Sandra Marton - The Sicilian Marriage

Gianni’s grin faded. Damn it, the party was tonight.

Sighing, he shut his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck. Lord, he was tired. The last thing he was in the mood for was a party, but another life had come into the world and even if he couldn’t yet understand the appeal of fatherhood, he wanted to clap Tomasso on the back, kiss Karen and wish them well.

Gianni dropped the invitation on the dresser and headed for the shower.

Tonight, at least, nobody would try to play matchmaker, not with the baby the center of attention.

Better still, there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell he’d run into Briana O’Connell.

“Hallelujah,” he muttered, and stepped under the spray.

SO MUCH for snowballs and hell.

He ran into the Ice Princess just minutes after walking into the party. At least, he would have if he hadn’t spotted her and come to a screeching halt.

She was standing with a group of people, her back to him, but that didn’t matter. The hair tumbling down her back, the endless legs, showcased by heels so spiked they should have been declared a hazard to a man’s health, were dead giveaways.

All her attention was focused on a guy doing his best to make her laugh. Damned if he wasn’t succeeding.

Gianni felt his muscles tense. This woman laughed easily for anybody but him.

What was she doing here? Tomasso, he thought grimly, and just then, Tomasso had the misfortune to stroll by. Gianni grabbed his shoulder and glared.

“Did you invite her?”

“Invite who?”

“Damn it, Tomasso…No. You wouldn’t do that to me. It was Fallon.”

“It was Fallon what?” Tomasso said, his bewilderment so genuine that Gianni knew he was blameless.

“Fallon who put Karen up to this. To inviting Briana O’Connell.” Gianni jerked his head in Bree’s direction. “Stefano’s wife is the only one who’d—”

“Nobody put Karen up to anything. Briana is Karen’s best friend.”

It was Gianni’s turn to look shocked. “Her best friend?”

“Well, they’d been out of touch for a few years, but yeah, best pals, way back when. They went to college together. Roomed together. They were sorority sisters. You know, the whole nine yards.” Tomasso raised an eyebrow. “What’s the problem?”

“Nothing,” Gianni said wearily. “There’s no problem.”

“You sure?” Tomasso offered a friendly leer. “You and she have something going on?”

“Only if you’d describe a spider as having something going on with a fly.” Gianni laughed and slung his arm around the other man’s shoulders. “How about taking me to meet that new daughter of yours?”

The baby was cute, as babies went. The food was good, the ale was cold, and twenty minutes after he’d arrived, Gianni was ready to leave.

World War Three had not erupted. The Ice Princess either didn’t know he was here or she knew he was here and was ignoring him. She was still chatting with the same group of people. The only thing that had changed was that now he could hear her laugh.

It was the laugh he’d heard at Stefano’s. Husky. Sexy. Secretive.

It was driving him out of his mind.

How could she laugh when he was so royally ticked off? How come she didn’t know he was here? She had to know. He hadn’t been aware of the connection between her and Karen, but she’d certainly known he and Tomasso were friends, and—

And, he didn’t have to worry about her driving him insane because he was already climbing the steps of the asylum. Why else would he stand here watching her? Why would he give a damn? Why would he feel his temper rising and his blood pressure increasing?

Okay. All right. Closure. Wasn’t that what he’d wanted? He felt a muscle jump in his cheek. Closure was what he’d get, and right now.

There must have been something in his face as he strode across the room because the people she was with fell silent. Only one man was still laughing; a look from him and the laugh turned into something that sounded like a caw.

“What’s the matter?” Briana O’Connell said.

She swung around and he saw the surprise and something more flash across her face, something he would have missed if he weren’t feeling it himself.

Desire, hot, raw and savage, sluiced through his blood.

“You,” she said, so dramatically that he almost laughed.

“Me,” he said, and reached for her arm.

“Hey.” She tried to pull away. He wouldn’t let her. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Yeah,” the man who’d been laughing said, “what do you think you’re doing?”

Gianni swung toward him. “Whatever I’m doing,” he said pleasantly, “it’s none of your business.” The guy’s face turned a sickly grey. Okay. Maybe he didn’t say it pleasantly. “The lady and I have things to discuss.”

He looked at Briana. Her face was as pink as the guy’s was grey. He could see the pulse beating in her throat. Was she afraid of him? She ought to be. He’d had about all he was going to take.

“You’re crazy. We have nothing to—”

She gasped as he slid his hand to her wrist and encircled it.

“Don’t give me a hard time.”

“You son of a bitch,” she said, her voice trembling, but it was there again, swift as the beat of a hummingbird’s wing, that flash of heat flaring in her eyes.

Gianni stepped closer.

“Your choice, princess. Are you coming with me, or do I pick you up and carry you?”

“Bree?” the guy said, and Gianni grudgingly gave him credit for having more balls than brains.

She hissed a word he hadn’t thought she’d know, then slicked the tip of her tongue across her bottom lip. He felt his body tighten in response. When she tore her hand from his, he let her do it. He knew it was the small victory she needed so she could spin on one of those wicked stiletto heels and head for the front door.

He was no more than a step behind her.

Did somebody call his name? He didn’t know, didn’t care, didn’t think about anything but the swing of her buttocks, the way her short lemon-yellow skirt flared around her thighs as she strode from the apartment.

The elevator was just outside, waiting for them as if he’d planned it. She stepped into the car and jabbed a button. He stepped inside and she tried to shoot past him just as the door began to close. His vision clouded; he grabbed her arm and spun her toward him as the doors slid shut.

“Let go of me!” She jerked under his hands, eyes hot, breasts rising and falling with each quick breath. “What in hell do you think you’re doing?”

“What I should have done the day we met,” he said, and he hauled her against him and kissed her.

She cried out, but the sound was lost against his plundering mouth. She beat her fists against his shoulders and tried to twist her face away from his but he tunneled his hands into her hair, angled her face to his, and kissed her again.

“Bastard,” she panted, “you no good bas—”

And then she wound her arms around his neck and opened her mouth to his.

The first taste of her and he was lost. She fell back against the wall of the car, her body arching against his, breasts soft against his chest, hips lifting to the thrust of his.

“Oh God,” she whispered. “Oh please…”

Gianni groaned, cupped her backside and lifted her. She wrapped her legs around him, pressed herself against his erection and he felt a rush of desire so primitive it was almost his undoing.

“Tell me,” he said. “Say it. Say you want me. That you want this.”

“Yes. Yes!”

He slid his hand under her skirt. Only a scrap of lace lay between his questing fingers and her flesh. She was hot and wet and when he felt her against his palm, he had to fight for control all over again.