Feehan, Christine - The Scarletti Curse (34 page)

Nicoletta shifted in an attempt to gain freedom. Was this some cruelty? A
veiled threat that, should she not please him, he would name her witch? The
word had been twice used, a frightening thing should the don wish to rid
himself of her. She knew she was different, and she was intelligent enough to
know the payment that had been demanded of her
villaggio
for those
differences. The Scarletti who had bargained with the ancestors of the village
elders had wanted to introduce those rare abilities into his bloodline. He had
allowed them to establish their
villaggio
under the don's protection in
return for the Bridal Covenant.

Cara mia.
His voice was a drawling caress, a gentle chastisement.
"You look at me with such fear in your beautiful eyes." It was
becoming far easier to connect with her; when her emotions were intense, he
could reach out to her, his voice strong in her mind. Giovanni moved then, a
swift, fluid flowing of his muscles. Her heart nearly stopped as he gathered
her up as if she weighed no more than a child. He could be very deceptive in
that when he was still, he was completely still, and when he moved it was fast
and unexpected. She knew why he was reputed to be a dangerous adversary.

"What do you plan to do with me?" She was completely naked, the
evidence of her innocence trickling along her leg. "This is unseemly, Don
Scarletti." It was humiliating to be so helpless, not to understand the
demands of one's own body and to know she was completely at the mercy of her
husband.

Giovanni moved straight to one of the closed doors, thrusting it open with
one quick motion and took her into a huge, elaborate marble chamber. Nicoletta
gasped, clutching his neck with her slender arms. She had never seen anything
remotely like it. She had heard of such sinful luxuries, of course; the Roman
emperors were reputed to have such things.

Watching her face closely, Giovanni lowered her feet to the marbled tiles.
Nicoletta was so awed, she forgot she was naked. The bath was built almost as
large as the community baths and sunken deep, with stairs leading down into it.
The hot water lapped at the edges, beckoning, steam clouding the room, lending
the illusion of clouds. Beneath the deep water mosaic tiles wove colors like a
tapestry. Large columns at the perimeter held lifelike sculptures of fearsome
lions. The beasts faced outward from the bath, as if standing guard.

"My ancestors believed in their creature comforts."

Nicoletta abruptly remembered Giovanni was there and immediately hid herself
behind one of the lions. "Do you worship in the Holy Church?" she
asked, suspicious. In their small
villaggio,
it was rumored that in the
outside world things like kissing and bathing could lead to sinful, wicked
things, even between husband and wife, who rightly mate but solely to produce
children. Nicoletta was rather afraid that what she and Giovanni had already
done came under the heading of sinful and wicked. She had liked his
ministrations far too much to consider herself a decent woman. The thought was
frightening, yet exciting at the same time.

He arched one black eyebrow at her, standing tall and naked, looking every
inch a Greek god.
We have not even begun to be sinful and wicked.
The
words brushed at the inside of her mind, spreading heat through her body until
the very core of her burned. "There is so much more to what is between a
man and a woman," he said aloud, watching the breath rush out of her
lungs, watching the way her breasts beckoned him, swelling with aching desire.

Nicoletta hurried down the steps of the pool to immerse her body in the
water, hoping he could no longer see her. The colored mosaic tiles created a
strange, shimmering effect in the water. She felt like a water nymph, her long
hair floating like silky blue-black seaweed on the surface.

The hot water lapped at her skin, easing her soreness. She closed her eyes,
savoring the feeling, savoring the heat and even the possible indecency of it
all. "You did not answer my question, Don Scarletti," she said
softly, looking up at him, more confident with the water covering her bare
skin, the wispy clouds of steam playing over her body, and the dark shadows
cast by several candles skimming her flesh.

"I worship in my way. I am the don, responsible for the lives of many.
I do not have the luxury of believing blindly. Each decision I make must be a
political one. Our country is divided, and as long as it is, we will fall to
the larger powers, be it the rule of the Holy Church, France, Spain, or
Austria." He walked down the steps slowly. "I hold these lands
because I am strong. I strike hard and fast, and my reach is long. If there is
a whisper of treason, if there is talk of attacking me and taking my lands,
conquering my people, I eliminate the threat at the very throat of my enemy,
long before it reaches my borders."

Nicoletta's teeth bit at her lower lip in agitation. "There is a rumor
that you head a society of assassins." She was backing away from him, away
from the mesmerizing effect he seemed to have on her. She could almost believe
he led a society of assassins. She already half believed he was a sorcerer
casting a spell over her. But he was so adept at it, she had no real desire to
escape.

"I have heard that rumor," he said with a casual shrug.

Nicoletta was very aware of trickles of sweat running along the defined
muscles of his chest and arms. She wanted to touch him, to taste those tiny beads
of moisture. The thought was terrifying, a corruption of her ingrained modesty.
She wanted him to touch her again, to bring her body to a fiery conflagration.
"Even with all you have just told me, how is it that you have managed to
keep your lands when so many others have fallen?" She was struggling to
control the terrible hunger raging in her body.

"You are thinking
il diavolo
has aided me. I do not know if he
has, Nicoletta. There is much I must do to protect our lands that a little
innocent like you could not conceive of." He reached for her, his hands
finding her rib cage, pulling her toward him through the lapping water. Her
breasts pushed against his chest in blatant invitation. At once his hands came
up to cup the soft weight in his hands.

"I need you to explain something to me, Don Scarletti," she said,
leaning in close, nearly hypnotized by the small beads of water running down
his skin. "Is this wrong? How you make me feel—is it wrong?"

"Giovanni," he corrected her. "And what could be wrong between
a husband and his wife? You are my other half,
cara mia."
He
reached for her hand. "This is what is meant to be. Feel how much I need
you, Nicoletta. How much I want you." He wrapped her fingers around the
thick, hard length of him, then closed his eyes, savoring her touch.

He could feel her trembling despite the warmth of the water. His hand moved
in a caress over her hair, a stroke of tenderness even as his other hand shaped
her fingers to massage and explore. "When a man knows a woman wants to
touch him like this, when she seeks to please him in the way he has pleased
her, he grows all the more hungry for her." The steamy water was flowing
around them, between their bodies, lapping at their skin, like a thousand
tongues. "Look at me,
cara mia,
at how great my need for you has
already become." He whispered the words as he drew her close, as he caught
her head in his hands and bent to kiss the nape of her neck. A seduction. A
temptation.

She could feel the curious melting inside, the heat in her blood surging
through her veins, pooling into a low, constant ache of nearly desperate need.
She wanted to lean forward and taste the drops of moisture on his skin. And she
was no longer able to stop herself. Nearly in a trance, she leaned into his
chest and traced the line of his muscles with her lips. As her mouth drifted
over his skin, she felt him tremble, felt him grow harder in her hand, pulsing
with urgent need. Daringly, tempted beyond endurance, her tongue flicked out to
capture a small bead of moisture on his chest. He tasted of salt, of earth, his
masculine scent enfolding her. And she wanted more.

A feeling of power was growing in her, replacing the terrible vulnerability.
She could make him want her in the same way he had made her burn for him. Her
tongue caught another bead, swirling lazily, a natural, sensual movement that
wrenched a gasp from deep in his throat. Her hand moved now on its own, gliding
over the hard length of him, stroking and caressing, finding the sensitive tip
where he seemed most vulnerable to her attentions. He let her explore,
clenching his teeth against the waves of hot desire pouring through him like
molten lava he could barely contain.

As he stood slowly her tongue swirled along his chest, then lower, to find
the tiny droplets running down the ridges of his stomach muscles. Another sound
escaped, a husky growl torn from deep within him. It was erotic, hungry, so
sensual that she couldn't find it in her to stop herself from tasting him. He
shuddered visibly as her mouth skimmed over his engorged tip, hot and ready
with his great need. Her warm breath was making him half mad.

Giovanni had experienced such pleasures many times in his life with
practiced women experienced at their craft, yet no one had stirred him as
Nicoletta did. She was so naturally sensual, born passionate, her every gesture
innocently erotic, even the way she turned her head or moved her hips when she
walked. And the way her mouth slid so shyly over him, hot and tight and
perfect. His hands caught her head while he reminded himself to be gentle, not
to thrust savagely into her as he so desperately needed to do. Very carefully
he began to guide her, his head back, his body taut with self-control.

A loud banging on the outer bedchamber door jerked Nicoletta upright. She
stared at Giovanni in a kind of horror. She backed away from him, her eyes wide
with shock at her own wanton behavior. She pressed a hand to her mouth.

Giovanni reached for her, but the banging became louder, more insistent. No
one would dare interrupt his wedding night unless it was of dire consequence.
"Nicoletta, I must answer the summons," he said softly, holding out a
hand to her.

She looked around for something to cover her nakedness, ashamed and
humiliated at her performance. Don Scarletti hadn't forced her. He hadn't even
asked her. She had behaved in a manner no decent woman would have. Her sins had
to be great. And it didn't help her conscience that her body still burned with
a fire she couldn't extinguish, that she wanted him buried deep inside her,
that he was a hunger in her blood now, impossible to ignore. Nicoletta crossed
herself and sent up several quick prayers in hopes the good Madonna was
listening this night.

Giovanni moved in haste now. The knocks were drum-like, the summons urgent. He
tossed a robe to Nicoletta while he pulled on his breeches. Casting a brief
look over his shoulder to ensure she was out of sight, he crossed the
bedchamber and jerked open the door.

"What is it?" His tone was low and furious, a threat to the group
of men waiting for him.

Nicoletta peeked around the edge of the alcove where she was hiding and
spotted Antonello in the midst of several of Giovanni's elite guards. She could
see that they were agitated, but their voices remained low, so she had no hope
of hearing what they said.

At length, Giovanni turned back to her, closing the door. He began to dress,
his black eyes fixed on her pale face. "I regret that I must leave you,
piccola.
Go to sleep, and I will return as soon as possible."

She pulled the robe more tightly around her, her eyes alive with injured
pride, her face flushed nearly scarlet. "You mean to leave me on our
wedding night?" After the humiliation of what she had been doing to his
body? She couldn't think it.

"I must. Affairs of state call to me. I will return, and we will ease
all your fears."

She lifted her chin. "I do not think I want my fears eased. You
bewitched me to do such things. You go to your work, Don Scarletti. I will
return to my own bedchamber."

She sounded faintly haughty, but he heard the tears choking her throat. His
face darkened. "I have said you will remain in this room. It is your
bedchamber now, Nicoletta. I do not have time now to teach you all the things
you must know."

Her eyes smoldered at him. "I do not
want
your 'teachings,'
signore, if that is what you call them. And I will not remain here like a
naughty child sent to her room."

He muttered something beneath his breath and shook his head. "I will
return later. You will go to bed and sleep in my absence."

She stood in the center of the room, watching as he deserted her to
accompany his guards and his brother. She crossed to the door and watched as he
started down the hall. When she would have moved defiantly into the corridor,
two soldiers stepped in front of her, their bodies as effective as any prison
door. It was a further humiliation. The entire palazzo would be abuzz with the
gossip that the don had deserted his bride on their wedding night.

Giovanni looked back once, his black gaze meeting her dark, mortified one.
Cara
mia.
The voice was velvet soft, but Nicoletta refused its seduction and
comfort, slamming the door and running to the bed. She was exhausted and
embarrassed, unable to explain her own indecent behavior. She thumped the
coverlet hard, vowing she would never indulge in such carnal behavior again.
Confused and utterly weary from the day's events, she fell asleep with tears
running down her face. But Nicoletta dreamed, and she dreamed erotically of the
don.

He returned to their bedchamber at first light. The room was a smoky gray,
still caught between morn and night. He was tired, lines etched deeply into his
face. He undressed, his eyes on his bride's sleeping figure, tearstains still
on her face. His hard features softened at the sight of her, a tenderness
creeping in to thaw the terrible ice in the depths of his soul. There was a
scratch on his shoulder that had not been there before, a thin line of barely
discernable blood.