Rebecca Winters - One Summer at The Villa - The Prince's Royal Concubine / Her Italian Soldier / A Devilishly Dark Deal

“I cannot make love to you, Antonella.”

Her heart was pounding so hard she thought she’d misheard him. But she hadn’t. His face said it all. He had refused to make love to her.

Another man who’d rejected her, who’d seen that she was a damaged soul and refused to have anything more to do with her. Yes, he was the first man she’d ever wanted to make love with, but it was no different than her first fiancé driving off a cliff or her second rejecting her to marry another woman.

Men didn’t want her. Not really. They wanted the idea of her, of her beauty and poise, but not her.

She closed her eyes, turned her head and pressed her cheek to the floor.

“Antonella,” he said, his voice still raspy. Full of…regret? “You deserve better your first time. Better than a floor, better than a heated coupling brought on by desperation and the belief that our lives are in mortal danger. You deserve silk and roses, a man who cares for you—”

She snapped back to spear him with a glare. “You’re forcing me to marry you. If not you, who? Who will make love to me the first time? You will allow me to choose a man, and then you will marry me regardless? I think not.”

His brows drew together. He looked fierce. Possessive. Conflicted.

A little thrill shot through her.

“No. Of course I will be your first. But not here, not now.”

Her breath caught. She’d heard the words, but this was the first time she truly registered them. “You really believe me?”

“I believe you.”

In spite of her confusion and hurt, contentment washed over her. He believed her. “Thank you.”

His index finger rubbed across her lower lip. Soft, sensual. Her body flamed in response.

“We will wait. We will do this right when it is time.” He looked troubled, as if he knew there would not be another time. As if he knew they would die.

She refused to accept his decision. He believed her and he wanted her first time to be special. It was enough.

She caught his wrist, nipped his finger. Then she licked it. It was a far bolder move than she’d have ever imagined possible.

Desire flared in his eyes, scorching her. “Antonella,” he grated.

“I want to do this. I want you.”

His voice was strangled. “You are making a decision you would not otherwise make if not for the storm.”

That he saw deeply enough into her to recognize that the hurricane affected her only made her desire him more. No man had ever known her so well. Not even Dante. How ironic that it was a Monterossan who seemed to understand her best.

“I know. But I don’t want to die tonight without experiencing this.”

“We aren’t going to die, Antonella.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do. I promise you.”

As if in defiance, a roar sounded outside the dressing room. Something exploded with a bang. A tattoo of rain beat harder on the roof, plinking the terracotta with a deafening staccato rhythm.

“Please, Cristiano. If tomorrow comes, we’ll deal with it then.”

“Antonella,” he groaned, tilting his head back, eyes squeezed shut as if he were fighting himself. “You would regret it tomorrow, and you would hate me for it.”

“You’ve forgotten that I already hate you,” she said primly.

A smile curved one corner of his mouth. “ Dio , yes. How could I have forgotten this?”

She lifted a shaky hand, threaded her fingers through his hair. His eyes glittered with heat and need. God, she loved the feel of his hair. Soft, silky. Black as a starless night.

“Kiss me, Cristiano. Pretend we’re lying on silk sheets. Pretend that you care about me…”

SHE didn’t think he would do it. He looked doubtful, even a bit bewildered at first. And then he lowered his head, brushed his lips across hers. Back and forth, so feather-light and sensual. She wanted to moan, wanted to clasp him to her and force him to kiss her the way he had earlier.

But she didn’t. She waited, let him explore, let him do what he wanted.

“God help me,” he said, “I cannot deny you. I should, but I cannot.”

“I don’t want you to.”

“If you become scared,” he whispered against her mouth, “or change your mind, tell me. Do not be afraid I will be angry. This is for you, Antonella. It should be everything you want. And if you don’t want it, I will stop.”

Her heart flooded with a warmth she hadn’t felt before. A feeling of rightness and belonging. No matter what happened, this was the right moment with the right man.

“Thank you, Cristiano. Thank you for understanding.”

His answer was another kiss, this time deeper and more powerful. Her nerves crackled beneath the sensual onslaught. Her body grew hot and damp. The soft spot between her thighs ached—absolutely ached with the anticipation and fear of what came next.

One hand trailed down her leg, slipped beneath her dress. His palm slid along her thigh, pulling her dress higher.

“Wait,” she gasped.

When he pulled back and looked down at her, there was no anger in his expression. The relief she felt was tangible.

“Shouldn’t we blow out the candle?”

His hand continued its path up her thigh. “Why would we want to do that, cara mia ? I wish to see you.”

She swallowed. “I…um…well…”

He kissed her softly. “Shh. You are beautiful, Antonella. Believe me, you are quite beautiful. My body aches, just looking at you like this.”

He pushed himself upright, and she had a second of fear that he meant to stop, that she’d chased him away with her silliness about being nude with the lights on.

“I will strip for you, yes? If I am naked, perhaps you will have no objections about joining me.”

Her pulse shot into a reckless rhythm. She could only watch as Cristiano smiled and pulled his shirt over his head. The white gauze contrasted with his dark skin, and she was shocked to realize that she wanted to press her mouth there, right there on that ridge of muscle below the bandage. She wanted to run her tongue over him as if he were an ice cream cone.

“I like the way you look at me, cara ,” he purred. And then he unsnapped his shorts and pushed them down his hips, along with his briefs. Only her second look at a man’s penis up close and personal—and, oh, dear God, was she truly prepared for what was about to happen?

“Don’t be frightened, Antonella,” he said, dropping to the floor beside her again. He stretched out, propped himself on one elbow, and gently lifted her hand to his chest. “Touch me. Explore me if you wish. Or I will explore you if you are too shy.”

She was shy—and yet she wanted to touch him. Her fingers shook as she traced the hard ridges of his abdomen. His breath hissed inward when she dropped lower. Tentatively, she touched his erect penis.

“ Dio, ” he breathed.

“Does it hurt?”

“Most definitely.”

She jerked her hand away from the hot, velvety length of him. “I’m sorry.”

“You can touch me again, cara. It hurts in the best way possible, believe me.”

She tried again, growing bolder when he closed his eyes and didn’t watch. His skin was soft, hot, and yet this part of him was so rigid. She wrapped her fingers around him. What had she expected it to feel like?

She wasn’t certain. The intake of his breath brought her attention upward. He hadn’t opened his eyes, and he didn’t appear to be in pain—

She squeezed him. Was rewarded with a groan. A moment later, he’d pushed her back again, fused his mouth to hers and kissed her until she lost her mind. Then he lifted away again and started to pull her dress up.

“This needs to come off, Antonella.”