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The city of Milan as a whole appreciated Warren’s money. He’d spent more of it on custom-made Italian lingerie, dresses and shoes for Tilda than he had on the entire Down Under Thunder campaign. Which was fitting, in his mind. She was worth far more than any success Flying Squirrel had to offer.
As they had dinner on the private terrace of the four-story villa Warren had rented in the center of Piazza Giulio Cesare, an exclusive area of Milan, he couldn’t help but take a moment to drink in the sight of her beautiful face. Tilda had twisted her hair up into one of her loose chignons, which she only did with the express intent of having him undo it later.
He always undid it later. And sometimes he couldn’t wait. Like tonight. He needed to touch all that hair. Dinner would still be there after.
Automatically, he fanned his fingers to be sure she saw him reaching for her, then pulled the clip free. She shook her head with a smile, letting hair rain down her back.
“It’s one of those nights, is it?” she asked—rhetorically, as she’d already slid out of her chair on her way to his.
Boldly, she climbed into his lap, dinner apparently forgotten on both sides. She settled into her favorite position—on top—and framed his face with her hands to hold him still while she kissed him. He let her. There was nothing that turned him on more than when his wife took control of her pleasure.
The house phone rang, enough of a rarity that it distracted him from the warm, sexy woman burrowing through his clothes to get their skins touching as fast as possible. Normally, he’d ignore everything but Tilda, but he’d been expecting a call.
Standing easily with Tilda in his arms, he carried her into the house to set her on the back of the couch, her legs still wrapped around his waist as he answered the phone that was sitting on the end table. As he’d hoped, it was his private detective calling, and he listened to the man with half an ear as Tilda got very intrigued by this new position he’d unwittingly found for her.
Warren barely had two brain cells left to rub together when she started unbuckling his pants, stroking him through his underwear. Finally, he got the chatty detective off the phone and let his wife’s busy hands finish the job she’d started, namely to drive him insane.
Quickly, she got him good and primed, and within moments, they were both moaning their way through a spectacular finish against the back of the couch. As he crested in a glorious climax, he pulled her into his arms and held on. She returned the favor, keeping him on earth with her solid, amazing presence alone.
“Let me take you to bed,” he told her hoarsely, and she nodded, but once he got her there, all he could do was look at her, touching her face reverently as he worshipped her with his gaze. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” she returned sweetly. “Sorry I made you get off the phone.”
“You should be. I barely got the information I needed in order to give you the good news.”
“I like good news. Tell me.”
“McDermott is in jail.” Finally. All of his efforts to get the case against her ex buttoned up had worked. Warren could give her closure to that nightmare, once and for all.
Her brows shot up. “I hope he finds a very nice boyfriend in prison. One who treats him as well as he treated me. And I’ll thank you to never mention that filth to me again.”
He smiled. His wife’s strength was amazing, and her confidence was one of her sexiest qualities. “Done. Now that you’re free from that terror, what would you like to do next?”
“Sweetheart, I was already free.” Tilda kissed him gently and she poured so much emotion into it that the backs of his eyelids pricked. “I wouldn’t have agreed to a real marriage with that still hanging over us. I never want the past to overshadow the present. Or our future.”
And that was the best endorsement of love with a capital L that Warren had ever heard.
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