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She didn’t answer. For a long, agonizing minute he thought he’d made a mistake, that he wanted her so badly he’d fooled himself into thinking she felt the same way.
Then a tremor went through her and she brought his mouth down to hers.
“You,” she said fiercely. “Only you.”
He bunched her gown in his hands, pushed it to her hips, thrust one leg between hers and almost lost himself when she cried out and moved against his thigh.
He cupped her bottom, groaned when he felt her warm, naked flesh. She was wearing a thong; the thought of how she must look in the wisp of silk almost drove him to his knees. He slid one hand between her thighs, cupped her mons, felt the heat and wetness of her against his palm and knew he was close to the edge.
Quickly, he scooped her into his arms. She kissed his throat as he carried her up the stairs; when he reached his bedroom, he shouldered the door open, kicked it shut behind him and took her to the bed, setting her down beside it, letting her slide down his body until her feet touched the floor.
“I don’t want to hurt you. If it’s too much, if you want me to stop—”
She put her hand over his mouth. “I’m not made of glass.”
“I know. But—”
She kissed him, her mouth soft and warm. Then she stepped back, her eyes never leaving his, and reached behind her for the zipper that went down the back of her gown.
Stefano caught her shoulders.
“Let me do that,” he said in a thick voice.
She lifted her hair and turned her back to him. Slowly, he drew down the zipper, kissing every inch of her spine as he uncovered it. Then he slid down the thin shoulder straps and, in a whisper of silken sibilance, the green silk floated to the floor.
He drew her back against him. She was almost naked now, braless, wearing only the thong and the stiletto heels. He shut his eyes, cupped her breasts, groaned as he felt her nipples thrust against his palms.
“Fallon,” he said, and turned her toward him.
God, she was exquisite. High breasts, a slender waist, gently curved hips and legs that went on forever.
And her face, her beautiful, elegant face with its fine bones, chiseled features and on them, the cruel reminders of how close he’d come to losing her before he’d had the chance to know her any place but in his dreams.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she said, her voice shaking. “My face—”
He caught her wrists as she began lifting her hands, circled them with one hand and clamped them against his chest.
“I want all of you,” he said fiercely. “Do you understand? I want everything you were, everything you are, everything you will be.” He lowered his head toward her, holding her eyes with his. “I’ll give you everything I am, in return. Tell me you agree to that, bellisima, because it’s the only way it can be for us.”
He waited, wondering if he’d pushed too far, demanded too much. Her eyes filled with tears and he thought he had, but before he could gather her close, tell her he would accept whatever she could give, she lifted her mouth to his and kissed him.
Stefano tore off his clothes and dug a small packet from the drawer in the night table. Then he lifted Fallon into his arms and came down with her in the center of the bed.
Slowly, he took off her shoes, pausing to kiss her delicately arched feet, her toes. He kissed her mouth, her breasts, her belly. She moaned and arched toward him and he peeled the thong away so that she lay before him naked, vulnerable, and he knew that he would never want another woman after this night.
He kissed her thighs, her labia, kissed the budding flower hidden there as she sobbed his name. She reached down to stop him but he caught her hands, held them at her sides, kissed and licked until she arched beneath him again and came.
He gathered her to him then, held her, soothed her, kissed her mouth and told her how wonderful she was.
“Stefano,” she said, “Stefano, please…”
“Yes, cara,” he whispered, and he drew back, parted her thighs and on one long, hard thrust, sheathed himself deep inside her. Fallon cried out his name and he watched with fierce pleasure as another orgasm tore through her. Then she reached up and touched his face, and that gentle caress was his undoing.
Stefano groaned, let go and went with her.
* * *
Fallon awoke with a start.
An arm, heavy and possessive, lay curled around her waist; there was a leg draped over hers. Stefano’s arm. Stefano’s leg. She was in his room, in his bed. Smiling, she let her head fall back against his shoulder. She must have fallen asleep in his arms.
Something rumbled in the distance. Thunder, she thought, and snuggled closer. Lightning, too; every now and then, it pierced the blackness of the bedroom. Maybe it would rain. She liked rain, and the thought of waking to it in Stefano’s arms was…
“Mmm,” Stefano said, and wrapped both arms around her.
Fallon touched her hand to his face. His jaw was soft with stubble; she gave a little laugh when he caught the tip of her finger gently between his teeth.
“Hey! That hurts.”
“It doesn’t.”
“It could have.”
“Well, it’s what you get for waking me. Have you no pity for a man on the brink of collapse?”
She wiggled a little, felt the quick surge of his erection against her belly and reveled in the knowledge that she could do that to him with such ease. It made her feel reckless and bold.
“For a man on the brink of collapse, you seem pretty sturdy to me, signore.”
“Mmm,” he said again, and kissed her, his mouth sleep-warm and sweet against hers.
Fallon gave herself up to the kiss. Then she sighed and buried her face against his shoulder.
“It’s going to rain,” she said softly.
Stefano groaned. “Just what I need. An impossible weather report in the middle of the night.”
“I thought it never rains on Sicily this time of year.”
“That’s why it’s impossible.”
“Then why do I hear thunder? There’s lightning, too. Back home, that means—”
“You heard thunder? And saw lightning?”
“Yes. Can’t you?”
He could, now. Hear the muffled roar, see the sudden sizzle of flame that lit the darkness.
Stefano chuckled, tunneled his fingers into Fallon’s hair and kissed the tip of her nose.
“It’s obvious you aren’t Sicilian, sweetheart. If you were, you’d know that isn’t a storm heading toward us.”
“Of course it is.”
“It’s the volcano.”
“What?” Fallon shot up in bed, automatically clutching the top sheet to her breasts. “You mean, it’s erupting?”
“Etna’s been erupting for years.” Stefano reached for her. “Come back. I need you in my arms.”
“But what’s that hitting the windows?”
“Ash, mostly. Maybe some small bits of hardened lava.”
Fallon gave a little shriek, forgot about blankets and modesty and ran to the window.
“I’ve never seen a volcano erupt!”
Stefano rolled his eyes and sat up. He had seen it before. Besides, what he really wanted to see right now was Fallon as he made love to her.
She swung toward him, her face lit by a sudden explosion of flame. Her hair was wild; her eyes were bright with excitement.
She looked like a goddess.
“Stefano, don’t you want to come and see this? It’s incredible!”
Yes, he thought, and felt his heart turn over, oh, yes, it was.
He reached for his discarded trousers, pulled them on, then jerked the blanket from the bed, went to the window and wrapped her in it.
“Oh,” she said, blushing, and he laughed when he realized she’d forgotten she was wearing only her skin and thought that he was covering her because of it.
“Oh, indeed,” he said.
He swung her into his arms, kissed her and strod
e toward the door.
“What are you doing? Stefano, where are we going?”
“You can see the fireworks better from the garden.”
“Let me get dressed, then. We can’t—”
“We can,” he said firmly, and silenced her with another kiss.
It was a perfect night for watching the volcano. The sky was shot with stars and their cold white brilliance formed a backdrop for the hot crimson lava.
Stefano sat in a lounge chair hidden in a stand of flowering hedges, settled Fallon in his lap and pulled the blanket over them both. She leaned back against him, oohing and aahing at the light show.
“Look,” she said, “oh, isn’t it beautiful?”
