The Secret Kept from the Italian Read online

  ‘But you want to kiss me.’ It was a statement, not a question. He saw and felt her answer in the tremble of her body, the dilation of her pupils, the way her tongue darted out to moisten her plump pink lips.

  ‘Yes...’

  Antonio drew back a little. ‘You sound uncertain.’ But only a little.

  ‘This is so outside my realm of experience,’ Maisie said on a huff of disbelieving laughter. ‘I feel like I’ve fallen into a fairy tale or down a rabbit hole.’

  ‘Then enjoy the ride,’ Antonio suggested. He wondered briefly about warning her that this was a one-night stand, a brief moment of pleasure. But he didn’t want to break the mood and surely it was obvious? Relationships didn’t start between strangers on an empty office floor at two o’clock in the morning. Maisie seemed refreshingly honest and artless, but she wasn’t dumb.

  ‘Enjoy the ride,’ she repeated slowly, savouring each word as if it were a sip of fine wine. ‘Now, that’s something I don’t think I’ve ever done before.’

  Antonio raised his eyebrows. ‘No?’

  ‘No. Definitely not.’

  ‘Then maybe now is the time.’

  Maisie took a deep, slow breath and raised her resolute gaze to his. Antonio felt a blaze of triumph burn through him; he knew that look. She’d made up her mind.

  ‘Maybe I should,’ she said, and then she stood on her tiptoes and brushed her lips against his, feather-light, whisper-soft. Antonio remained still under her hesitant caress, waiting to see what she would do next. She drew back, frowning a little. ‘Didn’t you...didn’t you like it?’

  ‘Of course I liked it,’ Antonio was quick to reassure her. ‘But how can I be satisfied with barely a mouthful when what I really want is a meal? A feast?’ He let her see the heat simmering in his gaze as his mouth dropped to her lips. This really was the most interesting and exquisite foreplay, and like nothing else he’d ever done with a woman. ‘Kiss me again, Maisie.’

  And she did, this time pressing her body as well as her lips against his, one slender hand curling over his shoulder. It was clumsy and hesitant and somehow perfect. This time Antonio couldn’t keep from responding. He spanned her waist with his hands, revelling in her softness, and drew her even more snugly against him, so their bodies were in sensual alignment. He felt a shudder go through her at his obvious arousal, and he paused, waiting for her to catch up. To take the next step.

  And she did, kissing him again, her tongue darting out to touch his lips like a shy butterfly. Antonio captured her mouth against his own, deepening the kiss, plundering her silken depths as he’d been longing to.

  Need roared through him, his blood rushing through his veins, pounding in his head. He’d meant to go slowly, to be civilised and controlled about the whole thing, but all his careful plans fell apart as Maisie gave herself to him so generously, so artlessly. He backed her up across the room, all the way to the sofa, and his last remnant of self-control kept him from practically throwing her onto its leather cushions. Instead he laid her down gently, and she stared up at him with wide, shocked eyes.

  ‘Antonio...’

  His breath came out in a ragged hiss as he stared down at her, aghast at the possibility of her having second thoughts. ‘Do you want me, Maisie?’

  ‘Yes...’ Her voice wavered and Antonio cursed himself for having rushed things.

  ‘Do you want this?’ He gestured to the space between them, the look in his eyes surely leaving no confusion as to what he meant.

  Maisie lay on the sofa, her pupils dilated, her lips slightly parted, her expression dazed and full of desire. She drew in a long, slow breath, her gaze searching him, asking silent questions Antonio didn’t know how to answer. He waited, fists clenched, everything taut and expectant, as he braced himself for her reply.

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered finally, and her head fell back against the cushions. ‘Yes, I do.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  MAISIE GAZED UP at Antonio’s intent and beautiful face and felt a peaceful settling inside her; a resolution had been made. She was going to do this. She was going to sleep with him. She wasn’t sure when she had decided. When she’d kissed him? When he’d told her he wanted her? When she’d come into the room?

  She didn’t do stuff like this. Of course she didn’t. For the last five years her entire focus had been on Max—caring for him, providing for him, and suppressing all her hopes, dreams and needs. And maybe that was why she had decided, why she was lying on a sofa looking up at the most beautiful man she’d ever seen, waiting for him to start seducing her. Because she’d lived for someone else for too long, and now, just for one night, she wanted to live for herself. For pleasure. For excitement. For this.

  Antonio’s gaze roved over her. ‘You’re sure,’ he said slowly.

  ‘Yes.’ She swallowed, more of a gulp. ‘Yes, I’m sure.’

  ‘Good,’ he answered swiftly. ‘Because so am I.’

  Her heart trembled as he knelt before her, his hands on her hips, anchoring her in place. She stared at him, feeling as pinned—and as beautiful—as a butterfly. Waiting.

  Then he lowered his mouth to hers and her mind blissfully emptied out. This was what had happened the first time he’d kissed her, or rather, she’d kissed him. Barely a brush of lips and yet her senses, every single one, had short-circuited. She hadn’t been able to think. She had barely remembered to breathe. The touch of his mouth to hers had felt like a spark to her soul, lighting a fire within her. And when Antonio had taken control of their kiss it had become a complete conflagration. She was consumed.

  And Maisie felt consumed now, in the best possible way, as his mouth moved over hers—and then lower. He kissed his way down her cheek and throat, his tongue touching the hard edge of her collarbone before nestling in the hollow of her throat, sucking and teasing. A shudder escaped her and she arched up, already helpless.

  Antonio chuckled against her skin and then his mouth moved lower, to the edge of her blue T-shirt. ‘What are you wearing?’ he murmured and Maisie squirmed and blushed.

  ‘My cleaning uniform. It’s hideous, I know...’

  ‘Clearly you could inflame me wearing a bin bag,’ Antonio returned as his hands slid under the shapeless shirt. ‘But I think I’d like to see you wearing nothing at all.’

  He slid her T-shirt over her head and tossed it across the room with a deliberately wolfish smile that would have made Maisie laugh if she didn’t feel so suddenly, unbearably exposed. She struggled not to cover herself; no one had seen her in just her bra. No one.

  ‘You are even lovelier than before,’ Antonio said softly. ‘There’s no need to be embarrassed.’

  Maisie swallowed, not quite willing to admit that no one had ever seen her like this before. That Antonio Rossi, a virtual stranger, was the first. With his gaze steady he reached one hand out and cupped her breast, his palm warm through the thin cotton of her bra. Sparks of sensation radiated outward from his touch, fireworks fizzing inside her. Although she tried to hide her reaction, Antonio noticed and smiled.

  ‘Do you know how potent a woman’s reaction is to a man? How inflaming?’

  ‘But you’re still dressed,’ Maisie protested. She wanted him to touch her more; she wanted to touch him. She just had no idea how to go about it.

  ‘That is something that can be easily remedied.’ He lifted his hands to the buttons of his shirt and then paused, one eyebrow arched. ‘Perhaps you will do it for me?’

  ‘Oh...’ She hadn’t expected a man like Antonio—powerful, privileged, and surely used to being in charge—to give her so much control. Want her to have it. ‘I...’

  He shrugged, his expression one of wry amusement although there was a fierce light in his eyes. ‘They’re just buttons.’

  Yes, they were just buttons, of course they were, and yet it was so much more. It was owning the reckless choice she’d made, and taking c
ontrol of it. It was being bolder and more daring and more sexual than she’d ever been in her life.

  Slowly Maisie raised herself up on one elbow and then, with fingers that trembled only a little, she started undoing the buttons of his crisp white shirt. Every time she inhaled she breathed in the clean, woodsy scent of his aftershave; every time she managed to slip a button through its hole she glimpsed a tantalising bit of his chest, bronzed skin over sculpted muscle.

  Antonio’s breath came out in a hiss between his teeth, and with a jolt Maisie realised how affected he was. How she affected him. He must have seen her surprised expression, for he laughed softly and said, ‘I’ve told you how you make me feel, haven’t I? Now you can see the proof for yourself.’ The buttons undone, he reached for her hand and laid it flat against his bare chest, over the thudding of his heart, its hectic pace matching her own.

  They remained that way for a long, suspended moment, connected by her hand on his heart, all of it feeling so wonderfully and excruciatingly intense. This was so intimate, and not simply because she no longer had a shirt on. She hadn’t expected it somehow, along with the physical pleasure, the overwhelming need. She felt an emotional connection with this man that had begun when she’d seen him looking so sad, and its natural continuation was here.

  Maisie spread her fingers against his chest, revelling in the taut muscle, the satiny skin. Another breathless moment passed, and then she looked up at him, waiting, wanting—and everything changed.

  It was as if a spark had suddenly caught the tinder, seeming to take them both by surprise. Antonio pulled her towards him, crushing her breasts against his chest as his mouth came down on hers, hard and demanding. And Maisie answered that demand, wrapping her arms around his neck, driving her fingers through his hair as she offered herself to him utterly.

  She fell back against the sofa, Antonio’s body pressing into hers, one powerful thigh sliding between her legs, creating an even deeper urgency.

  He tore his mouth from hers and moved it lower, a shuddering gasp escaping her as her eyes fluttered closed and his lips nudged aside the thin cotton of her bra.

  Her body arced off the sofa as he continued his soft and deft exploration, unclasping her bra so swiftly Maisie barely realised it had gone, and she was naked from the waist up. Her mind was blurred with sensation, fiery arrows of pleasure shooting through her as Antonio continued to explore her body with his lips and hands.

  Her baggy trousers followed her shirt and bra, and then her underwear as well, so without even fully realising it was happening she was naked, and so was Antonio. She gazed up at him, his skin burnished in the dim light from the desk lamp, his chest taut and muscled and perfect.

  Maisie trembled against the sofa, aware, even in her pleasure-dazed state, what a step she was taking. Enormous. Irrevocable.

  Antonio must have sensed something of her feelings, for he paused, his hands braced on either side of her head, his breathing harsh and ragged.

  ‘Maisie...you are sure?’ She nodded, too overwhelmed to speak. ‘Tell me,’ he urged. ‘Tell me to go on, or tell me to stop.’

  She drew a deep breath into her lungs, her body splayed and open to his. ‘Yes,’ she whispered, and reached up to lace her fingers around his neck, bringing his mouth down to hers. ‘I’m sure.’

  Antonio needed no more encouragement. He kissed her hard on the mouth as his hips pressed against hers, and Maisie stiffened at the sudden and strange invasion of her body. He frowned slightly, and she wondered if he knew she’d never done this before. Did her inexperience show?

  Antonio let out a groan as he slid fully inside her, and Maisie tried not to flinch, adjusting to the feeling of him. So this was sex. She thought she liked the foreplay a bit better.

  Antonio lifted his head, his frown deepening as he looked at her. ‘Maisie...’

  ‘It’s all right.’ It suddenly felt important that he should not know she was—or had been—a virgin. That she’d chosen to give her virginity to a stranger she’d never see again. She arched up, drawing him more fully into her body, wrapping her legs around his hips.

  Antonio began to move with slow, deliberate thrusts, and as she adjusted to the feel of him a flicker of pleasure began to grow. Maisie started to match his rhythm, and the flicker grew into flame, their bodies moving in union as the fire began to rage.

  She lost all sense of time or place or comportment, both of them searching and straining for the height of the pleasure, until it burst like an explosion of flame, Maisie’s jagged cry renting the air before she fell back against the sofa, emotionally and physically spent.

  * * *

  Antonio rested his forehead against Maisie’s for a brief moment as he fought to hold on to his composure, half amazed that it was proving to be such a painful challenge.

  Sex on an office sofa with a woman whose last name he didn’t know wasn’t a completely new experience. But this—with Maisie—felt different. It felt overwhelming.

  He hadn’t expected the emotion. He didn’t do emotion, except on the anniversary of his brother’s death, and then he indulged in it only by himself, giving in to the grief he locked away all year in a single, torturous night. He never should have invited Maisie in on this night of all nights, never should have seduced her when he’d felt so raw and emotionally exposed.

  He never should have cracked open the door to his tightly guarded heart, even just a sliver. But now he had and he couldn’t keep the flood of grief and sorrow from rushing through that sliver and drowning him.

  He rolled onto his side, pulling Maisie with him, and buried his head in the warm, soft curve of her neck. He was still trying to hold on to his composure, even though he knew it was a lost cause; he’d given it up when he’d buried himself in her body, when she’d put her arms around him and drawn him in even deeper, and he’d felt whole and lost at the same time.

  Now shudders racked his body and his arms tightened around her, holding on to her as if she was his anchor. And she did anchor him, wrapping her arms around him, her fingers stroking his hair, whispering words of endearment and comfort as if he were a child.

  It was so weak, so shaming, and yet so necessary. He couldn’t hold it together any more. He just couldn’t. And he hated that even as he burrowed against her, seeking the comfort only she could provide.

  ‘You loved him very much,’ Maisie said softly, after a few moments when the only sound had been Antonio’s ragged breathing.

  ‘Yes.’ He practically gasped the word out, his eyes shut. ‘Yes, I did. And...’ Somehow he felt compelled to speak, to let her know the awful, unvarnished truth, or at least some of it. ‘It was my fault he died.’

  Her hands stilled on his hair and he held his breath, waiting for her verdict. Her condemnation. ‘Did you kill him?’ she asked quietly, and he nearly jerked back in shock at the bold, bald question.

  ‘No! Not like that—’

  ‘Then it wasn’t your fault.’

  His breath came out in a low, defeated rush. If only it were so easy. He’d accept her absolution and walk away a free man. But Antonio knew better than that, and if he told Maisie the full truth, so would she. ‘You can’t say that.’

  ‘And you can’t say you killed him.’ Her soft hand slid down to frame his face and she tilted his chin up so he was forced to look at her. Her eyes, sparkling with tears, were the colour of moss as she held his face in her hands and spoke words of tenderness. ‘That’s why you looked so sad tonight,’ she said softly, more a statement than a question. ‘Because you are bearing the guilt of his death, and no one can carry that kind of weight.’

  ‘You don’t know—’

  ‘Then tell me.’

  He shook his head, unwilling even now. Especially now. She would hate him then, especially considering her own loss. As little as they had shared, he wanted—needed—to preserve it. Preserve the memory of this night, for it wo
uld sustain him for a long time to come.

  ‘Oh, Antonio.’ She brushed a kiss across his lips and he closed his eyes, receiving it as the balm he knew it was. ‘Grieving is hard enough without adding blame.’

  ‘You don’t know,’ he said again. It was all he had to offer.

  ‘I know enough,’ Maisie told him, her lips a breath away from his. ‘I feel enough. I see enough in your eyes.’ She kissed him again, and then she kissed both of his closed eyes, and Antonio lay there, aching and open, accepting her caresses even though each one broke something inside him. Chipped another piece off his ossified heart, until at some point there would be nothing left.

  Her hair fanned across his chest as she continued to kiss him, her mouth moving lower, her lips pressing softly against his chest, as if she was learning every inch of his body. Amidst the ache of sorrow and grief, he felt desire stir, not the insistent, urgent thing it had been moments ago, but something far deeper and more tender, something more alarming and far more wonderful. He knew he couldn’t resist.

  She rolled on top of him, her hair like a fiery blanket covering them both. Antonio slid his hands down to her hips, both anchoring and guiding her. Her breath hitched and he knew she felt it too, not just the desire but the depth of emotion. They’d shared so much more than their bodies tonight. They’d given each other glimpses of their souls.

  They came together slowly this time, naturally, with her straddling his hips, her hands braced on his shoulders as she enveloped him in her body. The sense of completion and rightness nearly took his breath away. He’d had plenty of sexual encounters in his lifetime, but he’d never felt anything like this. Everything had ratcheted up to an exquisite degree, the intensity and the emotion and the pleasure.

  Antonio gazed up at her as they moved together in sensuous rhythm, and she looked back, her eyes full of compassion and sorrow as well as desire. As they climbed towards that dizzying peak of sensation together he felt as if she were part of him, as if she’d imbued herself right into his skin, his soul. He clung to her, and she clung back, acting as one as they went over the precipice.