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Normally he liked being at the centre of the crowd, surrounded by happy, smiling faces. But tonight the music was too loud, the lights too bright.
Turning, he led her through a door marked Private, up a spiral staircase and back outside.
‘That’s better,’ he said softly. ‘I can hear myself think.’
‘You need to think? What kind of dancing are you planning?’ she teased.
He smiled and pulled her closer. He thought about the party downstairs. And then she leaned forward, her cheek pressing into his shoulder, and he forgot about everything but the feel of her body against his and his hunger for her.
He cleared his throat. ‘Are you having fun?’
Looking up at him, she nodded. ‘Yes, but I’m happy to leave whenever you are.’
Her lips were parted and her eyes looked dark in the moonlight. Without replying, he took her hand and led her back downstairs, his self-control unravelling with every step and turn.
CHAPTER NINE
RAISING A HAND to shield her eyes from the sun, Imma put down her book and gazed across the terrace. It really was very hot today—far too hot to read anyway.
Totti, Matteo’s French bulldog, lay panting beneath the wilting shrubs, and down in the bay even the motorboats were still, smothered into silence by the heat haze shimmering above the blue water.
She was lying on a lounger, half shielded from the sun by the trailing wisteria that overhung the terrace. And for the first time since arriving in Portofino she was alone in the villa.
Vicè was dealing with something at the hotel—she wasn’t sure what. After a night of making love she had been too sleepy to do more than mumble when he’d said goodbye.
At first she’d been glad to have a few moments to herself. To think back to last night...to how he’d held her close as if she was precious to him. She knew he had held her because he liked her, and in his arms all those years of wondering who she was had dissolved.
But, much as she might have liked to daydream about those blissful hours when he had chosen her over everyone else, she was still Claudia’s big sister and after a few days of just texting she needed to check in with her properly.
Feeling guilty, she had called her, expecting her to be tearful and crushed and needing reassurance.
She had been wrong on all counts.
Claudia had been quiet, but calm, and instead of wanting to talk she had been the one to end their conversation.
Imma shifted against the cushions. Of course she was glad that her sister was coping so well, and yet it was a shock. Claudia had always been so sweet and shy. But she had sounded focused, determined—like a different person, in fact.
‘There you are.’
She jumped slightly as a cool hand slid over her shoulder and a shadow blocked the sun. Dropping down onto the lounger beside her, Vicè leaned over and kissed her softly on the mouth.
Her heart bumped against her ribs and she tensed, her breath hitching in her throat, her body taut and aching. Surely she should be used to his touch by now? But she was already melting on the inside, her limbs and her stomach dissolving into a puddle of need.
For a moment her lips clung to his, and she was lost in the warmth and the dizziness of his kiss, and then she shifted back, blinking into the light as he lifted his mouth from hers.
‘Was it okay?’ she asked quickly. ‘At the hotel?’
‘It’s fine. The guests in Room Sixteen decided to record some new songs. At three a.m. Then they got upset when someone uploaded them to the web.’ He grinned. ‘Here—I thought you might need a drink. I know I do.’ Squinting into the sun, he handed her a glass. ‘One perfect Negroni.’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘At ten o’clock?’
‘It’s pretty perfect at any time.’ The ice clinked as he tipped his glass up to his mouth. ‘Come on, cara, this is supposed to be your year of living dangerously.’
As she took the drink, he glanced up at the flawless sky.
‘Accidenti, it’s hot today! If you want we can take the yacht out later. It’ll be cooler at sea. We could head down the coast to the Bay of Poets.’
With his shirt hanging loosely open and his dark hair flopping into his eyes he looked like a poet, she thought. She felt her stomach clench. He might not be as bad or as mad as Lord Byron, but he was certainly dangerous to know.
