evening of his life. The sight of Pia with her glasses perched on her nose, studious concentration furrowing her brow, had driven him half-crazy.
The thought of spending the next fifty years in such close quarters with her was surprisingly exciting. He imagined looking up from his work to find her gaze on him with a slight smile, sitting in comfortable silence but with an ongoing sizzling awareness; the absolute knowledge that it wouldn’t make a difference to Pia if his assets grew another billion or not, or if he lost most of it with some bad decisions like his father. The trust that she would never stop looking at him as if he were the most perfect man she had ever met—it filled him with the desire to wrap his arms around her and never let go.
Locking the door against any servants, uncaring that he was dishonoring her under Gio’s roof, he had crossed the room, knelt in front of her, pulled her hair from the tight braid she had forced it into and drunk greedily from her welcoming mouth.
He’d meant to keep his word. He’d meant to let her come to him, to give her the time she’d asked for. And yet, her responsive moans had had him spreading her legs wide, pulling up the long skirt she had worn that day, and then kissing his way up the silky skin of her thighs, all the way to the damp center of her sex.
He had tasted her desire for him while she had sunk her fingers into his hair, gasping and moaning, scandalized by his actions and yet thrusting against his ministrations until she was falling apart against his mouth while digging her teeth into his lower lip. The most potent masculine satisfaction had surged through him when she had collapsed into his arms, limbs trembling.
Cheeks pink, breath serrated, hair in wild disarray and her eyes, those wide, deep brown eyes glittering with an emotion he didn’t want to give a name to. Dio, she’d been the wildest, the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
Fingers sinking in his hair, she had guided his mouth down to hers for a quick press. “I didn’t know I could feel so much pleasure that I could happily die from it.”
“You’re not dying until I have punished you for your no-sex rule,” he’d said, sinking his teeth into the rough cushion of her palm.
“Poor Raphael, it has been, what? Three weeks?”
A soft flick at the center of her palm with his tongue. Like a spark plug when combusted, she immediately slithered in his lap. “Five weeks and four days, you minx.”
She had crawled to her knees, stroked her palms up his chest, cheeks flaming pink and with the most mischievous grin said, “Raphael, can I...?”
He hardened into stone. Her hands on his thighs, yes, but the shy desire, her hesitation, got him every time.
“Can you what, cara mia?” If she had asked the world of him, he would have agreed.
Her face burrowed into his chest, her fingers drawing mesmerizing lines on the back of his neck. “I... I want to return the favor.”
He swallowed the jolt of lust that shot through him. “What favor?”
“I want to do to you what you did to me just now,” she had finally whispered at his ear. “I want to make you lose control too.”
How he hadn’t combusted right there, Raphael had no idea. Wedged against the taut curve of her buttock, his erection had twitched in his trousers at her innocent suggestion.
“Are you agreeing to marry me then?” he’d taunted instead.
He had no idea what she’d been about to say because his infernal cell phone had rung, disrupting the pregnant moment.
Somehow, what had begun as a convenient arrangement had morphed. It wasn’t just the prize of finally owning Vito Automobiles that lured him anymore. It wasn’t the convenience of returning all the favors Gio had bestowed on him by marrying Pia. It wasn’t taking on the responsibility to protect her and Gio’s wealth.
It was Pia herself.
He knew as surely as the beat of his heart, while he waited at the center in front of Teatro Alla Scala for her to arrive for her special opera night, that he wanted Pia in his life.
He wanted the woman who looked at him as if he were the world to her. And in return, he would give Pia everything she could ever want, everything that he was capable of giving.
* * *
Pia stepped out of the limo on a side street, an unnecessary indulgence Raphael insisted on, and walked the last few steps to the front of the historical opera house Teatro Alla Scala and gaped with her mouth open. She could have just as well caught the light rail, but of course he wouldn’t listen.
Glad that she had worn her soft silk emerald-green dress that made Milan’s humidity bearable, she looked around herself. Typical of the busy city’s evening, Piazza della Scala was busy and noisy, mostly with tourists. Locals, she’d learned, had already escaped to the beach, especially as it was the weekend.
She had barely breathed in the architectural marvel all around her when the hairs on her nape stood up with that familiar prickle. Turning around, she spotted Raphael instantly among the elegantly dressed men and women in front of the famous opera house.
Tall and wide and impossibly gorgeous, he stood out. His shoulders looked broader than ever in the handmade suit, his looks even more breathtaking in the magnificent lights of the square.
Clad in a black suit with a white shirt underneath, hands loosely tucked into his trouser pockets, he was leaning against a pillar and watching her with a curious smile playing around his lips. As if knowing that she wanted to linger, he crooked a finger at her.
That playful arrogance, that wicked promise in his eyes sent a shiver down her spine. He looked good enough to be devoured. And he looked at her as if he was ready to devour her.
It had been a whole long, utterly miserable ten days since she had last seen him, ten days since he had sent her into spasms of unbearable pleasure with his mouth at her most private place. Just thinking of that scandalous moment, the pleasure that had filled her sent blood rushing to her ears.
And he knew. Even across the ten feet or so that separated them, she could see the gleam of that hunger in his eyes, sense the attraction arc between them.
Heart beating a thousand beats a minute, aware of more than one woman stumbling to a stop at the breathtaking sight of him, Pia reached him.
He is mine, a part of her cooed in joy.
Holding her at arm’s length, he swept that possessive gaze over her arms and shoulders left bare by the thin straps of the dress. A much-needed breeze wafted by, revealing the thigh-length slit in her dress. She saw him swallow as a partial view of her toned leg flashed and she was fiercely glad for swimming all those hours and keeping herself fit.
And then his arm was around her, his mouth at her ear. “I do not like any other man getting such a good view of your legs, cara mia. They are only for my pleasure, to be wrapped around my hips while I move inside you.” His hand rested possessively on her waist as if to warn off any approaching man. “I think I like you all covered up in your jeans and my shirts.”
Luckily, Pia wasn’t required to respond as the ushers were showing them to their seats on a balcony, which she was delighted to find was an individual room with a private coat closet across the hallway from the box.
While Raphael exchanged words with the usher, Pia took in the historical circle-style theater that she’d heard so much about. The energy of the place was incredible. Gorgeously decorated in gold and stunning red velvet, the teatro was everything she’d hoped it would be. Pushing up her glasses, she began to people watch, because the women and men were dressed in elegant designer outfits that would probably rival the costumes themselves.
When Raphael tapped on her shoulder and showed her to a seat, Pia smiled sheepishly. “I’m sure my enthusiasm must look very provincial to you. But Nonni described this very theater to me so many times and all the wonderful productions she had seen here before she left Italy that I can’t believe I’m finally here.
It