed in a holiday home gave her pause for a moment. Dario was a workaholic. But she had no idea why he was so driven.

Shouldn’t she know about these parts of his life? She wanted to know why he couldn’t settle, and what had turned him into a man so determined to succeed that he could never take a break.

She found the door to his bedroom closed. She knocked but there was no answer.

Gathering her courage, she pushed the door open.

A bed even bigger than her own stood in the centre of the room, but it had none of the romantic flourishes of hers. It suited him, she decided. The open shutters on high windows afforded him a glorious view of the cliff tops and the path leading towards the harbour. The room was enormous, but Dario was nowhere in sight.

Had he left already? Had she missed him?

But then she jumped at the sound of splashing water coming from a door in the far wall. She noticed a pile of clothes that had been discarded in a heap on the floor.

Her throat thickened, the eddying heat making the skimpy bikini feel tight and restrictive on her swollen breasts.

He was in the shower. Should she go and join him?

Vague memories of him naked and fully aroused, the muscle and sinew slicked with water from a different shower, blasted into her brain.

Don’t overthink this. Just do it.

She knotted the summer wrap around her waist, and inched open the bathroom door.

Her breathing hitched, her heartbeat thudding against her ribs. The hot melting sensation detonated between her thighs and spread throughout her body like hot lava. Her knees shook, the sight before her bringing the dragon in her belly to scorching life.

Dario stood ten feet away in the walled shower, naked, with his back to her, the pounding of multiple jets of water meaning he hadn’t heard her come in.

He had one hand braced against the mosaic tiles, his head bent, obviously concentrating on what his other hand was doing. Steaming water slicked down bunching muscles, making her throat close the rest of the way.

His masculine beauty was so breathtaking, each hard plane and muscular bulge so perfectly sculpted, it staggered her.

He was pleasuring himself. Heat flushed through her. Had their kiss done that to him?

What a waste.

‘Dario?’

His head whipped round and the hot blue gaze locked on her face. His motions stopped. He turned as his hand fell away and her gaze dropped to the huge erection standing proud against his belly.

‘You should leave,’ he said, but the command in his voice was tempered by the rasp of longing.

She shook her head, unable to speak. Or move. Everything inside her gathered into that harsh, aching desperation to feel the thick length buried deep inside her again. Because the one thing she could remember with complete clarity was how glorious he could make her feel.

He turned fully now, allowing her to look her fill. He was magnificent. Moisture pooled in her sex, dampening her bikini bottoms.

‘If you do not leave, I will have you,’ he said, his voice so husky she could barely hear it against the beat of the water. ‘Is that what you want?’

‘Yes.’ She found the strength from somewhere, even though her whole body was trembling now with desire and longing.

He nodded, his jaw hardening. His eyes took on a harsh glint that was both terrifying and exhilarating in its intensity. ‘Then prove it to me.’

Wrapping long fingers around the hard shaft, he stroked himself—not fast this time, but with agonising slowness. The erotic display was almost more than she could bear.

‘Take off your clothes for me,’ he said, the tone harsh with demand.

Undoing the knot on the belt with clumsy fingers, she obeyed him without question. The wrap slid off her shoulders, the silk feeling like sandpaper as it whispered over her sensitive skin.

‘All of it.’ The commanding tone tightened the desire in her gut. ‘I want you naked.’

She reached behind to undo the hook—unable to deny him now even if she had wanted to. The scarlet triangles dropped from her breasts, and the swollen, tender flesh burst free from its confinement. The breeze from the open window tightened her nipples into hard, aching peaks.

He dipped his head, still stroking that huge erection, to indicate she must lose the bikini bottoms too.

She plucked the tie on one side, and the fabric dropped away.

She couldn’t breathe—anticipation warring with panic—as he finally released his erection and turned off the water. Wrapping a towel around his hips, he walked towards her.

Gripping her face, he forced her gaze to meet his and stroked his thumb across her cheek. ‘Are you scared of me, piccola?’ he said.

The nickname stirred a new memory of their first time. She had been a little scared then, of his size and what was to come, but she wasn’t scared now.

‘No,’ she said.

‘Then why are you shaking?’

‘Because I want you so much,’ she said, knowing if there was one thing she was sure about, this was it.

He swore, but then said, ‘I want you too. Very much.’

Bending, he scooped her up and carried her quaking body out of the bathroom and into his bedroom. Another memory assailed her, of being in his arms before. Of being carried up the stairs in his penthouse… Bright, exciting, arousing. But something darker tickled at the edges of her mind. Not in his penthouse, but her apartment, the crunch of broken glass under his feet…

The shadow she had been avoiding lurched into view and she slammed the door shut on that memory.

Don’t go there. Concentrate on the wonder of now.

Placing her on the bed, he dragged off the towel, releasing that magnificent erection. Reaching past her, he found a condom in the bedside cabinet and rolled it on.

She folded her arms over her breasts as he climbed onto the bed.

‘Don’t hide from me, Megan.’ He moved her arms above her head, bracketing her wrists in one hand.

She cried out as he circled one swollen peak with his tongue, then nipped at the tip. The exquisite spike of sensation darted down to her already molten sex.

He played with her breasts, circling and sucking, releasing her wrists to stroke her slick folds.

Her moans turned to sobs of need, deep and guttural, almost animalistic as he circled and caressed, right at the heart of her.

He raised his head, releasing her tortured nipples, his erection prominent against her thigh. ‘I must taste you. It has been too long,’ he said.

‘Yes,’ she heard herself beg, not sure if he was asking her permission but desperate for him to know he had it.

Parting her thighs, he held her bottom, then knelt between her legs and lifted her. She arched, offering herself to him as his stubble brushed against her inner thigh. His hot tongue licked at the heart of her, delving and exploring.

Her sobs turned to ragged pants, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter. His mouth found the pulsating nub at last and suckled hard.

She cried out his name as she shattered, the orgasm crashing over her in undulating waves.

He licked her through the last drops of her climax, as if gathering her taste. Then he let her go, to settle on top of her. Capturing her hips, he thrust deep in one shuddering glide. She stretched for him, the pleasure returning in a titanic rush as he rocked her back to orgasm with staggering speed.

His hands anchored her, forcing her to take the full measure of him. His penis butting that perfect spot he had found once before. The second orgasm swept through her, obliterating everything in its path—the trail of fire searing through her from her head to the tips of her toes. She clung to his shoulders, her broken sobs matched by his shout of release as he followed her over at last.

It felt like a month but could only have been a few seconds before she returned to her senses, every part of her aching with the exhaustion of a body well used.

He shifted, still so huge inside her. And then lifted his head.

Why did he look so guarded? Surely he must know he’d just given her a multiple orgasm.

‘You are okay?’ he asked. As if he really didn’t know.

‘Are you kidding?’ she said, even though she could see he was deadly serious. ‘I’m spectacular.’

The deep chuckle—although slightly strained—was like music to her ears.

‘Are you sure I did not hurt you?’ he murmured.

‘I told you, I’m not fragile,’ she said. ‘I love having sex with you. I really, really love it.’

His eyes narrowed, but the shadows retreated as he cradled her cheek and then kissed her nose.

‘Ditto,’ he said. Then he rolled off her.

She felt the loss of his warmth, his heat, immediately. Was this the moment when he told her he had to leave, to go to his irrigation ditch meeting? She was all ready to protest, to finally demand that he stay with her for the rest of the day. But instead of getting out of the bed, he hauled her close, wrapping his arms round her, and tucking her against his body, her back to his front.

She could feel the hard length of him nestled against her backside.

‘You’re not leaving to go to the lemon farm?’ she asked tentatively, afraid to remind him of the engagement.

‘It is an orange farm. But no, not tonight,’ he said.

He leaned over her to grab his smartphone off the bedside table. Then keyed in a text.

Snuggling against her back, he nibbled kisses along her shoulder. Incredibly, after that shattering orgasm—make that two shattering orgasms—she felt the sleeping dragon wake again in her belly.

‘Are you hungry?’ he asked.

Talk about a loaded question.

‘Yes,’ she said.

‘What are you hungry for?’ he asked, and she could hear the smile in his voice.

‘For food and for you, not necessarily in that order.’

The deep chuckle reverberated against her, sending a ripple down her spine as he cupped her breast and played with the nipple. The arrows of sensation shot straight back to her still tender sex.

‘Sofia will leave us food in the kitchen for later. But first you must rest.’

The tenderness in his voice, and the feel of his thumb teasing her nipple, made her feel warm and languid, but far too turned on.

‘Why must I?’ she asked.

She didn’t want to sleep. She’d had over ten days to sleep and now she finally had him where she wanted him, why would she waste time sleeping?

‘Because you will need your strength for what I plan to do to you next.’

She shifted around, so she could look over her shoulder to gauge his expression. ‘Really? You’re going to make love to me again?’ She could hear the eagerness in her voice and hoped she didn’t sound like a nymphomaniac. But already the renewed stirrings of hunger in her belly were becoming unbearable.

Clearly satisfaction was a relative term, and, when it came to Dario De Rossi, she might never be satisfied.

He sighed against her hair. ‘I have no choice. My will is not my own any more.’

It seemed a strange thing to say. Why would he choose not to make love to her, when he now had conclusive proof she was fully recovered from her accident?

Before she had the chance to debate the puzzling thought, or ask any of the many other questions that had tormented her about him, his hand slid off her hip, and sure seeking fingers found her sex, blasting into oblivion everything but the renewed surge of longing.

CHAPTER TWELVE

‘CAN I ASK you a question?’ Megan’s eyes brightened, her voice eager, as she laid Sofia’s antipasti onto an earthenware platter.

It was late, and Dario was ravenous. Unfortunately, it wasn’t just for the array of cold food his housekeeper had left out for them.

How could he still want her? When he’d spent the last six hours with her in his arms—none of it catching up on the sleep he had lost in the last week.

He tore off chunks of the sesame seed bread Sofia made fresh each morning and added it to their midnight feast.

‘You may ask,’ he said, reserving the right to refuse her, the anticipation in her eyes making him instantly wary. He should never have touched her. He had promised himself he wouldn’t. But ultimately he had been unable to stop himself from taking what she offered so eagerly. And now he would have to pay the consequences—by finding a way to deflect her curiosity again, without feeling like a bastard.

‘There are so many things I want to ask you about that night.’

Dario carried the platter and their glasses to the moonlit terrace, the fresh scent of sea air and citrus fruit doing nothing to appease the clutching sensation in his gut.

Was her memory about to return at last? Perhaps the sex had finally jogged something loose?

‘What do you wish to know?’ he asked, cautiously.

Lloyd Whittaker had been charged and arraigned, thanks to Katie’s testimony. He had been refused bail and would be standing trial in a few months. Megan hadn’t mentioned him though, not since she had woken up in the hospital—convincing Dario her memory loss was centred exclusively on her father. If she asked about him now, it would surely mean her mind was finally healing as well as her body. But as she sat down opposite him at the table and began to serve them both from the platter, her vibrant hair the colour of rich red flames in the light from the citronella candles, he didn’t feel as pleased at the prospect of her memory returning as he should.

Here was a chance to finally end this charade. To free them both from the obligations brought about by Whittaker’s attack and Megan’s subsequent amnesia.

But as he watched her tuck into Sofia’s verdure misti—clearly considering what she wanted to ask very carefully—his mind spun back through the events of the past week. Against all the odds, and despite the knife-edge of sexual frustration that had been driving him insane for days, he had looked forward to seeing her each evening.

At last she looked up from her plate. The sheen of olive oil on her lips made them look even more kissable than usual. Dario licked his own lips.

This was just sexual desire, nothing more. His hunger for her was clouding his usually crystal-clear judgment. Anything she wanted to know he would be happy to tell her—because it would bring her memory back sooner and that was what he wanted.

‘Would you tell me about yourself?’ she said.

Anything except that.

His shoulders tightened. ‘What do you wish to know?’ he said, stalling.

She smiled shyly, the subtle shift of her lips as sexy as it was beguiling. ‘Everything. All the things you told me that night about your hopes and dreams and where they came from.’

‘But I told you nothing.’ He never talked about his past, his childhood, because it had no part in who he was now. He’d made absolutely sure of that, erasing all but the most basic facts about his life from the media narrative of his success.

‘Don’t be silly.’ She seemed amused at his attempt to correct her. ‘You must have told me something for me to have fallen in love with you.’

The happy expression on her face made his heart kick against his chest in hard, heavy thuds.

They weren’t in love. He had never loved anyone—not since… He shut down the thought.

‘I expect I told you loads of stuff too,’ she added in that effortlessly optimistic tone. As if love were something you would want, instead of something that would only hurt you. ‘But I can’t seem to remember that either. So you’re going to have to help me remember.’

But there is nothing to remember.

‘I don’t know what you would want to know,’ he said, still stalling.

‘Then how about I ask you all the things I’m curious about now, because that’s probably what I asked before?’

He didn’t know how to reply to that, but she didn’t really give him much of an opportunity before she had launched into her first question. ‘The article in Forbes said you grew up in Rome.’

‘I grew up outside Rome, in one of the government-funded housing projects constructed for the Roma community,’ he said, reluctantly. The snap of bitterness in his voice that he couldn’t control, though, surprised him.

He’d realised a long time ago that the experience of waking up to the scrabble of rats outside the trailer window and the sound of his own teeth chattering during winters in the slum, or the fetid smell of rotting trash and effluent from the urinals that marked the summer months, were the very experiences that had driven his need to succeed. He’d long ago come to terms with the terrible privations of his childhood. He wasn’t embarrassed or ashamed of his origins, but still he had no desire to revisit that time in his life.

‘You’re of Roma descent? That’s amazing,’ she said, as if this were something to be proud of.

He frowned. Didn’t she know that the Roma people had been treated like the scum of Europe—ghettoised and vilified, their way of life stigmatised for generations?