AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Very soon she was completely naked and he removed the last of the pins from her hair. And as her black curls tumbled free, he was filled with a rush of lust so pure and so instant that he made a small growling sound beneath his breath.
‘You are so beautiful,’ he rasped.
‘I’m... I’m not.’
‘Believe me, you are.’ And she was. Because now she looked like Lina again. Like the earthy Sicilian beauty who had given him her innocence. Her firm curves were outlined against his white sheets and her nipples were thrusting little points of deep rose, just begging for his lips to kiss them again. She was bending her knees and her soft fleshy thighs were parting and suddenly Salvatore found himself mesmerised by the dark triangular blur at their apex, as if he’d never seen a naked woman before.
A shimmer of resentment heated his blood as he tore off his own clothes, in between giving her one hard kiss after another, because his hands were shaking like a drunk’s and he had drunk nothing stronger than water all evening. But all that resentment had melted away by the time he was straddling her on the bed, watching her awe-struck face as he made that first sweet thrust. And soon after that, he was wondering if he was ever going to be able to stop coming as he bit back a word which was rushing from the very depths of his lungs, a word which might just have been her name.
CHAPTER NINE
IT WAS THE most beautiful view she had ever seen.
From the comfort of Salvatore’s king-sized bed, Lina stared out at the bright blue of the distant bay. Beneath the fine linen sheets she was completely naked and her cheeks grew warm as she remembered what Salvatore had said just before he’d left for the office at some unspeakable hour this morning, when he had observed her silently watching him from her prone position.
‘That was fantastic.’ His gaze had met hers in the reflection of the mirror as he knotted his silk tie.
‘Yes.’ Her voice had faltered and it was only afterwards that she realised how servile she must have sounded. ‘Not that I’ve got anything to compare it with, of course, but I—’
‘Believe me, Lina, it was amazing,’ he had interrupted, almost as if having to make the admission wasn’t something he particularly relished. He had glanced down at his watch with the relief of someone lost at sea who had suddenly spotted a lifeboat. ‘I really have to go,’ he’d said.
His goodbye kiss had been brief, almost perfunctory—as if he couldn’t wait to get away from her. As if daylight had destroyed the potent alchemy of what had taken place between them during the night, when her body had felt as if it were on fire every time he’d touched her.
A glance at her phone reminded her she had an appointment with Siena Simon, who’d told her to call by the store at noon. But it wasn’t until she had got out of bed that Lina realised her predicament. Her expensive dress lay discarded on the floor—dropped at the exact spot where Salvatore had removed it from her quivering body when they’d returned from the ball. Exquisite lingerie lay scattered alongside the towering pair of shoes she’d been so eager to kick off. She was marooned in Salvatore di Luca’s bedroom with nothing suitable to wear back to her little cottage and through a house which would probably be crawling with staff.
She picked up the cobalt evening dress and quickly put it down again. No way could she wear that in the brightness of the morning. Distractedly, she looked around, thinking maybe she could borrow something of Salvatore’s, and a quick search soon produced a pair of joggers and a faded T-shirt, which carried the name of some band she’d never heard of. The outfit was way too big but at least it was anonymous and Lina rolled up the joggers before quickly gathering together her clothes and tucking them under her arm.
Quietly opening the bedroom door, she cocked her head to listen. The distant hum of the vacuum cleaner sounded a long way off and, judging herself safe, she set off along the corridor, her bare feet making no sound on the bleached wooden floor. She had almost reached the front door when a perfectly modulated English voice almost made her drop her clothes.
‘Good morning, Miss Vitale.’
Composing her face into a fixed smile, Lina turned round to see Henry who was wearing a pair of striped grey trousers and what looked like a black tail-coat, and, not for the first time, thought how uncomfortably hot it must be if you were a butler.
‘Good morning, Henry.’
‘Will you be requiring breakfast? Chef has made fresh pastries and kedgeree and...’
He paused, delicately, and despite Lina’s total lack of experience at handling this type of situation she somehow knew exactly what he meant.
Did the chef usually provide his boss’s lovers with a sumptuous breakfast in one of the two dining rooms, or was it ever served on the terrace?
She gave a weak smile. ‘I’m fine, thanks. I’ll have something back at the cottage.’
‘If you’re sure.’
‘Quite sure.’ She pulled her shoulders back. ‘Thank you, Henry.’
‘Very good, Miss Vitale.’
Lina made her way through the gardens, where legions of staff were pruning, spraying and mowing various patches of lawn. She could see them turning to watch her as she passed and it struck
her how unfair this situation was. You could count on one hand the number of times she’d spent the night with a man, yet this was the second time she’d had to endure a humiliating walk of shame next morning.
But she had nothing to be ashamed of. She might not have Salvatore’s social status or wealth, but last night she’d truly felt as if they had come together as equals. He had trembled when he’d touched her. He had moaned almost helplessly as he had entered her. And when, afterwards, she had whispered her lips over his chest to cover it with tiny, tentative kisses—he had given a low rumble of a laugh and tangled his fingers in her curls and told her she was beautiful. And just like last time he’d said it, he had made her feel beautiful.
Back in her little cottage, she quickly showered and dressed and fished out the three handmade bags she’d brought with her from Sicily, putting them carefully in a canvas tote. Then she let herself out of the cottage and, with the aid of her cell phone, set off to walk downtown to Siena Simon’s store.
She found it with pleasing ease—a large double-fronted building, situated in a pretty tree-lined street. Inside, it was vast and cleverly lit, showcasing some of the designer’s iconic designs, all of them worn by impossibly tall and skinny mannequins. Scattered throughout the room on racks and glass shelves of different heights were handmade shoes and exquisite shoals of jewellery. Everything gave off a costly patina and, in her simple cotton dress, Lina felt self-conscious as a beautiful assistant sashayed towards her, a slightly bemused smile on her face—as if doubtful whether Lina was a bona-fide customer. Which, of course, she wasn’t.
