Page 42 of Italian Weddings

H E’D GONE BACK AND FORTH on the wisdom of this. The whole thing. Though he’d pretty quickly discounted any thoughts of ending their arrangement prematurely. A month was just a month. No big deal. Particularly not with the rules they’d put in place to protect themselves.

But even within those rules, he’d wondered if they should limit how frequently they saw one another.

Was it fool-hardy to have set up a date, for want of a better word, for the second night in a row?

Or was it just a mark of one of Salvatore’s defining characteristics: making the most of the time he had.

He’d always been someone who’d pushed himself to the limits.

Generally that applied most stringently to his business, but in some aspects of his personal life, he took the same, no holds barred approach.

Emilia was clearly going to be one of those instances.

They had agreed to a month together, and he had absolutely no reason to doubt he’d be able to walk away easily at that point.

Not only because she was a Valentino, but also, because he was Salvatore—a man who didn’t do commitment, entirely by choice.

It probably wouldn’t even last a month. Far more likely was that they’d get this out of their system and move on.

To that end, seeing each other often was a great option.

The faster this thing burned out and he could get back to his normal life, the better.

Whatever doubts he’d had about the wisdom of organizing this disappeared with each minute she kept him waiting.

Ten minutes turned into twenty, turned into thirty, so his nerves were stretched so thin he’d started to pace the carpeted floor of the luxurious suite.

Eventually, it occurred to him that she might not actually be planning to come.

What if she was toying with him? Leaning into their family feud and having a laugh at the fact he’d been so eager to see her he’d barely been able to wait another night?

By the time he heard the handle turning, he’d gone from pleased and confident in how things were going, to convinced he’d made a monumental, uncharacteristic error and that he should leave before she arrived—if she was even going to arrive.

But then, the door pushed inwards and Emilia, with a small brown leather duffel bag thrown over one shoulder, and dressed in a black, fitted, woolen dress, hair tumbling down over one shoulder, strode into the room. Her lips were painted a deep red, and all he could think about was smudging it off.

No, that wasn’t true. He was also thinking about how to curtail his immediate reaction—of intense, desperate longing. Because he did long for her, body and soul. He ached and yearned in a way that bordered on obsession.

“Did you walk here?” he asked, aware his voice sounded flatly disapproving, even as he moved to her and unhooked the bag from her shoulder and placed it on the ground.

He caught a hint of her floral perfume and his gut twisted at remembered pleasures—from the first night they’d slept together, in Moricosia, when he’d been totally intoxicated by everything about her, including that delicate, feminine smell.

“Have I kept you waiting?”

He tamped down on his irritation. Not with her, but rather, himself, for showing that yes, he’d been waiting. On tenterhooks, in fact.

Then again, why hide it? This was just about sex, and wanting her with the power of a thousand suns wasn’t a sin. Hell, it was why they were both here, wasn’t it?

“Yes,” he said, with a shrug that imitated carelessness. “I’ve been thinking about this all day.”

He dragged her into his arms, dropping his head and kissing her in the same motion, so more powerful memories exploded in his brain—the way she tasted, the way she sounded as she groaned into his mouth, so he swallowed up her eagerness and made it a part of his soul.

He didn’t need her to say anything. He didn’t need to hear that she’d been thinking about him, too.

It was obvious, from the way she clung to him, to the way she kissed him back, to the way she lifted one leg, wrapping it behind his calves, like she couldn’t wait to feel him inside her, like she couldn’t wait, full stop.

Curses flooded his body, angry, hot, desperate curses of the need he couldn’t seem to get control of, and then he was lifting her, easily, carrying her to the bed and placing her down, at the same time he pushed her dress higher, so his fingers could run over her soft, smooth skin, all the way to the lace of her thong.

He kept kissing her as he brushed it aside, so his fingers could connect with her sex, then push inside her, and she groaned harder, louder, arching her back and pushing forwards, and he heard her desperation then.

He’d thought about organising dinner to be here, waiting when she arrived, but he was glad he hadn’t now, because anything that delayed this would have been unbearable.

And it would have sent the wrong message, anyway.

They weren’t really dating, and this wasn’t about getting to know each other.

When they ate, it would be a case of sharing a meal for the sake of sustaining their energy levels, so they could keep doing this—it wouldn’t be anything more meaningful or significant.

As if to underscore his thoughts, she lifted her arms over her head, giving him access to remove her dress, which he did swiftly, letting out a guttural noise of his own when he saw that she wore no bra.

Her beautiful breasts called to him, begging to be touched as he had last night.

Her nipples were taut, sweet and demanding his attention, so as she fell back onto the bed he went with her, his mouth seeking first one breast, then the next, while his knee nudged her legs apart.

“Too many clothes,” she panted, when he pressed his teeth into her nipple with just enough force to make her yelp.

“I agree,” he said, and he moved to stand at the foot of the bed, bitterly resenting even that temporary separation.

He undressed as quickly as he could, enjoying the fact she couldn’t take her eyes off him, adoring the fact she made no attempt to disguise it.

Case in point, as he watched, Emilia held her hands up, a pout on those beautiful, full lips.

“Fuck me, Salvatore,” she begged, and he grinned, for no reason other than in that moment he was sublimely, utterly happy.

“I think this is the best burger I’ve ever eaten,” she said, swallowing her third mouthful. “Or it could just be that I’m ravenously hungry.”

Across the table from her, Salvatore, wearing only a pair of cotton boxers, grinned.

His bare chest really was a thing of great art.

Perfectly sculpted, but in a way that somehow spoke of general fitness rather than a vain need to work out, with just the right covering of hair, and a deep, golden complexion, she was having to work extra hard to stop her gaze from dropping down, constantly.

“Well, it is after midnight.”

“And I haven’t eaten since lunch.”

“Then it makes sense you’re hungry.”

Heat flooded her cheeks as she dropped her gaze to the burger, aware that her state of starvation had more to do with how they’d spent the last few hours.

Her whole body was singing with pleasure from what they’d shared.

Whatever ambivalence she’d been feeling about the wisdom of coming to see him for a second night had flown right out the window the second he’d kissed her.

She’d been desperate for him, but it was mutual, which made it a lot easier to just relax into this scenario.

“How was your day?”

His question had her lifting her gaze to his, surprised to find her lips quirking. “Seriously?”

“What? Isn’t that a normal question?”

“Yeah,” she drew the word out, thoughtfully. “But what we’re doing isn’t really normal, is it?”

He dipped his head in something like a nod of agreement, an unspoken concession. “Would you prefer to eat in silence?”

She took another bite of burger, finished chewing, then took a large sip of her soda.

His gaze stayed on her face the whole time, letting her know he was waiting for an answer.

Finally, she relented, “No, but I don’t know how I feel about making small talk with you, either. You are the enemy, remember?”

His grin made her insides pop like fireworks. “How could I forget?”

She reached for a chip. “Actually, my day was kind of shitty.”

He arched one brow, his face impassive. “Oh?”

She nodded.

“Want to talk about it?”

Emilia sipped her drink, to buy for time.

Weirdly, she almost sort of did want to talk about it, but with Salvatore?

Given they’d been at loggerheads over who’d get the project?

It would be dangerous to let him know how off track they were in their first set of deliverables.

Or would it? After all, they had a contract with the Moricosian government, and they weren’t quite at the point of breaching it.

Nothing short of a breach would allow the government to cancel their deal, and even then, it would be a bad look.

She shook her head, though. “Just a few fires I had to put out.”

“And did you succeed?”

Even without having confided the details to him, there was something in the deep huskiness of his voice that was somehow soothing.

“It will take some time,” she prevaricated.

“Fires often do.”

“Oh, yeah? Something you have to deal with often?”

“You can’t be in business without having things go pear shaped from time to time.”

“I know,” she said, with a nod. “That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

His smile made her stomach twist. “No?”

She shook her head. “I like predictability. I like people to do what they say they’re going to do. I like things to go according to plan.”

His lips quirked in an expression of amusement.

“Don’t you?” she pushed.

He shrugged. “Of course.”

“Why am I not convinced?”