The Italian's Forbidden Virgin (Mills & Boon Modern) (Those Notorious Romanos, Book 2) Carol Marinelli (ebook reader with built in dictionary .TXT) 📖

Yet he wanted it to be.

There was just one unkind comment, as dessert was being served, when Eloa spoke of her wedding that was now just a few short weeks away. She told Mia, ‘Ariana is helping us organise a few things,’ clearly trying to feed her into the conversation.

‘Yes.’ Ariana flashed a red-lipped smile at Mia. ‘It’s going to be amazing. Anyone who’s anyone has been invited...’

Meaning—not you!

Gian caved.

Ariana felt his hand on her thigh, and the grip of his fingers actually halted her words.

‘That’s not a good idea,’ she said to Gian, while looking ahead. ‘If you reward me each time I go too far...’

‘Would you prefer the discipline method?’

She threw her head back and laughed.

Even with Mia at her table, Ariana found that with Gian beside her she could still have such a wonderful night.

And it was then that she got another reward, for as the desserts were served and shots of coffee were tossed over ice creams, there was a special dish, made just for her. Tutti-frutti.

Ariana gasped.

‘Yes.’

It was better than being handed chestnuts on a freezing night; it was better than a sliver of gold when she could not face her father’s funeral alone.

‘Thank you.’

She wanted to cry as she tasted the sweet candied ice cream and remembered how her father had, over and over, let her get away with buying three cones, just so she could devour them all.

Happy memories reigned as little shots of sugar burst on her tongue and when she finished she had to dab at her eyes with her napkin. ‘Ice cream has never made me cry before,’ she admitted to Gian as the waiter cleared her very clean plate. ‘Happy tears, though. It was beautiful, thank you.’

‘Shall we get it over with?’ Gian asked as the band struck up.

‘Get what over with?’ Ariana said, as if she didn’t know.

‘The duty dance.’

It had been months since she had known the bliss of his arms, and for Gian it had been months with no feminine pleasure.

He’d known he would only be thinking of her and, besides, no one else had her scent.

‘Your perfume,’ he said, as he held her at a distance and resumed their old wars.

‘I’ve told you,’ she said, ‘I don’t wear any.’ She looked right at him. ‘You’re the only one who complains.’

‘I’m not complaining.’

‘Why do you always hold me at such a distance?’

‘You know why,’ he said, and pulled her deep in so she could feel him hard against the softness of her stomach. She flared to the scent of citrus and bergamot and testosterone and the roughness of his skin seemed to burn her rouged cheek. ‘You didn’t shave...’

‘Because you like me unshaven.’

‘Gian.’ She was trying to breathe and dance and deal with the change all at the same time. She simply didn’t understand him. ‘You’ve ignored me most of the night...’

‘I tried to,’ he admitted.

‘You’ve ignored me for weeks...’ He shook his head, but then nodded when she quoted his impersonal sign-offs. ‘“Kind regards, Gian”?’

‘How else could we get the ball done?’

‘And after tonight will you ignore me again?’

He didn’t answer because he didn’t know. He could not afford to think of tomorrow now.

The judgements of the coroner’s report should be flicking through his mind, except tonight those violet eyes turned his warning systems off.

He gave her no promises, just told her the card for his private elevator would be in her bag and left her to stumble her way through the rest of the evening.

The speeches were brilliant, the whole night was perfect, but it felt as though she might faint with desire as she said farewell to the guests.

‘We should go for a drink in the bar,’ Nicki said.

‘It will be closed.’

‘I meant the bar in your room.’ Nicki smiled, but Ariana shook her head. ‘I’m exhausted, Nicki.’

It was a lie.

Ariana felt as alive as an exposed wire as she slipped away and took the private elevator to his floor and let herself in.

It was not the view that she craved, or the stunning surroundings; it was the glimpses of him.

There were paintings, the sketches of Fiordelise he had told her about, his history and lineage all there on the walls.

The older Dukes and Duchesses too, and it went right down to his parents, his brother...

But where was Gian?

Her eyes scanned the walls.

Where was the man she adored?

Then she found him, in a suit, at the desk in Reception, and she frowned at the one single image of him, but her thoughts faded as she heard the whir of the elevator. And her heart moved to her throat as he stepped through the door.

It had been agony not to touch him, but both were relieved of that agony now.

As they reached for each other, almost ran to each other, it was like falling into another dimension.

He was undoing her gown so it fell like a black puddle on the floor. His tongue was cool and his kisses hot as she impatiently pushed down the sleeves of his jacket, and they were so desperate for each other, for more than this.

He picked her up, dressed only in her underwear, and deposited her onto a vast gold bed.

His eyes never left her face as Ariana removed her bra and lay on her back, propped up by her elbows and watching him undress.

He threw off the tie as though it was choking him and she gave a satisfied smile when the cufflinks dropped silently to the carpet for he was as desperate as she.

He slowed down to take off her strappy high heels. First the right, and he was so annoyingly slow with the strap that she took her other high heel and pressed it into his toned stomach.

Gian caught her calf.

She could see his erection, the one that had been pressed against her on the dance floor, and she almost writhed in frustration as he took off her left high heel. Now the soles of her feet were on