Chapter Nine
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Nico's gut tightened brutally as her voice, soft and low whispered his name.
Tension travelled up his spine, into his neck and it took him all of four seconds to work out why.
He wanted her too much, it was almost a need. The experience was unexpected and unwanted. Once he kissed her, he told himself, these feelings would pass.
In a slow rhythm his fingertips stroked between her shoulder blades, down the smooth curve of her back and he permitted himself to enjoy the sensation of her soft skin. While his libido warned him to take it easy or it would surge even harder into life. He bent his head. With the scent of neroli and warm female surrounding him, he gave into temptation and nibbled the delicate flesh of her earlobe. Bronte shuddered in his arms with a little gasp, as his tongue licked and his lips kissed the erratic pulse under her ear.
"You are so beautiful, cara."
Low and husky, throbbing with desire, his voice sent arousal shimmering through Bronte's blood.
Her mind spun. Oh yes, it had been too long since a man's cheek caressed hers. She couldn't understand the language he murmured under his breath, but the sentiment and his physical desire for her was clear. His erection pressed into her soft belly. He was a big man and she shuddered. For the first time in a long time, she gave herself permission to relax, enjoy the moment, the sensations and the wonderful dreamlike state as he spun her round.
It took her a couple of heartbeats to realise he'd steered them to the side of the hall.
Nico opened a door behind a screen and whisked her into another room.
Her breath caught in her throat.
"What ...?"
Stunned, she realised it was a private sitting room, a room which used to be her father's library.
Nico's dark eyes, watchful and intense, met hers.
It was one thing to flirt openly with him over dinner in a public place, quite another to be alone with him in a room that held so many happy memories. She went very still as needles of tension prickled her spine. Then she raised her brows in silent question.
"I thought it would be more private for us to have dinner here."
His accent seemed stronger, he appeared even bigger now she was alone with him and Bronte reminded herself that she had no idea who this man was or what he was thinking.
What was she doing?
He took her hand in a comfortable friendly manner.
His eyes held hers so intimately; she shivered as he kissed each finger. A sensation of the room spinning reminded her to breathe. A feeling of being pulled by an invisible force towards him almost overwhelmed her. Whatever this was, whether it was chemistry or a fatal attraction, her instincts told her to take care.
"This is nice."
To give herself space to kick-start her brain, Bronte drew back and wandered about the room, amazed at the transformation.
All the time she was deliciously aware of dark eyes following her as she absorbed the changes this man had made to her home.
The same imposing stone fireplace with a roaring fire in the hearth, along with the high, arched windows were all that was familiar.
In the old days, this room would be heavy with the scent of her father's cigars and comfortable leather sofas the colour of ripe blackberries.
Now heavy silk brocade curtains flowed onto the floor like a golden waterfall, held back by brass holders the size of a dinner plate.
Three spacious sofas upholstered in a rich fabric the colour of autumn leaves hugged a polished oak coffee table the size of a family car. And on the stone floor were dark rugs in matching muted tones.
Huge antique mirrors hung above serving tables which held clear glass vases overflowing with royal red arum lilies.
A dining table, lit with candles was set for two and sat in a small alcove. It was dressed with crystal glasses, white china plates and silver cutlery. It all looked quite lovely. She realised he'd organised a small buffet for them too. Obviously Nico didn't want to be disturbed.
She turned to him as he stood perfectly still watching her.
Bronte sent him a nervous smile.
"This is fabulous." After another attempt at a smile she found herself wondering why he didn't say anything. "You must be pleased with the renovations."
He still hadn't answered, just kept looking at her with that dead on stare and the heat of it was scorching her skin.
Bronte looked at him for an endless moment. She couldn't breathe at the expression in those eyes.
Nico walked towards her. And the jittery nerves in her stomach went crazy.
His eyes, filled with aroused desire, mesmerised her.
He reached out, stroked her cheek. Fingertips, almost feather light, traced her chin, the pulse thundering below her ear, then down the front of her throat towards her breasts.
"Nico, what are you doing?" Her voice sounded too breathy.
"If you need to ask I'm doing something wrong."
He held her hand, those eyes still watching her carefully. She couldn't read his expression. This was moving too fast in one way and not fast enough in another. Not for the first time, she felt he could read her mind.
He brought her fingers to his mouth and nuzzled the tips.
"I am making you nervous, cara. But I can't seem to stop staring at you in that amazing dress. Would you like a drink?"
She shook her head and he held her gently, his hands stroked her bare shoulders and down her arms.
Slowly he tangled his hand in her hair pulling her head back.
Nerves dried up her throat. Why wouldn't her brain function?
"Nico, I don't think this ..."
Those eyes, dark with desire, studied the pulse thundering under her ear and he touched his fingertip to the spot.
"You think too much," he murmured and lowered his head.
He was going to kiss her, thank God.
His mouth stopped a whisper from hers.
Those eyes asked a silent question as they stared into hers.
And she knew it was up to her to take the next irrevocable step.
Bronte swayed and her mouth found his. Her heart was battering against her ribs, resounding in her ears, while his lips gently tasted her. Slowly he took them both, sinking, into a deep drugging kiss. She had no idea it would be like this. It was all there, the power and the strength. She opened her mouth and he tasted her with thoroughness, so seductive, she almost wept. Swaying together, his fingers explored her neck, moved into her hair, gently tipping her head back to deepen the angle of the kiss. She'd heard of lights flashing before a person's eyes, but had never experienced the phenomenon until now.
Nico tasted of pure sin and she loved it. Bronte pressed her body against his, tunnelling her fingers through his hair.
Nico caught her bottom lip between his teeth and she groaned into his mouth.
Through narrowed eyes he watched her eyes mist and go dark. A spear of hot and heedless lust shot straight to his loins. Hard and demanding now, his mouth plundered.
Even as she dropped away towards surrender, Bronte's fingers gripped his hair and held fast.
She heard him groan in his throat, but the sound was muted by the roar of her frantically beating heart. His body was so hard and powerful, his mouth, so hot and potent. Heat flooded and scorched her body from that one point of contact. His hands explored every inch of her naked back and she gave herself up to the sensations pulsing into her breasts and trembling low in her belly. The need to feed and feed warred with the need to give and give.
Her fingertips constantly explored his silky black hair. God, he felt fabulous. Her breath mingled with his, rasping in her throat and those hands drove her out of her mind as they slid under the fabric of her dress, skimmed under her breasts, teasing and torturing, never touching her aching nipples.
Bronte trembled on the brink of the abyss, ready to leap. A voice screamed in her head demanding to know what she was doing. She didn't even know this man.
Tearing her mouth from his, she gulped in a breath as her world lurched and tipped her out.
"No, Nico ..."
Chest heaving, his heart jack-hammering, Nico laid his forehead on hers.
He'd never meant for it to go so far so fast.
He'd only intended to taste, to enjoy the moment, but it had gone beyond good intentions into something quite, quite different. The silken heat of her mouth, the taste was so sweet; he could have feasted on it.
He closed his eyes shutting out the sight of her, but there was no way to close off his senses, the smell, the taste, or the softness of her silky skin. She was inside him.
A kiss was not nearly enough he realised with dismay as his heart threatened to burst through his ribs. What was supposed to be a light, exploratory kiss designed to lower her defences had turned on him. He'd been ready to prepare her for a long and mutually fulfilling seduction where he set the pace and the tempo. Not this clawing hunger in his loins.
The need to strip her, toss her on the sofa and plunge into her, shocked, even terrified him. He never lost control. Alarm uncoiled in his gut and finally entered his brain.
What was he doing?
Then he lifted his head and looked into her eyes dark and smoky with desire. And he didn't care what he was doing. He kept his fingers on her face, stroking that soft, soft skin.
"You taste so sweet, even better than I imagined." His voice sounded harsh and he cleared his throat to catch his breath. Those fabulous green eyes were huge, dazed with confused arousal and God help him, they almost brought him to his knees. She made him weak. The sensation was a unique experience and Nico found he didn't care for it.
He took a step back.
Bronte's nails dug into the palms of her hands as she fought to control the deep ache of brutal arousal pulsing through her body.
Dizzy, she tried not to be disappointed he'd pulled back.
It was what she wanted wasn't it?
"Nico? I ..."
And she caught her breath as he caught her fingers and brought them to his lips, she realised the shutters had come down over his eyes, they were cooler now.
"As I told you this afternoon, you are full of surprises. Do not look at me like that, cara, or I will take you right here, right now on the floor." He pressed his pelvis into her soft belly in a purely physical move that jerked her emotional antennae to high alert. "See what you do to me?"
He studied her thoroughly as her face burned then the heat drained away.
"Yes," she whispered appalled by what she'd nearly let him do to her. And appalled that she did want him to take her right here and right now. "But, that doesn't mean that I'm going to let you ... I mean, I don't have sex with men I don't know."
"I would say we know each other very well."
"But, that's just a ... a physical reaction."
"Damn right it is." Again he kissed her, this time hard and hot and impatient.
It made her head spin.
"I can't think straight."
"I must admit, Bronte, I am having difficulty thinking myself." He drew back. Holding her hand as his thumb gently rubbed the sensitive skin of her palm winding her body even tighter. "So, what are we going to do about this? Wait until we are both half crazy with lust?"
The Italian lilt in his voice was more pronounced, but the tone whipped over her heightened senses like a lash. Trying not to cringe at the hot edge of frustration in his eyes and voice, she lifted her chin.
"Why should I apologise for not leaping into bed with you? If I prefer to think about it then you should respect my feelings."
"Trust me, I respect your feelings." He rammed his hands in his pockets and paced to the fire and back again. "Why can't you yell at me or throw something? We'd have a good healthy fight and end up on the floor."
"I never yell or throw things."
?He gave a soft laugh and she breathed a sigh of relief he wasn't angry. But it did nothing for her raging hormones. Part of her wished she could get angry with him, be like Rosie and let it all out.
"Come, I hope you are hungry."