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“Do you want to see how hard I am, dolcezza?”
She whispered his name. It was all she could manage.
“Take off the caftan, Cheyenne, and I will show you.”
She stared at him. If she took off the caftan, he would still be fully dressed and she would be naked. Years of modeling had taught her to see the human body as little more than a structure on which to hang clothing, but there was something about the thought of being bared to his eyes while he was not bared to hers…
“I told you to undress.”
Slowly, she pulled up the skirt of the caftan. Crossed her arms. Drew it over her head—and held it in front of her.
“I want to see you,” he whispered.
Her mouth was dry. Her skin was hot. And she wasn’t wet, she was soaked.
“Let go of the caftan.”
How could she possibly obey him? And yet, how could she disobey him? The gown fell from her hands. His eyes swept over her and she began to tremble.
He cupped her hips with his hands and drew her forward.
“Tell me what you want, cara.”
He knew exactly what she wanted. It was cruel to make her tell him that she wanted his mouth on her nipples. Her belly. Her thighs. That she wanted him to take her in his arms and kiss her, lay her back against the pillows and slowly, slowly take her on that ride that ended in paradise.
Why make her say it?
There would be such weakness in her asking. In her needing. In admitting that what had happened to her years ago had nothing to do with what was happening to her now, what had been happening since the minute she’d first laid eyes on him at El Sueño.
“Shall I help you, bellissima?”
He lifted his hands. Cupped her breasts. Took her nipples between his index fingers and his thumbs and teased them.
She moaned.
Had her breasts always been this sensitive? She’d never really let herself find out.
“Do you like it when I touch you?”
She nodded.
“I can’t hear you.”
“Yes. Yes. I like when you…”
“Watch,” he said.
She looked down as he ran his hands down her body, over her hips, her belly, then parted her labia with his hands. Gently. So gently. He lifted his head and sought her eyes with his.
“I want your taste on me,” he said. “On my hands. My body. My tongue.”
Then he closed his mouth over her, and she would have collapsed if he hadn’t caught her, gathered her in his arms and drawn her onto his lap.
“Cheyenne,” he whispered, and he groaned, shifted his weight, his jeans, and suddenly he was deep inside her. “Cheyenne,” he said, “mia bellissima Cheyenne.”
She sobbed his name.
Clasped his shoulders.
And rode him, rode with him, into the blazing inferno of a million billion stars.
* * *
They slept tangled in each other’s arms, Luca as naked as Cheyenne, skin against skin, soul against soul.
She woke first.
He was still asleep, his face turned toward hers on the pillows.
It was an amazing face. Hard. Masculine. And beautiful. It was an amazing face for an amazing man.
Why had she run from him last night? She’d given herself lots of reasons, but not the true one.
She’d run because she was afraid.
Not of Luca.
Of herself.
She come awake in his arms yesterday, exactly like this, and realized that she was no longer in full control of her life. She had given some of that control to him.
It had seemed impossible.
So she’d run. Such a cowardly thing to do, but the fear of what was happening had been overwhelming. She’d gone over and over it for the rest of the day and no matter how she tried, she’d still been unable to make sense of it.
She had let Luca seize command.
She’d spent years creating the woman she was. Had she given up that woman for a few hours of sex?
She’d told herself she hated herself for letting it happen, hated him for making it happen, and whenever a memory intruded—Luca kissing her, Luca gathering her in his arms, Luca possessing her, oh, the sensation of him possessing her, she’d shuddered and told herself she wasn’t shuddering with passion, but with humiliation.
And yet—and yet, early in the evening, when she’d heard a man’s footsteps climbing the stairs outside her apartment, her first thought had been Luca. Her heartbeat had skittered. She’d waited beside the door, listening, listening…but the footsteps had plodded to the Stein’s apartment and she’d realized it had only been their nephew, come to visit.
“Grow up,” she’d told herself, and she’d stomped into her bedroom, showered, washed her hair and tweezed her eyebrows. She’d been contemplating giving herself a manicure when she’d heard other footsteps.
She’d known instantly that they were Luca’s.
Good.
He’d come after her.
Now, she could tell him what she thought of him. That he was overbearing and self-centered and she despised him. And by the way, she’d only pretended to enjoy the sex.
Except, when she opened the door and saw him, felt the waves of fury and desire coming off him, the truth had almost sent her to her knees.
She loved what had happened between them. His domination, her acquiescence.
They were dancers, moving to a melody only they could hear.
He led. She followed—except they both knew that under it all, she led, too.
She’d convinced herself that showing need was weakness, but he’d shown her that it could be empowering.
Just thinking of his hands on her made her come alive—but it was she who made him come alive.
She, of all people. She, who’d always believed that sex was about men taking what they wanted and if it degraded a woman in the process, so be it.
But Luca took only what she wanted to give, and he gave back more than she’d ever dreamed she could want or have. He’d freed her of a past she thought she’d conquered, but which had, instead, almost conquered her.
She thought about telling him that, but why would she?
They were making love, not falling in love, and what man would want to hear a lover’s dark secrets, especially when those secrets were ugly?
“A penny.”
She blinked. “You’re awake.”
“Uh huh.” He slid his fingers into her hair and brought her to him for a kiss. “Good morning, cara. And I’m still offering that penny.”
“For what?”
“For the thoughts that made you look so serious.”
“Ah. Those.” She forced a smile. “They’re so important that I don’t know if I can share them with you.”
He smiled, too. “Try me.”
“Well…I was supposed to water my cactus garden yesterday.”
“Your cactus garden,” he said solemnly.
“It isn’t a garden, of course, it’s just a bowl. And the plants are really succulents. I water them once a—”
She caug
ht her breath as Luca drew down the sheet and comforter and ran the tip of his tongue around one nipple.
“Such a lovely word,” he murmured. “Succulent.” His hand replaced his mouth. “Go on. Tell me more about these succulents.”
“I—I started keeping them because—because when I traveled a lot, they didn’t require much… Luca, are you trying to distract me?”
“Would I do such a thing, cara?”
She almost laughed. His attempt at sounding innocent was worse than hers at sounding exasperated.
“You would. You are. You—you—”
He was moving over her, kissing her mouth, trailing his hand over her hip and thigh. Her heart went into overdrive as teasing gave way to hunger, and she raised her arms and put them around his neck.
“Luca,” she whispered.
“Cheyenne.” His lips curved against hers. “It is time for a proper good morning.”
He slid into her as if he belonged there. Her body welcomed him; her muscles tightened around his erection as she arched toward him.
The sensation was exquisite, beyond any she’d ever known.
“Succulent,” he whispered. “So succulent…”
The world fell away.
* * *
He knew Soho, but not as well as she.
They strolled the cobblestone streets hand in hand.
The architect and builder in him was entranced by the handsome cast-iron buildings that dated back to the 19th century.
She loved the feeling of history. In a city known for replacing the old with the new, Soho was a treasure trove of handsome old architecture.
“Have you lived here long?” he asked.
“Since I came to New York,” she said. She looked at him and laughed. “Well, maybe that’s a bit of an exaggeration. I couldn’t afford much of anything when I first arrived. I ended up taking a share in a loft.”
“Sounds very bohemian.”
“Not really. The realtor said the loft was in Soho, but it was on the edge of it, and I do mean ‘edge.’ The bathtub was in the kitchen, the stove was a two-burner hotplate, and the first time I came home after dark, I saw what I thought was a dog running up the stairs. A chihuahua, or maybe a fox terrier. Well, I love dogs so I called to it and when it didn’t stop, I went after it.”
Luca raised her hand to his lips and kissed it.
“Why do I suspect this will not end well?”
