Italian Surgeon to the Stars (7 page)

His eyes were dark and inscrutable as they held mine. ‘Why are you sneaking around my house?’

I gave him an affronted look. ‘I wasn’t sneaking. I called on you but no one answered
the door.’

‘So you let yourself in?’

The way he said it made it sound like I’d committed a crime. But then, breaking and entering was—and I was guilty on both counts. I’d entered his house and I’d broken his door.

‘I was just taking a look around,’ I said, quickly thinking on my feet. ‘I was checking to see if the place was suitable. We at Emily Sudgrove often do home visits.’

One of his dark brows went up again. ‘Unannounced?’

‘Well, yes, of course,’ I said. ‘We like to make sure our girls come from good homes.
Safe
homes.’ I emphasised the word ‘safe’.

Something in his gaze hardened to onyx. ‘I can assure you my niece’s safety is my primary concern, Miss Clark.’

It was kind of weird, having him call me Miss Clark—even though I’d been the one to insist on it. It was like we were each playing a role in a play. And right now it was feeling more and more like a melodrama. He was looking all stern and irritated, as if he wanted to remove me bodily from the premises, and I felt like a petty thief caught red-handed.

But I could also feel something else pulsing between us. Not just hostility, because that
was coming mostly from me. I’m no mind-reader, but I got a sense that he was brooding over something that had nothing to do with our history. There was a wall around him—an invisible fortress that made him appear untouchable. It was like he was weighed down with something. It was in the way he held himself: the braced posture, the rigid set of his jaw, the guardedness about his expression and the shadows that came and went at the back of his eyes.

Was it concern about his sister and his niece? It was an enormous responsibility to be appointed
in loco parentis
. He was used to being a playboy, free to live his life without having to answer to anyone.

He walked back to the door of the drawing room and held it open in a pointed manner. ‘I have things to do. I trust you’ll make your own way out?’

I gave him a sheepish look. ‘Actually, I had a bit of a problem with your front door.’

A muscle ticked near the corner of his mouth. I wasn’t sure if it was anger or amusement. It was hard to tell from his expression.

‘Oh?’

‘Yes, it sort of broke. That’s how I got
locked in. That’s why I was in here, trying to get out of the window.’

It was definitely amusement, I decided. I could see the corners of his mouth twitching and a gleam had come into his darker-than-night eyes.

‘There
is
a back entrance.’

Now, why didn’t I think of that?
I wondered. ‘Oh, right…well. Maybe I’ll go out that way.’

I made to go past him in the doorway but he put out his arm like a railway-crossing barrier.

‘When Beauty trespasses on the Beast’s property there’s a forfeit to pay,’ he said.

I wasn’t sure what version of
Beauty and the Beast
he was working from, but it certainly wasn’t the same as mine. I looked at the strongly corded muscles of his arm, blocking my escape. He was wearing a light grey cotton T-shirt that clung to his chest and shoulders like cling film. Every sculpted muscle was showcased to perfection—especially his pectorals and biceps.
Oh, dear God, his biceps
.

He had patches of perspiration on his chest and beneath his armpits, and his arms were dusty—as if he had been working on the house. How could someone look so good
when they were so hot and sweaty? My insides did a little shuffling thing at the thought of those arms pinning me to a bed while he had his wicked, wonderfully heart-stopping way with me.

I made the mistake of lifting my gaze to his mouth. He hadn’t shaved since that morning and his stubble was rich and plentiful, reminding me of the way it had felt scraping along my skin in the past.

I had to curl my fingers into tight balls to stop myself from touching him. I surreptitiously breathed in the scent of him—that beguiling mix of citrus and hard-working male that was as intoxicating as a drug. Not that I’ve ever
done
drugs. I leave that sort of stuff to my parents.

I curled my fists even harder. So hard I could feel my nails digging into my palms—which is really saying something, as I don’t have any nails to speak of. I’ve been a nail-biter since… Well, since way back.

The urge to touch him was overwhelming. It was like my body was set on automatic. It wanted to do all the things it used to do. Touch him. Stroke him. Kiss him until we were tearing at each other’s clothes. My inner
core was throbbing with need and he hadn’t even touched me.

Alessandro’s gaze went to my mouth. I knew that look so well. I hadn’t been able to erase that look from my memory even though I had so desperately tried. The smouldering heat of it, the electrifying erotic promise of it, was enough to make my girly bits shiver in rapture.

He lifted his hand and ever so slowly grazed my face with his knuckles. It was such a light touch, barely touching my face at all, but it was as if he had set alive every nerve beneath my skin with an electrode. I felt the pulse of it shoot like a hot wire straight to my core.

‘You should’ve left while you had the chance,’ he said, in a voice that sounded like it had been dragged over his gravel driveway before being swirled around in a pot of honey.

I could have pointed out that he hadn’t given me the chance to leave, but right then winning an argument wasn’t high on my list of priorities. I found myself transfixed by his mouth as it came inexorably closer to mine. My breath hitched and stuttered and then stalled. My heart leapt and then galloped as
our breaths mingled in that infinitesimal moment before final touchdown.

My lips all but exploded with fiery sensation as his covered mine. The pressure of his mouth was not too hard nor too soft, but—to borrow from another popular fairy tale—just right. His tongue stroked along the seam of my mouth but he needn’t have bothered asking for entry. I was already opening to him with a sound of encouragement that was part whimper, part gasp of delighted surprise.

How could I have forgotten how wonderful his mouth tasted? It was like rediscovering a favourite flavour. My tastebuds tingled and danced and exploded with delight. My tongue met his, darting against it in a come-play-with-me action that made him growl deep at the back of his throat.

He took control of the kiss by spinning me around so my back was against the nearest wall, pinning my hands either side of my head as his mouth supped and sucked on mine. The seductive pressure on my mouth incited me to arch my back and press my pelvis against his in a totally instinctive, utterly primal manner. I wanted to feel his response to me. The swell of his flesh, the arousal that signalled
his need for me, which I desperately hoped was as fervent and out of control as mine.

It was.

He was hard and getting harder. I could feel the hardened swell of his erection growing against my body, making me ache with a bone-deep longing. I moved against him wantonly, urging him to take things to the next level. It had been so long since I’d felt desire like this. It was pulsing through me like a force I had no power to control.

There was an element of desperation about his kiss—as if he’d been waiting a long time to feast on my mouth and was making up for lost time. His tongue stabbed and stroked at mine, ramping up my desire until my whole body was trembling with it.

He reached for the tie at the back of my head and my hair fell in a mass of curls around my shoulders. He fisted one of his hands in my hair as he worked his magic on my mouth. The slight tug on the roots of my hair triggered a wave of intense longing deep in my womb.

His mouth moved from mine to blaze a hot, moist pathway down the sensitive skin of my neck. His stubble grazed, his teeth scraped, his tongue salved. I whimpered and melted
against him. My legs were like two strands of overcooked fettuccine. I would have slithered to the floor if it hadn’t been for him holding me upright.

He moved further down to my décolletage; ruthlessly pulling aside the sensible cotton blouse I was wearing to access the upper curve of my breasts. His tongue licked the valley between before moving up in a fiery blast of heat over each of my curves in turn. He didn’t expose my nipples. He didn’t have to. They were doing their own little happy dance behind the lace cups of my bra.

His mouth came back to mine as he tugged my blouse out of the waistband of my cotton trousers so he could access my naked skin. I shuddered with delight as his hands glided over my waist and rib cage. His hands were slightly callused, and that added roughness gave his touch a primal, almost dangerous element to it that made my knees feel as weak and wobbly as a newborn foal on ice skates.

His tongue tangled with mine in a heated duel that reminded me of two opponents battling it out for supremacy. I’m not so sure if I was fighting him or myself. My brain had gone into its left-side, right-side dialogue again. The logical side of my brain was saying,
Stop it. Stop it right now
. The other was saying,
Seize the day.

Alessandro’s hands were on my hips now, holding me against his arousal while his lips played with mine in little nips and nibbles and playful nudges.

‘Tell the truth,
cara mio
,’ he said, in a husky burr that did even more serious damage to the stability of my legs. Possibly permanently. ‘
This
is what you came here for.’

It was shamefully close enough to the truth for me to push him away with a mocking laugh that unfortunately didn’t sound too convincing. ‘Nice try, Lucioni, but no. I came here to talk to you.’

He leaned indolently against the door jamb with his arms folded across his broad chest. It was annoying that he showed no sign of our recent lust-fest. I was still trying to tuck my blouse into my trousers and put some order to my hair, but I couldn’t find the tie he’d taken out of it. I would have to leave it bouncing around my face like a clown’s wig.
Argh!
Why hadn’t I made the time to book in for my three-monthly chemical straightening session?

He held something up in his hand. ‘Is this what you’re looking for?’

I was wary about getting too close to him again. My senses were still screaming in protest because I’d cut short their titillation. Besides, I didn’t trust myself. It was galling to think he had such sensual power over me. I didn’t let
anyone
have
any
sort of power over me. How could he undo me with one kiss?

My body was still thrumming like a tuning fork struck too hard. The wanting was an ache deep inside, like a hunger only he could satiate. Why had I allowed him to reawaken those wretched needs? It was like being planted in front of an all-you-can-eat smorgasbord after a five-year diet. For years I’d been able to ignore my needs, deaden them, deep-freeze them. But one look, one touch, one potently passionate kiss, and they were active again.

‘Throw it to me,’ I said.

The corner of his mouth tilted. ‘Come and get it.’

I wasn’t sure if we were still talking about my hair tie or not. There was a sardonic glint in his eyes that made my stomach free-fall. The air was crackling with the sexual energy of the primal need we had stirred in each other. It was a palpable force that made me
hyperaware of every cell of my body, as if my skin had been turned inside out.

I felt it on my lips, where his had pressed and played and plundered. I felt it on my face, where his hand had cupped my cheek. I felt it at the roots of my hair, where his fingers had splayed along my scalp. I could still taste him on my tongue—the hint of mint and good-quality coffee and maleness that was like a potent elixir to me. My breasts were tingling inside my bra, my lady land was contracting, my thighs were quivering, my spine was threatening to unlock vertebra by vertebra.

How could I have walked into this situation so blindly? But maybe I hadn’t. Maybe my subconscious had known all along that something like this would happen once Alessandro and I were alone.

‘Put it on the table over there,’ I said, nodding towards a leather-topped drum table.

He held his hand out with my hair tie right in the middle of his palm. ‘You want it? You come and get it.’

That was another thing I could feel pulsing in the air—the collision of two strong wills. We were both driven and competitive people who hated losing. I had already lost considerable ground by responding to him so
wantonly. No wonder he was looking so darn smug. He’d crooked his metaphorical little finger and I had come running. But I wasn’t going to let him win this. Not on his terms.

Although how I was going to get past him in order to leave was presenting me with a rather perplexing problem.

‘Why are you doing this?’ I said, clenching my teeth and my fists.

‘Doing what?’

I narrowed my eyes to hairpin slits. ‘You know what.’

He gave me a guileless smile. ‘It’s just a hair tie,
tesoro
.’

My lips were pinched so tight I could barely get the words out. ‘It’s not just about the hair tie, damn it. It’s you. You’re playing games.’

He tossed the tie in the air and deftly caught it. Once, twice, three times. His eyes were still holding mine. ‘You said you came here to talk. So talk.’

I compressed my lips for a moment. The light was fading outside, which made the shadows inside the house all the more menacing. Goose bumps rose and raced along the flesh of my arms.

I crossed my arms over my body and glared at him. ‘Why don’t you turn on the light?’

‘You came all this way to ask me that?’

I gave him a cutting look. ‘Don’t be a smartass.’

‘Right back at you, sweetheart.’

I poked my tongue out at him. Childish, I know, but he had that effect on me.

I knew he was only using those tender endearments to annoy me. I had believed them once. I had really
felt
like his sweetheart. His treasure. His darling. I had loved hearing him say the words. His trace of a Sicilian accent had given them a spine-tingling quality. But they were false—just like his promises of for ever.