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“Beautiful,” he agreed, even though he couldn’t think about anything but the feel of Fallon’s skin against his, the silken pressure of her breasts in his palms.
But she was right; the sight was spectacular and Etna was being a lady this night, filling the sky with fire, not danger, and after a while he caught Fallon’s excitement, shifted her in his arms so that he could press his cheek against hers and watch the show.
After a while, Fallon gave a little hum of distress.
“What’s the matter?”
“I just thought…what if Anna wakes up?”
“What if she does?”
“Well, she might come out here. To watch, like we are. And she might see—”
Stefano grinned. “See what? You, naked in my lap?”
“I’m not naked,” she said primly, which was stupid, she knew, because she was naked under the blanket, and Stefano’s hands were on her breasts.
Oh, the feel of his hands. The faint abrasion of his thumbs, the stroke of his fingertips…
“Where do you live in New York?”
“On Greene Street, in Soho.”
“Lots of traffic in Soho.”
“So?” She giggled at the unintended pun. “I mean, so what?”
Stefano bit lightly at her neck. “So, I’ll bet the traffic doesn’t wake you.”
“Well, no. But—”
“It’s the same thing. The volcano is part of life here. Anna’s probably still snoring.”
“What about Luigi?”
“What about him? He has an apartment above the garage and the only thing he’s ever said about the volcano is that it’s a pain in the…behind.”
“Well, how about the security—”
Stefano said something in Sicilian, kissed Fallon to silence and told her the only person she had to worry about was him because the feel of her naked bottom shifting as she gestured toward the house and garage was having a predictable effect.
She went still in his arms. He was right. She could feel the ridge of his erection pressing against her.
Suddenly, the fire in the sky was nothing compared to the fire pooling low in her belly.
What had happened tonight had been beyond her wildest dreams. She hadn’t planned on letting it happen but once Stefano had kissed her, had told her he wanted her, she couldn’t have turned back for anything in the world.
And she wanted him again.
Slowly, deliberately, she turned in his arms until she was facing him. Her lashes dropped over her eyes; she parted her lips and licked them.
“What predictable effect, signore?” she murmured.
Stefano growled her name, cupped her face in his hands and took her mouth in a kiss so hot and hungry she moaned.
“You’re a witch,” he said huskily. “A beautiful, seductive witch.”
She kissed him again, snaked the tip of her tongue into his mouth.
“You’re playing with fire, cara.”
She knew she was, but what was the point in playing it safe? She wanted this moment, this man, wanted him now, here, while the sky burned with fire, and she put her mouth to his ear, bit the lobe…
Stefano shuddered, reached between them, told her what he was going to do to her in explicit language even as he freed himself and surged into her. Fallon cried out and flung her head back, rode him, drove them both higher and higher until their mutual release was as hot as the lava flowing down the mountain.
“Stefano,” she sobbed as she collapsed against him, “I’ve never…it’s never been like this before. Never, never…”
He held her, rocked her, stroked her and kissed her as she trembled in his arms. After a while, she quieted; she sighed and drifted into sleep. Still he sat holding her, his face turned to the volcano, and knew that its fiery display was far less powerful than the truth that scorched his heart, his mind, his soul.
He was in love with Fallon.
CHAPTER NINE
FALLON lay on a rattan recliner beside the pool, protected from the sun by a beach umbrella as she basked in the afternoon heat.
She had on a floppy-brimmed hat, sunglasses, a thong bikini and what felt like a ton of sunscreen. Bees buzzed softly in the flowering shrubs that shielded the pool from the house. The sound suited her drowsy mood.
Sighing, she opened one eye, looked up at the sun and decided it was time to turn onto her belly. It was probably the most work she’d done in the couple of hours since she’d come outside and left Stefano to catch up with work in his study, maybe even the most she’d done since they’d become lovers two weeks ago.
Stefano definitely spoiled her.
“I can do that,” she’d told him a while ago when he knelt beside her and smoothed sunscreen lotion over her skin.
“I’ll do it, cara. You know what the doctor said about the dangers of too much sun.”
She’d made a face and rolled her eyes and protested that, honestly, he didn’t have to fuss over her all the time.
What a lie!
The truth was, she loved having him fuss over her. There was something wonderful in your lover treating you as if you were precious to him.
No man had ever given her that feeling before.
Her lovers had given her expensive gifts, taken her to clubs where lesser mortals waited behind velvet ropes, showed her off like a glittering trophy.
Stefano had given her flowers, taken her into the privacy of his home, and showed her off to nobody. Their relationship was private and meant for no eyes but their own.
“You’re so good to me,” she’d murmured as he stroked the lotion over her skin.
His hands had stilled. He turned her over and when she looked into his face, she saw that tight, almost predatory expression on it that she knew meant he wanted her.
“Stefano,” she’d murmured, lifting her arms to him, and they’d made love while the breeze sighed and the bees hummed and the water lapped softly against the edge of the pool.
“I’ll never have enough of you,” he’d whispered afterward, as he lay with his face buried in her throat.
Her arms had tightened around him. She would never have enough of him, either, she’d thought, and struggled not to let the enormity of what she felt for Stefano Lucchesi spill from her lips.
She loved him. Loved him desperately, passionately, in all the June-moon, love-and-marriage ways she’d scoffed at. She’d known it for days. For weeks. And denied it, because the realization was so terrifying.
What if he didn’t love her?
She tried not to think about it. She was on a hiatus from reality. So was he. He’d told her as much, lying here with her in his arms a while ago.
He’d made a joke of it, laughed and said his people were half-convinced he’d lost his mind because he’d never stayed away from his office anywhere near this long before.
Then his eyes had become dark.
“Sooner or later, cara,” he’d said, “we’ll both have to go back to the real world.”
Fallon felt a coldness creep over her despite the heat of the Sicilian sun. She knew he was telling her that they’d cocooned themselves in a fantasy world.
He was right. She couldn’t expect him to stay here forever. And she couldn’t go on hiding much longer, either. The night of the accident, Stefano had phoned the inn whe
re the photo crew was staying. He’d left a message with the manager in Fallon’s name, simply saying she’d decided to tack on some vacation time and wouldn’t be heading home with them.
Fallon smiled.
Even then, he’d been protective of her.
Once she’d left the hospital, she’d called her mother, told her she’d decided to take a few weeks’ vacation. Mary Elizabeth bought the story but when she tried the same ruse on her agent, things hadn’t gone as well. Jackie was a New Yorker, born and bred; smokescreens never stopped her.
“Bull,” Jackie told her bluntly. “You don’t do long vacations, O’Connell, and we both know it. What’s going on?”
Nothing, Fallon had insisted. She was tired, that was all, and she needed a rest. After a while, Jackie said yeah, okay, when she was ready to tell her what was going on, she’d be ready to listen.
Fallon rolled onto her belly and rested her face on her arms.
Lying to Jackie had been an act of plain cowardice. It wasn’t as if she was playing for time until her face healed enough for her to face the camera again. She’d never let herself be photographed again. Her scars would fade a little more with time but basically, what she saw in the mirror now was as good as it was going to get.
Modeling, Jackie, that whole life were already history.
But she wasn’t ready to deal with peoples’ reactions to her. Her mother’s anguish. Her siblings’ sympathy. The thinly veiled looks of horror from her business associates, the blood-in-the-water feeding frenzy of the tabloids.
She was safe from all of that here. And happy. Happier than she’d ever been in her life, despite the accident. She’d never known such peace and joy as she’d found in this quiet place with a man who’d been a stranger less than a month ago.
Now she understood what she’d seen in her brother’s face the day of his wedding. Keir had stripped his soul bare for Cassie. That was what being in love was all about. Your lover could show you heaven with a kiss or send you to hell with a careless word. She’d never been in love but she’d seen what happened to others.
Crossing Fifty-seventh Street wearing a blindfold back home was less dangerous than falling in love.
She was careful not to say “I love you” to Stefano, though the words were always on her lips.
