Slow Tango With a Prince (Royal Scandals) (22 page)

“You can say no, you know,” his teasing whisper came to her ear.

“Not if I can’t breathe.” She wrapped her leg around him, anchoring his body against hers. “And not if I don’t want to.”
 

“Good.” He reached behind him and located a condom. Sheathed, he pressed a worshipful kiss to her forehead before entering her in one sweet, unrestrained stroke she knew would drive her erogenous fantasies for years to come. The heavenly awareness that he was fully inside her sent her reeling. He felt so good, so right, as if she’d been waiting her entire life for this one exquisite moment.

“Dear God, Emily,” he ground out as he slowly withdrew, inch by agonizing inch, then plunged deep once more. She clutched at his corded arms. She could feel him resisting, fighting to slow himself down despite her obvious need. Near her ear, he whispered, “You are amazing.”

“Show me.” She turned her head, meeting his mouth in a fierce kiss as she wrapped her legs tighter around his hips, encouraging him to let go. He did just that, driving into her hard and fast, ratcheting up the tension in her body until she didn’t think she could take another second…only to have him change his angle, touch her in a new spot, and take her even higher.

She cried out his name as she reached her peak, then sensation engulfed her as she plunged over the cliff. A deep moan of pleasure exploded from her, her back lifted from the bed, and she scrabbled for purchase against the headboard with one hand while clinging to Vittorio’s broad back with the other.
 

Through the haze of ecstasy, she heard her name, then an Italian phrase spoken so low and with such passion she couldn’t begin to translate, though his meaning was clear. A beat later his body tensed, his chin dropped, and great shudders took him as he found his release. A deep, masculine sound of satisfaction echoed through the small room before he collapsed to her side, his powerful arms holding her fast against his sweat-slicked body.

Eyes closed, she threaded her fingers through his hair, aimlessly massaging his scalp as they recovered. Craving the heat of his skin and the rapid thrum of his heart against her own, she shifted so he lay partially on top of her.
 

She dragged in long, deep breath, savoring the roughness of Victor’s scruff-covered cheek where it rested against the tender area just below her collarbone. Gradually, she allowed her fingers to drift down his neck and across his back, to memorize the texture of the supple skin that covered powerful muscles. To trace his shoulder blades and marvel at the contained strength he hid under his casual shirts. To wonder at the complexity of a man who proclaimed to have simple needs, yet who’d apparently endured such challenges he’d needed five months of solitude an ocean away from home to regain his equilibrium.

He shifted, disposing of the condom in a trash can near the bed before caressing her side in the haphazard manner that only came from being thoroughly sated. She couldn’t resist kissing the top of his head. Into his hair, she said, “Would it be wrong of me to say that you are an absolutely gorgeous man?”

“Absolutely not.” Exhausted laughter rumbled through his back to her fingertips. “This is perhaps the time a man most wants to hear compliments.”

“Are you fishing for more?” she teased.

“Only answering your question. But say what you will and I’ll do the same.” He pushed up to his elbows so his face hovered inches above hers. She expected his expression to be lighthearted, but was surprised to find his brow creased in sincerity. “You are not only stunning to look at, Emily Sinclair, you’re endlessly fascinating. Meeting you has been the highlight of my time in Buenos Aires.”

She smiled and kissed him again. She intended it to be brief and carefree, but it quickly morphed into more as he cupped the back of her head and nipped her lower lip. She yelped in delight as he pressed her into the sumptuous sheets once more, his mouth possessing hers completely.
 

Just as she was certain they’d end up making love again, she sensed a change in him. He playfully rolled over, pulling her on top of him and fanning his fingers over her hips. “When you approached me in the café, you promised that filming would be fun,” he said. “Never in a million years did I expect this.”

“This” —she rose to straddle him, then waved an index finger between them— “isn’t being filmed. I also said doing the show would be an adventure to share with your friends and family. That definitely doesn’t apply here.”

He let go of her, tucking his hands behind his head and gazing up at her in a mix of curiosity and amusement.

“What?”
 

“I was trying to tell you that I’m really enjoying myself. Are you trying to tell me that filming your show is more fun than this?” He gestured from himself to her, mimicking her.

“Well, I do live for my show. But on the fun scale” —she caught his hand— “it doesn’t compare to this.”
 

Never before had she thought of sex in terms of fun. It’d always meant something more. Commitment. Personal risk. Expectations. With Paul there’d been the added fear that if she couldn’t satisfy him, he’d leave her and she’d have nothing.
 

Well, Paul
did
leave her. Despite her sacrifices, despite his claims that he loved her, he needed more. For months afterward she’d agonized over what she could’ve done differently, if anything. In the end, she’d emerged from the broken relationship stronger, and she’d pursued a new career, one that reinforced her sense of self. She’d sworn never to be that vulnerable again.

Thankfully,
At Home Abroad
kept her so busy and fulfilled that giving herself entirely to a man hadn’t been an option. But having fun with a man…well, tonight she’d discovered the joy of it and realized that no-commitment sex, sex without fear, gave her an adrenaline-fueled high. It made her feel confident and free.

Who knew?

Without warning, Vittorio sat up and eased her backward, sending her head to the foot of the bed as he moved over her on all fours. Just as when he’d fixed her with
el cabeceo
during the tango lesson, she experienced the sensation of being a gazelle caught in the sights of a hungry predator, unable to tear her gaze from his.
 

With a grin, she gripped his thighs, kneading her fingers into his dark hair and rock-hard muscle. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Having more fun.”

“Already?”

One of his hands clamped down on hers, sliding it to the inside of his thigh…then further.
 

“It would seem so,” she murmured.
 

As she shifted her grip over the swollen head, his mouth thinned and his eyes drifted closed. “Or maybe not. That was the only condom I had. I really meant it when I said this was unexpected.”

Her hand stilled. “That’s—”

“A tragedy,” he finished. “But one I can rectify if you’re able to hang on for five minutes while I run to the shop we passed a few doors down.”

She angled a pointed glance toward her hand. “You’re not in a condition to run anywhere. But it’s up to you.” When his eyes widened, she added, “Pregnancy isn’t an issue for me. And I have physicals every six months as a condition of the show’s insurance policy, so I can assure you, I’m not carrying anything scary or contagious.”
 

And as he’d shrewdly pointed out when he’d kissed her outside her bed and breakfast, she hadn’t been kissed—let alone bedded—in a long time.

Wariness caused a divot to form between his brows. “You’re positive pregnancy is a non-factor? Because—”

“We’re completely covered on that front,” she assured him. He hesitated, then she caught a change in his gaze and a deep understanding passed between them.

“Then by all means, carry on.” Though his smile was wicked, the gravity in his tone let her know he was taking a huge leap of faith in trusting her, one he didn’t take it lightly. At the same time, it conveyed a pledge that she was perfectly safe with him, that he’d never put her health or career at risk.

She shifted her hold and planted a quick kiss on his lips. “Vittorio, your wish is my command.”

Chapter Fifteen

Unfettered sex. Who knew?

A deep sense of gratification filled Vittorio as he nestled Emily against him and let his racing pulse settle from their second round of lovemaking.

Until this moment, it never occurred to him how contained he’d kept his sex life, but that’s exactly what it’d been. Concerns always lingered at the back of his mind when he dated a new woman, concerns that magnified on the rare occasions he allowed their relationship to move to the bedroom. Were they enamored with him, or with the potential of becoming Sarcaccia’s future queen? Were they—God forbid—faking their interest in order to keep his attention? If the relationship ended, would they sell their story to the highest bidder?

With Emily, that apprehension didn’t exist. She knew nothing of his title, only had hints at his wealth, and had no expectations of a relationship. When the show wrapped, she’d head back to New York and her busy life. He’d go back to Sarcaccia and his. He even believed her when she assured him she’d taken precautions against pregnancy…a statement he never in his life thought he’d accept from any woman.

This was sex for the sake of sex. The sheer enjoyment of another person’s body. And it was divine.

He pressed a tired kiss to her temple, reveling in the scent of her shampoo and the light sheen of perspiration at her hairline.
 

“Stay,” he whispered against her soft skin. “We’ll get you home in the morning with no one the wiser.”

She sighed her assent. He closed his eyes and relaxed into his pillow, satisfied knowing her lush body would warm his the rest of the night.

Less than a minute later, he squeezed his eyes tighter against the swell of emotion rising in his chest. He was kidding himself. He wasn’t satisfied at all.

Tonight wasn’t divine because it was unfettered sex. It was divine because it was sex with Emily. And as he listened to her quiet breathing and enjoyed the sensation of her silken, honeyed hair splayed across his shoulder, he knew he wanted more than a one-night stand. Emily made him want a relationship.

She shifted, tangling her heavenly legs with his.

His experience with Carmella made him believe he’d forsake marriage until absolutely necessary for the future of his country, and then only because it was his duty to produce offspring. He’d hoped he’d be able to find a woman he could trust, one who’d grow to become his partner and a friend. But he’d never pictured he could experience this, even for a single night. This was all out, soul-twisting lust for a woman he admired deeply. A woman who’d stepped between him and an armed man.
 

Making love to Emily went beyond a craving for carnal pleasure, even beyond a need for comfort. He knew, deep in his bones, that this was meant to happen. That when he’d come to Buenos Aires, Emily was his destination.

She’d shattered his reason. Challenged him. Made him realize there was still good in the world.
 

She’d made him care about his future happiness, not merely in his future survival.

But now what? The situation was impossible. As Emily’s foot slid up his calf, he tightened his hold around her and dragged his lips over her hair.
 

A mere six months ago, he’d been openly dating Carmella. Betting lines across the European continent leaned toward them getting engaged within the year, and he’d been mulling the possibility of a future with her. The gossip tabloids had barely moved on from the news of their surprise breakup when she’d committed suicide, sending her fans reeling and the tabloids buzzing anew. In order to protect his family and hers, he’d been obliged to say only the best about the up-and-coming actress, leaving her reputation intact. To step out with a new girlfriend at this point could elicit the worst kind of venom from the press, from Carmella's fans, and even from his own countrymen.
 

Even if a such a relationship was accepted, how could he possibly explain meeting her? Because the moment their liaison became public, everyone would clamor to know the details, and no good could come of it. He had no illusions about the personal hell public opinion could create for each of them if their relationship ever came to light. It was the kind of hell that destroyed one’s spirit. It could throw his abilities as a future monarch into question. It would kill Emily’s career.
 

And that would kill everything inside Emily that made her…
her
. Her openness, her optimism, her zest for life.

She reached to pull the plush coverlet over them both. Just as he settled his arm in a more comfortable position, an insistent hum came from the direction of the front door. He frowned. He’d been at this hotel for several days, but hadn’t noticed a buzzer of any kind.

“Of course,” Emily muttered, making him realize it must be her phone. “I hate to say it, but I need to check.”

“You think it’s Rita?”

“If not her, then someone else from the show. They’re used to getting quick responses from me and I don’t want them to wonder.” The edges of her mouth curved as she rose from the bed and looked at him in the dim light. “Of course, it could always be the network saying we’re being renewed. Wouldn’t want to miss that.”