Marcello & Grace (Royals of Valleria #2) (15 page)

She knocked softly on the door. She heard his voice inside speaking to someone else. Should she enter?

After another knock with no reply, she cracked open the door. “Marcello?” she said.

As she stepped inside, a glass was hurled at the wall near her, shattering into hundreds of tiny pieces of shimmering crystal. Grace let out a cry of fear and then shuddered. Her body suddenly froze as she took in the sight of Marcello. His eyes, which had been dark with anger, turned suddenly shocked at the sight of the broken glass and of her. He haphazardly hung up the phone and threw it on the bed.

“Grace,” he said as he stepped towards her. “My God. You could have been hurt.”

She stepped back only to find the door blocking her escape. Her arms were in front of her in automatic protection, while her hands had instinctually formed tight fists.

“Please don’t step away from me,” he begged. “It was an accident. The glass just flew from my hand.”

His words once again reminded her of Daniel’s but his face, it was his face that had her calming. His face was nothing like Daniel’s after an ‘incident’. Marcello’s face was full of regret, and fear that she may have been hurt. Marcello had not wanted to hurt her; Daniel had done nothing but.

The stark realization had her relaxing her stance and Marcello walked to her. He lifted his hands slowly to her face, and she didn’t feel fear at his touch.

His hands were gentle as they ran over her face and through her braided hair searching for any pieces of errant glass. His gaze lingered on her body and she suddenly realized she had come to see him in a wet shirt; he could probably see everything.

When she moved to cover herself with her arms, he paused her movements. “You don’t need to hide yourself from me, Grace. I love looking at you. I love being near you. Hell, Grace, I love you. I would never hurt you. Do you believe me?”

He loved her. Did he realize that was the first time he had told her? She was breathing heavily now, as though she’d run a marathon. She wasn’t sure what to say. She wasn’t even sure how she felt. “I believe you,” she said.

“Thank God,” he said and pulled her closer. Her wet clothes seemed to be ruining his, but he didn’t seem to mind. “I’m so sorry,” he said as he kissed her head.

She let out a sigh and wound her arms around him. “Why were you upset when I came in?”

He took a deep breath and lifted her eyes to his. “It was work.”

“You can’t tell me, then.”

“I’m not supposed to but I’m going to. My God, Grace, I could have hurt you.”

Hearing him more upset about the incident than she was, she knew in that moment that he would never hurt her, not physically. Emotionally, well, that was something else. Physically, however, she knew she was safe.

“Let’s take a walk,” she suggested.

Marcello glanced outside at the steady rain. Thunder boomed occasionally, but no lightening. “It’s raining pretty hard outside.”

“It’s just a little rain,” she said. “Come on. I want to show you something.” After a moment, he nodded. She took his hand and led him down the stairs and back through the kitchen.

Armed with an exceedingly large umbrella easily made for two people, they walked the same paths they had yesterday. This time, however, when they met the fork in the road, they took a new path. “This is the way to my private spot. I suppose it’s not very private in the end, but it’s where I went when I needed some time alone. I’ve come here a lot over the years.”

They broke through a patch of trees, some of them turning with the season, and neared a large stream that tumbled into a small lake.

“It’s beautiful,” Marcello said.

“Isn’t it? Grace said with a small smile. “Even when it’s dark and stormy and gray outside, everything here seems bright, even in the winter.”

They crossed a stone bridge over the stream hand-in-hand, and continued on the path through another set of woods before nearing what was referred to as the Temple of Emma. It was a folly - a small stone structure built long ago by a previous fanciful owner of the estate. The structure held no real purpose, though it was a sight to behold as it rested easily on the bank of the lake. It was equipped with a smooth, white stone facade and sturdy columns, and topped with a gray-tinted domed roof. The Temple seemed to both stand out and hide among the trees; Grace had become used to doing that herself and felt a kinship with the place because of it.

Grace left the umbrella just inside the covered entrance and drew Marcello inside. The Temple's interior was surprisingly bright for such a dismal day, and channeled natural light in a clever way. That was another reason Grace had loved the space; it had always been bright in a life that had often been so dark.

Inside was a soft couch placed more for function than décor. A small sink had been retrofitted for her by some trusted groundskeepers; Daniel had known nothing about it. She had needed the sink to tend to her wounds, when she’d had them.

Grace drew Marcello to the couch and pulled him down to sit beside her. “What’s wrong, Marcello?”

He nestled her against his shoulder, and she seemed to fit perfectly there. She just felt right in his arms; there was no other way to say it.

“I’m going on a mission.”

“When?”

“Within the next forty-eight hours.”

She gasped lightly. It seemed their time together would end sooner than she thought. “I see. I suppose it will be very dangerous.”

“Yes. Moreso than usual because I can’t trust at least one of the men coming with me.”

“Can you exclude him?”

“No, unfortunately not.” His hand absently rubbed along her back, warming her where her damp shirt brought the occasional chill.

“Do you have to go?”

“Yes.”

A simple answer for what she guessed was a very complicated situation. “And you’re leaving tomorrow?” Her hand rested on his chest, against the simple button-down shirt he wore over dark jeans.

“I’m actually leaving for Valleria tonight to prepare.”

“What?” she said as she sat up and they faced each other. “You’re leaving tonight?”

His hands moved to cup her face. “I’ll be back as soon as it’s over, Grace. If you want me, I’ll be back.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and drew him against her. “I do want you,” she whispered against his ear, and realized it was true. She wanted to wake up with him, to spend her days with him, and she wanted, to her great surprise, to spend her nights with him. Was she ready for that?

She pressed a kiss to his temple, then his forehead and cheek before taking his lips for hers. He fell into the kiss on a moan and she shifted to straddle him. He tore his lips away.

“Grace, what are you doing?”

She bit back a self-deprecating reply and said instead, “Loving you.”

His hands gripped her tighter. “What did you say?”

“I want to make love to you, Marcello.”

He looked deep into her eyes before he said, “I didn’t tell you I was leaving so you’d sleep with me.”

“I know,” she said quickly. “I know you didn’t. This is something I want. I haven’t wanted this since, well, not for a very long time,” she said, refusing to acknowledge the deceased by name. He would not come between her and Marcello, not now. “I want to try with you. If you want to, that is. I might be terrible at it.”

Marcello kissed the protest off her lips. “I told you not to say stuff like that anymore.”

“And you told me I didn’t have to listen to you when you ordered me around.”

Marcello’s lips lifted in a half-smile. “So I did. It’s your choice, Grace.”

“It’s also yours.”

“I want you. I want you so much, fair Grace,” he said with an anguished cry and kissed her again. She moaned in response as bursts of heat flooded through her. She broke the kiss to tilt her head back. As he dropped kisses along the line of her throat, his nimble fingers undid her wet braid.

The rain held a steady tap, tap, tap against the roof but neither of them noticed. Instead, her fingers fumbled for the buttons of his shirt. She was tempted to just rip it apart and the thought made her laugh. Her, Grace Raynott, ripping a man’s clothes away. She felt powerful at just the thought of it.

“What’s so funny?” Marcello whispered against her damp skin, causing a shiver.

“I’m not laughing at you,” she said. “I’m just happy.” They locked eyes again. “I’m happy with you.”

“Grace,” he said as their mouths crashed against each other. His hands roamed underneath her wet t-shirt and they broke apart only so he could lift it away. She used the opportunity to tug his shirt free and pull it over his head, mussing his hair in the process.

She laughed again at the sight of him and began to smooth back his thick, sexy hair. As his lips fell to the curves of her breasts, her breath caught. In one quick, practiced move, he snapped the clasp on the bra and tugged it free.

“God, Grace. You’re beautiful.”

She didn’t think about her scars when he looked at her like that. She didn’t think about the past when his lips and tongue tortured one nipple, then the other. There was only him. Only her. Only them and this moment.

He shifted her onto the couch and she didn’t feel threatened when he loomed over her for a moment, with concern in his eyes. Even now, with their hormones leading the charge, he had control and concern for her. Her heart tumbled for him, and need bloomed hot and fierce within her.

She pulled him down to her with a gasp, and reveled in the feel of skin against skin. Never, not even before Daniel, had she felt like this. She tugged at his jeans and, when her fingers fumbled, he shifted onto his knees to help her. She used the opportunity to undo her own jeans and started wiggling them down.

“Stop,” he said in a husky voice. “Let me.”

Grace’s hands fell away at the intense lust in his expression. His mouth dropped to her smooth belly, dropping soft kisses, and then started moving lower. He slowly pulled her jeans and panties down as his mouth moved lower as well. He dropped soft kisses to the other scars he hadn’t seen before, and never said a word. She remembered him telling her that she was more than her scars, and she fell a little bit more in love with him.

By the time he pulled her jeans and shoes all the way off, she was a quivering mass of nerves and need. He shifted off the couch, taking a long moment to devour each inch of her with his eyes. She wanted to fidget, to cover herself up, but only the love she saw in his gaze stayed her movements.

He wouldn’t judge her. He just loved her.

“I want to spend days learning your body, Grace,” he said. “I’m sorry we don’t have the time for it now.”

“We’ll have time enough later,” she said as she held out a hand to him. They both didn’t add that if his mission weren’t successful, this would be the only time they had together.

Marcello toed off his shoes, then pushed down his jeans and boxers in one swift motion. At the sight of his erection, standing tall and proud against his stomach, Grace had the fleeting thought that she had never seen a more virile man in her life.

“It’s been a while for me,” she said, knowing he would understand her.

“Then we’ll take it slow,” he said and situated himself over her on the couch. She moaned at just the sight of him over her.

His fingers shifted to her folds below and she gasped. No man had ever used his hands there. She could feel the tension building within her, with just a few strokes of his nimble fingers.