Her Roman Holiday (13 page)

For a moment she stood, swaying slightly, so caught by the potency of her recollections that she was barely aware of her surroundings.

Then, she shook herself, blinking hard to banish the phantom touch of his skin against her own.
 
She curled her hands into fists as she turned away from the mirror, scowling.
 
She would not allow him to control her like this.
 
No-one had that right
—
least of all a man like Gio, with his blanket mistrust of all women and his autocratic ways.

She made herself walk calmly to the door of her room.
 
She couldn’t be sure what would happen tonight.
 
The languid, questing pulse between her legs begged for a resolution, but Calia intended to insure that it would be on her own terms.
 

* * *

In the dining room, she contemplated the several paintings of bright, sunlit landscapes that had been tastefully distributed throughout the room.
 
She was examining one, which featured golden grasses set against an alpine backdrop, when she suddenly became aware of his presence, without quite being able to identify how she knew he had entered the room.

She turned to find him watching her, his eyes dark with molten heat.
 
But his expression remained composed, and as she swallowed, trying to think of something to say, he smiled politely.

“Do you like Segantini?”

She gave him a blank look.
 
“Who?”

He indicated the painting she had been looking at.
 
“There are several of his works in this room.
 
Part of my father’s collection.”

“There’s a tranquility to them.
 
I notice you also have a Modigliani landscape over on that wall.
 
Unusual.”
 

He nodded.
 
“I have somewhat different tastes to my father.
 
Though I like the older style of landscapes, I prefer works that challenge me to look deeper.”

“Admirable.
 
Pity the same couldn’t be said of your taste in women.”

He grinned suddenly.
 
“Is that a challenge, Calia?
 
I should think that after last night, you would have no doubt about my readiness to delve into your darkest depths.
 
But I stand ready to prove myself again, should the need arise.”

She tilted her head, unable to prevent a smile from playing at her lips.
 
“If you’re standing ready now, then surely the need has already been aroused.”

He returned her smile, his expression inquiring.
 
“Is that an invitation or an acknowledgment?”

“What do you want it to be?”

“Do not think I haven’t noticed that you have carefully avoided discussing this attraction that lies between us.
 
I have respected it in order to give you time to sort out your feelings.”
 
As he spoke, his gaze held hers.
 
He approached her with the grace of a panther stalking its prey.
 
He continued,
 
“Last night I made my feelings clear.
 
I want you.”

She swallowed, mesmerized by the hot intensity of his silver eyes.
 
But she would not capitulate so easily.
 
“And if I refuse?”

His lips lifted into a predatory smile that dried her throat, even as it excited her with its implacability.
 
“Then I will help you to change your mind.”

“So what happened to respecting my feelings?”

“I have given you time to come to terms with the reality of our situation.
 
Still, if you cannot do so on your own, then I will help you along.”

“And what reality is that?”
 
But the question was pure bravado.
 
She knew.

“That it would be a crime to walk away from the chemistry that sizzles between us.
 
Together, we burn like the brightest of flames, Calia.”
 
He had moved close to her, so that his breath rasped against her ear, exquisitely tantalizing.
 
Calia imagined she could feel the heat of his skin, so close to hers.
 
“All day, I have tasted you.
 
I have felt the molten fire of you, pressed against my body.
 
Again and again, I have had to forcibly expel thoughts of you from my mind.”

His admission triggered a heady exhilaration in Calia, even as he continued,
 
“I have little doubt that you will have felt the same way
—
not after you exploded in my arms last night.
 
So, we will finish what is between us.
 
And you have no more choice about it than do I.”

“There’s always a choice,” she murmured, but her body swayed towards him.
 
As in a trance, she turned her head, her lips straining towards his, as the rising sensuality of her body’s needs submerged coherent thought.
 

She hardly even saw
—
let alone understood
—
the brief flare of triumph in his eyes as he leaned back and she responded by moving to bridge the gap between them.
 

“Then you have made yours,” he murmured, before trapping her lips in a kiss that was as hard and demanding as Calia could have wanted
—
had she been even remotely capable of thinking clearly.
 
Instead, she pressed herself hard against him, revelling in the feel of his contoured muscles.

It was only the sound of a door opening loudly somewhere to her left that revived Calia’s awareness of anything outside of the urgent sexual energy throbbing between them.
 
A glance in the direction of the noise revealed an elaborately nonchalant Larissa carrying a steaming dish to the dining table.
 

Calia stepped away from Gio, startled by the intrusion and mortified at the ease with which her body had capitulated to his intentions, despite her rational desire for resistance.
 

Only once they had clearly stepped apart did Larissa glance up with an exaggerated look of surprise, as if she had only just noticed the two of them.
 

Despite her preoccupation, Calia couldn’t suppress a twinge of amusement at the transparency of the other woman’s well-intentioned ruse.

“Ah, here you both are.
 
Please, eat while it is still warm.”
 
Larissa gestured at the two place settings that had been laid out at the vast dining table, before bustling back into the kitchen.

“I must confess to not having any great appetite
—
for food, at least,” Gio murmured, just loudly enough for Calia to hear.

She made herself smile at him.
 
“I’m actually quite ravenous myself,” she lied, glad of the reprieve, for though her body ached with thwarted desire, Calia knew full well that she needed to regroup. “And if Larissa’s dinners are anywhere as good as her snacks, then I couldn’t possibly say no.
 
After all,” she added, her tone turning rueful, “I imagine I’ll be needing my strength for tonight.”

There no longer seemed any point in pretending to herself and to Gio that she would be able to resist him tonight.
 
Any continued denials would only make her seem weak-willed, since they both knew that as soon as he touched her, any resolutions would be blown away.
 

But, she also wanted to ensure that she didn’t yield more than she could afford to
—
because she knew too well that if she didn’t have a very clear idea of her own boundaries, then she would never be able to maintain them with someone like Gio.
 
Unless she was very careful, her physical hunger for him could all too easily become a dangerous addiction.

For all that she had insisted upon the meal, as they ate, Calia’s entire awareness was oriented on Gio.
 
Her body ached to continue what they had begun, even as she felt a twinge of annoyance at Gio’s air of unhurried calm.
 
And so, though she had a vague sense of delicious food, as they finished off their meal with coffees, Calia was startled to realize that she could not have named a single course she had just eaten.
 

He took a final sip from his cup and sat back from the table, watching her with a hooded, languorous gaze whose voluptuous power held her in its thrall.
 
She couldn’t have looked away, even if she had wanted to, and he knew it.
 
A slow smile curled his lips.

“And now?”

The smugness of his tone pricked at her.
 
“Why are you even bothering to ask me?
 
After all, you don’t seem interested in giving me much choice in the matter.”

He sat forward, careful not to break her gaze.
 
“You would deny us both, Calia?
 
For what?
 
We have both agreed nothing will come of this, so why do you continue to resist?
 
Is it just stubbornness?
 
Or?”

She didn’t answer. He waited, still watching her.
 
Finally, she looked away.
 
She released a slow breath.

“I want to know why you are fighting this, Calia.”

Her mouth twisted wryly.
 
What could she tell him?
 
That she was worried she’d grow dependent on him?
 
How pathetic did that sound?

She raised her eyes and met his gaze, trying to keep her expression calm.
 
“I just don’t want you to make any assumptions about me, that’s all.
 
Whatever we end up doing, don’t start thinking I’m one of ‘your women.’
 
Because I’m not.”

“You are afraid I will begin taking you for granted.”

Her smile was small and hard.
 
“’Taking me for granted’ implies a relationship between us.
 
And I don’t intend for it to reach that stage.”

“Now you are being ridiculous.
 
We already have a relationship
—
that happens as soon as two people begin speaking with one another.”
 
He raised his hand to stall the protest she had opened her mouth to express.
 
“But rest assured,” he continued, “I am aware that we are not romantically involved.
 
So will you stop punishing us both by resisting like this?”

“I just think you’re someone who’s used to getting your way.
 
And frankly, I don’t like catering to that.”

“Even when it means trying to deny us of something we will both enjoy.”

Put that way, it sounded silly and unreasonable.
 
She pursed her lips.
 
“I suppose you’re right,” she conceded grudgingly.
 
“But if you infringe on my space, I’m calling you on it.”

“You North Americans certainly know how to keep things lighthearted and enjoyable.”

She gave him saccharine smile.
 
“I’m always charmed by vast generalizations, particularly when they’re applied to me.
 
Perhaps that’s why we get along so well.”

His answering grin was enough to shorten her breath.
 
“It is either that or my abiding love of prickly women with sarcastic tongues.”

 
She released a breath of laughter.
 
“Do you mean this tongue?” she asked, before lifting her finger to her mouth as if to point at her tongue.
 
Instead, she let it slip between her parted lips.
 
He watched intently as she closed her lips around the finger and withdrew it from her mouth slowly.

He swallowed, his eyes narrowing at the playful challenge in her gaze.
 
He cleared his throat, but when he spoke, his accent had grown thick, “I cannot be certain without closer investigation.”

“By all means.
 
The scientific method is a good one.”

“We will need a controlled environment to ensure accurate results.”
 
Gio stood as he spoke, holding out his hand to her.
 
“One that supplies absolute privacy.”

She rose and walked towards him, unable to suppress the sudden breathlessness in her voice.
 
“I would hardly have expected otherwise.”
 
She slipped her hand into his, and suddenly, her entire consciousness was riveted upon her palm, and the burning point of shared contact between them.

Calia was glad of the silence as he led her to his room.
 
She would have had difficulty formulating an intelligent response to anything he said
—
would have been hard-pressed to conceal just how off-balance she was thrown by the feel of his skin against her own, the simplicity of her hand in his.

He relinquished the contact in order to close the door behind them with quiet deliberation.
 

The calm before the storm.
 
Calia watched him turn back to face her, his expression serious.
 
Yet, somewhere along the way, the urgency had dissipated, and it suddenly seemed as if they had all the time in the world to enjoy this potent sensuality between them, to build it to its fullest potential.
 
To revel in it.

He didn’t speak
—
just came forward and cupped her face in his hands, leaning in to give her a lingering kiss whose acute gentleness stole her breath away.
 
She swayed against him and he enveloped her in an embrace, his hands slipping around her and drawing her close, his movements marked by a languorousness that was somehow more intimate than the passionate coupling they had indulged in the previous night.

And so began the slow, voluptuous game of discarding their clothes, treating them not as impediments but as props in a sensual game of gradual revelation.