Nicoletta hurried down the steps of the pool to immerse her body in the water, hoping he could no longer see her. The colored mosaic tiles created a strange, shimmering effect in the water. She felt like a water nymph, her long hair floating like silky blue-black seaweed on the surface.
The hot water lapped at her skin, easing her soreness. She closed her eyes, savoring the feeling, savoring the heat and even the possible indecency of it all. "You did not answer my question, Don Scarletti," she said softly, looking up at him, more confident with the water covering her bare skin, the wispy clouds of steam playing over her body, and the dark shadows cast by several candles skimming her flesh.
"I worship in my way. I am the don, responsible for the lives of many. I do not have the luxury of believing blindly. Each decision I make must be a political one. Our country is divided, and as long as it is, we will fall to the larger powers, be it the rule of the Holy Church, France, Spain, or Austria." He walked down the steps slowly. "I hold these lands because I am strong. I strike hard and fast, and my reach is long. If there is a whisper of treason, if there is talk of attacking me and taking my lands, conquering my people, I eliminate the threat at the very throat of my enemy, long before it reaches my borders."
Nicoletta's teeth bit at her lower lip in agitation. "There is a rumor that you head a society of assassins." She was backing away from him, away from the mesmerizing effect he seemed to have on her. She could almost believe he led a society of assassins. She already half believed he was a sorcerer casting a spell over her. But he was so adept at it, she had no real desire to escape.
"I have heard that rumor," he said with a casual shrug.
Nicoletta was very aware of trickles of sweat running along the defined muscles of his chest and arms. She wanted to touch him, to taste those tiny beads of moisture. The thought was terrifying, a corruption of her ingrained modesty. She wanted him to touch her again, to bring her body to a fiery conflagration. "Even with all you have just told me, how is it that you have managed to keep your lands when so many others have fallen?" She was struggling to control the terrible hunger raging in her body.
"You are thinking il diavolo has aided me. I do not know if he has, Nicoletta. There is much I must do to protect our lands that a little innocent like you could not conceive of." He reached for her, his hands finding her rib cage, pulling her toward him through the lapping water. Her breasts pushed against his chest in blatant invitation. At once his hands came up to cup the soft weight in his hands.
"I need you to explain something to me, Don Scarletti," she said, leaning in close, nearly hypnotized by the small beads of water running down his skin. "Is this wrong? How you make me feel--is it wrong?"
"Giovanni," he corrected her. "And what could be wrong between a husband and his wife? You are my other half, cara mia." He reached for her hand. "This is what is meant to be. Feel how much I need you, Nicoletta. How much I want you." He wrapped her fingers around the thick, hard length of him, then closed his eyes, savoring her touch.
He could feel her trembling despite the warmth of the water. His hand moved in a caress over her hair, a stroke of tenderness even as his other hand shaped her fingers to massage and explore. "When a man knows a woman wants to touch him like this, when she seeks to please him in the way he has pleased her, he grows all the more hungry for her." The steamy water was flowing around them, between their bodies, lapping at their skin, like a thousand tongues. "Look at me, cara mia, at how great my need for you has already become." He whispered the words as he drew her close, as he caught her head in his hands and bent to kiss the nape of her neck. A seduction. A temptation.
She could feel the curious melting inside, the heat in her blood surging through her veins, pooling into a low, constant ache of nearly desperate need. She wanted to lean forward and taste the drops of moisture on his skin. And she was no longer able to stop herself. Nearly in a trance, she leaned into his chest and traced the line of his muscles with her lips. As her mouth drifted over his skin, she felt him tremble, felt him grow harder in her hand, pulsing with urgent need. Daringly, tempted beyond endurance, her tongue flicked out to capture a small bead of moisture on his chest. He tasted of salt, of earth, his masculine scent enfolding her. And she wanted more.
A feeling of power was growing in her, replacing the terrible vulnerability. She could make him want her in the same way he had made her burn for him. Her tongue caught another bead, swirling lazily, a natural, sensual movement that wrenched a gasp from deep in his throat. Her hand moved now on its own, gliding over the hard length of him, stroking and caressing, finding the sensitive tip where he seemed most vulnerable to her attentions. He let her explore, clenching his teeth against the waves of hot desire pouring through him like molten lava he could barely contain.
As he stood slowly her tongue swirled along his chest, then lower, to find the tiny droplets running down the ridges of his stomach muscles. Another sound escaped, a husky growl torn from deep within him. It was erotic, hungry, so sensual that she couldn't find it in her to stop herself from tasting him. He shuddered visibly as her mouth skimmed over his engorged tip, hot and ready with his great need. Her warm breath was making him half mad.
Giovanni had experienced such pleasures many times in his life with practiced women experienced at their craft, yet no one had stirred him as Nicoletta did. She was so naturally sensual, born passionate, her every gesture innocently erotic, even the way she turned her head or moved her hips when she walked. And the way her mouth slid so shyly over him, hot and tight and perfect. His hands caught her head while he reminded himself to be gentle, not to thrust savagely into her as he so desperately needed to do. Very carefully he began to guide her, his head back, his body taut with self-control.
A loud banging on the outer bedchamber door jerked Nicoletta upright. She stared at Giovanni in a kind of horror. She backed away from him, her eyes wide with shock at her own wanton behavior. She pressed a hand to her mouth.
Giovanni reached for her, but the banging became louder, more insistent. No one would dare interrupt his wedding night unless it was of dire consequence. "Nicoletta, I must answer the summons," he said softly, holding out a hand to her.
She looked around for something to cover her nakedness, ashamed and humiliated at her performance. Don Scarletti hadn't forced her. He hadn't even asked her. She had behaved in a manner no decent woman would have. Her sins had to be great. And it didn't help her conscience that her body still burned with a fire she couldn't extinguish, that she wanted him buried deep inside her, that he was a hunger in her blood now, impossible to ignore. Nicoletta crossed herself and sent up several quick prayers in hopes the good Madonna was listening this night.
Giovanni moved in haste now. The knocks were drum-like, the summons urgent. He tossed a robe to Nicoletta while he pulled on his breeches. Casting a brief look over his shoulder to ensure she was out of sight, he crossed the bedchamber and jerked open the door.
"What is it?" His tone was low and furious, a threat to the group of men waiting for him.
Nicoletta peeked around the edge of the alcove where she was hiding and spotted Antonello in the midst of several of Giovanni's elite guards. She could see that they were agitated, but their voices remained low, so she had no hope of hearing what they said.
At length, Giovanni turned back to her, closing the door. He began to dress, his black eyes fixed on her pale face. "I regret that I must leave you, piccola. Go to sleep, and I will return as soon as possible."
She pulled the robe more tightly around her, her eyes alive with injured pride, her face flushed nearly scarlet. "You mean to leave me on our wedding night?" After the humiliation of what she had been doing to his body? She couldn't think it.
"I must. Affairs of state call to me. I will return, and we will ease all your fears."
She lifted her chin. "I do not think I want my fears eased. You bewitched me to do such things. You go to your work, Don Scarletti. I will return to my own bedchamber."<
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She sounded faintly haughty, but he heard the tears choking her throat. His face darkened. "I have said you will remain in this room. It is your bedchamber now, Nicoletta. I do not have time now to teach you all the things you must know."
Her eyes smoldered at him. "I do not want your 'teachings,' signore, if that is what you call them. And I will not remain here like a naughty child sent to her room."
He muttered something beneath his breath and shook his head. "I will return later. You will go to bed and sleep in my absence."
She stood in the center of the room, watching as he deserted her to accompany his guards and his brother. She crossed to the door and watched as he started down the hall. When she would have moved defiantly into the corridor, two soldiers stepped in front of her, their bodies as effective as any prison door. It was a further humiliation. The entire palazzo would be abuzz with the gossip that the don had deserted his bride on their wedding night.
Giovanni looked back once, his black gaze meeting her dark, mortified one. Cara mia. The voice was velvet soft, but Nicoletta refused its seduction and comfort, slamming the door and running to the bed. She was exhausted and embarrassed, unable to explain her own indecent behavior. She thumped the coverlet hard, vowing she would never indulge in such carnal behavior again. Confused and utterly weary from the day's events, she fell asleep with tears running down her face. But Nicoletta dreamed, and she dreamed erotically of the don.
He returned to their bedchamber at first light. The room was a smoky gray, still caught between morn and night. He was tired, lines etched deeply into his face. He undressed, his eyes on his bride's sleeping figure, tearstains still on her face. His hard features softened at the sight of her, a tenderness creeping in to thaw the terrible ice in the depths of his soul. There was a scratch on his shoulder that had not been there before, a thin line of barely discernable blood.
Giovanni stretched out beside Nicoletta, his hard body curved almost protectively around hers. His arm circled her, pulling her close to him. At first he lay still, simply listening to her breathe. He inhaled her scent.
Nicoletta slowly became aware of her husband's presence, felt him taking the essence of her deep into his lungs, breathing her into his body. His lips were velvet soft as they skimmed her mouth to drift down along her throat. He nuzzled her until the warmth of his breath heated the nipple peeking out at him from the robe that had fallen open. She felt his tongue first, then the scrape of his teeth. Then he was suckling, his mouth hungry for her. Each pull set moist heat pulsing between her thighs. She moaned softly, an invitation, her legs parting restlessly.
Giovanni seemed heedless of her aching need. He took his time, paying careful attention to each breast, tracing each rib, swirling his tongue in her navel, along her stomach. Finally his hands parted her legs, stroking her thighs until she arched her hips in demand. His palm pressed against her, finding her hot and damp.
"This is wanting me, bambino," he said softly, inserting two fingers into her tight canal. He moved them as his body would move, in and out, until her hips rose willingly to meet him. "That is what you must do," he said softly.
His body moved over hers, large and muscular, pinning her beneath him, his knee pushing her thighs apart. He was hard and hot; she could feel him thick and long, pressing for entrance. He caught her buttocks in his hands, lifting her to meet him so that he could surge into her deeply.
The movement drove the very breath out of her. He was large, and he filled her, stretching her until she gasped with the exquisite pain of it. He bent his head to capture her mouth, and his tongue began to match the movement of his hips, hard and fast, so that her sheath grew hotter and tighter. The friction went beyond her dreams, spilling into reality, so that she was gripping him, thrusting upward to meet him, the pressure building until she wanted to scream. Her body rippled with life, gripping his, dragging him deeper into her, milking him dry as she fragmented into a million sparkling pieces before settling slowly to earth.
"That is only the beginning," he whispered softly to her as he reluctantly eased his weight off her. One leg was thrown carelessly over her thighs to lock her to him. One arm curved possessively around her waist. His head was beside the warmth of her breasts. "Go back to sleep, angelo mia," he whispered softly against her creamy skin. Her body was sated but sensitive, and she drifted off with his mouth, moist and hot, nuzzling at her breast.
Chapter Fourteen
"I do not understand why there is still no word on Cristano," Maria Pia greeted Nicoletta as she entered the kitchen. The older woman faltered when she saw that Giovanni had entered behind Nicoletta, his hand resting possessively on her back. Then Maria Pia lifted her chin belligerently, addressing the don directly. "I understand you have called off the search for young Cristano." It was said as a challenge, yet she couldn't quite bring herself to meet the don's steady black gaze.
"Is that true?" Nicoletta asked, swinging around to face her husband. In the morning light he was incredibly powerful looking, no hint of tenderness on his chiseled features. He looked aloof, remote; he looked the man who had left his bride on their wedding night for some secretive, clandestine errand he refused to discuss.
"Yes, cara mia," he said with a hint of exasperated amusement in his drawling tone. Always ready to think the worst of me. The words were very clear in her mind, and a faint blush stole into her cheeks. She would have preferred to believe she was dreaming still when he returned to their bedchamber, but they had tangled together far too intimately for her to mistake that she was awake, gazing up, at his gleaming black eyes.
Her glance jumped to meet his at this casual display of his speaking in her mind in the midst of so many others. He bent to brush her temple with his mouth. "I received word that your Cristano is alive and safe, hiding in the villaggio a day's ride from yours. I needed my soldiers and thought it an indignity to the young man's ego to force him to return home." He bowed toward Maria Pia. "Signorina Sigmora, I trust you slept well." His white teeth flashed the smile of a wolf, before he turned and took his leave of them.
Maria Pia crossed herself, alarmed by the don's look. "I think he threatened me," she whispered softly to Nicoletta, acutely conscious of the guards nearby. "And why does he still have those men following you? I thought they were only to keep you from running away before the wedding. He is your husband now."
The subject was a sore one, so Nicoletta chose not to answer. "Where is Sophie?" she asked instead. "I expected to see her here." She couldn't look at Maria Pia, couldn't meet her steady gaze, terrified that her mentor would know all the wanton things she had been doing. For one awful moment tears burned in her eyes, threatening to give her away.
"The little imp is no doubt up to no good. I fear she needs taking in hand." Maria Pia's voice was scolding but already held genuine affection. "I should track her down and insist she learn manners. I think that, like another little girl I once knew, she runs free, with no one to see to her education or refinement."
"My thoughts exactly," Nicoletta agreed. She smiled at Bernado and accepted the bread fresh from the oven, trying to act as natural as possible, her gaze avoiding contact with his. The bread was warm and delicious. She ignored the fact that one of her guards had eaten a chunk of it before a share was given to her. She was uneasy, her body slightly but deliciously sore, her mind nervously skittering away from and back to the things she had done in the privacy of the bedchamber with the don. There was no sense in asking Maria Pia about the things that properly went on between a husband and wife; doubtless she would make Nicoletta go to confession and light a dozen candles.
Long after her morning meal, Nicoletta could still feel the shadows in her mind, a growing uneasiness that chipped away at her natural happiness. She went through the motions of meeting some of the workers in the palazzo, managed to laugh and jest with them even though Gostanz obviously didn't approve of such intimacies with his staff. She tried not to think about the gossip and speculation. That the don's new br
ide was an innocent and didn't know how to please such a man. That that was why he had left her their very first night together. Or worse, that they all knew she had wanted to do the forbidden, sinful things she had done. By late afternoon the shadows within her began to lengthen and grow so much that she sought refuge in the alcove with the shrine to the Madonna.
The small alcove was dimly lit, and Nicoletta waved the guards away to give herself some much-needed privacy. Kneeling, she lit several candles, praying silently to the Madonna and her own madre for guidance with her new husband. His personality so overwhelmed hers. He could make her want him so easily, removing her inhibitions and all sane thoughts until she could only feel, think only of him, of pleasing him. He made her feel things she had never dreamed of, never imagined, made her want to do things she had never once considered. Nicoletta longed for her mother's counsel and comfort.
Somewhere behind her she heard Portia's voice raised in anger. A softer voice answered in an indistinct murmur but with enough of a jarring note that Nicoletta was pulled out of her reverie. She turned her head and saw that a door only a short distance from her was ajar. The two women arguing must have sought refuge from prying eyes behind it. Nicoletta knelt uncertainly in the alcove with her head bowed reverently. The candles she had lit in memory of her mother were flickering, throwing dancing light onto the walls. She had no thought of eavesdropping, but she felt cornered, afraid that if she walked away now her presence might prove humiliating to the two women.
She could hear Portia's voice, shrill and angry, much more distinctly now. "I do not care what you think. You are a callow, selfish girl and far too young and silly to hold the attention of a man like him! What were you thinking of, Margerita? I raised you to marry well, not ruin yourself trying to entrap a man like him." Scorn and contempt laced Portia's voice, so much so that Nicoletta found herself wincing under its cutting whip. "He beds silly cows like you, little innocents who have no hope of keeping him happy, but you are mere sport for him. Do you not realize he would laugh at one such as you with the figure of a man and the face of a dull ewe? You have nothing to offer but your innocence. Have you no sense? How do you expect to marry well if you are so stupid as to sully yourself with him?" There was a loud crack as Portia obviously slapped her daughter hard.