‘This isn’t about happily-ever-after,’ Emmeline said with a grim determination. ‘I’m twenty-two, and until our wedding day I’d never even kissed a guy.’
She dropped her eyes, the admission making her insides squirm with embarrassment.
‘I feel like some dusty old antique no one’s wanted to pick up off the shelf.’ Her throat moved as she swallowed. ‘But when you look at me it’s like... I get it. I get what everyone’s talking about. I understand—finally—the appeal of sex. And I don’t want to die a virgin.’
He couldn’t help but laugh softly at her dramatic end note. ‘You are not going to die a virgin. You are still young.’
‘Yes, but...if not now, when? Who?’
An excellent question.
Suddenly the idea of someone else taking this precious gift was anathema to Pietro. The red-blooded man that was thick in his blood had begun to see his wife as his. Not just a bride of convenience, but a woman in his home, under his protection. Was he to let her go one day, knowing some other man would take what he, Pietro, had so nobly declined?
He groaned softly, knowing then that the devil was on his shoulder and he was listening to his urgings. He was listening when he should be speaking sense, reminding her of what they were.
‘You are too young for me,’ he said, with a finality that his hard-as-stone cock wasn’t happy with. ‘And too inexperienced.’
He reached up, wrapping his hands around her wrists, pulling them away from his neck. As he glided them through the water, resting them at her sides, her pert breasts pressed into him.
His arousal jerked and for the briefest moment his will-power left him. How easy it would be to do what she wanted! She was handing herself to him on a silver platter.
But he’d regret it.
One way or another he’d conquer this desire—because nothing and no one ever got the best of Pietro Morelli.
CHAPTER SIX
DIO. SINCE WHEN had she started wearing skirts like that?
Pietro stared out of the villa window, his concentration sapped by the image of his wife in a scrap of denim that barely covered her arse and a simple white strappy top.
Without a bra.
The pert outlines of her breasts were clearly visible, as were the hardened nubs of her nipples, straining at the fabric. She was tapping a pen against her mouth, her eyes intent on the book she had propped on her knees. But his eyes were lost on her lips. Lips that were slightly parted, full and pink, glistening as though she’d just licked them.
‘I’m twenty-two and until our wedding day I’d never kissed a guy.’
A fierce burst of possession tore through him. Those lips had welcomed his claim on them, had sought his mouth and kissed him back. They’d parted for his invasion.
She’d tasted so sweet.
His eyes swept closed as he remembered the way she’d come to him on their wedding night, all pink-cheeked and nervous. The way she’d stood like a rabbit caught in bright headlights—which was exactly what she’d been! How could she have understood the onslaught of sensual heat that was flaring up between them?
Even for Pietro it was proving difficult to process. And impossible to ignore, apparently. Did she have any idea what her presence was doing to him? Here in his house...his virgin bride?
His for the taking.
The idea spread like wildfire through his body. It took every ounce of his willpower not to give in to temptation and act on it.
But it would be so wrong. Other women were for meaningless sex. She was different. Not someone he could desire. She was someone he needed to protect. Yes, as a brother would protect his sister.
Ugh. Not as a brother!
She tossed her dark hair over one shoulder and her eyes lifted almost unconsciously. She was clearly lost in thought, her mind wandering as her eyes did the same.
Pietro jerked his own head down, returning his concentration to the marketing reports he’d been given that morning. Or at least pretending to.
But it was incredibly dull reading, and his wife was just metres away, her long legs calling to him...
With a noise of impatience he scraped his chair back and strode towards the glass doors, his expression grim.
‘Are you wearing suntan lotion?’ he asked, pushing the door open wider as he stepped through it.
Emmeline’s frown showed that she’d been deep in thought—that his question had seemed to come from a long way away.
‘Are you wearing suntan lotion?’
Her face showed bemusement. ‘No. But it’s after five. I’m sure I’ll be—’
‘The Roman sun still has bite.’ He turned on his heel and disappeared, returning a moment later with a small yellow tube. ‘Here.’
He tossed it down on the lounger and she picked it up, unscrewing the lid slowly. His eyes followed her progress and he crossed his arms over his chest, his manner imposing.