them, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Fingertips moving over her body, as if examining her by touch alone. Lingering at the indentation of her waist. Skating over the curve of her hips. Cupping the swell of her buttocks and pulling her into the hard rock of his arousal.
‘Oh!’ she gasped.
‘You like that?’
‘Yes!’
‘And that?’
‘Oh, yes.’ She breathed. ‘Yes!’
‘You want me to keep doing it?’
‘Yes!’
He flicked his tongue over her bone-dry lips. She was like molten lava, bubbling beneath his touch—so responsive, so unbelievably receptive in a way which belied her normal cool image.
Gianluca thought quickly. If his barn were not filled with villagers and local dignitaries, he would have thought nothing of taking her there, beneath the tree. He could have fought to get her jeans down and thrust deliciously into her. Then they could have gone back to the party afterwards as if nothing had happened.
He frowned with concentration. If he kissed her thoroughly enough, silenced the sounds of her orgasm, he might yet be able to accomplish it. And yet he was still not certain of her. Some women were needlessly sentimental when they took a new lover—insisting on the formality of a bed rather than a shadowed space in an orchard. Would Aisling be one of them?
He realised that this was madness—that there were a million other women more suitable to take to his bed than this one. She was a good head-hunter and this could impact badly on their professional relationship. Yet for once he failed to heed the note of caution in his head. He wanted her in a way which surprised him. Against her lips, he smiled. He wanted her and he knew how to guarantee that she would be his.
He moved his hand to touch her thigh through the thick material of the denim, feeling her shudder against him.
‘Gianluca?’
The word came out breathlessly against his lips and he heard her uncertainty. Ruthlessly, he moved his fingertips upwards, alighting and burrowing over her mound with irresistible precision, and heard her helpless little moan.
‘You like that too, I think, cara mia,’ he murmured, and now he began to move his hands with accurate sweetness, knowing that the barrier of her jeans was exciting her as much as frustrating her. ‘Don’t you?’
The world tipped on its axis as for one second Aisling really thought she was about to lose it there and then.
‘Don’t you?’ he prompted huskily.
Mutely she nodded her head—words beyond her ability as she clung to him with all the hunger of someone who hadn’t had sex for so long, she’d almost forgotten what to do. But it was more than that, wasn’t it? It was because it was him—her every fantasy personified. ‘Gianluca,’ she moaned.
‘We can’t stay here,’ he ground out.
Again, it was a statement. He was not given to asking permission, Aisling realised weakly—in the same moment realising that she didn’t want him to ask. She wanted him to take control in that masterful and autocratic way of his. Because that will take some of the self-recrimination away—is that why? questioned a mocking voice in her head, but she silenced it.
‘I know,’ she whispered, her answer making her complicit in what they were doing.
Those shaky words were all he needed—and he didn’t realise how much he had been fearing that she would tear herself away from him and let sanity prevail until he heard the rush of pent-up air escape from his lips. The slow seep of anticipation began to ensnare him and, compelled by some primitive instinct, Gianluca did what he had never done before. He picked her up in his arms and carried her up towards the house.
‘Put me down,’ she whispered.
‘No.’
‘I’m much too heavy.’
‘No. You are perfect.’
It felt like being in a dream, as if she had spent her whole life waiting for just that moment. Cradled in Gianluca’s strong arms with her head resting against his chest in the warmth of the balmy night and a silver moon blazing overhead.
She barely noticed the cool, dim house with its ancient flagstones and its worn stone steps and beautiful old furniture—all she could feel was the pounding of his heart against her body. Gianluca didn’t even put her down once they were inside—instead he began to mount the stairs with Aisling still in his arms. How strong he was, she thought, in admiration and slight bewilderment.
The first moment of panic she knew was when he kicked open a door which revealed a huge bed, its counterpane and cushions covered in some dark, silky material. An unashamedly masculine bed which looked made for seduction—and Aisling suddenly wondered what he would expect of her in return. Would she let herself down with her relative inexperience?
Her tongue snaked out over bone-dry lips. ‘Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,’ she whispered.
He had been expecting this, but it didn’t stop him from laying her down on the bed as carefully as if she had been composed entirely of something fragile. He smoothed a stray tendril of hair from her cheek, his black eyes suddenly serious. ‘Oh, yes, it is,’ he affirmed softly. ‘It is the best idea I’ve ever had.’
And then he bent over her and kissed her with a different kind of kiss from the one beneath the tree—it was all soft and tender and stomach-melting—the kind of kiss which said: Trust me. Could she? More importantly, could she trust herself not to read anything more into this than what it really was? If she was prepared to accept reality for just this once, then she would be safe.
Gianluca felt another unexpected kick of something which seemed to exceed mere desire as her arms looped up behind his neck and her lips parted as she stared up at him in silent invitation. Her dark hair was fanned out against the gleaming backdrop of the bed, the filmy top outlining her amazing breasts and her denimclad legs splayed out in careless abandon.
His lips began to graze over her eyelids. ‘Do you know how beautiful you look tonight, cara?’
‘Seriously?’ she questioned uncertainly, guessing that this was what he said to every woman he took to his bed. But it unsettled her. She might have scrubbed up well tonight, but no way was she beautiful.
‘Oh, yes.’ He felt her tense and his hand cupped her breast until he felt her nipple peak against his palm and he wanted to say to her—Why the hell don’t you dress like this normally? Except to say that risked bringing work into the bedroom and destroying the enchantment.
So instead, he whispered to her in Italian, telling her that she was much too beautiful to hide her hair and body away—allowing himself the luxury of knowing that she could not understand anything he was saying. So there was no chance his words could be misinterpreted…only their sensual tone would be taken on board.
He felt the apprehension begin to leave her as he told her that her hair was as dark as the night and that she looked like a sorceress. He told her that her body was everything a woman’s body should be, and as he tugged off the jeans he realised that he had been right. Madonna mia, but she was a Venus! It was true that her lingerie was a little on the plain side, but he wasn’t intending that she wear it for very much longer.
‘Gianluca,’ she breathed as he slid off her panties and tossed them aside to join the other garments on the floor. And suddenly the uncertainty began to dissolve with the sure caress of his fingers against her nakedness and his murmured words.
He was just so gorgeous, and he was making her feel gorgeous—and hadn’t she been nurturing a fantasy about this man from the very first moment she’d met him? Reaching up, she burrowed her fingers beneath his silken shirt, feeling the flat, hard planes of his torso and the rough texture of the hair which grew there.
‘Sì,