Chapter Twenty One
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Her cheeks stung with cold as Nico opened the doors to the apartment.
He placed their shopping bags on the floor and Bronte gasped.
Gone were the masculine furnishings. Had there been a fire in the wall before? There must have been but she hadn't noticed it.
Stunned, she wandered through low linen sofas in a stone colour with huge cushions in toning jewel shades. Her fingers smoothed ivory cashmere throws. Her gaze slid over glass coffee tables laden with huge Venetian glass bowls in corals and reds. Everything was pulled together with rugs in vivid matching shades. A soft warm glow came from various lamps placed strategically around the room. The atmosphere was welcoming and cosy.
And fresh flowers with vibrant, exotic blooms in hot colours were everywhere, on the dining table, serving tables, even in the kitchen.
She pressed trembling fingers to her lips as she turned to Nico.
He'd shrugged off his coat and was leaning against the doorframe watching her with a big grin.
"You like it?"
"What's not to like? It looks fabulous."
Confused, she walked towards him.
"But why? Why would you do such a thing?"
"I do not spend much time in this apartment. I saw it through your eyes last night. It needed a change. My main residence in Italy is on Lake Como although I never spend much time there."
Bronte nodded, she knew he travelled a great deal and noticed he called it a residence, not a home. Again she spun in a circle to take in the change.
"How on earth did you manage to do this in one day?"
Nico pulled her into his arms.
His hands slipped under her sweater and feather light fingers stroked her skin, sending wave after wave of shimmering desire through her.
"Cara, I told you. I identify talent and let them do the work. This is an example of an incredibly efficient company whose business is to stage expensive properties for sale. They are involved in the interior design of my hotels. I gave them a ring last night. I did not, as you say, get my hands dirty."
"Wow, if this is an example of how you do business I'm impressed."
A wicked gleam came into his eye.
"How impressed?"
She ran her hands under his sweater, exploring the muscles and tendons of his chest as he backed her into the bedroom. Then she pulled his head down for a scorching kiss. Sucking his bottom lip into her mouth her fingers found his belt. She unbuttoned his trousers, eased down the zip as her hand slid inside his jockeys and found him rock hard.
Her breath came in quick pants as he lifted her in his arms.
"Very, very impressed," she told him with a little purr.
Something had changed.
The feel of his hands on her, the way he touched her, kissed her, was quite different.
His lips had changed. Those kisses scorched a path down and through her entire body.
This time when he entered her it was with exquisitely slow hip thrusts.
His eyes held hers with an intensity she found mesmerising. His fingers linked tightly with hers.
"Stay with me, Bronte. Look at me. See what you do to me."
Her breath sobbed in her throat as his eyes darkened, his breathing harsh as he tried to control her orgasm. As she fell apart, he caught her scream with his mouth and then followed her into the abyss.
His fingers stroked her as her shudders calmed and she dozed.
A firm smack to her bare bottom brought her wide awake.
"Hey, what was that for?"
Nico scooped her up, striding into the shower.
He set the water for warm rather than hot and dumped her under it.
Roaring with laughter at her shriek, he pinned her to the wall and kissed her senseless until her system sizzled again with need.
He raised his head, water beading on thick black lashes.
"Dancing, remember?"
She gave a little mew of pretend discontent and batted her eyes at him.
"Oh, I don't know. Hot sex in the shower or dancing?" She bit down on her bottom lip and gave him big eyes. "Decisions, decisions."
He pumped soap into his hand from a dispenser and rubbed it over her breasts, rinsed until the water ran clear, then reached down. Her eyes rolled back in her head. The man had magic fingers.
"I am Italian, cara. I can do both."
Bronte put the finishing touches to her make-up.
She shook back her hair, shimmied into the sky blue dress and zipped it up.
The neutral Jimmy Choos looked fabulous. The five inch heels would kill later she knew, but no pain no gain.
She grabbed a matching clutch bag she'd snuck past the ever vigilant Nico.
A quick spritz of Baby G and she was ready.
"Wow."
She turned.
He leaned against the bedroom door looking wonderful in a sharp dark suit with an open neck matching shirt. His eyes, dark and brooding, studied her from head to toe as if he'd never seen her before.
A little shiver of apprehension scurried up her spine.
"What's the matter?"
He pressed a hot kiss to her cheek, sniffed her neck.
"I'm going to have to fight them off tonight."
The driver of the Bentley held the door open and Nico handed her into the back of the car.
The lights of Rome streamed past as he pulled her close and tucked her under his shoulder. Holding her hand he did his habitual rubbing of her knuckles. Excited nerves fluttered madly in her stomach. Along with a growing sense of unreality that she was beginning to realise was the result of stress. She really needed to get a handle on her emotions or she would end up on the therapist's couch.
They purred to a stop outside a nightclub which had a queue as far as the eye could see.
Eyes wide, Bronte turned to Nico.
"How long will we need to wait?"
"Not long," he whispered his voice low and husky.
A wave of paparazzi surged toward the car calling out in Italian as their cameras flashed.
She blinked as a team of burly security men pushed them back.
With a huge smile for Nico, a doorman ran down the steps to open the car door.
They were whisked past the crowd and press, and into an area cordoned off from the rest of the club. The VIP lounge.
She gave him a fulminating look, squeezed his hand.
"You own this don't you?"
His lips twitched. She wondered if there was anything he didn't have an interest in.
"I have a partner."
Bronte slanted him a look. Tall and powerful, eyes narrowed, he surveyed the room missing nothing. In this environment he was in his element and she was totally out of hers. Nico Ferranti, she realised with a chill, was the ruling King of this particular jungle.
A glass of champagne in her hand, he led her to a corner furnished with contemporary sofas. They sipped companionably as she watched, fascinated, by the beautiful people. She recognised some of them from glossy magazines.
He toyed with her hair as she turned to him.
"Was that who I think it is?" Her gaze followed major European Royalty.
"Mmm hmm," he whispered, nuzzling her ear, sending a little shiver over her skin.
A dark-eyed, dark-haired beauty, in a black dress that looked as if it had been sprayed on, sashayed up to Nico. She pressed amazing breasts into him and tried to give him a hot kiss on the mouth.
In a move Bronte could only admire he managed to avoid the kiss and the breasts. Nico flicked a cool look to another man, security she supposed by his earpiece, who stood against the wall. He moved to the woman's side, held her arm, whispering in her ear.
As she was led away, the woman's smouldering eyes held a mix of hot lust and despair. Bronte found herself feeling sorry for her. Is that what she would be like when this fantasy ended? She'd better remember to keep her dignity intact.
The cold closed expression on Nico's
face gave her the icy feeling that she was out of her depth with this man.
She'd better remember why she was here, an affair that was all and nothing more. She was out to have fun and live life to the full for a change. But something in the woman's eyes tugged at her.
"Who was she?"
Nico's look held a burning impatience, along with a warning.
"No one."
Stung by his attitude as much as by the tone, she lifted her chin.
"She is a human being and deserves to be treated as one."
Why was she making a big deal of this? How would she handle it if he treated her like that? The problem was she knew she couldn't handle it.
"Someone I once knew," he told her with reluctance and she noticed his jaw tighten.
"Did you have a relationship with her?"
He sighed in frustration, pulling her into his arms.
"I would not call it a relationship. It was a long time ago."
"Shall I take a wild guess and say it didn't end well?"
His eyes met hers.
"It ended badly, my fault. She wanted something I could not give her."
"She loves you."
He shook his head, looking her dead in the eye.
"No, she loves what I can give her. If I was penniless, she would not look at me."
He slanted her a cool look as he pulled her to her feet.
Taking her hand, he led her through the crowd to the dance floor.
Bronte yelped as strong hands gripped her waist and spun her round.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Nico move to intervene.
"Bronte Ludlow, what the hell are you doing here?"
With a delighted laugh, she threw herself into the arms of a tall, tanned man with movie star good looks.
"Oliver."
Lord Oliver Bartholomew's blue, blue eyes sparkled into hers.
He held her at arms length and blew out a long whistle.
"I won't ask how you are, I can see for myself. Where have you been all my life?"
He pulled her to him and dropped her backwards with a passionate kiss.
He swung her up as she mussed his sun kissed hair and patted his cheek.
Still smiling, she grabbed Oliver's hand and turned to Nico who gave them a bland stare. Her pulse jerked at the possessive look in his eye and she heard Oliver chuckle.
The trouble with Oliver was he was almost like Alexander, a protective older brother and perfectly capable of putting Nico through his paces.
Oliver frowned at Nico and she dug him in the ribs.
Wisely, Oliver controlled the grin and kept his face straight as he squeezed her hand.
She did the introductions and the men shook hands. Eyeing each other like two alpha wolves sniffing the air.
"Where's Lucy?" she asked, to break the suddenly tense atmosphere.
Oliver merely pressed hot little kisses to the inside of her wrist with one eye on Nico.
Bronte nearly groaned out loud as Nico narrowed his eyes.
"I'm divorcing her and marrying you."
"Try it, pal, and you'll never father children."
With high mutual screams, Bronte and Lucy jumped around like lunatics.
The men grinned at one another and Nico pressed a finger to his ear.
"What are you doing here?" Lucy demanded.
Bronte decided that married life certainly suited her old school friend. She wore a mini dress in ivory lace that contrasted beautifully with her skin. With legs up to her armpits, cropped black shiny hair and dusky complexion, she looked fabulous. A supermodel, Lucy had been scouted at the age of sixteen and never looked back.
"I'm here with Nico for a few days. Alexander had a car accident, he's going to be okay," she said quickly as Lucy gasped. "Nico flew me over yesterday."
Lucy cast her expert eye over him as Oliver introduced his wife.
She turned to Bronte with raised brows and wide eyes.
"Hubba bubba, he's gorgeous. How did you meet him?"
Bronte filled her in.
Lucy caught her in a bone crushing hug.
"How are you holding up?" she whispered in her ear.
"I'm doing really well."
Her friend studied her with serious eyes for a moment.
"You look happy and that makes me happy." Then she gave her a naughty smile. "He's an upgrade from Jonathan."
"He certainly is."
Bronte found Nico watching her carefully, she caught his eye and he sent her a slow, sexy smile.
"Now that looks like a hungry man and I don't mean for food," Lucy drawled into her ear.
Oliver gave Bronte a kiss and slipped an arm around his wife.
"Darling, if we don't get a move on, we'll be late."
Lucy pecked her cheek, waving at Nico as she was dragged off.
"Speak soon, honey, I'll break my diet and pay you a visit."
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"Nice people." Leading her onto the dance floor, Nico slid his arms around her, swaying to the beat of the music. "For a moment I thought I had competition."
Bronte batted her eyelashes and he sent her a delighted grin.
"Oliver was the first boy to see me naked." She laughed at his pained expression. "I was eighteen months old and he was eight."
"They look good together."
"They've known each other all their lives. They were meant to be."
"Ahh, Bronte the romantic. Come, let us dance."
She had to hand it to him, the man had moves. Not only that, he could sing too. He hummed in her ear to a sexy slow number, twirled her until her head spun to fast music. And rocked and rolled the night away.
Yes, he would be the possessive type, she mused, as she shared hot, searing kisses in the back of the car on their way home.
And Bronte decided she didn't give a damn.
Tired, but still nicely buzzed, Bronte sat on the edge of the bed.
Taking off her shoes, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in a floor to ceiling mirror propped against the wall.
What had happened to Bronte Ludlow, pastry chef and owner of Sweet Sensation?
She looked like a woman who was wildly in love with the man of her dreams.
No, not in love she corrected herself, in lust. Her heart was safe.
With a white towel slung low on lean hips, Nico pulled her to her feet and stood behind her, firm fingers smoothed and pressed the flesh across her shoulders.
Tipping her head back, she enjoyed the moment.
He slid down her zip, lifting her as the dress pooled at her feet then drew her back against him.
Eyes dark with longing met hers in the mirror.
Her eyes widened in surprise as he placed her hands around his neck then stroked her breasts, his thumbs circling rosy nipples.
She was riveted by the frantic pulse in her neck.
Was that woman with the wild, dazed eyes really her?
Embarrassment flooded her cheeks as she lowered her lashes.
Nico tipped up her chin, his eyes more intense.
"Watch, see what happens to you when I give you pleasure," he said, without taking his eyes off her face. A gasp escaped from her throat as he ripped off her panties. Hot lips found the spot below her ear that made her purr like a cat. "Hold on to me."
Nico pressed hot kisses along her jaw and she stretched back to give him access. How could she permit him to do this to her?
Fascinated, she could hardly breathe as she watched his hands reach lower, fingers tantalising and teasing her navel.
The woman in the mirror trembled, licked her lips as she rocked her pelvis back and forth in wanton invitation. Under the towel, his cock jerked into the small of her back.
"Open your legs," he moaned in her ear.
Eyes huge, she complied.
His fingertips stroked around her clitoris. Heat licked under her skin as the orgasm built. It felt too good to have him touch her there. Gentle fingers stroked those sensitive lips, swollen and slick. The evide
nce of her arousal wept upon his fingers as a dark pleasure shuddered through her.
He took her hand, licked two of her fingers and placed them between her legs.
"Oh! No ... I ..." His fingers covered hers as they pleasured her. The woman in the mirror moaned as her legs gave way and together they sank to the floor.
"Watch, see how beautiful you look." Sitting her between his legs, his fingers guided hers into secret places.
"I can't..."
Still his eyes stayed on hers.
"I love looking at you when you come. Let me show you."
His fingers, slick and wet, swirled teasingly around the spot. That little nub stood proud and ready.
She was burning up, her breath panting now.
Bronte reared up and her cry of release pierced straight into his loins.
The tenuous control Nico exerted over his raging libido snapped and he lifted her, tossing her onto the bed. Emerald eyes, wide with aroused surprise, flew to his. He read excitement mixed with nerves and it only made the fire in his groin burn even hotter. This was no slow seduction that gripped him, this was a ravenous hunger.
He was starving and fell upon her.
He loved the smell of her skin. The taste of her mouth, that flat stomach, he could not get enough of her. Frantic now, his teeth tugged her nipple, as his hands ruthlessly explored. Her little cries of pleasure drove him crazy. The searing lust in his loins sent him over the edge and she bucked under him.
He flipped her onto her hands and knees, lifting her hips ruthlessly and entered her with one hard thrust, then rode her fast and hard. She screamed and he held still, breath gasping for control as she fisted around him, the after-shocks drained his life-giving fluid and he followed her into oblivion.
Bronte's legs clung around his waist.
She laid her head on his shoulder as he carried her into the bathroom.
Drowsy, she lay relaxed between his legs, up to her neck in bubbles in a stone bath in the shape of an egg. He simply held her, his cheek against her hair as he muttered words in Italian. She could stay like this forever she mused as her mind drifted.
"Come, cara mia, you are almost asleep."
Wrapped in a huge white bath towel, he carried her into the bedroom. And Bronte felt her eyes sting. Had anyone ever cared for her like this?
Naked, she slid under the duvet and into his arms. Her last thought before she sank into a dreamless sleep was that life just didn't get any better than this. And she ruthlessly ignored the little voice that told her to make the most of it.
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