Tempted in the City (7 page)

“Come to my bed,” he whispered, just before he nipped her right earlobe. “I want to strip you down to your heels. Make you come every way there is.”

The invitation lit up more erogenous zones than she'd known she had. She nodded, hitting his nose with her own. It hurt.

“Ow,” he said, but it didn't stop him from grabbing hold of her buttocks and lifting her up onto the kitchen counter.

She gasped at the move, at his heat, at the hands running up her thighs, sneaking underneath her dress. It allowed her to spread her legs only a bit, but Tony didn't seem to mind. When he reached the limit of his fingertips, he started pushing up her dress a little at a time.

Her soft gasp made him freeze, but she kissed him again as quickly as she could. She'd thought about undressing for him, but this could be better. It all depended on what he was going to do when the dress reached the top of her thighs.

It was interesting to kiss his smile. Had she honestly never kissed a man who was grinning? Because she could, she traced the edges of his upturned lips with her tongue.

That made him moan, which made her want to squeeze her legs together. Of course she couldn't, which turned out to be surprisingly hot. He kept inching her dress up, but unless she balanced on her hands he wasn't going to succeed. “Tony?”

“Hmm?” He nibbled at a very tender spot below her ear.

“The dress is too long for this to work.”

His lips stopped moving. “I really liked this idea. It was supposed to make you swoon.”

“You succeeded too well, I think...” She slipped her hands between them and began unbuttoning his silky shirt. It wasn't easy, but she was determined. When she'd done as much as she could, her hand slid down over his pants so she could feel his length. And girth. Impressive. As was the growl in his moan.

For a moment, he barely moved, except for his quickening breath. She could probably make him come like this, just rubbing him off, but that was for another time.

She slid her hand up again, and he huffed a deep breath as she pulled his shirt free of his pants. That spurred him into a whole new gear.

After helping her down from the counter, he took her hand and walked her through the dining room, down a hallway with several doors, all the way back to the master suite.

“I'm so glad you're here,” he said, his mouth meeting hers, opening, parting, then finding her again at a different angle.

“Me, too,” she whispered.

Tony took hold of the hem of her dress, abandoning his slow pace. He bunched the material in his hand and pulled the dress up to midthigh, while kissing her hard and deep.

Her breath caught, and she wasn't at all sure how long she could remain standing. Wet and aching, desperately wanting them both naked, she got busy with his shirt once more.

Warm fingers moved up her stocking, pausing as he reached the lace at the top. “What's this?” he said, his voice lower and a good deal rougher.

“I'll bet you can figure it out.”

He met her gaze with very dark eyes and a slightly furrowed brow. He stared, unblinking, as he explored what he couldn't see.

The second he realized there was almost nothing above the thigh-high stockings, his eyes widened. “Are you...”

She grinned at him, finally getting his belt out of the way. Before she could get hold of his top pants button, he dropped. Straight down so that he was eye level with her crotch, although he was looking up at her face.

Carefully, he reached his right hand underneath her dress and ran one finger across the top of her stocking. His gaze didn't waver, not even a flicker, and she couldn't help but spread her legs a little more, her heart beating strong and fast in her chest. Still, he didn't look. He felt.

The clever man moved his hand to her side and ran it up until he reached the satin string on her hip. “I'm going to say...red.”

She lifted her eyebrows, not willing to give anything away. But instead of verifying his guess, he surprised her again. He followed the crease between thigh and torso until two fingers slipped underneath the tiny patch of silk that was the biggest part of her thong. She inhaled sharply as he skimmed her trimmed lower lips, then dipped inside.

“God,” she whispered, finding this game unbearably sexy.

“Oh, Christ, you're so ready for me.”

“Sometimes teasing is nice,” she said, putting her hand on the back of his head.

“And sometimes, one of us can't crouch down like this without hurting ourselves.” He winced, and used his left hand to adjust his fly. He also slid his fingers out of her, then rose, taking her dress with him. She lifted her arms and a moment later she was in her heels, lace-trimmed stockings, itty-bitty red thong and a ridiculously expensive matching red demi bra.

Tony's groan sounded as if it had risen all the way from his toes. “You are stunning,” he said, “and I can't take it for one more second.”

Before she could make sense of what he'd said, he yanked the comforter back so hard it nearly flew off the mattress. Then she was in his arms, being settled on his king-size bed so her head rested on his pillow.

He stripped in what had to be record time, and okay, she hadn't underestimated his enthusiasm. His cock was hard, standing so tall it brushed the skin below his belly button. He rubbed it once, baring his teeth, then held his arms down, his hands fisted by his sides. “What do you want?”

“You, in the bed with me,” she said, scooting over a few inches.

“Is that all?”

She gave him a wicked smile. “For starters.”

7

T
ONY
OPENED
HIS
bedside drawer and pulled out a bunch of condoms, which he dumped on top of the table, then snatched one back just as he climbed onto the bed. He was at the edge of being too turned on. The same woman who'd worn the black skirt and white blouse was about to be all his, looking as sexy as anything he'd ever seen.

He'd meant to have dinner first. Talk more. Get to know each other better. What an idiot. Of course he hadn't been able to keep his hands off her. Or his mouth. Although he supposed this was just another way of becoming acquainted.

Moving closer, he looked at her again in her tiny bra and thong, and his cock jerked, insistent that he get on with it. He couldn't argue the point. Although damn it, he wasn't going to last.

“I meant,” he said, as he touched her chest with his fingertips, tracing the skin above her bra, “what do you
want
?”

She reached for his hand, then guided his fingers underneath the bra. Her nipple was hard, and he wanted to taste it. He used his knuckles to push down the red satin until he could see his targets. Mesmerized, he found his mouth watering as he got closer, until he was able to touch that peaked flesh with the tip of his tongue.

Her gasp wasn't loud, but it hit him hard. He sucked the nub between his lips, swirled his tongue, ached for the bra to be off, for all of her to be spread out for him.

The way her back arched when he flicked her nipple made him ache, but he had to stop, do something about his cock before he had an accident.

He reared up, tore open the condom, hissed as he rolled it down onto his cock. “Please don't think this is my usual tempo,” he said, as he moved himself between her thighs. “I swear I can take my time. Just not now.”

“Thank God,” she said, arching again, reaching behind her back to unhook her bra. “I'm about ready to burst, myself.”

He grinned, bumped into the patch of thong covering her pussy and quickly shoved that to the side. “Damn it, Catherine,” he said, holding himself carefully as he rubbed between her lips. “So hot, so wet. I can't—”

The moment he dipped inside her, it was almost all over. Somehow, he managed to enter her completely, feeling the tight sweet heat grip him until white spots hit him behind his eyelids. He hadn't remembered closing his eyes, and he rectified that instantly, needing to see.

She stole his breath, literally. He couldn't breathe for a long, long moment, and then she gasped as he began to move. Every part of him wanted to push with all his might, but he controlled himself. At first.

Then she lifted her hips to meet him on the next thrust, and all his noble ideas went to hell.

Her mouth opened as he thrust into her, balancing on his knees and one hand, teasing her nipple with the other. He wanted to kiss her, but couldn't seem to make that work, so he just stared at the flush that painted her cheeks pink, the sounds—moans mixed with higher-pitched cries—all of them turning him inside out.

He just couldn't hold back another minute.

Needing to hold on to the bed, he let go of her breast. Once he was grounded, she met him thrust for thrust, groan for groan. Her hair spilled all over his pillow, her legs wrapped around his hips and nothing existed except their bodies and his desperate need to stay inside her all night long.

He lasted longer than he'd thought possible. Until she made an unearthly sound and nearly bucked him off. His orgasm nearly made him black out, it was so strong. He could barely hear, the blood rushing too loudly in his ears, couldn't see, with the flashes that hit behind his eyes.

Then...stillness.

He was in her as far as he could possibly go. Her back arched and her nails gripped his shoulders hard enough to bruise. Although her lips had parted, no sounds escaped except for her rapid, desperate breaths.

Finally, he inhaled, so deeply it felt like fire in his lungs, and pulled out before he fell like a log on top of her.

Luckily, he didn't land on anything important. The two of them sounded as if they'd just run a marathon, but the high was infinitely better. He threaded his fingers through hers. “You okay?”

She turned her head so they were looking right at each other. “More than.”

“Good.”

“But a little shivery.”

“Right. I'm going to get up. Really, really soon and get the comforter over you.”

“Take your time. I'm fine. Oh, God, I'm still wearing my heels.”

“They're very nice heels. They go with your delicates.”

“My delicates?”

He shrugged. “‘Underwear' didn't have quite the zing I was looking for.”

Her stomach gurgled, and her eyes got wide. “Sorry about that.”

“No, you must be starving. Look, the bathroom is through that door.” He pointed as he got out of bed and wrestled with the comforter. “You get yourself comfortable, and I'm going to bring food. And drink.”

“Okay.”

He snatched his robe off the back of his bedroom door, and then stopped by the other bathroom before he made his way to the kitchen, the pastry box too tempting to ignore.

Inside, four amazing-looking slices of cake were packed with great care. The hell with his earlier plans. He grabbed the bottle of wine, their glasses, two forks, and headed back, careful with the box.

She was under the covers, leaning on a pillow against the headboard. The minute she saw what he'd brought she burst out laughing. “Dessert first?”

“Why not? We're grown-ups. We can do what we want.”

“As long as you brought two forks, I'm in.”

“I couldn't stand it,” he said. “I had to look, and then there was no going back. I mean, we can eat dinner later, right?”

“Absolutely.”

He put the box next to her on the bed, then handed her the almost empty glass she'd used before. “It must have been fate that I chose this Syrah. It goes really well with dessert.”

“I believe you,” she said, holding her glass higher.

He poured, then filled his own glass, handed her the forks and, realizing what he'd forgotten, went into the en suite and got a fresh box of tissues. “I know the kitchen isn't that far, and I could have brought napkins—”

“But this seems much more daring.”

“Exactly.”

Once his robe dropped, he climbed into the bed next to her. The first thing he did was point to the green cake. “Green?”

“Green tea mille crêpes. Not too sweet. But rich.”

Pretty sure he knew what to expect, he cut off a bite. It was really good. Unusual. Classy. Just like Catherine. Once he swallowed, he waited for her to take her bite. She took a sizable chunk, yet still managed to look elegant. “I know some things about your taste,” he said, “and now I have a pretty good idea about your work, but there's a lot of territory between birth and working at the UN that we still haven't covered.”

She stopped chewing and stared. “You want me to tell you everything that's happened to me since birth?”

He laughed. “No. Just the highlights. In fact, just whatever you want to tell me. But before we do...” He leaned over and kissed her, finding the taste of sweet cream on her lips. “I don't think I told you how often I've thought about tonight.”

“Me, too. Made a mistake at work today, wondering where you called home. I was way off the mark.”

“Good different or bad different?”

She laughed, the sound hitting him low down in his chest. “Good. Very good.”

“Now, tell me more about yourself.”

“Okay,” she said, but she took a bite from the chocolate cake before she started. The way she studied him made him wonder if she'd begin at the beginning or keep her past to herself.

“I was born in Lichtenstein,” she said. “Although I'm an American citizen. My father was the ambassador when my parents had me. We traveled a great deal, all over Europe.”

“Siblings?”

“None. I had tutors, though. Nannies. Housekeepers. Didn't spend a lot of time with my parents. They both went to a lot of meetings, attended a lot of parties. My mother was born in France, my father in California. They met while studying at the Harvard University Kennedy School of Government. Mother became an American citizen, and before having me, she worked for the French embassy in DC, while my father was a personal assistant to the secretary of state.”

“So a lot like my family.”

She grinned. “I think you probably had a much happier childhood than I did. Not complaining, exactly, but it was a very formal way to live.” Her gaze moved away from him. Not far. Just to the cake, although she didn't take another bite. “I always felt as though my family was born in the wrong century. I had to learn early how to use every possible utensil, I started studying up on wines when I was ten, and my parents were very pleased that I picked up languages so easily. They wanted me to follow in their footsteps.”

“They must be thrilled about your work at the UN.”

Her wince told another story. “They think I'm wasting my talents.”

“Well, parents. They're...”

“A long way away, which is how I like it.”

Tony loved his folks, but he could understand that. “Which was your favorite country?”

“Right now? America. But I loved Italy. Switzerland was cold. France...well, who doesn't love France. And the British Isles were pretty fantastic.”

“I envy your travels.”

“Don't you ever go on vacation?”

“Yeah. But not overseas. Someday I'll go.” He waited, smiling, as she took a pretty big bite of the strawberry cake. “Has anyone ever called you anything but Catherine?”

“Like...?”

“Cat? Cathy? Cate? My liege?”

“That last one. All the time. It's a burden I'm forced to bear.”

“I'll bet.”

After another bite, she put down her fork. “I've only been called Catherine. Except for one person. Belaflore Calabrese.”

“Who told you stories about Little Italy?”

“That's right. She was very, very dear to me. The best part of my life, really. I was always well behaved when she was our housekeeper, afraid she'd be fired like so many others. But luckily, she became my nanny and stayed with us through all our travels. She used to come here for her vacations, to see her family who lived in the house that's now mine. It's awful to admit, but I was always jealous. I wanted to be her only family.”

“You were just a kid.”

“I know.” Catherine sighed. “That's not why I bought the house. There's nothing Freudian to worry about.”

Tony smiled. “What did she call you?”

“La mia patatina,”
she said, her voice at least half an octave higher. “It means—”

“My little potato? Is that right?” He frowned when she nodded. “That's not one I've heard a lot around here. But I'm guessing it's nice.”

“Very nice. But she also called me
tesorina
and
topolina
. Always a whisper just between the two of us. If I have any sentimentality, it's because of Mia Nonnina. She nurtured my heart for many years.”

He swallowed his latest bite, sipped his wine and then asked, “So you knew the Calabrese family before you bought the house?”

“That's right. They knew I wanted it, and offered it to me before they put it on the market. I paid what they asked. It was a no-brainer for me. I'd already gotten the job in New York, though I hadn't started there yet. They also warned me about the condition of the place, but as you well know, I don't mind. Even if I never did another thing with that house, I'd love it. Every time I'm there, I walk with the memory of Belaflore. Told you. Sentimental.”

“I understand.” His words were soft as he leaned in. “I come from the most sentimental people in the world. Can't even talk without using my hands.” To demonstrate, he cupped her cheek and brought her in for a long, sweet kiss. When he let her go, he put his fork down, too. “You know, I've got one of my mom's lasagnas warming in the oven. Any interest?”

“A lot of interest. I like this whole eating dessert first, though. I'll have to do it more often.”

He got out of bed and opened the closet door. It was a ridiculously large walk-in, pure cedar, with enough room for a family of four. But he had a second robe in there that shouldn't be too big for Catherine.

By the time he got back to the bed, she'd put the cake box next to the wine bottle and was holding her bra and dress.

“Maybe this instead of getting dressed? I'd hate to get any sauce on your beautiful clothes.”

She tossed them both on the bed. “Thanks. Great idea. And maybe you'll show me the rest of the house on our way to the kitchen?”

“One tour, coming up.”

As they put on their respective robes, he said, “You'll appreciate the closet.”

Catherine walked around the bed and gasped as soon as she looked inside. “It's as big as most New York apartments.”

“When I have time, I'm going to make most of it into an office.”

“And here I am, keeping you busy helping me with my house when you want to work on your own.”

“It's not a problem,” he said, waving it away. “You've seen the bathroom?”

“Yes. It's quite impressive. And the marble is stunning.”

“My ex's—Angie's—favorite. I got to choose the shower, though.”

Catherine stared at him. “Your ex-wife?”

Tony had to give her credit; she'd never asked after meeting Mrs. Collette. “I'm divorced. Is that a problem?”

“No. I mean...” Catherine shook her head. “Not for me, it isn't. I expected so.” She smiled. “It's fine.”

He started to let it go, but knew damn well the remark would bother him. “Expected it?”

“Come on...a great guy like you? Good-looking. Smart. Successful. Someone was bound to—”