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‘Enough playing.’ Sebastiano growled, having indulged her desire to walk long enough. ‘We need to take this indoors before we get locked up.’
‘I don’t want to wait,’ she moaned. ‘I’m so desperate for you.’
‘The feeling is mutual, bella, believe me.’
‘Buonasera, signor, signorina. Gondola ride?’
Dazed with desire, Sebastiano turned to focus on the smiling gondolier in the stupid shirt and dark trousers. No, he did not want a damned gondola ride, he wanted a bed, wall, floor—any flat surface—but he knew, as soon as he heard Poppy’s happy sigh, that he was thwarted again.
‘When we finally get back to our hotel room,’ he warned, ‘You better be wet and ready for me because I won’t be waiting.’
He turned to the gondolier and bared his teeth.
‘Can you take us to the Gritti Palace?’ he asked, hoping his voice revealed his desire for haste.
‘Si, si. Salire a bordo. Come aboard.’
‘Thank you.’ Poppy’s eyes shone in the hazy moonlight. ‘This is so magical.’ She turned in the curve of Sebastiano’s arms. ‘I love it.’ She reached up and kissed him. It lacked the heat of her previous kisses but the sweetness of it lingered along with a sense of utter satisfaction. He slung his arm around her shoulders and pulled her in close.
‘You want a song, signor? Signorina?’
‘No.’
‘Yes.’
Sebastiano sighed and Poppy laughed.
‘Yes,’ he amended gruffly.
The gondolier grinned, starting a low, melodic tune he became completely caught up in as the little boat rocked gently beneath tiny arched bridges and passed softly lit, enchanting buildings.
Poppy burrowed closer to him, her body replete as it rested against his, as if they had already made love. But they hadn’t and yet he felt just as contented as if they had. He felt...he felt... He frowned. What did he feel? A sense of rightness? A sense of—happiness? The realisation was like the unfurling of a corpse flower after a decade of dormancy. Something had been going on with him since he’d agreed to come to Italy, something he couldn’t put a name to yet, but he would. He absolutely would.
‘By the way.’ Poppy turned her face up to his, a secret smile on her lips. ‘I already am.’
Sebastiano’s gaze lingered on her mouth. ‘Already what?’
‘Wet,’ she whispered impishly.
‘You are in so much trouble when we get back to our room, Miss Connolly,’ he warned menacingly, turning her towards him and slipping his hand along her thigh.
‘Stop that,’ she admonished softly, checking to see if the gondolier had noticed his hand move beneath her skirt.
Of course, the man was too discreet for that.
‘We are here, signor.’
Grazie a Dio!
‘Bene,’ Sebastiano said, deftly lifting Poppy out of the gondola, and paying the gondolier who knew what amount.
Poppy’s face was flushed, her eyes fever-bright as they ran over his arms and chest, her gaze making him burn hotter than the sun.
Whisking her through the double doors the concierge held open, Sebastiano let her precede him into the narrow confines of the hotel lift. He followed her in, barely pausing to insert the keycard for their floor before pressing her flat against the back wall, angling her head to the side to kiss the breath from her body.
Her bottom pressed into his groin, her mouth opening wide beneath his, hungry and sweet. Sebastiano groaned. He wanted her. Dio, but he wanted her.
His hands slipped beneath the hem of her dress, raising it along the outside of her thighs as he stroked her stocking-clad legs.
