Priceless: Bought for the Sicilian Billionaire's Bed / Bought: The Greek's Baby

CHAPTER SEVEN

THE front door closed behind them and Jessica stared at Salvatore, unsure of what to do next—out of her depth in a situation like this and weak and dizzy with the sensations which were sizzling over her skin.

She was vaguely aware that Salvatore’s apartment was enormous and that there was the indefinable scent of luxury in the air, but luxury was the last thing on her mind as she gazed up at the man in front of her, wondering if this could really be happening to her. Her gorgeous boss staring down at her with the unmistakable look of sexual hunger on his face. What on earth did she do next?

Salvatore cupped her face in between both his hands, one thumb brushing against the pulse which fluttered furiously by the paper-thin skin at her temple. ‘You are scared.’

It was an observation rather than a question and it sounded almost gentle. Jessica nodded. ‘A little.’

‘Am I to take it that you don’t do this kind of thing very often?’

She shook her head. ‘Never,’ she whispered, slightly hurt that he should ask. And yet, who could blame him for asking—she hadn’t exactly played hard to get, had she? Hadn’t even stopped to think what she was getting into. ‘Look, Salvatore, maybe this is crazy—’

But she got no further, for he had lowered his lips to brush against hers and his touch was intoxicating.

‘No,’ he murmured, breathing in her perfume. ‘Not crazy at all. Perfetto. Perfect. It will be perfect—believe me, Jessica. Now let us get out of this inhospitable hall and go somewhere where we can be more at ease with one another.’

He laced her fingers with his and led her along a seemingly endless corridor, but inside Jessica’s heart was racing. At ease, he had said, and yet she had never felt so nervous in her life. He was so confident, so sure of his own sexual power to assure her that this would be ‘perfetto’—but didn’t he realise that he was dealing with someone who, while not a complete novice, wasn’t exactly seasoned in the ways of making love?

Should she tell him so? And what could she say—that she was afraid she would disappoint him and was completely out of his league? Like a small, scruffy pony used to transporting schoolchildren round a field who had suddenly dared compete with a long-legged and aristocratic racehorse in the biggest race of the season?

But her throat was frozen as he led her into the biggest bedroom she’d ever seen, and no words of protest came.

She was aware of highly polished floors strewn with beautiful faded rugs in different, muted colours. A silk-covered bed dominated a room which was big enough to accommodate a sofa and a couple of chairs, as well. An arched area led to a large study and she could see big pots crammed with amazing scarlet flowers and dark glossy foliage.

‘Ah, Jessica,’ Salvatore murmured as he drew her into his arms and stroked a tumble of shiny hair from her face. ‘You look as though you are about to be thrown to the lions.’

‘D-do I?’

‘Mmm. Shall I be your lion? Your big, fierce lion?’ his lips whispered to her neck. ‘And shall I eat you up, every little bit of you, cara mia—would you like that?’

‘Salvatore!’ she exclaimed, but now she was trembling.

He smiled as he heard the faint shock in her voice, but deep down Salvatore approved of her lack of sophistication. Her relative innocence and reluctance were a welcome change from the lovers he had known in the past.

Unless it was all an act. A wide-eyed sham to make him ‘respect’ her more.

Pulling her a little closer, Salvatore skated his hands over her breasts and heard her breath quicken. Even if it was a sham—what did it matter? In the end, this was nothing but a temporary pursuit. Something to be enjoyed by both of them—and as long as she was fully aware of the rules, then nobody would get hurt …

He glanced down at her. Tonight she was wearing a purple silk dress with tiny buttons all the way down the front, which he began to undo, one by one.

‘So many buttons! Did you wear this to deliberately tantalise me?’ he teased.

Jessica could barely think, let alone speak, as he began to pop each one open and bare her heated flesh to the cooling wash of air. She had worn it because it was the most suitable thing that Willow had been able to find in her wardrobe.

His finger brushed along the edge of her bra—a plain and functional bra, he noted with an element of disapproval. But maybe there would be a lick of lace beneath.

‘Salvatore,’ she whispered, because by now the dress was open to her stomach, and he had bent down and was kissing her there—flicking his tongue into the gentle dip of her navel so that she gasped aloud and clutched at his broad shoulders.

And Salvatore gave a low laugh of delight. ‘What is it, cara mia?’ he questioned, his breath warm against her skin.

She wanted to tell him that she was terrified she would disappoint him, but no words came. ‘I … I … ’

‘Just relax,’ he murmured. ‘Enjoy it.’

Somehow she did as he said, forgetting everything except the pleasure he was giving her as his tongue tracked slowly and erotically down over her belly. Desire began to grip at her in a way she had not experienced before. She felt it gathering pace, like a snowball getting bigger as you rolled it in fresh snow. She wanted him to … to …

But he didn’t. The last button freed, he straightened up to slide the shirt-dress away from her narrow shoulders, so that she was left aching and hungry for him.

Salvatore saw the disappointment on her face and sensed her growing frustration, but he took his time. It was always best for the woman the first time if you made her wait. His eyes flicked over her. Despite her surprisingly expensive dress, her underwear was as disappointing as it had promised to be, plain and functional, her panties obscured by a hideous pair of tights. She would not wear those again, he thought grimly. ‘Take off my shirt,’ he ordered softly.

And Jessica, who was normally so good with her hands, now found that they would not obey this simple command at all. Had she thought he might take pity on her and remove the garment himself? But he did not. In fact, her struggle with freeing the buttons seemed to please him, until at last she slipped the shirt from his silken olive skin.

She swallowed. His golden-olive torso was formidable with not an ounce of spare flesh to be seen. He was all lean and honed muscle. So gorgeous. Too gorgeous, really. And if he asked her to take his trousers off, she would die.

But he didn’t. He caught her against him, firmly and decisively—tangling his fingers in the thick gloss of her hair. And then he began to kiss her again, until she was soft and melting. He kissed her until her knees started to buckle and her hips began to make their own restless little circling against the formidable hardness of him. And still he kissed her, ignoring the growing clamour of her muffled little pleas for more. Until all her inhibitions had dissolved and she had begun to pluck impatiently at the belt of his trousers.

And only then did he smile, slip his fingers down the front of her panties and touch her with such unerring precision that she gave a loud gasp.

‘Ah, sì,’ he said softly, moving against her sweet heat. ‘Now you are ready for love.’

Her blurred and hungry senses agreed, but his words sent questions dashing round her head. Love? Did this really have anything to do with love? wondered Jessica dazedly as he picked her up and carried her over to the bed. No, of course it didn’t. Love was a word used to sweeten the act of sex.

She lay and watched him, as clearly he intended her to do. A slow and erotic striptease performed just for her benefit. His hand moved to his belt, and then his zip. He was pulling off his shoes, his socks, his trousers. He was stepping out of dark boxers with lazy elegance and he was aroused. Very aroused.

Their eyes met in one long moment and in that moment Jessica decided that nerves were no longer going to freeze her, because what would be the point of that? She was here and she was damned well going to enjoy every second of it. Every second of him.

‘C-come to bed,’ she said shakily.

He laughed softly as he joined her on the bed and she reached for him.

‘You are hungry for me, little one?’

‘I’m absolutely starving, if you must know!’

‘Well, then—come here.’ With one slick movement he removed her bra, then turned his attention to her naked breasts, first with his eyes and then letting his lips roam over their hard pink tips. He licked her, felt her shiver. ‘Mmm. You taste of honey, and desire. You taste good.’

And his words made her feel good—so good that she wanted to throw inhibition to the wind. Shyly, she reached down to stroke him, feeling him jerk beneath her hand.

For one second, Salvatore stilled as something in her tentative gesture made a warning bell sound deep in his subconscious. He laid one hand over the fingers which lay so intimately over his flesh, mentally gearing himself up for a scenario which had only just occurred to him. And wondering how he could have been so stupid. For had not one of his beloved cousins been trapped by a woman in such a way?

‘Please tell me you are not a virgin?’ he demanded, his voice suddenly harsh.

Jessica didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Did that mean he equated her fumbling with a complete lack of experience? ‘No, of course I’m not. Would it matter if I was?’

He took his hand away and moved over her, stroking her hair away from her face. ‘Of course it would matter! But it is not important. Not now. Only this matters. This … ’

And he blocked all words and thoughts with his lips. For a moment Jessica struggled against the wall of pleasure which was beginning to build, her thoughts uneasy as something in his attitude troubled her, though she wasn’t quite sure what.

Quickly concern gave way to pleasure—how could it not, when Salvatore was the most wonderful lover imaginable? He kissed every inch of her body, she had never known that a man could find so much delight in the discovery of flesh alone.

‘You like that?’ he questioned silkily as his tongue found a particularly vulnerable area.

‘I …’ Jessica shut her eyes and shuddered. ‘I … ’

‘Tell me,’ he urged.

‘No one has ever done that to me before,’ she breathed.

‘And this?’

‘Oh, Salvatore,’ she whispered. ‘Yes.’

He took her along familiar pathways of delight and to his astonishment discovered that, for him, she was the perfect lover. So it was not a sham after all. She was not a virgin, but neither was she particularly accomplished. Inexperienced but not innocent—perfetto.

But she was also very sweet. Too sweet really, he thought wryly, as she pulled his head towards her and showered him with tiny kisses which made him tingle with delight. Did she not know that a woman should always hold something back in order to completely entrance a man?

‘Jessica,’ he said, in a voice which was suddenly unsteady, and he could wait no longer, he reached for protection as she writhed beneath him.

‘Yes, now,’ she whispered. ‘Now.’

‘Then damned well keep still for a minute!’

‘I c-can’t.’

‘Neither can I,’ he groaned as he thrust into her. ‘Mia tesoro.’

It was amazing. She was amazing—and he couldn’t work out why. Was it her eagerness to please him? Her breathless pleasure as she worked out what made him moan with delight? Or her sheer joy when the first orgasm rocked her small, curvy body and she clung to him, choking out her pleasure and a few broken syllables which sounded a bit like his name?

Afterwards, Salvatore collapsed back against the disarray of pillows, his skin sweat-sheened, his heart racing like a piston as he stared at the ceiling, gasping for breath, like a man who had been pulled out of the water just before he drowned.

And Jessica snuggled up to him, resting her silky head in the crook of his arm as if that was the place she most wanted to be.

‘Mmm,’ she sighed. ‘That was … bliss.’

A habitual post-lovemaking wariness began to creep over him. He was going to have to be very honest with her about the limitations of an affair with him—but surely she was sensible enough to recognise that there could be no future in this?

‘Mmm.’ He yawned, and edged away from her very fractionally. ‘I’m hungry now, aren’t you?’

She wanted to say, Not for food, I’m not—the way she would have done a few minutes ago, when they were making love and she seemed to have been given the most delicious freedom to indulge and tell him about every single one of her secret fantasies.

But something had changed—she could tell. Salvatore had withdrawn from her in more ways than one. It was true that in this bizarre situation she was probably being acutely sensitive, but it was quite clear that his mood towards her had changed, become cooler. What happened now—was she expected to get dressed and just go home?

‘Shall I go and get us something to eat?’ he questioned lazily.

And Jessica hated herself for the overwhelming sense of relief she felt that she wasn’t to be dismissed like a servant. Hated herself even more for just accepting it—for allowing Salvatore to dictate the terms of what happened next.

But how could she do otherwise when she felt so blissfully alive in his arms—as if up until that moment her life had seemed without direction and the whole reason for being born had just been made clear to her?

‘Yes, please,’ she said, forcing herself down from the clouds. She’d barely touched a thing all weekend. She’d been to visit her grandmother, who had asked her if she was sickening for something when Jessica had done the unheard of and refused a slice of her famous lemon drizzle cake. But what could she have said to the much-loved woman who had brought her up after the death of her parents? No, I’ve lost my appetite because I think I’m going to end up in bed with my boss on Tuesday. Wouldn’t that go against everything she’d been taught?

He flicked her an amused glance as he climbed out of bed, gloriously and goldenly assured in his nakedness. ‘Thank heavens for that,’ he murmured. ‘A little loss of appetite in the restaurant was understandable—but I can’t bear women who do sustained starvation as a matter of course.’

‘Er, no. Neither can I.’ Maybe she should pass that nugget of information on to Willow—who, of course, would never believe her. ‘Should I get up?’

His eyes lingered over her. She looked deliciously tousled with her cheeks flushed pink and her grey eyes huge. ‘No. Stay right there. You look enchanting. We’ll have a picnic in bed.’

Once he’d gone, Jessica hurried into the bathroom and tried to tame her hair. Then she got back into bed and rather self-consciously sat there waiting for him until he returned carrying a tray loaded with expensive-looking goodies.

Champagne. Grapes. Some crusty-looking bread. And there was a lovely wooden box containing cheese—as well as a box of dark chocolate.

‘That all looks wonderful,’ she said brightly.

He heard the nerves in her voice and put the tray down and took her into his arms.

‘You’ve brushed your hair,’ he observed softly.

‘Combed it. I borrowed your comb—I hope that was okay?’

Behind the tentative query, he heard a million other questions. From past displays of post-coital neediness, Salvatore knew that this was the most vulnerable time of all for a woman and the best time for ground rules to be laid down.

‘You can borrow anything you like, while you’re here,’ he said easily.

The words should have reassured her, but they did just the opposite. Silently, Jessica acknowledged that she needed to know where she stood. At work, she might just be his office cleaner—but she had just shared his bed. Surely that gave her the right to know what he wanted from her?

‘You asked me a question earlier,’ she said.

Salvatore raised his brows. ‘Which particular question was that?’

‘You asked whether I was a virgin. Why?’

He had been about to trickle a finger from her stomach to the tempting fuzz of hair which lay at the fork of her thighs, but he resisted. If it was the truth she wanted, then he would give it to her. That way he couldn’t be accused of having capitalised on sex to make her agree to something she would later throw back in his face.

‘Because it would make a difference to what happened next,’ he said, and went over to open the bottle—wishing now that he had brought something other than champagne, for that too could be misinterpreted. He said nothing until the liquid had foamed up inside the glasses in a creamy cascade, letting it settle before he topped them up. Then he walked back over to the bed and handed her a glass—though he put his own down on the bedside table, untouched.

‘Thanks.’ Jessica took the drink with a reluctance she hoped didn’t show. It looked like ginger ale, and frankly, she wished it were ginger ale, for suddenly she felt peculiar, sitting naked in this billionaire’s bed, drinking his champagne.

He sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at her. ‘A woman’s virginity is the greatest gift she can give to a man—apart from the children she will one day bear him.’

There were two outrageously old-fashioned concepts here, but for now only one concerned her. ‘So … so what would the problem have been if I had been a virgin?’

He had hoped that she might have been able to work it out for herself without him having to spell it out. But he must—to do otherwise would be deception, and that he could not and would not tolerate.

‘It would have been wasted on me,’ he said softly. ‘If you had been a virgin, I would have sent you away and told you to save that gift for the man you will one day marry.’

‘But—’

‘You see …’ his blue eyes narrowed as he cut across her words, for there must be no misunderstanding on her part ‘… you must understand that I am Sicilian, Jessica, and that I have very strict values about life, as well as marriage. I intend to one day go back to Sicily, to marry a Sicilian girl who will be a virgin. That is a given.’

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