The Valtieri Marriage Deal

His lips, so firm, so full, made her ache to feel them. On her lips, but also on her cheeks, her eyelids, her throat, her breasts. Everywhere.

Relax, bella. I won’t eat you.

Oh, lord! She looked away, dragging her eyes off him and bending to pick up her bag from the floor while she gathered her composure.

‘I need the Ladies’,’ she said.

‘Good idea, I’ll meet you back here,’ he said, and she made her way into the sanctuary of the quiet room with relief.

What was happening to her? She never reacted like this to men! Never in a million years. Or twenty-eight, more to the point. Over a quarter of a century, and no man had ever made her heart beat fast or her skin heat or her body ache with a longing so intense it almost frightened her.

But Luca did. Luca made her body sing with joy at the slightest touch, and when she rejoined him and he rested his hand lightly against her spine to usher her out into the street, she could have been naked the effect on her was so powerful. It was as if he’d touched her intimately, found her secret places and stroked them with the slow, sure hand of a lover.

And now she was being ridiculous! He was just killing time after his interview, indulging in a little mild flirtation, and she’d do well to remember it. It was nothing personal, he was just exercising his natural charm, and there was certainly nothing intimate, for heaven’s sake! And even if there was, nothing was going to come of it. She was only here for one more night, flying out in less than eight hours! She’d never had a one-night stand in her life, and she wasn’t starting now. But she wished there was more time…

‘Where’s your hotel?’ he asked, and she told him.

‘That’s good, it’s just near here.’

He tucked her hand into his arm again, his smile gleaming white against his olive skin in the darkness, and she caught the faint tang of his aftershave and that warm, male scent that was becoming so familiar—the scent that was also drifting up to her from the scarf, snuggled so softly and intimately against her skin, almost as if he was holding her.

She shivered, and he shot her a quick glance. ‘OK?’

‘I’m fine,’ she lied, but she wasn’t, because it was the end of their time together and she wasn’t sure she’d survive if he simply took her back to her hotel and dropped her off, whatever her scruples, because for some reason this night—no, this man—was different, and if he asked her…

Luca paused outside the entrance, staring down thoughtfully into her eyes, and she reached up and kissed his cheek, her warm breath whispering over his skin and setting it alight. ‘Thank you for the most lovely day. You’ve been so kind, Luca.’

He didn’t feel kind. He felt on fire, more alive than he had in years, and extraordinary reluctant to let her go, but there was no way…

‘What time’s your flight tomorrow morning?’

‘I have to be at the airport at five.’

He hesitated, not sure what was happening to him, just knowing he couldn’t walk away. Not from this, because this—this was different, and he’d deal with the consequences later.

‘It doesn’t have to end here,’ he said softly, and waited, his breath lodged in his throat, for her reply.

Isabelle’s heart was pounding now, because this was something she didn’t do. Never. She felt she was on the brink of a precipice—or at the gateway to a whole new era.

‘I don’t do this,’ she said in a whisper, but he heard and he laughed under his breath.

‘Nor do I.’

‘I—I can’t get involved.’

‘That’s OK.’

‘So—just tonight?’

He nodded slowly. ‘Si. Just tonight, cara. If that’s what you want.’

Why not? she thought. It had been years now. She was too fussy to sleep with anyone just for the sake of it, not desperate enough to settle for mediocrity, and she was alone by choice.

But Luca—Luca did something to her that no man had ever done. He made her heart race, her blood heat, her body throb with need. There was absolutely nothing mediocre about him.

If she walked away from him now, she’d never know what it would have been like to make love with the most interesting and attractive man she’d ever met in her life. A man she could so easily, under other circumstances, have come to love.

And maybe it was time to let herself live again—if only for one night. Taking her courage in both hands, she met his eyes. ‘Your place or mine?’ she asked.

He let out his breath in a rough, choppy sigh, then his lips twisted into a wry little smile. ‘Yours is closer.’

Her heart nearly stopped, then started again with a vengeance as he took her hand and led her into the hotel. She picked up her key at the desk, her heart pounding, and they went up to her room in a taut, breathless silence, their fingers tightly meshed.

They’d hardly made it through the door before he reached for her, his mouth finding hers in a kiss she felt she’d been waiting for all her life. She dropped her bag on the floor, and somehow he peeled away her coat and his scarf that she was still wearing, and then his hands slid up and cradled her breasts and he gave a deep, guttural groan that turned her legs to jelly.

She whimpered, and as if it was what he’d been waiting for, he stripped the sweater off over her head, muttering incoherently as he pressed her back against the wall, his mouth on hers, his hands moulding her breasts again. His chest was heaving as she grabbed the front of his shirt and dragged it open, pinging buttons off in all directions and whimpering in frustration because she couldn’t get it down over his shoulders with his arms bent and his hands doing such incredible things to her nipples.

She gave up with the shirt, her hands moving to his waistband, and then he dragged his mouth away and dropped his forehead against hers, his hands catching hers and stopping their frenzied fumbling. ‘Wait,’ he growled, his breath sawing in and out of his lungs. ‘This is crazy. It’s too fast.’

Crazy? Too fast? Maybe, but when he stepped away and released her, she felt a huge sense of loss. She didn’t want to be away from him, not for a moment—but apparently that wasn’t what he had in mind.

He stared at her, his eyes on fire, and shook his head slowly, his hand coming up to cradle her cheek with incredible tenderness, and she could feel that it was shaking. ‘If we go on like this, it’ll all be over in seconds,’ he murmured roughly, ‘and I don’t want seconds, Isabella. I want hours. I want to take my time—savour every moment of this night. Touch you all over. Taste you.’

Her knees nearly buckled. Relax, bella. I won’t eat you.

‘Oh, Luca, please,’ she whimpered, and he closed his eyes and muttered something that sounded halfway between an oath and a prayer.

‘I need a shower first—come,’ he said, pushing open the bathroom door and leading her in before turning on the water, then he held out his hands out to her and drew her closer.

Gentle now, and garment by garment, he slowly stripped away the rest of her clothes, his knuckles grazing softly over her skin. She closed her eyes, suddenly shy, but he touched her cheek, tipping her face up to his so she could see the heat in his eyes, so close to hers.

‘You’re beautiful, cara,’ he said gruffly, his thumb dragging slowly over her lips. ‘Don’t be shy with me.’

She swallowed and flicked her tongue out to moisten her lips, and the tip caught his thumb. He paused, and she grew bolder, stroking it back and forth across the pad, then sucking it gently, nipping it between her teeth—just lightly, but it was enough to make him groan.

‘You’re going to drive me crazy,’ he whispered unsteadily, and stepping back a fraction, he shed his clothes in record time then stepped into the shower, holding out his hand for her.

Her heart hammered against her ribs, and she let her eyes absorb him—the sheer potent masculine beauty of his body, so beautifully sculpted, so taut, so exquisite that he could have been one of Michelangelo’s models—except this man would surely have shocked the matrons and terrified the virgins, she thought, stifling a bubble of slightly hysterical laughter, but the only thing that shocked and terrified her was her own reaction.

She wanted him—wanted to touch him—no, needed to touch him, to feel him, test the texture of that hot, wet skin beneath her palms, and so she took his hand and followed him into the shower, under the streaming water that pounded over them like a tropical storm, and let her roaming fingers explore him, investigating the stark contrast between the rough texture of his body hair and the wet silk of his skin, following the streaming water from his shoulders, over his deep, solid chest to the arrow of hair that her downwards.

She moved lower, her fingers trailing over the taut muscles of his abdomen, and his teeth clenched and he sucked in his breath with a hiss.

‘Cara, slowly,’ he groaned, and, easing away from her, he squirted shower gel onto his hands and started to wash her, his hands firm and almost impersonal as they touched her everywhere. If it hadn’t been for the blazing heat in his eyes she might have thought he was washing a child, but there was nothing of the nurturer in this man now, and when she filled her palms with shower gel and smoothed her hands over his body he gave a shuddering sigh, his breath hot against her face as he cupped her bottom and eased her against him. She felt the urgent pressure of his knee between her thighs and opened for him as his hand slid round and cradled the terrible, yearning ache that was building in her body.

‘Luca?’ she whispered, and as the water streamed over them his mouth found hers in a kiss so searing she thought she’d go up in flames. She felt the hot, sensual slide of his tongue, its probing so erotic, so explicit that she could scarcely breathe. And it wasn’t just his mouth. His hand was moving against her, freeing a wanton woman she hadn’t even known existed until this moment.

A woman who wanted him, this man she’d never met before tonight but would have trusted with her soul, because already, in some obscure way, it belonged to him.

She felt fevered. She thought she’d die if she didn’t have him, and then he hit the shower control, grabbed a towel and rubbed her roughly dry, then hauled it over his skin and threw it aside as he led her back into the bedroom.

His mouth found hers again, and then his thigh was between hers and he pressed her backwards until her legs hit the bed and he toppled her over, falling with her in a tangle of limbs into the centre of the mattress.

‘Isabella,’ he groaned, lifting his head to stare down at her, his hands shaking as they touched her. She was gorgeous. So beautiful. So perfect. So much woman. He wanted to go slowly but he couldn’t. He needed her, and his control was in tatters.

Slowly, he told himself. Slowly. Make it last. He lifted a damp strand of hair from her face and pressed a tender, lingering kiss to her lips, then turned his attention to those soft, generous breasts, first one, then the other, kneading them gently and rolling her tightly budded nipples between his fingers until she whimpered and arched up to him, and then using his knee to ease her thighs apart, he turned his head and stared down at where the soft nest of curls hid her from his sight.

Dio, he wanted her. Wanted to taste her, to touch her, to bury himself inside her…

His mouth closed over one nipple as his hand sought her again, found the hot, sleek moisture of her delicate folds, felt the tremble in her body as his thumb found the swollen bud and stroked it gently, probing her warmth, testing her.

‘Luca!’ she sobbed, bucking under him, and he hushed her softly and moved on, his tongue taking over where his thumb had left off, and she cried out and trembled, her shaking fingers knotting in his hair. ‘Oh, God, Luca, now, please!’

He couldn’t wait any longer. He felt as if he’d been waiting for her all his life, and he couldn’t wait any more. She was begging him, her voice cracking, and he moved over her, settling against her, feeling her body yield to him as he entered her with a long, slow thrust that nearly pushed him over the edge.

She gasped his name again, and he kissed her softly, trying to take it slowly, trying to give her time to adjust to him as he withdrew and thrust into her again, deeper this time, harder, bringing a tiny scream to her lips. He felt her hands clawing at him, her nails digging into his shoulders as she urged him on breathlessly, her body striving beneath him.

He needed no urging. He was on the brink, hanging on for her with the last shreds of his control, and then he couldn’t wait any more.

‘Now, cara, please, now,’ he grated, his body shaking with desperate restraint, and then he felt the first contraction, the convulsions deep within her body closing around him and drawing him ever deeper, and locking his mouth to hers in a desperate kiss, he drove into her again and again, until the waves came up and claimed him and he followed her into the boiling maelstrom of their release.

She couldn’t move.

He was sprawled across her, his head against her shoulder, his chest heaving, and she could feel the wild pounding of his heart gradually slowing until finally he lifted his head and stared down into her eyes.

‘Oh, Isabella,’ he whispered, and, wrapping her tenderly against his chest, he rolled onto his back, taking her with him so she lay draped across his body, her legs tangled with his, his hard, muscled thigh pressed against her tender flesh, still pulsing with the aftermath of the most incredible experience of her life.

She felt tears sting her eyes and blinked them away, but they still fell, and there was a stupid sob rising in her throat. She bit it down, but it escaped, and he tightened his arms and rocked her.

‘Hush, tesoro. It’s all right. I’ve got you.’

It was as if he knew how she felt, as if he felt it too, the amazing, incredible, tumultuous emotions that were cascading through her, and his hand stroked gently over her hair and soothed her, and gradually her limbs relaxed and she sank slowly into sleep.

Luca didn’t sleep. The street light filtered through the shutters and brought with it disturbing and intrusive thoughts—thoughts that he dismissed for now. He’d deal with the consequences later. For now—for now he had Isabella, and nothing else mattered.

He turned his head and gazed wonderingly at the sleeping woman by his side. He’d never known it was possible to feel such a powerful storm of emotions. It was as if he’d come out of a coma. Everything felt—hell, it just felt, and so much more than it ever had.

He reached out a hand, then stopped before he touched her, because although he wanted her again, he also wanted to watch her, to lie there beside her and absorb her while she slept so peacefully at his side. And if he touched her, the fire would start again. He’d never known a fire like it, he thought, and he wondered how he could have felt so much for a woman he didn’t know. Because he didn’t know her. He knew hardly anything about her. She might be a real fruitcake, a neurotic, clinging vine—or, worse, a money-grubbing little witch out for all she could get. He’d had it with that sort, big time.

But she wasn’t any of those things. She was a good, decent woman who didn’t do this. He knew that, from the straightforward honesty of her response to him. He was just trying to talk himself out of something that scared the living daylights out of him, because if this was what it felt like, his life would never be the same again.

‘Luca?’

He realised she was looking at him, and he put away his dark thoughts and dredged up a smile. ‘Hi,’ he murmured, and, leaning over, he brushed her lips with his. ‘Did you sleep well?’

‘Mmm. Fabulous. What about you? Are you OK?’

‘Great. Fantastic,’ he told her, realising that it was true. He felt better than he had for months—years—and it was all down to her. He kissed her again, then dropped his head against hers and sighed softly. She’d been so responsive, so passionate and tender and honest, and it had blown him away.

Made him forget all sorts of things he had no business forgetting—including one rather vital and critical thing that he just couldn’t believe he’d overlooked.

He lifted his head and met her soft, sleep-hazed eyes. ‘Mind if I ask you a personal question?’

‘No,’ she said slowly, as if she wasn’t too sure.

‘Are you, by a miracle, on the Pill?’

Isabelle’s eyes widened, and she stared at him in consternation. She was—only to regulate her cycle, but it worked just the same. Which was as well, since she’d forgotten about contraception completely. Forgotten everything, even how to breathe at some points. And the Pill would only protect her from pregnancy. Oh, what an idiot.

‘Yes, I am,’ she said, and his eyes drifted shut, his relief obvious. He muttered something in Italian, then opened them again and grinned a little wryly, making her heart flutter.

‘Sorry. I just—forgot about things like that, last night, which is crazy, because I never forget, but—it was amazing.’ His voice softened and he reached out for her with his hand. ‘You were amazing. Incredible.’

‘So were you,’ she said, feeling colour mount her cheeks and the now-familiar heat invade her body, but she ignored it, her brain, brought to its senses now, suddenly remembering all the other things she’d forgotten in addition to the pill she really must remember to take later on. ‘Um—I don’t really know how to say this, but—well, you don’t need to worry about getting anything from me.’

‘Oh, Isabella.’ His fingers touched her cheek gently. ‘Don’t worry, you’re safe, cara. I wouldn’t do that to you.’

She felt a wave of relief, then common sense dawned again. ‘Luca, what’s the time?’

‘Nearly four.’

No! She swallowed hard. ‘I have to go soon.’

‘I know. My car’s not far away. I’ll get it while you pack.’

He gave her a tender, lingering kiss, and then got out of bed. She watched as he pulled on his clothes—the shirt with no buttons, the crumpled suit, damp from the bathroom floor, and she wanted to cry. ‘I’ll see you outside in fifteen minutes,’ he said, kissing her again, and closed the door softly.

He drove her to Pisa airport, and as they turned in he said, ‘I’ll park and come in with you—get a coffee or something.’

‘No. I couldn’t bear to say goodbye in public,’ she said, wondering how she’d even do it in private, and so he pulled into the drop-off zone, cut the engine and turned to her, his eyes shadowed by the streetlights.

‘Hey, don’t look like that,’ he murmured.

‘I can’t help it. I don’t want it to end,’ she said, unable to lie to him. ‘It’s been so special, Luca. Thank you.’

‘Don’t thank me—and it doesn’t have to end,’ he said softly, as if he’d read her mind, and she shrugged.

‘Of course it does—and, anyway, we said just one night.’

‘Can’t I change your mind?’

She shook her head. ‘It’s silly getting involved. Long-distance relationships never work.’ Relationships, full stop. And it might be better to let it go than to ruin the memories with reality. At least this way she could treasure them unsullied.

‘There are ways,’ he said, oddly reluctant to let her go without some means of contacting her. ‘Tell me your number, cara. I’ll call you when I’m next in London.’

She shook her head. ‘No, Luca. That wasn’t the deal—and I need to go now, or I’ll miss my check-in.’

Oh, lord. She didn’t want to go, whatever she’d said about long-distance relationships. She didn’t want to leave him—couldn’t bear to—and, crazily, she thought she was going to cry. She tried to smile, but her mouth wouldn’t cooperate and she felt her eyes welling. ‘Look—I have to go.’

‘I know.’

He took her case from the boot and stood staring down at her, his eyes brooding and unreadable, and she flung her arms round him and hugged him, the tears welling once more. ‘Thank you, again, Luca. Thank you for everything,’ she said, and he shook his head.

‘Hush, cara,’ he murmured, and, lifting his hands, he cupped her cheek and brushed the tears from her face, then leaned in and touched his lips to hers.

It was a gentle kiss, tender and comforting, but then something shifted, and he threaded his fingers through her hair and anchored her head and kissed her with all the passion, all the incredible sensuality that he’d shown her last night.

Then finally he lifted his head, his breathing harsh, his face taut, but his fingers on her cheek were gentle. ‘Give me your number—your address. I’ll come and see you.’

‘No—it’s silly, Luca. We live too far apart—you’re going to be working in Florence.’

‘Maybe not. Isabelle—take my card. Call me, even if it’s just to tell me you’re home safe. Please. And if you change your mind…’

She hesitated, then took it and stuffed it into her pocket. ‘Oh—your scarf!’ she said, reaching for it, but he stilled her hands.

‘Keep it. You’ll be cold on the plane.’

She nodded, her eyes filling. ‘Thank you.’ She blinked away the tears. ‘I have to go,’ she said, choked. ‘Goodbye, Luca.’

‘Goodbye, Isabella,’ he said softly, and his hand fell to his side, leaving her desolate. Grabbing her case, she ran into the airport without a backward glance before she made a fool of herself and started to cry again.

Luca watched her go, shocked at the emotion that ripped through him. He had to hold himself back, force himself not to follow her into the terminal and make her stay. He didn’t know what had happened to him, but for some reason, everything felt different. Real. And he couldn’t bear to let her go.

He waited until she was out of sight. Gave her time to come back, to call him.

Then he got back into his car and drove slowly out of the airport, his mind still full of the woman who’d blown his world apart…

CHAPTER TWO

HER JOURNEY WAS awful.

The flight was delayed, then they hit turbulence over the Alps and just about everyone was ill—including her—and by the time she got home she felt wrung out. She groped for her house keys, and found his card in her pocket where he’d tucked it as she was leaving him.

Luca Valtieri, she read, and a mobile number. She hadn’t known his surname. It hadn’t really mattered, not then. Not now, really. She wasn’t going to see him again.

But she missed him.

Ridiculously so, with an ache that was almost physical.

Just a quick call, she promised herself—just long enough to hear his voice and tell him she was safe. And she could withhold her number so he wouldn’t be able to call her back. That way she’d have control of the relationship—

No! It wasn’t a relationship. She wouldn’t let it be! But she was desperate to hear his voice, to have some kind of contact with the man who’d stolen her heart so suddenly.

So she rang him, and after a few moments she got his voicemail. She rang it again, just to hear his message, to hear the low rumble of his voice, the crisp message at odds with the man she’d spent last night with, and finally she spoke.

‘Hi, Luca, it’s Isabelle, I’m sorry I’ve missed you. I’m back. And thank you—for everything.’

Then she hung up, resisting the urge to give him her number. She could always call him again. Next week, perhaps. Or tomorrow.

No! Not tomorrow. Not next week, either. She was being ridiculous. She didn’t want a relationship. Last time was enough for a lifetime.

She swallowed hard and then on impulse she turned on her computer and typed ‘Luca Valtieri’ into a search engine, expecting nothing, really, maybe a paper or two, some medical reference—and got a whole bunch of stuff.

Exstracts from articles in medical journals, research material, awards—but nothing personal, nothing to tell her more about the man himself except the fact that he was clearly very active and involved with his field of medicine, and he’d worked with a lot of English consultants whose names she recognised.

Silly her. She’d fallen—and how!—for a truly gorgeous man with a devastating smile and a kiss that had wiped out all the common sense she’d been born with, and not only that, he was funny and intelligent and dedicated. Thank God she’d refused to see him again. He was much too dangerous to her peace of mind but, oh, she missed him.