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‘Barcelona.’
‘You speak English very well.’
‘I went to school there.’
‘Ah. Where exactly?’
He named one of the most prestigious schools in the country, on the outskirts of London. She tilted her head, studying him thoughtfully.
‘Yes?’ he prompted, his blue eyes stirring plumes of desire—for the feeling was now unmistakable, despite her lack of personal experience.
There was no sense lying to him. She sipped her champagne, needing the rush of flavour, the calming effect of the bubbles. ‘You don’t seem like a public school snob,’ she said and then offered a little grimace of apology.
‘Don’t I?’
She shook her head, and at the same time a gentle breeze carried off the Tiber, so her hair brushed her cheek. His hand lifted, catching it and tucking it slowly behind her ear. But even once the hair was restrained, he didn’t drop his hand, and she stood perfectly, completely still, not wanting to breathe lest she dislodge the contact.
‘Why not?’ Had he moved closer? She was sure he had. Or had that been her after all? Their legs were brushing, and if she breathed in or out too quickly the force would jut her breasts forward, to touch his chest. The very idea made her nipples tingle against the soft fabric of her bra and a swirl of temptation moved through her.
‘Sienna?’ He was asking her to elaborate, and yet it felt as though the question meant something else. As though he were asking—to kiss her?
Breath rushed from between her teeth at the very idea. Her lips parted and she stared up into his eyes, the moonlight hitting them at the perfect angle to cast them not as blue but as silver, and so mysterious she was sure that every fairy tale ever written had somehow had its genesis in their depths. Of its own volition, one of her hands rose and pressed to his chest, so tentative, so uncertain, but the moment her fingers connected with the fabric of his shirt she felt a rush of rightness, that this was just exactly what she’d been wanting to do since he’d first approached her. His body was warm, and his chest, beneath her gently exploring hand, was as hard as a rock, just as she’d speculated it would be. Her touch was light, but its effect was not. His cheeks darkened with a slash of colour and something fired in his expression—hesitation. Doubt. But also, she was sure of it, desire.
And yet his hesitation was obvious and, for Sienna, it was easy to believe that it had been born out of disgust for her. Pity even. How could anyone desire her when there were the Olivias of the world?
‘Thank you for the drink,’ she mumbled, taking a step backwards, wondering at the madness that had overtaken her in daring to hope he might be as attracted to her as she was to him. Fool. It was the romance of the wedding ceremony. Nothing more.
His brows drew closer together and she held her breath, wondering if she’d got it wrong. Maybe he’d close the gap, lift her hand back to his chest. And maybe merry little pigs would fly right by the nearby Castel Sant’Angelo.
‘Luca is one of my oldest friends,’ he said quietly, the words flattened of emotion, and in his eyes there was a faraway look, as though he wasn’t really talking to her so much as to himself.
‘You mentioned that already.’ She swallowed past a throat that was suddenly thick.
His eyes pinned hers and then seemed to lance right through her. He didn’t speak, nor did she. Not at first. She wasn’t capable of it. Her body was vibrating and the longer he stared at her, the more she began to tremble, to feel as though she were both floating and sinking.
‘Did you meet him at school?’ It was a valiant attempt to grab hold of something normal, to tether herself to a form of reality and normality. ‘I know he went to a school in the UK, for a time. Was that where—’ She was babbling, and cut herself off short with a slight grimace.
He was staring at her as though he’d never seen a woman before, and maybe he hadn’t. Not one like her—wild, untamed, folksy rather than elegant, more at home by the fire with a good book or riding a horse across the countryside than somewhere like this. She lifted her champagne to her lips, took a sip, then clutched the glass in front of her, searching for something to say that would keep him here while simultaneously resigning herself to the likelihood that he would leave again.
‘Yes.’ A simple statement that confused her completely.
‘Yes, what?’
He took a step, closing the distance between them, and Sienna expelled a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding.
‘Yes.’ His hands curled around the champagne flute, removing it from her grip. She dropped her gaze, wondering if he was going to put it down. ‘That is where I met Luca.’ There was only the glow of moonlight, casting his face into angles and planes, but his eyes shone. With determination? He took a sip of her champagne, and the simple act of his having shared her glass was so intimate, she trembled inside.
But it was nothing compared to what came next. A moment after filling his mouth with champagne, he dropped his lips to hers, spilling the liquid into her mouth in an act that was so erotic she moaned, and her knees turned to liquid, so her only options were to melt to the ground or cling on to him for dear life. She chose the latter, wrapping her arms around his neck as she swallowed the champagne and his tongue took its place, plundering her mouth, dancing with her tongue, kissing her in a way she’d never been kissed before. This couldn’t possibly compare to the inexperienced fumbles of the various boyfriends she’d had over the years—and they had been boys, not men, not lovers, nothing like this.
Heat stole into her cheeks as the effect of his touch, the dominance of his kiss, the way his huge body made her feel delicate and fragile, made her feel feminine as she’d never felt before, as his kiss changed something essential inside her. She could hardly breathe and she didn’t care—other things sustained her now, like the pressing need for more, for all of him. She yearned to be closer, to have—to feel—she didn’t know what, only his kiss wasn’t enough, no matter how sensational it was. Fireworks were dancing all around her, a localised effect, just between him and her, and their private little piece of the banks of the Tiber. His hand caught the back of her head, weaving through her thick hair, holding her head still, deepening the kiss as his body pushed forward, so she moved with him, stepping backwards and backwards again until her back connected with the stone balustrade that guarded the river.
And now she understood the origins of the expression to be caught between a rock and a hard place because she was, quite literally, and it was the most sublime form of pleasure she’d ever known. His hardness pressed to her sex, unmistakable, and she moaned softly beneath him, as his hand reached down, brushing her thigh, lifting her skirt, coming around to cup her bottom and push her forward all at once, holding her tight against him as he kissed her until she saw stars and oblivion.
It wasn’t enough to be kissed by him though, it wasn’t enough to be touched like this. She needed to touch and feel too. She pushed up, scrambling to sit on the edge of the balustrade, so he could stand between her legs, legs that she wrapped around his waist and hooked at the ankles, and now it was Alejandro that moaned, the sound trapped low in his throat, followed by a coarse Spanish curse, and then he dragged his kiss lower, to her decolletage, working his mouth along her collarbone before flicking the indent at the centre, then roaming lower, to the gentle valley of cleavage hinted at by the beautiful dress Olivia had chosen.
She tilted her head back, staring at the sky, wondering if this was a dream, or a wish come true. Wondering how she, Sienna, had suddenly become the kind of girl that this sort of thing could happen to. Wondering...and enjoying...the perfection of his mouth as he drew it back to hers, kissing her again, pulling her close to him, his hips moving to simulate—she could only guess, but she suspected—sex, and, oh, how she wanted this man to take her here, now, with the river their only witness. The party might as well have been a thousand miles away. It would be her first time, but would that matter? Not to Sienna. She wasn’t saving her virginity for anyone. It was an inconvenience, a by-product of her upbringing, little more.
The idea took hold of her, digging into her mind, so her fingers reached for his belt, unfastening it, and she was so sure of what she wanted that her hands didn’t even tremble. She had never been surer of anything in her life. Pleasure was the wind at her back, propelling her actions, guiding her, driving any doubt from her mind. How could she doubt when she could feel? His desire, his want, his obvious need? It was a strength and fire she hadn’t known was missing until now, but as her hands reached inside his pants and curved around his arousal she felt a burst of triumph, of womanly knowledge, an ancient, feminine understanding of her power, and she smiled like the cat who’d got the cream, pulling away from him, her breath ragged, her eyes holding a challenge and an invitation.
