Italian Stallions (16 page)

She pulled Vince’s business card out of her pocket and studied the address he’d scribbled in his bold, messy handwriting. She recognized the neighborhood as one of San Francisco’s ritziest. His offer dangled in front of her, tantalizing her. A place of her own in a beautiful, safe neighborhood. And all she had to do was play with a dog.

It sounded so perfect, but she didn’t want to get her hopes up. She looked around her girlhood bedroom, now a sterile home office and thought of her father down the hall, barely tolerating her presence in his house.

Vince’s offer sounded too good to be true—there had to be a catch.

Screw the catch. She needed to get out of here.

“H
ow’s the place?”

Theresa could hear the clang of silverware in the background as Gia spoke. “Good,” Theresa grunted as she hefted another box of books and moved it over by the bookshelves. It was Saturday, and she was doing her best to get settled into the guest cottage before she had to go to work. “Thanks again for letting me borrow your car.” Theresa hadn’t had much stuff in storage, but she’d still managed to pack Gia’s car to capacity.

“No problem. How’s the dog? Is he giving you any trouble?”

Theresa checked out the blond, drooling lump in the corner. As though sensing her stare, Chester raised his head and gave his tail a thump. “I don’t know what the big deal is. He seems like a good dog. Well, except for the humping thing, of course.” When she’d first come to look at the place and meet Chester, the dog had responded to her scratch on the ears by immediately jumping up and going at her leg. Vince scrambled to yank the dog off, relieved that Theresa thought it was more funny than anything.

Vince came in with a box, his biceps stretching the sleeves of his T-shirt as his muscles strained at the weight. “Where do you want this?”

“Anywhere you can find space,” Theresa said. Vince dropped the box and went out for another load.

“Was that Vince?” Gia asked.

“He’s helping me bring my stuff in. And,” she said in a lower tone, “providing excellent eye candy.” That was the understatement of the year. In his threadbare T-shirt and well worn jeans, he should have looked like a slob. But somehow the shirt emphasized his wide, muscular shoulders and corded arms. And the way those jeans hugged his perfect ass should have been a crime. Theresa had considered herself dead below the waist for the past year or so, and it had been ages since she’d given a guy a second look.

But all day she’d found herself staring after Vince, tracking his moves with her tongue practically hanging out.

“If I didn’t have Gabe, I’d be jealous,” Gia sighed. “So maybe you and Vince—”

Theresa cut her off before Gia could even voice the thought. “Bite your tongue! The last thing I need is another man in my life to screw it all up. Besides, judging from the woman he was in with last week, I’m not even close to his type. And just between you and me,” she said, her voice dropping to a stage whisper, “you should see how neat his house is. You wouldn’t believe it, Gia, I mean, absolutely nothing is out of place. It’s kind of creepy.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“You have to wonder about a guy who takes cleanliness that seriously.”

“You don’t think Vince is gay?”

“No, not at all,” Theresa said. “But I think he’s kind of anal—you know, one of those guys who likes to put a towel down before sex so he doesn’t mess up his designer sheets.”

Gia laughed. “But I bet it would be a really nice towel.”

“And he probably wouldn’t want to mess that up either. Maybe he uses a tarp.”

“I think this is the last of it.”

Theresa felt her body go first cold, then hot with embarrassment at the sound of Vince’s voice. Oh God, had he heard her speculating about his sexual habits? But Vince gave no sign of having heard as he stared at her expectantly and hefted the box in a way that made his forearm muscles shift and tighten under his darkly tanned skin.

Theresa hung up with her cousin and motioned for Vince to put the box on the bed.

“How about I show you the rest of the house before you have to get ready for work? I have to leave for New York tomorrow and I want you to know where everything is.”

Theresa slipped on her flip flops, half anticipating, half dreading the tour of Vince’s house. Mansion, really. When she’d come to look at the place earlier in the week, he’d just started showing her around when he got a call from the office and had to hurry back.

From that brief glimpse, Theresa had seen that Vince’s house was perfectly, expensively decorated, and, as she mentioned to Gia, clean—as in eat off the floors or perform surgery clean. So clean Theresa almost took off her flip flops as she stepped inside the foyer, but then worried about the state of her feet.

It was nearly impossible not to gape as Vince led her through the entryway, the sound of her flip-flops slapping against her feet mingled with the clicking of Chester’s nails against the floor.

“This is the sitting room,” he said, opening a door to her left and gesturing inside. “I don’t really ever go in there. That’s the living room,” he gestured across the hall. “I don’t really go in there either.

“I’m sensing a theme.”

His rough laugh tugged at someplace low in her belly. “I work a lot and travel several times a month, so I don’t spend a whole lot of time here.”

“Why do you need such a big place?”

“Believe me, I’ve asked myself that several times since I moved in.” He led her down the hall to a gourmet kitchen, complete with a commercial-grade stove and double convection ovens. He opened one side of the stainless steel refrigerator and gestured inside. “Even though I eat most of my meals out, my housekeeper Magda keeps the fridge stocked with the basics. Feel free to help yourself to anything you want—”

“No really, I eat dinner at the restaurant every night, and I can make do with the kitchen in the apartment.”

He held up a large, silencing hand. “I mean it, make yourself at home. I’m hardly here anyway, and trust me, you’re not going to want to spend all day in your place with Chester.”

Hearing his name, Chester came over and sat directly on Theresa’s feet. “We can always go outside,” she said, trying to get her feet out from under the dog’s butt. But when she shifted, Chester scooted backward, keeping his furry ass firmly planted. “Or we can go to the park.”

“Whatever,” Vince said. “Just know that you have the run of the house.”

He backtracked down the hall and Chester mercifully got up to follow him before the bones in her feet were pulverized. Vince trotted up the stairs, giving Theresa a mouthwatering view of his muscular butt flexing under his jeans. A hot flush seemed to cover her entire body. What the hell was wrong with her? Why, after so long, had her libido decided to return with such a vengeance? And why with Vince? Sure, he was thigh-meltingly hot, and rich to boot. What woman wouldn’t want a taste of that?

But Theresa had known a lot of good looking men—hell, her ex-boyfriend could have been a model. So it wasn’t just Vince’s rugged handsomeness she was responding to. Something else about him called to her, pulled at her, to the point where every room he showed her elicited fantasies of them in a naked, sweaty tangle. On the sitting room couch. On the grand piano in the living room. On the kitchen table.

Despite her comment to Gia, Theresa had the feeling sex with Vince would be earthy, lusty, and downright messy.

She was so absorbed in her thoughts that she didn’t realize Vince had stopped. She bumped into his back, and her hands came up to grip his hips reflexively to steady herself. Her nose was buried in the deep, muscular groove that ran down the center of his back.

Without thinking, she took a long, deep inhale. He smelled delicious, dark and spicy and male. She took another long whiff. A wet doggy nose against her leg shocked her out of her lustful haze and she jerked away as though scalded.

Vince gave her a puzzled look. Thank God, he didn’t seem to notice she was getting off from smelling him. She looked up and realized they were standing in the doorway of what had to be the master suite. An enormous, extra-long king size bed dominated one corner, and a leather upholstered bench sat at the foot. Decorated in shades of chocolate brown and furnished with heavy wood and leather, the room was a purely masculine retreat.

Theresa could too easily imagine herself on that bed, spread out like a feast while Vince flexed and strained over her. Appalled at the direction of her thoughts, she thrust the vision from her mind. She had to put a stop to this, make it clear to him and mostly to herself that nothing would ever happen between them. They were landlord and tenant. Employer and dogsitter. That was all.

“Why are you showing me your bedroom?” Theresa asked.

To be honest, Vince wasn’t sure himself, and at this particular moment he wished he hadn’t. Because right now he was having a really hard time coming up with a good argument against talking Theresa into spending the rest of the afternoon in his oversize bed with him.

Not for the first time, he questioned whether or not it was a good idea to have her move in, even if it was in a separate living space. He’d found her attractive from the start, but had stupidly convinced himself it was no big deal. He was a thirty-five-year-old man, not some horny teenager with no control over his emotions and sexual impulses.

Now he wasn’t so sure. His attraction to her had only grown over the past week when he’d eaten at Ciao Bella every night as was his custom. His gaze had tracked her as she moved around the bar, his brain concocting more and more elaborate scenarios that all ended the same way—with him naked and her stripped of her oversize uniform shirt and tight black pants. Sometimes they were in the back seat of his Mercedes. Sometimes they were on the bar of the restaurant after hours.

But usually they were right here in his bedroom.

Her comment to Gia echoed in his head. Theresa thought he was anal, did she? He’d love nothing more than to show her that the only time any woman had ever called him anal in bed was when he was shoving his cock up her ass.

He knew exactly what it would be like, how good it would be to have her. Her dark hair would spill over the pillow. Her skin would be creamy and sweet as he ran his tongue up the inside of her thighs. Her small hands would grip the wooden slats of his headboard as he sank into her tight, lithe body. And she would be tight. He’d have to make her so wet first with his fingers and tongue—

“Vince? I asked you a question.” He snapped his gaze up from where it had settled on Theresa’s breasts to her face. Her eyebrows pulled down over her dark eyes and her full lips pulled down at the corners.

Whatever he’d been thinking, the feeling definitely wasn’t mutual. Which was a good thing, he told himself. “It goes with the rest of the house,” he said lamely. “Here’s the bathroom.” He walked through his walk-in closet into the attached bathroom with its slate tiled shower and oversize jacuzzi tub.

He backtracked through the bedroom and led her into the attached media room, where Chester had already made himself comfortable on the sofa. “And if you ever want to watch a movie, I’ve got the flat screen hooked up with surround sound, the whole nine yards—”

She held up a hand to put a stop to his tour guide shtick. “Look, let’s get a few things straight,” she said, pulling back her shoulders and raising to her full height. Which was still about a foot shorter than he was. “I appreciate you helping me out and letting me live here—”

“Believe me, you’re helping me—”

“Let me finish. As I was saying, while I appreciate your help, I don’t want there to be any misunderstandings about what’s going on here. I’m taking care of Chester and that’s it. I won’t be taking care of you, if you know what I mean.”

The last was accompanied by a crude hand gesture that left no room for misunderstanding.

Vince burst out laughing, despite the fact that he was offended she would actually think he’d expect sexual favors in exchange for letting her stay here. “I don’t know what kind of people you’ve been hanging out with, but I can assure you I’ll never expect you to pay rent on your back.”

Theresa’s face flooded with color and she cleared her throat uncomfortably. “Good. I’m glad we have that out of the way. And speaking of rent, I can’t live here for free.”

“Theresa, I don’t need—”

“Yeah, it’s pretty obvious you don’t need money. But I’m not comfortable staying for free. I’m not a charity case.”

She was so spunky and full of pride, but he didn’t have to look too hard to see life had thrown her a couple of major blows lately. It was ironic, all the women he had dated, successful career women who made very good livings on their own, and none of them had ever hesitated to let him pay for anything. In fact they seemed to accept expensive gifts and vacations as their due.

Then there was Theresa, scraping by on her waitress job, insisting on paying rent even when he clearly didn’t need it.

Then again, Theresa wasn’t his girlfriend. “I don’t think you’re a charity case,” he sighed, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “Pay me whatever you think is fair, but trust me. After you’ve spent more time with Chester, you’ll realize you’re doing plenty to earn your keep.”

A
fter nearly a week with Chester, Theresa was beginning to believe Vince when he said she would earn her keep.

“The dog is a menace,” she groaned to Gia and tiredly surveyed the Friday night crowd.

“How many pairs of shoes have you lost now?” Gia asked.

“Counting my gold flats? That’s four.”

Suffice it to say, Chester had a chewing problem. She’d discovered it the last Sunday when she’d gone to work. Since Vince had already left on his business trip, she’d locked Chester in her apartment, thinking that since she had a smaller space there would be less for him to get into. Chester had entertained himself by reducing her beloved black Mary Jane pumps into a few scraps and a stray heel. Damn dog had to pick her favorites, and not the platform stilettos she kept meaning to donate to Goodwill.

The bartender, Nico, placed the last glass of wine on her tray. Theresa picked it up and winced as a sharp pain shot up her arm.

“Still bugging you?” Gia asked. “Maybe you should take the night off.”

“I’m fine,” Theresa said shrugging off her cousin’s look of concern. No way was she going to leave her cousin short a server on a busy Friday night. Besides, Theresa couldn’t afford to lose the tips. With steady income and the money she was saving on rent, she might be able to enroll in classes part time within a couple of weeks.

So she ignored the throbbing of her wrist and the twinge in her knee, both courtesy of Chester. Her injuries had happened at the first of Chester’s obedience classes. They’d barely gotten inside the gate of the dog run at a local park before Chester, delighted to be in the presence of other dogs, had lunged forward, using all of his considerable weight to yank against the leash.

Theresa had been yanked off her feet and dragged several yards before she managed to untangle the leash from her wrist. As soon as he was free, Chester bounded across the dog run and had started exuberantly humping a hapless Rhodesian ridgeback. Theresa struggled to her feet and was met by the glares of the other students.

“You’re going to have to keep better control of your dog if you want to keep attending class,” the teacher said.

“I’m in class so I can get better control of him,” Theresa snapped as she grabbed Chester by the middle and pulled him off the ridgeback, who seemed willing to take whatever Chester wanted to dish out.

The class had gone downhill from there, and at the conclusion the teacher observed that perhaps Chester would do better with a private trainer, and gave Theresa the card of someone she recommended.

By the time Gia dropped her off after midnight, Theresa felt like she’d been pummeled. Between her twice daily walks which were more like tug-of-war matches with Chester, and spending hours on her feet every night, she was beat. All she wanted was a hot bath, a glass of wine, and a long sleep. To that end, tonight she was putting Chester to bed in the main house instead of letting him sleep in her cottage. She knew Vince’s housekeeper arrived at seven-thirty every morning and would let the dog out in time to prevent any accidents.

Or, she thought uncharitably, the housekeeper could clean up the accidents, since Vince no doubt paid her well. Right now, Theresa didn’t care if Chester trashed the house—she just wanted to insure that she wouldn’t be awakened at the crack of dawn by the feel of hot dog breath in her face.

She unlocked her door, relieved to see that Chester, for once, seemed to have left her shoes alone. “Come on, boy,” she said, coaxing him out of the cottage and across the yard to the back door of the main house.

As she unlocked the door and punched in the key to the alarm, Chester pushed past her and hauled ass down the hall, the click of his nails against the wood floor echoing in the silent house. Damn. She took off after him, calling his name. If he was going to stay here, she had to shut him in the kitchen. She called again, and he didn’t come. What next?

She heard the unmistakable thump-thump-thump of Chester trotting upstairs, and followed the jingling of his dog tags into Vince’s bedroom. “Chester, come here!”

He barely spared her a glance as he climbed up onto the couch and settled into his favorite corner. She sighed, went over to the couch, grabbed him by the collar and tugged. Deadweight. Theresa collapsed on the couch and thought longingly of the bath and wine she’d been dreaming of all evening.

Make yourself at home.
Vince’s words echoed in her head. She shouldn’t.

But now that the thought had entered her mind, she couldn’t stop thinking about that gigantic spa-size tub just a few yards away. And she knew the “cheap” wine Vince kept in his kitchen for everyday consumption would be far superior to the bottle she’d bought on special at the grocery store.

Don’t do it. Don’t take advantage.

But he’d said to make herself at home when she moved in, hadn’t he? He’d even said it again before he’d left last Sunday.

But he probably didn’t mean take a bath in his bathroom.

Oh, but she wanted to soak in that tub, feel the pulsing jets massage her tired body. He wouldn’t mind. He wouldn’t even know, because he was out of town for another two days.

She pushed herself off the couch and went downstairs to get a glass of wine before she talked herself out of it. Feeling a delicious sense of naughtiness, like she was getting away with something, she filled the tub. Unfortunately, Vince didn’t have any good bath oil or bubble bath, but she decided it was worth the sacrifice as she submerged her body in the tub and turned on the jets. Sipping at her wine, she let the heat of the water and the alcohol do their magic.

She leaned back and closed her eyes, luxuriating in the feel of the jets gently pummeling her body. Eyes still closed, she fumbled around for the soap and lazily ran it up and down her arm. She recognized its scent as the same soap Vince undoubtedly used, something that reminded her of evergreen and mint. It was pleasant, but nothing like when it was combined with the scent of Vince’s skin.

She imagined she could smell him right now, that she had her face buried in the crook of his neck. She felt a pulse of arousal between her legs and started to push the inappropriate thoughts of Vince aside as she had every time they’d tried to invade her consciousness.
Just let go for once,
that naughty little voice encouraged her.
When was the last time you felt anything remotely sexual for anyone? Give yourself this little taste of pleasure. What harm could it possibly do?

She kept her eyes firmly shut, knowing if she caught a glimpse of herself she’d chicken out. Tentatively, as though she was afraid of being caught, Theresa ran her palm over her stomach. Her own hand felt awkward against her skin, it had been so long since she’d touched herself like this. Not that she had a problem with it. But because she hadn’t wanted to lately. Hell, not for a really long time.

But now, all she had to do was think of Vince. Oh, yeah, her body remembered what was what.

She skimmed her hand lower, over her thighs, imagining it was Vince’s big, tanned hand pushing insistently between her legs. His palm cupping her sex and sliding his fingers in between flesh wet with more than water. She gasped in shock as her own fingers brushed her clitoris, having forgotten the sharp, almost painful pleasure arousal could bring. She slid her fingers up, down, around the hard knot of her clit, reacquainting herself with her body, reminding herself of how she liked to be touched. Her breath shortened and her hips rocked against her fingers as she stroked.

When the cab dropped Vince off, he noticed the lights on in Theresa’s place. Even though it was late and he was exhausted from the long flight he momentarily considered knocking on her door to see if she wanted to come over for a drink.

But he quickly scrapped the idea because he knew damn well a drink wasn’t all he wanted. He didn’t know what it was about her, but she made him feel things he hadn’t felt since, well, ever. Dark, primal, possessive things. He wanted to spend hours, days, exploring every bare inch of her creamy skin, wanted to suck and lick her luscious tits while he fucked her in every possible position. But at the same time, he had the strangest urge to take care of her, protect her, an odd feeling from a man who had learned to fend for himself and expected everyone else in his life to do the same.

He’d been relieved that he had a business trip planned for the week after she moved in. While he was gone, without the constant stimulation of seeing her, he’d managed to convince himself his attraction to her was a passing thing, easy enough to ignore once the initial novelty wore off. He’d dated some of San Francisco’s most eligible single women, all of whom had left him, if not cold, at least unimpressed. He sure as hell wasn’t going to be felled by a little Italian cocktail waitress easily ten years his junior.

Even if she was exactly the kind of little Italian girl his mother had always wanted him to bring home. But it was no secret that his family’s idea of what kind of life he should live and his own were not even in the same ballpark.

Still, Theresa Bellessi seemed to have grabbed him by the balls and wasn’t letting go any time soon. And any illusion that he’d gotten over his attraction during his time away was obliterated by the mouthwatering vision that greeted him now.

He stood in the doorway of his bathroom, afraid if he so much as took a breath she would disappear. He blinked hard, thinking she would vanish because there was no way this was real. He’d done nothing to deserve to have his fantasy come to such vivid life.

But Theresa was still there when he opened his eyes. Her dark hair spilled over the back of the tub, the jets making the water churn and surge around her small but voluptuous form. One arm was flung over the side of the tub, her fingers gripping the edge while her other hand…

He only had to look at her face to know what her other hand was doing. Her cheeks were flushed red, her lips even more swollen than usual. Her eyes were squeezed shut and her face was tense with pleasure.

Her lips parted and his cock surged against his fly as he anticipated her moan. But she didn’t make a sound, just let out a harsh breath as her body shifted beneath the water.

It should have felt sordid, like the cheesiest of set-ups in low budget porn, but it was anything but. It was arousing, yes, almost unbearably so. And beautiful. So fucking beautiful it made his chest hurt as he fought the urge to snatch her from the tub and lay her across the upholstered chaise longue and finish what she’d started.

She shifted, arching her throat back. He wanted to run his tongue along the taut cords. His breath sped up to match hers. He was so hard he hurt, and he palmed himself through his pants, squeezing his dick as though he could will it down into submission. God, he should leave. This was so wrong, watching her during such a private, personal moment. But his feet were cemented to the floor, his gaze locked on her face as her face morphed into a mask of ecstasy.

She was about to come. He stroked his rigid cock, wishing with everything he had that he was the one giving it to her, that he was the one stroking and slipping his fingers against her juicy core. A man with any shred of decency would have left, but he couldn’t. He needed to watch her, needed to experience her pleasure, even vicariously. Then, he vowed, he would go. Not before.

At that moment, her eyes flew open with a gasp. When she saw him, she gasped again, this time in shock. Vince’s hand froze on his cock as he waited for her to start screaming.

Every cell froze in place as her brain registered the fact that this was no hallucination. That Vince was actually in the bathroom with her, watching her…touch herself. She’d been right on the edge of climax, so surprised she was still capable of one after so long, that her eyes had flown open at that first pulse emanating from her core.

And there he was. She should have felt embarrassed, humiliated to be caught doing this, while thinking of him, no less. But the sight of him, his dark eyes so hot and hungry as he stared at her like he wanted to consume her, only made that pulse of pleasure tighten into a near painful knot between her legs. Her gaze dropped lower, to where his big hand pressed against what looked like a mammoth erection. She licked her lips, imagining how it would look as it sprung free. So long, so thick, so perfectly designed to drive her insane.

As though it had a will of its own, the hand that had frozen between her legs when she’d seen him began to move again, fingers swirling, stroking, as she kept her gaze locked on Vince’s burning stare. Some tiny part of her asked her what she thought she was doing. This was not like her. Despite her brief career of dancing nearly naked in front of men, she was modest, even reserved when it came to sex.

She did not do things like masturbate for an audience, especially in front of a man she barely knew.

But she couldn’t stop. It was as though something had taken over, driving her to do this in front of him, do this for him. Because she knew he loved it, loved watching her, and knowing that made her want to do it more.

With a groan that almost sounded like a growl he kicked off his shoes and moved toward her. An unfamiliar, throaty purr emanated from her throat as she watched his progress. He tangled his fingers in her hair and her lips parted eagerly for his kiss. His tongue was hot and hungry as it slid between her lips, stroking and licking into her mouth. She brought both arms up to wrap around his neck, pulling him tighter as his spicy taste and scent flooded her senses.

She was soaking his shirt but he didn’t seem to mind. He didn’t even roll up his sleeve as he plunged his hand beneath the churning water to find her, nice and hot and slippery wet. One brush of his thick fingers and her orgasm, which had retreated in the shock of seeing him, was once again roaring to life. She moaned into his mouth and spread her thighs as he slid a finger down her slit and sank it inside her.

His thumb made lazy circles around her clit and she clutched his shoulders for balance as her hips rocked insistently against his hand. Pleasure was building again, and the fact that it was his hand, his fingers on her and in her, his lips on hers and his tongue in her mouth made it infinitely more intense than what she’d felt on her own.