Page 50 of Good Girl Gone Bad

“I know enough about you.”

“Ah. Marco’s musings,” he said, his wrinkles creasing around his eyes. “His world turned upside when his mother died, and our relationship never recovered from it. Doesn’t mean I don’t wish him well. I keep my distance because we don’t have a lot in common anymore.”

“A lot in common? He’s your son,” she said, remembering her sweet father and how they could look at each other and know what the other was thinking. They didn’t always agree on everything, but when it came down to it, he had her back.

“Yes, he is, and you obviously feel passionately about him. I wondered about you, a woman who came out of nowhere and managed to catch him. I hope you know what you signed up for. Marco isn’t so easy to get along with on a day-to-day basis.”

“How would you know? You two haven’t talked in forever, and when he was a child and needed you the most, you preferred to be a coward and blame him for your wife’s death.”

He glanced around them, as if to ensure no one watched them, and said in a steady tone, “Stop there, young lady. I’ve been generous in entertaining your out-of-line suggestions. It has to come to an end.”

“You know what? Your wife had a condition, but you’re the one who’s sick. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” she said, seeing red at the corner of her eyes as she strode through the crowd. Thankfully, because of the live band, none of the guests should have heard them. Unless someone saw them talking and read their body language, she was okay.

She didn’t give two shits about what Marco’s father thought about her, but she didn’t want to ruin Nonna’s birthday party. Arietta waved at her, and she hung out with some of the cousins, listening to funny stories about their childhood. She pretended to engage, but every so often she scanned the living area, searching for Marco. What if she confessed that she’d told his father off? God. Maybe she shouldn’t. He would hate her.

He’d hate her for licking his emotional wounds and making a big deal about it. He might even send me away, or cut our deal short. One of the clauses in the contract stated he had the right to terminate the affair at any time without any particular reason. She’d still get her end of the bargain, but he’d reserved that right.

“Everything okay?” Arietta asked, pulling her from her worst-case-scenario pondering.

“Yeah, why?”

“You seem preoccupied.”

“I’m wondering what Marco is up to. I haven’t seen him for a while.” Damn him. It was the party that had brought them to Italy, and now he disappeared?

“Oh, he’s right there,” she said, pointing at the opposite side of terrace. “He’s been talking to Nonna for the past twenty minutes.”

Twenty minutes. Had he seen her talking with his father? If he doesn’t mention anything, I won’t. She had to deal with saying goodbye to his family, to Italy, a place she probably wouldn’t visit again. People she wouldn’t ever see again. The notion stiffened her entire body. God, she had a hard time letting go of things.

During the rest of the party, she went through the motions. Family members made toasts and honored Debora. Dinner was served, and then the butler produced a huge cake. People ate, drank, laughed. She managed to keep good spirits and smile often to mask her growing sadness.

Going to the States meant she no longer needed to pretend to be Marco’s fiancée. Damn it, she’d enjoyed the farce so much that she ended up believing in it.

After she and Marco said their goodbyes, they retreated to their suite. She opened the door to the balcony, staring at the lake. Stars peppered the dark sky, as the half-moon graced the night with all of her beauty.

Marco embraced her from behind, his arms sneaking around her, and she melted into him. “Who do you want to be tonight?” he whispered against her neck, causing all kinds of delicious tingles.

“I want us to be Lily and Marco,” she said. She loved their games, their role plays, their creativity, but in the middle of so many lies, she needed to be true to the reality—he, Marco Giordano, was the man who weakened her knees. Who owned her heart, even if he didn’t know it.

She turned around, glancing at him. He outlined her lips with his index finger, then when she thought he’d kiss her, he didn’t. He traced the contours of her face as if using his hand to imprint the memory of her features in his mind. Maybe this was as hard for him as for her.

She entertained the notion, the impossible hope growing and rooting inside her like well-kept lawn. Resolute, she clung to the idea, adamant on showing him with her body how right they were for each other. She leaned into his caress, offering her entire being to him.

He dipped his head and captured her lips with his. The kiss grew slowly, steadily, provoking her body endlessly. Her nipples tightened; her pulse ran out of control. He caught her in his arms, much like a newlywed groom would, but with more hunger. A groan escaped his mouth, the primitive sound making her clit throb. She linked her arms around his head, intensifying the kiss, upping sexual anticipation between them.

Even when they tried to keep their hormones in check, the crazy, red-hot desire showed them who was in charge. He didn’t lay her on the bed like the end of a fairy tale. He held her against the column of one of the embellished arches of the room. He nibbled her upper lip, then released it with a popping sound. She squirmed, already so aroused.

He hiked up her dress, provoking goose bumps on her bare flesh. She held him tighter, not wanting to let go. He rested his forehead against hers, and they shared a sigh. “You’re extraordinary, Lily,” he said. “Don’t you ever forget it.”

“You, too,” she said, and fumbled to remove his jacket, her fingers trembling to open the buttons. Impatient, she held both sides of his crisp white shirt and ripped it apart. Hell, this was their last night in Italy. She had to show him how she felt about him.

He let out a growl, kissing her again, their tongues clashing, lips melding. She plastered herself to him, loving the feel of his warm, salty skin against hers. He reached to the zipper of her dress and lowered it until it reached her waist, bunching the fabric. Getting rid of the silk between her chest and his, she moaned, like her body had found a safe haven. A thrill shot from her breasts to the rest of her. She rubbed her breasts on his hair-dusted pecs, stealing a groan from him.

“If you were a drink, I’d be an alcoholic,” he whispered.

“Marco…” she murmured, but he silenced her with the most ravenous kiss she’d ever received. She squirmed into him, breathless, so eager for him. He put his hands under her ass, lifting her up, and without disengaging from her mouth, took both of them to the bed. She fell on top of him, overwhelmed.

She kept him down and lifted herself enough to straddle him and nibble his chin. He lifted his own mouth to kiss her, but she withdrew, pushing him back into the mattress. “Let me fuck you.”

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