It took him a moment to look at me. When he did, he nodded. I handed him the card. It took him even longer to acknowledge the words and the picture inside.
“You bought me a boat?” His eyes turned up to meet mine.
I nodded, almost too eager. “It’s nothing too fancy, but it has really nice features. Or so I’m told. I thought it was something you’d get use out of. Something you’d enjoy. I know the deal you and Elliott had. So I had them paint Maestro 7 on the side.”
It made sense to name the boat after my brother and Brando. Maestro was Elliott’s nickname. Some of the guys in town called Brando “7” because they considered him lucky.
My father would’ve usually helped me with choosing such a gift, but since I was keeping my distance, Rocco stepped up and helped. I had to keep steering him away from yachts and speedboats.
Brando cleared his throat. “Scarlett.” His voice was just above a whisper and rough.
“You don’t have to say anything.” I could tell he was struggling. “I know.”
I leaned up on my toes and went to kiss him, but he took control of the situation and kissed me. All that he could’ve said was in that one kiss. I was left dazed after he had broken it off.
“I need a minute.” I held one finger up. Then I turned from him, feeling like an alcoholic after the first drink hits the tongue, about to escape into the bathroom.
“Scarlett.”
“Yes?” I stopped.
“Sixty seconds,” he said in Italian. “No more.”
His words, the way he had said them, with such passion, made my lower stomach contract. More so than usual, I was aware of every inch of skin on my body, like lightning ready for the roll of thunder.
The mirror in the bathroom reflected a flushed face and hooded eyes. I had bought layers to put between us so he could rip them to shreds and then tell me how much he despised them. Instead, I went to him bare, full of goosebumps, my knees rattling together. He still made me feel young and so damn inexperienced.
Anticipation brewed between us, a bottled-up storm.
The fire highlighted my puckered skin, and all of the hair on my arms stood erect. I hadn’t been looking up at him, and when I lifted my eyes to meet his, a low growl emanated from his throat.
The tenor of it echoed in my bloodstream.
“Did I make it out on time?” I trembled out in Italian.
I closed my eyes when he came near, his heat almost engulfing me.
We stood that way for an uncountable amount of time, me with my eyes closed, him so close that I made fists to stop myself from taking handfuls of his sweater and yanking his body against mine.
My nipples were hard and so damn close to his skin, yet I wouldn’t be able to feel him if I took the step forward to close the minute distance. Layers. This time from him.
As if this thought summoned him to action, I felt a breath of air kiss my skin as he undressed. The soft material of his sweater grazed my breasts. I bit my lip to keep from whimpering.
He was skilled at this. Anticipation. He knew how to keep the storm rolling, always hungry to ravage more.
I breathed outwhen his thumb released my lip. Hardly able to lift my eyelids, I did, just to see him. He was waiting for me, a look of unbridled longing in his smoldering eyes. Not so wicked tonight, opening up his darkness to let the light in.
“Vieni al mio letto, mio marito,”I whispered.“Per sempre.”
I reached for him, silently asking him to come to my bed. He answered by taking my outstretched hand, entwining our fingers together. He kissed each one and then took my other hand, doing the same.
In movements so fluid that it felt as though soft water ran from limb to limb, his hands moved over me, from the shape of my face to my neck, over my shoulders and back, to travel between my breasts and then over them.
“Ti adoro,”he breathed against my nipple.
I sucked in a breath, only to let it out slowly, in a soft sigh. I used his shoulders as a brace against the onslaught of sensations. He moved lower, his tongue carving new paths, along the slope of hips, over the concavities of my stomach. Further down, he buried his nose, inhaled, and then…
I arched forward, consumed by the feeling. My nails dug deep into his flesh to keep me anchored. My other hand caressed his neck, moving further up to find his hair, until I had a fistful and was almost pulling.
