Crown of confessions, p.19
Crown of Confessions, page 19
I needed to see more. I put my hand on her shoulder. “Let’s not disturb him.”
She turned back to me. Her brows pulled together. “Mr. Sunseri would want to know you’re here. He mentioned that you are important. He wouldn’t want to leave you waiting.”
“I’m the one who’s early. It’s not his fault. I don’t want him to cut his session short on my account,” I said, hoping for the show to continue. “I’ll tell him I told you not to disturb him.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” I said anxiously.
“You’re welcome to sit in the living room if you want.” She clutched her apron.
“Thanks.”
“He shouldn’t be much longer. He knew you’d be coming soon. Please tell him I put the sauce on low.”
“Will do,” I said, tapping my foot.
“It was nice meeting you.”
“Nice meeting you too.”
She turned and went down the long hall.
I stayed quiet and put my head through the cracked door. I didn’t want him to catch me watching him. When he wasn’t punching, he kicked the bag. Again and again. Right, left, then right again. Blows continued as his thick calves held him in place. His actions were aggressive and alluring. I should’ve been afraid.
I wasn’t.
The song changed. He held the bag with one hand while he wiped the sweat from his face with the other. He turned around and caught me staring. His hair was soaked, and his hands were covered in boxing gloves and tape. He smiled.
“Sorry. I left early. I didn’t know how much traffic there’d be,” I explained. “Lucy let me in, but I told her not to disturb you. I know how much you love boxing.”
He bit down and ripped the tape off his gloves. Once loosened, he unfastened the glove laces and placed them next to the CD player. Alessandro turned off the music.
“I was just finishing up.”
“You’re good.”
“In my profession, it’s good to keep up my skills. Making sandwiches doesn’t have the same effect. Boxing also helps to relieve tension.” He grabbed his water bottle and took a sip. His lips wrapped around the bottle as his Adam’s apple pulled more water down his throat.
He came toward me. “I’d kiss you, but I’m all sweaty.”
He could kiss me all he wanted right now. He was sexy—sweat and all.
“Let me pour you a drink, and then I’ll take a shower.” He wiped his face with a towel.
“Okay.” I followed him to his oversized kitchen. He flicked on the light and washed his hands in the sink. There was a pot on the stove. A familiar smell filled the air—garlic and olive oil, a staple of Italian kitchens.
“Oh yeah, Lucy said she turned down the sauce.”
“I had her keep an eye on it while I worked out. I didn’t want it to burn. She’s a great help. I haven’t been home much lately, so I thought the house needed a once-over. I wanted everything to be perfect for you.” He shot me a brilliant smile.
He reached into the refrigerator and looked around. “What sounds good? I have beer. I have some good Scotch in the liquor cabinet. You a Scotch drinker?” He looked over his shoulder at me. “I have a bottle of sparkling water around here somewhere. I know you hate wine.” He moved things around in the fridge.
“I don’t hate wine. Red wine makes me flushed.”
“So, you’re okay with white then?”
“White is good.” I looked around his chef-inspired kitchen.
He pulled out a bottle of white wine, and two glasses from a cupboard.
“I have a bottle opener here somewhere. Lucy’s great, but sometimes she puts things in places I’ll never find.” He laughed, then opened a drawer close to his hips. “Here it is.” He began uncorking the bottle. “Same brand but this time, white.” He showed me the Sanna label.
My heart thumped in my chest. Holy crap. I was about to sample the infamous Sanna wine.
He winked at me and poured. “Sip it slow and enjoy.”
I swirled the Chardonnay around the glass. I smelled it and took a sip. It was lush and fruity.
“Well?” he asked with a glint in his eyes.
“It’s delicious.” I thought of Gaetano. If it gave me half the effects it gave Ms. G., then I was in for an interesting night. I studied the liquid in my glass while Alessandro stirred the pot on the stove.
“What are you making?”
“You mean, what are we making?”
“Huh?” I asked curiously.
“We’re going to make gnocchi, and you’re going to help me. I started the sauce early this morning.” He grabbed a loaf of bread from the countertop. He tore off a piece and dipped it into the sauce. “Come here, try it.”
I put my glass down and went toward him.
He put the sauce-covered bread close to his mouth and blew on it. “Open your mouth,” he commanded in a husky voice.
I parted my lips, and he gently fed me the sauce-soaked bread. A mixture of spices touched my tongue. It was robust from the garlic but sweet from the basil.
“I’m going to shower. I’ll be back in a few minutes. Make yourself comfortable. Put on the TV if you like, or I have some CDs if you want to listen to music. But I’m not singing this time.”
He lifted his shirt over his head, exposing his chest. I couldn’t help but study him. He didn’t look his age of forty-five. He hardly had one grey hair on his head, and his pecs were that of a twenty-year-old—firm and defined. As he moved, his washboard abs compressed, and the perfect V shape formed around his obliques. I dragged my focus up over his hips, past his stomach, to his neck. A gold necklace hung from his neck with a charm that dangled in his chest hair.
“What’s that?” I pointed to his charm.
“It’s the Corno.”
“Corn?”
“Not corn. Corno.” He grabbed it between his fingers. “It’s an Italian symbol for good luck. It’s supposed to protect against the evil eye.”
“The evil eye? You aren’t superstitious, are you?” I joked.
“Most Italians are. I need all the protection I can get. Look at you. You wear a Saint Christopher.” He touched the charm.
“It was a gift.”
“And has it protected you?” His eyes blazed at me with sexual heat.
“It has.”
“See?” He gleamed back at me. “If you don’t want to eat at ten o’clock tonight, I’d better shower. See you soon, gorgeous.” He turned and walked away.
An Italian flag with the word Sunseri was tattooed between his shoulder blades, along with a huge scar that stretched from the middle of his back to the top of his right hip. I put my hands to my mouth to muffle my gasp. Maybe we had more in common than I thought. Every scar had a story, but with his history and his past with the Mafia, I was afraid what he might tell me.
I took another sip of wine. As it traveled down my throat, warmth started in my cheeks, past my nipples to my groin. I imagined what he looked like when he showered.
Glass in hand, I browsed around. To the right of the kitchen was a formal dining room with a long table. A matching china cabinet sat on the back wall. To the left was a step-down family room with one of the biggest televisions I’d ever seen. I stepped closer and picked up the remote, but it had several buttons on it and seemed too complicated. I put the remote down and peered at the various pictures along the mantel.
The first photo was of Alessandro with his dad on a fishing trip. They both stood proud next to a marlin. Next to that was a picture of Alessandro and a little boy with sapphire-blue eyes like his. It had to be his son. I studied the young boy’s face. I mainly saw Alessandro in him, but the boy’s hair and chin were a little different, reminding me he had a past. I wondered who his ex-wife was and what she looked like. My imagination took hold as I perused the other pictures until I heard a door close.
To not appear nosey, I turned quickly and sat on his leather couch. When I looked up, Alessandro walked barefoot down the stairs. He wore faded blue jeans and a black V-neck T-shirt that hugged his muscular build. Even his feet were cute.
“I tried to put on the TV,” I said nervously, “but it’s way too complicated.”
“How about some music, then?” He grabbed a CD from an oak cabinet next to the fireplace and turned on the stereo. Soft notes drifted from surround speakers.
I stood and walked toward him. “Are you going to serenade me again?”
“Maybe later if you want me to.” He grabbed at my hips and pulled me close. “Can I have that kiss now? I’m clean.” He bent down.
I took a whiff. “You smell good. What kind of cologne is that?”
“I got it in Italy the last time I was there.”
“You always smell amazing.”
Noses touching, he cupped my cheeks and pressed his soft lips against mine. Our mouths parted, and our tongues rubbed against each other, making the pulse in my groin thrum.
I shut my eyes and let my fingers tangle in his wet, tousled hair.
He gently pulled away. “Your kisses are my weakness.”
I looked down to see the bulge in his jeans.
“See what you do to me?”
I laughed.
“Time to stir the sauce.” He grabbed my hand and escorted me to the kitchen. Barefoot, he stood in front of the pot and stirred. “It’s ready. I can turn it off now. I don’t want it to burn. I might get distracted,” he teased, then pulled my body in for another kiss.
Once he released me, he grabbed a large pot on the granite countertop. He lifted the lid. “Perfect, it rose.” He reached for a pastry board and sprinkled it with flour. “Get your hands dusted,” he said.
I put down my wine glass, dipped my hand in the white bag, and let the softness fall through my fingers.
Standing behind me, he intertwined his fingers with mine as we massaged the white powder. “Now, put some here.” He lifted one of my hands from the bag and onto the pastry board. He pulled out the dough and placed it in front of me. “Have you ever done this?” he asked while his eyes consumed me.
“Yes, actually. I made ravioli with Ms. G. once.” I waited patiently for his next direction.
With my hands laced in his, we rolled the dough into a long rope. “Now we do this.” He took a knife and cut the rope into cubes. Then he rolled the piece of dough over the tines of the fork. “See, you want it to leave this mark. Now you try.” He handed me the fork.
I placed one of the powdery squares in front of me.
He pressed his head into the nape of my neck and grabbed my flour-caked hands.
While he guided the fork over the dough, his breath teased my hair.
“You smell good too.” His words felt moist against my neck.
I thought I’d catch on fire. I shifted my weight from hip to hip to search for control, but my insides blazed as his body pressed against mine. “Stop it, or we’ll never eat.”
“Are you hungry?” he whispered into my ear. His tone was thick and suggestive. He turned me around and kissed me deeply and passionately. Our mouths connected, and our smiles turned into moans.
Once we pulled away, he looked at me with a devious grin. He put his hand in the bag of flour, then pulled it back out.
“Don’t even think about it.”
“Or what?” he teased, then flicked a handful of white fluff in my face and laughed.
I yelped.
He laughed at my flour-covered face.
I wiped my nose. “No fair. I wasn’t ready.” I pinched some powder from the bag and smeared it over his face. “Two can play that game,” I yelped, then bellied over in laughter.
“You got me. I should’ve waited to shower.” He laughed, then wiped the white from his face. He grabbed the bag to douse me again, but knowing what he was about to do, I ducked. He caught me in his arms and kissed me again. This time, sexual energy radiated through his body. His lips pressed harder against mine as he pushed my hips against the counter. He lifted me onto the countertop, running his tongue over my lips, then down my neck. My breathing accelerated from his advance.
Desire took over. I hitched my legs around his torso and pulled his body toward me. I wrapped my arms around his neck while he sprinkled kisses down my chest. He reached under my blouse and squeezed my breast. My nipples burned against the lace of my bra.
His erection pressed against my inner thigh.
He paused and yanked his hand out from my blouse. “We should stop. I only have so much willpower with you,” he panted.
I looked over his shoulder. “Is your housekeeper still here?”
“No, I checked. Her car is gone.”
I wanted him now, here, on the countertop. I dragged my gaze over his glorious body and stared into his deep blue eyes to signal my intentions.
“I want you, Barbara,” he said against my neck as his hands clutched at my ass on the counter.
I tightened my legs around his body and pulled him closer. My God, what is it about this damn Sanna wine anyway? His warm breath caressed my ear.
He pulled himself from my grip and took a deep breath. “I want you to know, I didn’t invite you here expecting this to happen.” He cupped my cheeks in his palms and looked at me with tender eyes. “Are you sure you want to do this? I’ll understand if you aren’t ready. I’ll have to take another shower. This time, a cold one.”
Maybe it was the wine or that it had been so long that I’d been with a man, but I ached for him. I wasn’t scared anymore. He’d been the perfect gentleman all these weeks.
So sweet and caring.
I stared at his heart-shaped lips. “The next shower you take will be with me.” I opened my mouth and thrust my tongue into his. With my legs around him, he picked me up with his hands securely around my ass and carried me upstairs to his bedroom.
The Gangster with a Heart
He pushed open his bedroom door and pinned me against the wall. I devoured his kisses. Pictures fell from the walls as our bodies moved. Without conscious thought, I clawed at his shirt and yanked it over his head. I kissed his chest and let my fingers slide down his firm abs.
He groaned, then pulled away slowly. “Wait. I want to take my time with you. If you want rose petals and candles, say the word.” He set me down on the edge of his bed and brushed flour from my face and hair. “Let me get a towel to clean us up. I’ll be right back.” He grinned and walked into an enormous bathroom with a double shower and tub.
Surrounded by black satin sheets, I rubbed my hands against the soft fabric. My eyes darted around his room. Surely, there’d be things here that told me more about him. I sat up on my elbows to get a better look.
A peek into his large walk-in closet revealed shiny leather shoes set on neat, spacious racks, different-colored suits and ties that hung from wooden hangers, and a tall safe mounted in the wall between his belts and various cologne bottles. One of those scents lingered on the sheets around me. I inhaled deeply, letting his essence fill me.
Expensive paintings of Italy covered the room’s walls. Alessandro liked nice things. Dark curtains partially covered a sliding glass door that opened to a private deck overlooking the lake. I stared out at the water. I was in his bedroom, about to do things I’d dreamed about for weeks. My stomach knotted. It felt unreal. My pulse ticked back up and pounded in my throat.
He returned with a wet towel, in nothing more than his low-cut jeans, and rubbed the warm towel over my fingers and face.
“That’s better. Now I’m ready,” he said in an urgent and wanting tone. “Let me do this right.” He pulled off my sandals one by one and massaged my feet.
I moaned as the last grips of my anxiety faded away while his hands worked.
“You like that?” His voice was seductive.
“Yes, it feels amazing.” His touch was firm but gentle—just like him.
He massaged the balls of my feet then kissed my instep, sending currents of pleasure to my pelvis. To ground myself to the moment, I swallowed deeply and looked down at his face. He peered up at me with his blazing blues.
His warm touch smoldered inside me.
He untucked my blouse from my jeans and unzipped my pants, then moved his face to my neck and kissed behind my ear. While his mouth pressed velvet soft kisses against my skin, he cupped my breasts, lightly, then harder, making my nipples burn with desire.
“Sit up,” he commanded. With one quick move, he lifted my blouse over my head. He kissed the bulging flesh that bubbled from my push-up bra, and reached around to undo the clasp. The last clip came undone. He helped me out of it.
I lay back against the pillow.
“My God, look at you. You have beautiful breasts.” He cupped them with his hands. “They’re so soft and plump.” He grazed his face and nose over my skin. In one swift action, he took the flesh into his mouth and sucked, making me heat up again as his tongue lapped over my nipples. I looked down at my half-naked body, and my throat became as dry as the desert. “I’m nervous.” My voice shook under his touch. “I haven’t been with a man in a long time.”
He released my nipple. “We’ll take it slow. I’ll only do what you’re comfortable with.” A slow smile spread across his wet lips. “I want to get to know every inch of your body.” He spoke with unwavering intensity. His fingertips traced my breasts, sometimes grazing my nipples. Like a ribbon on a Christmas present, he was unraveling me with every stroke.
My palms grazed over his back as he kneaded my breasts. I felt his arousal swell onto my thigh. He dragged his eyes from my breasts down my torso, then pulled my jeans down over my hips and onto the floor. He trailed kisses from my breasts to below my navel.
“I like these.” He felt the lace of my G-string panties. “Very sexy, but I think I like what’s underneath more,” he teased, then yanked them off my hips and down my legs.
“Can we please turn off the light?”
“I want to see you. All of you,” he whispered. He glided his finger down my neck, past my belly button, and down my legs. “You have lines like an Italian sports car—sleek and sexy, and I love the feel of your skin. It’s like silk.” He let his fingers graze along my rib cage and back to my neck. He pressed butterfly kisses along my abdomen.
