Page 35 of Thorns of Death

“I’m not.”

“A widower, then.” I nodded, although something in my gut twisted. Warned, even. I should tell her, except I couldn’t. Not until she was my wife. Not until I was certain I could trust her. It was my sons’ lives that depended on it. “And you have two sons,” she continued, and I confirmed with a nod. “That must be hard. Being a single dad.”

It was better than having Donatella in their lives. She destroyed everything she touched. I wouldn’t allow her to ruin their lives too.

“They’re good kids,” I murmured, unaccustomed to talking about my children to anyone outside my family. “Amadeo and Enzo are their names. Thirteen and fourteen.”

“Hopefully boys endure teenage years better than girls.”

“Mainly with fists. Lots and lots of fighting,” I remarked dryly, then switched subjects to a safer topic. “How long have you lived in Paris?”

We spent over an hour eating and talking. In my entire life, I’d never had such a good time with another woman just talking, and certainly never while eating salad and drinking budget wine. It was usually only about sex as a transaction, but with Isla—even with the years between us—we could talk. It wasn’t just about the sizzling attraction that crackled whenever she was in my vicinity. It was about the serenity that she seemed to convey.

She stood up, reaching for both of our plates, and took them to the sink. I did the same with our glasses.

“Might as well chuck those sandwiches,” she remarked. “They are awful.”

I chuckled. “I’m sure they weren’t so bad.”

Her eyes twinkled as the corners of her lips tugged up. “Then I dare you to eat one.”

I grinned, watching her hungrily. Two could play this game. “I’m saving my appetite for dessert.”

Her breath hitched. She hadn’t backed off and every signal she sent my way told me she wanted me as much as I wanted her.

She turned away from the sink and faced me, her eyes shimmering full of lust. She seemed to be waiting to see what I would do.

“Are you going to get on your knees again?” she finally said. My dick pulsed, thickening in my trousers. Fuck, I wanted her badly. I brought my hand up to touch her and, in fascination, watched a shiver race down her body.

Isla’s cheeks flushed, and her hooded eyes glazed with desire. Her breaths came hard, mine came ragged.

As my hands continued up her body, under her sweater—madre di Cristo. She felt so fucking good, smelled even better… like sun-drenched coconut. Her skin was soft under my rough palms.

“Take me to your bedroom.” She didn’t hesitate taking my hand and leading me down the hallway and past several doors before opening the one that I recognized from the photo. White furniture. Lacy covers. The only splash of color was the peach rug and miniature paintings she had hanging on the wall. The scent of her in this room was stronger than in the rest of the apartment.

“Take your clothes off,” I rasped. “I’m dying to taste you. To feel your pussy clench around my dick. It has been way too fucking long without it.”

“Ditto,” she breathed her admission. Fuck, I loved how she didn’t play coy. Her desire was in the palm of her hands and she owned it. If she wanted to, she could easily own me too.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she pulled the sweater over her head and shimmied out of her yoga pants, leaving her in a black bra and lacy panties.

The view stole the breath from my lungs. Her nipples beaded behind her lacy bra, and her chest rose and fell rapidly. My cock was rock hard, eager for her.

“Should I get rid of these?” she whispered, tugging on the material, goose bumps breaking out over her skin. She reached behind her, but I closed the distance between us, my hand stopping her.

“That’s my job.”

I bent my head and skimmed my mouth over her soft skin. “You smell and taste like coconuts,” I told her as I unhooked her bra, letting it fall on the floor. Next, my fingers trailed over her inner thigh and between her legs, cupping her pussy. “But the scent is the strongest here.”

A soft moan vibrated through the room. Her body swayed as she arched into my touch, grinding herself shamelessly against my palm. She was soaked already.

I couldn’t wait to taste her again. When I pulled my hand away from her, she whimpered in protest. “Please, Enrico. I haven’t been able to get off since that night.”

A smug kind of satisfaction washed over me. To know she needed me to get off. I hooked my fingers in her panties and pulled them down her beautiful legs, lowering myself onto my knees in the process.

“Get on the bed,” I instructed. “I’m going to reward you for your honesty.”

Her lips curved into a bright smile. Fuck, this girl was like a magnificent sunrise, beaming with all the colors of the burning sun and igniting an inferno inside me.