Page 45 of Italian Weddings

The table behind her somehow edged closer, or maybe that was him, pushing her backwards, until her butt connected with it, and he was standing between her legs, kissing her, touching her, so close to her sex, that all he had to do was lift her a little, and wrap her legs around him.

And he did, driving into her in the same movement, so they both cried out at the sheer euphoric fulfillment of their shared needs, at the ecstasy delivered in that moment, and the promise of what was to come, as he held her hard to his body and drove into her again and again, until they were exploding together, voices mingled, breaths hewn from their bodies, brows covered in perspiration.

“Well, fuck,” he groaned, when he could trust himself to speak again, looking at Emilia as if through a smattering of stars. “You are exquisite.”

Her smile was slow to spread and possibly the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. “I’m really not. Right now I’m jet lagged and covered in airplane.”

He eased her back to the ground, hating the feeling of leaving her body, wanting to stay buried inside of her for so much longer. “You just got back?”

She nodded.

“Where from?”

She hesitated and for the briefest moment, something like suspicion curdled in his gut. An unwelcome emotion that seemed strangely adjacent to jealousy. He kept his expression neutral, wondering at the cogs that were turning in her brain, because she seemed unwilling to answer his simple question.

And then, after a beat too long, she said, “Moricosia.”

Ah. That explained it. “I know you got the job,” he pointed out. “You can talk about it in front of me.”

Heat flushed her cheeks pink, so he couldn’t resist lifting his hand and cupping one.

“Thanks, but I don’t feel like talking about it with anyone, let alone you.”

He grinned at that. “Your choice.” His eyes roamed her face and he realised, belatedly, that she did look tired. Exhausted, in fact. “Stay here.”

He walked through the apartment to the palatial en-suite, and placed the plug in the bath then began running the water, checking the temperature before adding a generous amount of body wash so bubbles instantly began to form on the water’s surface.

“What are you doing?” He glanced back towards the door to find her standing there, still gloriously naked, so his veins thrummed with all the things he wanted to do with her.

“You didn’t stay.”

“I’m not a puppy.”

His lips quirked. He liked how quick she was.

He liked how sassy she was. In some ways, it felt like he’d known her longer than this.

It felt like he’d known her all his life.

They were so comfortable together, even when they were sparking off each other.

He never felt as though she were trying to impress him, as though she was preening for his attention.

Maybe that was a virtue of their agreement, too?

The fact that neither of them was looking at ways to convert this to a real relationship, or hoping for it to turn into something longer term or more serious, meant they could just be completely real together.

It was probably something he needed to consider rolling out into any future relationship. Limits. Rules. The promise of no mess.

“Hop in,” he nodded towards the bath. “Are you hungry?”

She looked beyond him to the tub, as she jabbed her big toe against the grout of a tile, like she was lost in thought. “I’m—my stomach is still on Moricosian time, so yes. Starving.”

“I’ll get food brought up.”

She opened her mouth to say something, but closed it again, nodding. Then, slowly, as she walked towards him, “This is actually really sweet.”

“You sound like you don’t think I’m capable of sweet.”

Her eyes laughed even when her face was deadpan. “Well, you are a Santoro…”

He pulled her against him then and kissed her hard. “What do you feel like?”

She expelled a soft breath. “Surprise me.”

“I intend to.” And he kissed her one more time, for good measure, before leaving the steam-filled bathroom with a very sexy Emilia Valentino in the centre of it.

Emilia hadn’t known how good a bath could feel until she sunk into the one Salvatore had drawn for her, staring at the tiled walls, letting her mind go as blank as possible.

The water was the perfect temperature and she left it running until it covered her whole body.

The bubbles smelled like rose-water and he’d slipped a phone into the room a few minutes after she’d hopped into the tub, with soft jazz music playing.

It was the most relaxed she’d felt in days. Weeks?

But maybe that had something to do with the way they’d come together out there.

Frantically. Desperately. As though they were each completely starving for one another.

She’d spent the last few days—scratch that, the whole time she was in Moricosia—feeling as though a spring inside of her was being wound tighter and tighter.

It was the stress of the job, but also, it was wanting this.

Him. To be right here, in this suite he’d rented, making love to a man who, despite being someone she was supposed to hate, was someone she really, really loved sleeping with.

It was a duality she couldn’t quite face.

The certainty that if anyone in her family ever found out she was doing this, she’d cause some kind of permanent damage.

And right now, they’d been through enough drama to have earned a break.

Learning that Leandro was adopted had put a fissure between them for the first time in Emilia’s life, as Leandro pulled away from the family, disappearing to lick his wounds, and hurting their parents like hell in the process.

Though he’d come around, and accepted that whether he was adopted or not it made no difference to how much they all loved him, her parents had aged years in the past twelve months.

Emilia getting tangled up with a Santoro would be so much worse.

And just like that, the lovely, buzzy sense of relaxation evaporated as a tightness formed in her belly, like sawdust had been funnelled down her throat and filled her right up. She sat up a little, at the same moment Salvatore knocked at the door.

“Room for one more?”

Despite the sawdust situation, she found herself smiling at the thought of that. “It is a mighty big bath. But what about lunch?”

“It’s four o’clock in the afternoon,” he pointed out.

“What’s the afternoon equivalent of brunch?”

“Drunch? Linner?”

“Either or,” she nodded approvingly.

“Drunch is served,” he said with a flourish, as he turned away then returned a second later, wheeling a room service trolley through the en-suite doors. He pushed it right to the edge of the bath, where she could easily reach whatever was inside, and began to remove the stainless steel lids.

He’d clearly noticed her predilection for hot chips, because he’d made sure to include a generous bowl, but there was also sushi, some delicate sandwiches, and a bottle of champagne.

“Are we celebrating?”

“You tell me. How was your trip?”

Her eyes lifted to his and for the second time that afternoon, she forced herself not to say the first thing that came to her mind.

Not to tell him the truth. Because this was a Santoro and the whole situation with the Moricosian tender had the potential to be a bone of contention between them.

It was probably a subject they had to consider ‘off limits’.

And yet, she didn’t feel the same about him as she had when they were in Moricosia. Or afterwards, at the charity events.

She massaged her lip with her teeth, wondering when and how that had happened? Was it just familiarity? Wasn’t that supposed to breed contempt, rather than compatibility?

“Hello, earth to Emilia? It’s not a hard question to answer.” The water shifted as he moved into the bath, discarding the towel he’d had slung low on his hips, so he was right at her eye height. She tore her gaze upwards.

“No, I know.” She reached for a chip, distractedly. “It was…” she searched for the right word. “Stressful.”

More water shifted as he sat at the foot of the large bath. She moved her feet slightly to give him more room, but to her surprise, he reached for them, dragging them back to his lap, so he could work his fingers over the balls of her feet. It felt so good, she couldn’t hold back a small groan.

“Why stressful?”

She reached for another chip. “Are you asking me as a Santoro, or as the man I’m sleeping with?”

He flexed his brows. “I hate to be the one to break it to you, but we’re one and the same.”

“You know what I mean,” she said, flicking a little water at his chest. “One of you is out to destroy me and everyone I hold dear. The other one is apparently intent on giving me a thousand orgasms in the space of a month.”

“Now that’s a goal I could get on board with.”

She laughed softly. “Seriously, though…”

“Right now? What do you think?” He gestured towards her feet, and she understood. He was her lover. The whole family feud thing was outside of this bubble they’d created.

“Then what I’m about to tell you stays between us. You have to promise not to use this against me.”

His brows narrowed. “Don’t tell me anything you’re not comfortable sharing.”

“Is that your way of saying I can’t trust you?”

Now it was Salvatore’s turn to consider that. “You can trust me.” His voice gruff, raw. Like he was betraying a part of himself to admit that.