I Want You to Want Me (11 page)

One shadow moved forward, coming closer and closer until she was enveloped in its darkness. Until it weighed down on her, pressing heavily, crushingly on the middle of her chest, though she saw no hands touching her.

She struggled to pull in a full breath, but couldn’t quite manage it. Her sight began to blur as if she might pass out. She panicked, writhing on the ground, those invisible hands pinning her in place. Strong hands, brutal hands.

Then directly in front of her face, she began to see a horrifying, distorted face. An evil face. More faces joined it. Faces that only found pleasure in pain, fear and death. Slowly their features mutated, turning from one ghastly, sinister image to another. And she saw in their eyes suffering and torture. She felt it as if it were her own.

“Erika! Erika!” they chanted, until her senses were filled with hideous images, horrible voices and blinding fear.

She began to scream. And scream. And scream.

Vittorio shot off the chaise. Erika’s shrieks pierced the air as she struggled violently against her twisted bedcovers, fighting them as if they were a dozen arms holding her down. Her eyes were wide open and unfocused, as they’d been the other times. Yet, she obviously saw something. In her mind, she saw something absolutely appalling.

Vittorio climbed onto the bed, pulling her bucking body against his, ignoring the jabs of her elbows as she thrashed.

“Erika. I’m here. I’m here.”

His words didn’t lessen her struggles. They didn’t breach her mind and the awful world she was trapped in. It was as if she was too far away to hear him, to know he was there.

“Erika. Wake up. Wake up, darling.”

Gradually her violent movements calmed. But just when he thought he had reached her, she began to flail again. Frightened, panicked noise came from deep in her throat. Noises that frightened Vittorio too. She gasped as if she couldn’t breathe. Like invisible hands squeezed her throat.

“Come on,” he pleaded, feeling the beating of her heart against his chest, his own pulse matching the rapid rhythm. “Wake up.” He held her shoulders, shaking her slightly. “Wake up!”

Erika seized, bucking upward in his grasp, arcing as if something forcibly left her body. Then she fell back, limp, half on the bed, half in his arms.

Vittorio stared down at her pale face, terrified.

Her eyes opened, her expression disoriented but not quite that horrible, glazed stare of before. She managed to focus on him.

“It happened again,” she said, her voice so hollow it unnerved him.

“I know,” he said. “I know.”

“What’s wrong with me?”

He shook his head, for the first time thinking maybe she was experiencing something beyond a bout of stress-induced nightmares. She’d seemed under the control of something. Something unseen, but no less real.

“I don’t know,” he said. He touched her face, caressing the silky skin of her cheek. Her skin was cool, yet damp with sweat.

She allowed his touch as he pushed her tangle of dark hair away from her face. She closed her eyes, and he continued to slip his fingers through her hair, willing her to calm.

After a few moments, her eyes opened, their stormy depths welled with tears. “I feel like I’m going mad. That was so real.”

The words were said so softly, so calmly, that it took a moment for them to register. His hand paused at her temple.

“No,” he said. “No. You’ve just had another bad dream. That’s all.” He wished he felt as adamant as he sounded.

She stared up at him, a tear leaking out of the corner of her eye, running down her temple to his finger. Hot liquid burning him.

With no more thought than to comfort her, he leaned down and kissed her forehead. Then he kissed her temple, the salty wetness there clinging to his lips. The taste spurred on his concern, but somehow also ignited a burning need deep in his chest.

He pulled back, shaken that he could still feel desire when she was so clearly upset. Their eyes locked, and he wondered what was going on behind her wide, thundercloud eyes. Then her hand came up to touch him, stroking his jaw, his cheek. Her fingers tangled in his hair.

“Vittorio,” she murmured.

Before he realized what he was doing, his head came down and his mouth was on hers.

E
rika didn’t even consider stopping him. Nor did she question why it was happening. She simply wanted Vittorio too much. And his lips moving over hers, his tongue tentatively mingling with her tongue. The feeling, the taste just as wonderful as she’d imagined. Hot, slick, and absolutely perfect.

Her arms came up to loop around his neck, urging him closer, and he obeyed, his weight full on her body, hard and strong. His lips supple, velvety. A lovely paradox.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, stroking as she’d wanted to for so, so long. Again reality was as amazing as imagination, the strands silky and lustrous and so sensual.

She moaned, her senses overwhelmed by him. Silken hair, hard muscles, soft lips, strong hands moving down her body.

Even his scent, a rich combination of earthy woods and exotic spice seemed a delicious incongruity. She delighted at the complexity of him. All of those slight contradictions made her want him more. Made her want to discover more.

Then his hands moved, outlining her curves, and all thought, aside from getting him naked against her, disappeared.

He seemed to sense her need, her urgency. His lips left hers, as he moved away to pull at the covers tangled around her. Her hands joined his, pushing the blankets to the floor.

Then his mouth was back on hers, the intensity of his kisses growing. Her own reactions becoming more frantic too, desire building up inside her, swirling into a frenzy of ravenous need.

Her passion for a man had never spiraled so quickly into something so intense, so totally absorbing. She fumbled to touch him everywhere. His hair, his shoulders, her hands tugging at his shirt, frenziedly seeking the bare skin underneath.

Vittorio’s actions mimicked hers, his hands moving over her in frantic, desperate touches, a little rough, a little awkward, and stunningly magnificent.

His lips left hers as he straightened up, taking her with him. Then his hands were under her T-shirt, pushing the material upward. She didn’t hesitate as she raised her arms to help him.

He paused, the T-shirt knotted around her arms like makeshift handcuffs, holding them up over her head. Her breasts jutted forward, bared for him to see. His dark eyes moved over her, eating up the sight. Her nipples tightened and puckered in response. She was tied and ready for sacrifice to him. Her nipples hardened even more. Dampness pooled between her thighs.

She would gladly be sacrificed to this man. This gorgeous man. She took in his tousled hair, the smoldering burn of his nearly black eyes.

A whimper escaped her, and she bit her lips. Just his gaze on her breasts was the most erotic sensation she could remember. Then he whipped the tee off her arms and tossed it to the floor.

His mouth returned to her, this time pressing sizzling, openmouthed kisses to her neck, to her chest until he reached her breasts, which ached and throbbed for his touch.

He paused again, studying her. She whimpered, wanting his touch so desperately, begging him for it, or maybe demanding. He obeyed, his lips catching the rigid nipple, drawing on it until a broken, ecstasy-filled cry passed her own lips. Her body arced upward, offering him more, watching him take it.

He suckled her hard, his tongue and teeth worrying the pebbled flesh. He stopped only long enough to move his attention to her breasts.

Then, despite the raw, astonishing thrill of his touch, she pushed at him, impatient for more. Her hands snaked between them to again work at his shirt.

He released her nipple and moved back to rip off his own tee. Before he could even finish, her hands were on his jeans, tugging at the button. He leaned back to give her better access. Soon the worn denim was undone, the swollen head of his erection poking out of the parted zipper.

She would have smiled at the image—maybe even contemplated how they got to this point, but she didn’t have time for that. He pushed her back down, moving over her. His mouth found hers again and they were once more lost in a delicious frenzy of tasting each other.

As quickly as before, her desire reached a painful peak. Her legs parted to cradle him exactly where she wanted him. The rough grind of his jeans and his hard erection were an agonizing and incredible friction against her aroused, wet sex.

She moaned against his lips, pulling him tighter to her with her legs. He made a noise low in his throat in response, then the hands that were tangled in her hair moved away. He braced one hand against the bed as he levered himself up and snaked the other hand down between their bodies. He caught the leg of her panties and tugged the crotch to one side, baring her.

One finger parted her, touching her already soaking, hot core. She nearly cried out as he found her clitoris, the pad of his finger a teasing torture.

He swirled. Then swirled again. She gasped, instinctively lifting her hips, wanting more. She wanted it all. All of him.

Even though she didn’t say it, he seemed to know. His hand left her to adjust the front of his jeans so his erection now rubbed the engorged nubbin.

His mouth returned to hers as he ground his hips against her, mimicking what he wanted to do. And she wanted it too. She nearly panted with her desire. She nipped his bottom lip and spread her legs wider.

That was all the invitation he needed, because his mouth left hers as he met her eyes. His dark eyes so serious and smoldering.

“Tell me where you want me.” His voice was deep and almost pleading.

“I want you inside me,” she breathed. “Deep inside.”

His eyes held hers for a moment longer, then he reared back and entered her, filling her to the hilt in one powerful movement. It should have been too much, too soon.

But it was perfect. His length and his girth filling her totally, stretching her, filling something within her that she’d only vaguely realized was missing.

“Damn,” Vittorio groaned, his voice almost reverent. Erika had to agree. It seemed the only word that fit at the moment. Desire swirled and whipped, growing with the intensity of a tornado, ripping away all thoughts, leaving only the heavy wondrous feeling of him.

Then he began to move. And she realized the marvelous, wild eddy was just the beginning.

He plunged deep inside her, filling her to the point of too much, only to pull out, leaving her wanting that depth and power back. Then he gave it to her, and she wondered how she could possibly handle more. But still she wanted more.

She wanted…

Violently, that nameless want shattered through her, rocking her body, straining her muscles as her legs wrapped tightly around him, pulling him deep. Her release took total control. Vaguely, amid her own orgasm, she realized Vittorio had joined her. His body thrust deep inside her, his body taut against hers.

Oh. My. God,
she managed to think, before the ferocity of their joining slowly faded into the peaceful lull after a turbulent storm. She floated, aware of Vittorio’s weight and heat still surrounding her. Even his spicy, woodsy scent added to the lovely calm she felt.

Bliss. Pure bliss.

“One day love will find you…”

Erika blinked into the shadowy darkness of her room.
What the heck?
She squinted around, trying to figure out what was interrupting her languid, lovely dreams. Then she realized it was her cell phone, the musical ring she’d programmed for Jo’s calls. Journey—a private joke between them. A joke about their often ridiculous search for the right guy.

Of course her stupid phone was holding its charge when she was enjoying such a lovely dream-free sleep. But before she could even get her sleep-weighed limbs to shove at the bedcovers, the ringtone stopped. She let her eyes drift closed again, prepared to give herself back to her deliciously drowning sleep.

Then she realized she wasn’t alone. She sat upright, staring over at the man next to her. Only one of Vittorio’s eyes—lashes dark against his cheek—his nose, and an almost exotically high cheekbone were visible among the tangle of his long hair and bedding. Still, he looked unbelievably beautiful.

Here was the right guy in her bed, and she’d been thinking about her stupid ringtone. How on earth had last night slipped her mind, even for a second?

She continued gaping at him, now recalling every detail of their lovemaking. Crazed, impulsive lovemaking that reminded her more of randy teens than rational adults. Her disheveled night clothes, the chaos of the bedding, the fact that neither of them fully undressed to consummate their desire—definitely that of overeager teens.

But instead of finding the haste of their encounter embarrassing or at the very least, reckless, Erika found it wildly exciting and oddly romantic.

She couldn’t recall a time when she’d wanted a man so much that she hadn’t given any thought to the consequences of taking their relationship to an intimate level. Not that she wasn’t safe—from pregnancy at least. But she’d never before forgotten to protect herself from STDs.

She studied Vittorio. Somehow she just didn’t picture him as a guy who slept around. She was sure she was safe, although if any of her friends gave her that reasoning—he looks safe—she’d have given them an earful. But she just knew she was. And frankly, she couldn’t let anything shadow the perfection of what had happened between them.

She fell back against her pillow with a sigh. Beyond perfect—if there was such a thing. She rolled over on her side, face-to-face with him. But Vittorio continued to sleep on.

With careful fingers, she reached out to smooth back his hair from his face.
He really does have the face of an angel,
she thought. She’d love to sculpt him if he’d let her.

But she doubted he’d agree to it, even now. There was a reserve to him that she knew he would have to drop to allow her to sculpt him. He didn’t want anyone to look too deeply into his personality and emotions.

Her fingers paused at that thought. Here she was telling herself last night had been perfect. That they hadn’t needed to question what they were doing, yet she still knew there was a barrier around Vittorio that he wouldn’t let her past.

That didn’t sound like the route to a perfect romance. It sounded more like a direct course to heartbreak. She knew from her own past that you couldn’t change a person. She couldn’t expect Vittorio to suddenly open up to her.

Her fingers left him, and she rolled over to place her feet on the floor.
What was she doing? What had she done?

She crawled out of bed and padded over to the velvet wing-backed chair in the corner, where she’d left her robe. She pulled it on. Glancing one more time at Vittorio’s sleeping form, she headed to the kitchen for a Diet Coke and a moment to think without Vittorio’s beauty shading all her thoughts like rose-colored glasses.

She automatically went to the cupboard and grabbed a can of tuna, not needing to even look in Boris’s direction to know he was annoyed that his breakfast was late.

Way late, she realized as she noted the time on the microwave. After 3 p.m.

After the disgruntled and understandably hungry cat was fed, she got a soda for herself and settled on the couch to consider her next course of action.

She supposed she would be dreaming to believe there wouldn’t be awkwardness from last night’s encounter. Still, the outcome could easily be great. She and Vittorio could start dating, they could be a couple. Philippe could be totally correct in his prediction.

She sipped from her can. Or Vittorio could thank her for a fun and exciting night, and that could be it. A one-night stand.

Erika pulled a face. She really didn’t like that outcome, at all. Not when she’d just experienced the most earth-shaking, phenomenal sex of her life. And not when he’d been her hero for the last two nights. And especially not when she knew deep down inside that he was different than any other man she’d ever met.

God, she did sound like a love-crazed teen. She paused at the use of the word
love.
Okay, even she wasn’t so enchanted by Vittorio that she could use that word yet, in any context. But she knew there was something there that needed to be explored.

And she’d tell him so when he woke.

She leaned forward and placed her soda on the coffee table. Then she glanced over at her work area. Despite all her confused thoughts, she did feel like working today. That had to be a good sign too, right?

She got up and went to the bin where she kept her clay. Without any design in mind, she scooped out a big hunk and began working it in her hands. As she kneaded the smooth earth, she told herself everything would work out the way she hoped.

She positioned the clay on her work pedestal and began to mold it, adding contours and lines without considering what she was doing, just letting her hands form what seemed right.

Just like this relationship. She’d do what seemed right, and it would work out as it should.

Besides,
she told herself,
he wouldn’t have spent the night if he didn’t want to be with me.
Wasn’t it a classic move to leave right away, if it was only a one-night stand? She had to believe that.

Vittorio shot into a sitting position as soon as the sun disappeared over the horizon, doing a fair impersonation of Dracula rising up from his coffin. Except he wasn’t somewhere as innocuous as a coffin. He was in Erika’s bed.

Shit.

His hand knotted in his hair, swiping it back from his face as he shot a look around the room. Oh yeah, he was in Erika’s bed all right. Right where he’d fallen into his unnatural sleep as the sun rose. Right after he’d had sex with her.

Shit.

He glanced around again, making sure she wasn’t there, even though he knew she wasn’t. He could hear the faint strains of music coming from the living room, and the occasional sound of her slightly off-key humming accompanying the song.

Shit,
he thought again, releasing his hair and looking around like he’d find some answer to this situation lying there, like written instructions on how to handle the impulsive, purely selfish act of casual sex. But there wasn’t any manual for him to find. And in truth, there was nothing casual about what he’d felt when he was with her. Impulsive and selfish still applied, but casual—no.