Page 7 of Hidden Heir, Italian Wife

He didn’tneedsex. He merely liked it. A lot.

But as he heard his phone buzz yet again from the pocket of his discarded jacket, he kicked himself for lingering to indulge today. And wondered why it had felt so imperative.

“Do you need to get that?” Bree asked drowsily.

“No.” It was his brother, demanding a status report. Nico was up early in New York. Very early. It was a testament to how important it was for Jax to get to Naples and deal with Blackwood. If he had left as scheduled, he would be there by now, signing the deal Nico was badgering him about.

He should leave. Now.

But Bree curled into his side with a sigh of satisfaction, the kind his ego delighted in. Her head found his shoulder and her soft curves rested against his side.

“Good,” she murmured.

He wasn’t a cuddler, but he liked the way she fit against him. He liked the smell in her hair where strands caught in his stubble. He liked the taste of her on his lips. Her thigh rested on his own and her fingers traced patterns from the middle of his chest to his navel, making him loath to move.

A tryst with a tourist had been the last thing on his mind when he’d left Nonna’s. He’d come to Como for exactly the reason he’d given her. After flying in last night, he had monitored some work this morning, then stopped for a bite on his way to the heliport. Alphonso had been his head of catering until a year ago. He’d also been a running partner. Alphonso had left when he’d fallen in love with a chef, and Jax had provided financing for their enterprise. He dropped in when he could, to check on his investment.

His mind had been on Domenico Blackwood. Despite the financial beating Jax’s family had recently delivered, Dom was not staying down. In fact, he was driving up the price on the property Nico wanted, thus Nico wanted Jax in Naples, closing the deal.

Jax thought Blackwood was bluffing. He would overextend himself if he kept raising the bid, but Jax never shirked his responsibility to the family or the Visconti Group.

Almost never.

The second he had arrived at theristorante, his inner caveman had clocked a pretty woman sitting alone. His interest probably would have leveled off at admiration if she hadn’t glanced over, arresting him.

Her sea-green eyes had delivered a sexual punch that took his breath. The rest of her was equally compelling. Her lips were heart shaped, feminine, and wearing a pink gloss that set off her golden tan. Her hair was a rich chestnut brown that had been gathered into a messy ponytail behind her neck. The breeze lifted flyaway strands that he wanted to smooth with his hands.

Her sundress was printed with lemons and had narrow straps that would only need a gentle brush off her shoulders to drop the silk around her feet, revealing what his practiced eye discerned were firm, lovely breasts and a lush ass. The lower half of her tanned thigh and bare shin was visible beneath the flirty length of the dress, ending in a chic sandal.

Everything about her called to him in a way he’d never experienced, not even when he’d been engaged to be married.

The painful fallout from that broken engagement was firmly behind him, but it was the reason he stuck to flirtations and flings. He’d assumed his lack of deep connections since then had been a deliberate choice.Hewould decide when he was ready to feel something more than superficial attraction.

He hadn’t expected a magnetic sort of carnality to hit him square between the eyes. Or the middle of his chest. Or take hold of his groin like a barbed hook.

American, he had judged her. It wasn’t just the handbag. It was the fact she’d met his gaze so boldly. He liked Europe for the fact most people kept their nose in their own business. Americans were always heads-up, eyes locking in readiness to meet, assess, and connect.

He could have—probably should have—left when he realized she was rebounding from heartbreak. Perhaps he would have, if she hadn’t been so candid about her desire to move on. If she hadn’t been so enchanting and responsive to his slightest touch, blushing when he caressed her wrist.

He’d been utterly entranced by her, watching her lips, losing himself in her eyes.

Her nervousness as she’d led him back here had been another yellow flag, telling him she lacked the sophistication of someone who could separate physical connection from emotional. He’d been prepared to leave if she changed her mind, but when they kissed, she grew bolder, then shattered under his touch.

Good sense had gone by the wayside at that point. He always carried condoms, and it had taken all his control to put one on before falling onto this bed with her.

Somehow, he’d kept from unleashing the full force of his inner beast, but that hadn’t lessened the intensity of the culmination. It had been prolonged and so satisfying, it damned near tore him in half.

He still felt turned inside out.

He still felthungry.

It wasn’t garden-variety horny, either. Yes, he was recovering and itching with renewed arousal. He had a very healthy sexual appetite, and he couldn’t help respond to the feel of her soft curves and the trail of her fingertips against his abs and the brush of her lips as she turned them against his pec.

A deeper sort of insatiable desire was digging claws into him, though. Something that felt thwarted despite the fact they were sated and she was inside the crook of his arm. He was trying not to acknowledge it, but he wanted more. Not just more lovemaking, but more time. More of her.

The last time he’d allowed himself to become deeply entangled with a woman, he’d been forced to choose between his love for her and the kind of man he thought he was. The kind of man he wanted to be. That push-pull had frayed things inside him to the point of nearly snapping. He still hated himself for the way things had played out.

Leave, he ordered himself and drew a breath.

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