The devil to pay, p.18
The Devil to Pay, page 18
He made a strange noise, halfway between a strangled groan and a laugh. “God, no. You’re killing me! It’s perfect. Carry on.”
His words were contradictory but she was encouraged by his response; his body was taut as a bowstring. Filled with a heady sense of power, she bent and feathered slow kisses along the length of him, learning the texture, the taste, barely able to believe what she was doing. The scent of him filled her nose and increased her own desire. Curious, emboldened, she opened her lips and took him into her mouth.
He hissed a curse through his teeth and his hands came up to cradle her head, but he didn’t pull her away. His fingers fisted in her hair. Heart thudding in excitement, Cara flicked him playfully with her tongue. His hips bucked. He tasted salty, wonderful. She suppressed a smile of triumph and sucked.
He moved abruptly, catching her by surprise. He pushed her up and away from him, kicked off the remaining sheets, caught her hips and twisted her, following her down and settling himself on top of her.
“Enough!” His voice was strained. He sounded like a man driven to the ends of his endurance.
Cara closed her eyes at the feel of him between her legs. The hard planes of his stomach pressed against hers, his chest warmed her own. The hairs on his legs tickled her thighs. There was no barrier of clothing as there had been in the forest. She could feel him at the opening of her body; huge and hard, slippery and hot against her.
“Last chance to change your mind,” he growled.
She met his searing gaze and shook her head. It had always been coming to this, from the first time she’d seen him, years ago. She wanted it—wanted him—more than anything in the world. She touched his lips with her fingertips. “Don’t stop.”
His eyes blazed. He rocked his hips and she held his gaze in breathless silence as his body slowly invaded hers. He pressed forward, deeper this time, and she couldn’t hide a wince of discomfort.
He stilled.
She tried to squirm away but he stroked her forehead, smoothing back her hair, then kissed the outer corner of her eye. The gentleness of that gesture, even as he was hurting her, was heart-rending.
“Don’t be afraid of me,” he whispered. “Not you. Let me show you. Let me in.”
This was never going to work. She was too small and he was far too big. Tears threatened and Cara blinked hard. She was absolutely not crying. Her body was too hot, too tight. Too everything.
He bent and kissed her lips. “Relax. Stop thinking. Just feel.”
And for once in her life, Cara did as she was told.
Alessandro glanced down, giving Cara time to adjust to his body. He was barely inside her and God, it was killing him to hold still when every instinct he possessed was screaming at him to push on, to slide deeper, to find that white-hot bliss he knew he would find in her arms.
His heart was hammering in his chest, his breathing labored. He prided himself on his steely control, but for a moment there, watching her climax, he’d almost lost it. The sight of her—hot, flushed, eyes half closed, sweet body craving his touch, had been exquisite. Even now, the savage part of him was exulting in the fact that he’d given her what no-one else ever had. That she’d chosen him.
She gasped as he withdrew a fraction and pushed back in, deeper this time. He dropped his head to her shoulder and nipped her collarbone, just hard enough to make her forget what was going on between her legs, then captured her mouth, coaxing a response until her entire focus was on his lips, his tongue, their shared breath.
Oh, God, she felt so right. Like coming home after a lifetime of wandering. So sweet, so tight. And his. Finally, indisputably his. Alessandro buried himself fully inside her, absorbing her gasp with his mouth, inhaling the heady scent of her—of them—and held back an incredulous shout of triumph. He—the least-deserving sinner of them all—had somehow, miraculously, found his way into heaven.
Cara couldn’t believe it. He was inside her. Inside her!
The pain receded as he pressed further, stretching, invading, but gently. She stroked her hands over his sides and felt him quiver in response; his muscles bunched and tensed. He moved again and a curl of sheer pleasure shot all the way down to her toes. She let out a surprised breath and waited for him to do it again and when he did she caught a glimmer of the ecstasy he’d given her with his hands. She wriggled, desperate to recapture that elusive shard of lightning.
No wonder people kept doing this! It was . . . extraordinary. She arched upwards as he increased the rhythm, and fought not to cry out with wonder. He rained kisses along her jaw and cheeks, her forehead and eyelids, ardor fraying the edges of his vaunted control. Cara closed her eyes.
I love you, she chanted, a silent litany that matched his every stroke. Her heart ached almost to bursting. She was sobbing for breath, surrounded by the scent of him, the power and incredible heat of his body.
I love you, you monster. I love you.
He made a lost sound and grasped her thigh then pulled her leg upwards and wrapped it around his hip. Cara did the same with her other leg and her eyes widened as the change in angle increased the sensation even more. She met his thrusts with her own, rocking her hips to cradle his body, giving everything, holding nothing back.
More. More. More.
They fit together so perfectly. He found her lips again and kissed her deeply, hungrily, the thrust of his tongue mimicking the thrust of his body.
“Now, sweeting,” he moaned.
Cara understood. She wanted it too, that lightning strike, those silver fireworks. She bucked against him, reaching for it blindly.
Her ill-timed movements seemed to free him of the last vestige of control. He surged forward, sliding into her again and again as if he could meld them closer still, closer than this incredible fusion of bodies and souls. He was lost, frenzied, and with a shout he took her with him, hurling them both over the waterfall and into the darkness and bliss. Blinding sweetness filled every corner of her body as Cara came apart like a detonation of black powder.
He dropped his head to her shoulder in panting exhaustion and Cara let out a shaky breath. No wonder women fought to share his bed. The man clearly had some supernatural talent. Perhaps he really had made a pact with the devil; sold his soul in exchange for these unearthly skills. She managed an incredulous laugh. If he had, he’d made a good bargain.
As their breathing slowly evened out he rolled to one side, withdrawing from her body but taking her with him. He nested his long frame up against her, chest to chest, and draped a heavy arm over her waist.
She half expected to hear him purr in satisfaction. Her entire body was glowing and tingling; it seemed too much effort to move any part of it. Cara rested her head against his sternum, hardly daring to look up into his face.
“Now what?” she whispered shakily.
His wicked chuckle warmed her heart. “Now we have a rest. And then we do it again.”
She tilted her head and looked up at him. “Again? Really?”
“Oh yes.” His tone was weary, yet teasing. “We have a lot of instruction to pack into a few short hours.”
“You mean there’s more?” She shot him an incredulous look. “More than that?”
His lips brushed hers. “Lots more. I promise.”
Chapter 34
In the guttering candlelight, Alessandro watched Cara sleep. She lay on her stomach, the dark cloud of her hair rippling around her, and his fingers twitched, anticipating the feel of it again. One of her arms was thrown out, clutching a pillow, and her pale skin glowed like cream against the blood-red velvet of his bedspread.
His body stirred. He wanted her again, even though he’d made love to her in practically every position depicted in that Oriental picture book he’d given her. No wonder she was exhausted, he thought, arrogantly pleased with himself.
With a glimmer of surprise he realized that he was properly in awe of her. She confounded him, tortured him, twisted him in knots. She was brave and fearless, yet still so innocent, despite what they’d just done. His lips quirked in recollection. He’d almost laughed aloud at her stunned expression when he’d grasped her thighs and turned her so she was sitting on top, astride him.
“What are you doing?” she’d murmured, shocked.
“Ride me. Like a horse.”
A look of understanding dawned on her face. “Ohh. So that’s what Ovid meant!”
His face split into a grin. It had been an unusual experience for him. He couldn’t remember when sex had ever been this much fun. She’d given herself so joyously, so generously.
So lovingly.
His heart pounded. I love you. She’d breathed those three incendiary little words against his shoulder, fevered and frantic. His stupid, scarred heart had seized for an instant—and then soaked it up, even as he told himself not to trust what came out of a woman’s mouth at a time like that.
She wasn’t in love with him. She was in love with some romantic, fictional version of him. And yet when she looked into his eyes it was as if she could see right down to his shattered, broken soul—and accepted him anyway.
He shook his head. Impossible. He did not need a woman complicating his life. He’d had to fend for himself since he was twelve years old. He was strong, aloof, utterly self-sufficient. If he ever married it would be to a beautiful simpleton—someone who’d stay in his bed and out of his heart.
Cara turned over in her sleep, rubbing her face against the pillow to get comfortable, sliding her arm across the sheets as if seeking him, and Alessandro let out a slow breath. Somewhere during the past week the real Cara di Montessori had melded with his fictional Cara di Montessori—and then surpassed her in every way. Her untutored caresses had affected him more than the practiced moves of any of his more experienced lovers. They’d been interchangeable; pretty faces, bodies like Vanessa’s; pleasant but utterly forgettable.
Cara was different. She was more than just another easy conquest, more than he’d ever imagined. So much more than he deserved.
He settled back down beside her. Reaching out his arm, he gathered her into his body and buried his nose in her hair, relishing the silky texture against his lips. She curled against him as if it were the most natural thing in the world and the thought that had been plaguing him all evening came back to haunt him again: None one of the men who’d offered for her deserved her, either.
Cara woke in her own bed with the scent of him on her skin.
Cara di Montessori. You’ve done it now.
Del Sarto had stripped her bare. Not just physically, but emotionally too. And she didn’t regret it for a minute. Last night had been the best experience of her life: tender and rough, passionate and thrilling. She’d seen a side of him she’d never imagined, a playful, teasing facet of his personality that she was sure he displayed only rarely and only to a select few. She was absurdly pleased that he’d shown it to her.
She stretched, reveling in the unfamiliar aches in her body. She felt like she’d ridden cross-country for a week. So this was what it felt like to be a fallen woman.
Last night hadn’t changed anything, of course. She would still leave San Rocco—and he’d be glad to see her go. But at least she had this one sublime experience to hold in her mind forever.
Renata entered the room, carrying yet another gown. “Tired this morning are we?” she said archly.
Cara suppressed a yawn. “I didn’t sleep well.”
Renata gave her a knowing look but refrained from comment. “My lord’s taken the men out on a boar hunt. They’re not expected back until this evening.”
Cara was both relieved and annoyed. Was this a convenient way of avoiding her? Probably. It only delayed their next encounter, but she welcomed the brief respite. She wasn’t quite sure how to act when she saw him next.
A few hours later she studied her reflection in the glass with a critical eye. She glowed. Pink tinged her cheeks, her lips were full and rosy, and there was a slight bruise on her shoulder from where he’d teethed her. Flushing, she covered it with the neckline of her dress. For the first time in her life she felt like a real woman; mysterious, feminine and desirable.
The din of the remaining guests increased as she descended the main staircase. They were obviously still enjoying Il Diavolo’s hospitality to the hilt. She hovered at the doorway, surveying the room. The hall was overly warm, filled almost to overcrowding.
She’d just spotted del Sarto holding court at the far end of the room when Vanessa Canozzi disengaged herself from a group and approached her through the crowd. Cara suppressed a groan as the woman swept her a disparaging glance from head to toe. Her expression suggested she’d rather step on a dead mouse than endure her presence.
“You didn’t escape,” she said dully.
Cara shrugged. “His lordship caught me.”
A sneer disfigured the woman’s beautiful face. “Don’t think he brought you back because he’s falling for you.” Her words slid into Cara’s ear like poisoned honey. “He just can’t bear to lose anything he thinks of as his. I understand him better than anyone.” She gave Cara a pitying glance. “You’re just a useful pawn to him. A means to an end.”
Across the room, del Sarto turned and frowned when he saw her talking to Vanessa. For someone who claimed he disliked the ways of court, he seemed to have no problem negotiating the crowd. He was completely at ease, master of the situation. Women’s eyes followed him; hungry, inviting, flirtatious. They discussed him after he’d passed, giggling behind their fans. Men listened intently to his opinion, bending their heads in deference, straining to catch whatever casual comments he let drop, laughing at his wry comments.
Vanessa’s smile was pure bitchery as she glanced over the crowd. “Half the men here are suitors for you, you know. Alessandro sent messengers telling everyone to bring their most eligible menfolk.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“Then you’ll also know it was supposed to be him cementing this treaty with marriage to a suitable heiress.” Vanessa waved an airy hand. “It wouldn’t have stopped us from being lovers, of course. He won’t give me up, even when he marries.” The gems on her fingers glittered malevolently. “Oh, there’s my husband calling me!” She smiled, showing sharp white teeth. She reminded Cara of a stoat, sleek and deadly. “Let me give you one piece of friendly advice, my dear.” She patted Cara’s arm and it was all she could do not to slap her hand away. “Don’t wed an old man. I was fifteen when I married my husband, and he was forty-three. He’s good to me—lets me take lovers, so long as I’m discreet—but choose yourself a nice young man, if you get the chance. They’re so much easier to manage.”
Cara stood trembling for several minutes after Vanessa left, trying to get her emotions under control. Del Sarto appeared at her side.
“What was Vanessa saying to you?”
“Nothing of importance.”
He accepted her evasion with a shrug. “I’ve told the Duke of Parma you’ve accepted his suit. He’s delighted.”
Cara’s stomach dropped to her toes. What had she expected? That he would suddenly declare his undying love just because she’d given herself to him? No. She was beyond such foolish dreams. This was what she’d wanted. A chance to leave San Rocco. She fought to keep her voice steady. “Where is he? The Duke, I mean?”
“He’s making preparations to leave.”
“So soon?”
“Tomorrow, at first light.”
Her head swam. “He expects me to go with him?”
“No. You’ll stay here while I have someone prepare the marriage documents. The Duke will ride ahead to prepare for the wedding. Francesco will escort you to Parma next week.”
His voice was casual, devoid of emotion, as if he truly didn’t care what she did and Cara swallowed a lump of disappointment. Could this be the same man who’d caressed her body, shown her such glory, such passion? She glanced up at his handsome face, and misery churned her stomach. She would not cry. Pride was all she had left. Tears stung her eyes but she wrapped dignity around her like a protective cloak. “That sounds perfect.”
As soon as the last of the guests had retired, Renata swept into Alessandro’s bedroom without bothering to knock. Ignoring Francesco, who was already there, she fixed her lord and master with a glare the Gorgons would have been proud of. “Is it true? That Cara’s betrothed to the Duke of Parma?”
Alessandro raised his brows. Renata was using her best I’m-old-enough-to-be-your-mother tone, a sure sign that he was in for a lecture. Apparently Cara wasn’t the only female in the castle who set little store by his deadly reputation.
“I’ve found Miss Montessori an admirable husband,” he said calmly. “You should be congratulating me.”
“For breaking the poor girl’s heart?”
“She’ll survive.”
“She’ll be happy enough, being a Duchess,” Francesco chipped in.
Renata rounded on him, and poked him in the chest. “You can shut up! You don’t know a damn thing about women, Francesco Neroni. Never have.” She turned back to Alessandro, bristling with irritation. “How can you be so cruel? You’ve used her, and now you’re discarding her.”
“I’m often noted for my kindness, am I?”
Renata wasn’t fooled. She narrowed her eyes at him. “I’ve seen the way you look at her.” Her gaze turned calculating. “It’s not like you to let another man take what you want, Sandro.”
“I don’t recall asking for your opinion.”
She braced her hands on her hips. “Well, you’re getting it, wanted or not. She’s not like that Canozzi strumpet. She’s a decent, gently-bred girl and you’re selling her off to a man twice her age.”
“He’s a good man.”
“He’s an old man.”
Francesco cut in again. “And we all know your thoughts on that subject, don’t we?”
Alessandro raised his brow in question.
“Two boys of twenty-five are better than one man of fifty, according to Renata here,” Francesco explained acidly. “Isn’t that right?”
