Page 5 of The Housekeeper's One-Night Baby
THEWOMANHEnow knew to be Lizzie was breathtakingly close and Niccolò knew he needed to get out of this damned broom cupboard before it was too late and he did something he regretted. His heart pounded. But she wanted him to kiss her. There was no mistake about that. Her eyes were wide and dark with longing and the sexual hunger radiating from her curvy body was instantly apparent. She looked sweet and desirable.
He shook his head, trying to hammer some logic into his befuddled brain, because he was responsible for the position in which he now found himself. He had made an impetuous suggestion and, to his surprise, the redhead had agreed to it. Yet he didn’tdoimpetuous and he’d never had sex with a stranger before—a prospect which was becoming more likely with every passing second. It wasn’t even something he’d ever considered—and he certainly wouldn’t have chosen this most unlikely of settings, with a feather duster dangling inconveniently nearby and some sort of mop and bucket in the corner.
Yet something nebulous drew him to the curvy little guide. Something which transcended her pale green eyes and translucent skin. He had laughed uninhibitedly with her as they’d hidden from the hapless agent, and that was rare for a man known to be sombre. It had felt like the most potent of aphrodisiacs. Like a fierce light flooding his darkened soul. That it should have happened on this, the worst day of his calendar year, made it even more significant. Did that explain the exquisite hardness in his groin and the pulsing slug of his blood? His heart was beating erratically as he stared down into her face, a fast-dwindling sense of rationality silently imploring her to warn him off. ‘I want to kiss you,’ he said unevenly.
There was a pause while he waited for an outrage he knew deep down wouldn’t materialise. Yet part of him had wanted her to refuse him, because it would be far simpler to beat a hasty retreat. To go back to his hotel room and blot out the rest of the day with a glass, or three of whisky. But no, she tilted her face upwards so that her soft lips were a mere breath away.
‘Well, that’s handy, because I want you to kiss me,’ she whispered.
‘Are you sure?’ His voice was deliberately hard. ‘You should be careful what you wish for,cara.’
‘Why?’
Did she realise that the near innocence of her question was completely at odds with the blatant sensuality of the foxy dress she was wearing? Or perhaps she was aware that men were turned on by apparent contradictions and was capitalising on that. ‘Because once we start kissing you’re going to want to have sex with me,’ he drawled. ‘And you need to decide if that’s really such a good idea.’
Her lashes lowered to shade her widened eyes, but her expression was composed when they fluttered open again, as if she had just given herself a silent pep talk. ‘You’re very sure of yourself, aren’t you?’
‘With women?’ He shrugged. ‘Always.’
He wanted her to rail against him for his perceived arrogance—when all he was doing was stating a fact—but she didn’t. There wasn’t a trace of recrimination on her freckled face. Instead, her lips were parting in as blatant an invitation as he’d ever seen and the glint of hunger in her eyes was unmistakable as she swayed towards him.
And now it was too late for caution or warning, because his own needs had taken over and he was kissing her and she was kissing him back with a fervour which took his breath away. And her lips tasted incredible.Incredible.Niccolò gave a small groan.Madre di Dio.Like honey and silk.
Her hair felt like silk too, and he ran his fingers through the luxuriant strands as he’d wanted to do from the first moment he’d seen her. Cupping her face, he deepened the kiss until she was moaning with soft abandon, her hands clutching at his shoulders—and that was all the leverage he needed. He brought her even closer so that her breasts were pressing into him, the hardened tips jutting provocatively against his chest and he closed his eyes as spears of desire made his groin grow rocky. He thought about unzipping himself and plunging deep inside her molten heat and he almost gasped aloud with the anticipation of that.
Still, he offered her another chance to call a halt to this madness as he dragged his lips away from hers. ‘If you want to change your mind,’ he managed unsteadily, ‘now might be the moment.’
‘No,’ she whispered, shaking her head so that her bright hair glimmered in the dim light. ‘I don’t.’
His throat tightened and relief rushed over him as he caressed a thrusting nipple between his finger and his thumb.
‘So. Are you going to take me upstairs?’ he questioned silkily as she squirmed with pleasure.
Lizzie struggled to steady her breath as she met the glitter in Niccolò’s eyes. Her heart was beating faster than she could ever remember, her body was on fire with need but she was afraid to move—terrified that the journey between this tiny alcove and the bedroom would destroy the magic they had created.
Because what if he changed his mind on the way? What if she did? That would obviously be the most sensible option, but right now she didn’t want to feel sensible. She felt almost...wild—and that wasn’t like her at all. But she had played safe all her life and where had it got her? Stony broke and soon to be homeless, that was where. What did she have to lose? She had always been a good girl but suddenly she wanted to be bad. Really, really bad. Surely that wasn’t such a major crime.
‘Upstairs? It’s a bit of a trek.’ Rising up on tiptoes, she trailed her lips over the darkened rasp of his jaw and her throaty response came out of its own accord, as if she were the type of woman who whispered flirtatious questions to strange men every day of the week. ‘Is that what you want?’
His breath was shuddering as he took her hand and placed it over his heart, its fierce thunder easily matching her own. She could see tension tautening his strong features as he bit the words out, his Italian accent suddenly very pronounced. ‘What do youthinkI want, Lizzie?’
She hoped he wasn’t hoping for a coherent answer because she couldn’t give one. Couldn’t do anything except gasp out her undisguised pleasure as he brushed his hand slowly over her swollen breast and the nipple peaked against his palm. He made a low murmur of appreciation but his hand did not stop to linger and Lizzie closed her eyes with expectation as he skimmed his fingers over her hips and began to ruck up the silken dress.
‘Oh,’ she gasped as a questing forefinger found her bare leg and tiptoed up her inner thigh, only he took so long about it that she thought she was going to lose her mind. At last it reached her panties and she heard him mutter something appreciative as he encountered the moist heat, which must have seared against him. She gave a little cry as he edged the damp fabric aside and touched her aroused flesh and she was scarcely aware of the feather duster brushing against her bare shoulders as she leaned back against the wall, while he began to strum her with sweet precision. And then things got heated. The pleasure was building and building, sweet and intense. She couldn’t stop it, even if she wanted to. She bit her lip. And sweet heaven—how could she ever want to stop something like this?
‘Niccolò,’ she crooned restlessly.
‘Tell me,’ he coaxed, fractionally increasing the pressure.
But she couldn’t answer. All she could do was cry out as she started to orgasm, her body bucking helplessly beneath his finger, and he smothered her lips with his own and kissed her. And only when she had quietened and the spasms had faded did he draw away from her. In the dim light, he brushed her hair away from her face and she could detect her musky scent on his fingertips. His gaze was jet-dark and piercing as it sliced into her and his breathing was quickened, but it was hard to tell from his expression what was going on in his head.
‘I want to be inside you, Lizzie,’ he said silkily. ‘I want that very much. But not in here, with a damned broom sticking into my back. Do you want to take me upstairs now?’
His tone was as calm and as logical as if he were putting a proposition to a debating society—making it sound as if she had some sort of choice in the matter when she felt as if she would go mad if he didn’t possess her completely. She wondered how he could be socontrolledwhen her blood was practically at boiling point. She wondered again what he was thinking but she sensed she would never know.
It made sense to move but where did she take him? Not up to her room, that was for sure. If he thought the broom cupboard was claustrophobic, he’d get a shock when he saw her tiny eaves room at the very top of the house, with its single bed and sloping ceiling. She wouldn’t use Sylvie’s room for obvious reasons—she didn’t want to look at her boss’s haughty portrait staring down at her as she lay on the bed with Niccolò. She thought about the Red Room—which was the best of all the guest rooms and a little bit decadent, as its name suggested. And since she was the one responsible for keeping it clean and tidy—what did it matter if they mussed it up a little?
‘Okay,’ she said huskily. ‘Come with me.’
