Good Girl
Good Girl
Christy McKellen
One week of pleasure… With an Italian bad boy! Academic Juno Darlington-Hume wants a top-quality education—in sexual pleasure! Renowned Italian playboy Alessandro Ricci agrees to show the gorgeous virgin almost everything he knows… From magical Florence to the golden Tuscan countryside, he’s taking her to ever higher peaks of ecstasy, letting her get closer than any other woman. But he’ll never take the one thing she truly wants to give him—her heart.
One week of pleasure...with an Italian bad boy!
Good girl Juno Darlington-Hume is getting a sexual education in this steamy second installment of Christy McKellen’s Sexy Little Secrets miniseries.
I’ve always been in my famous sisters’ shadows. I’m the smart one. Not the sexy one. Not the beautiful one. But a PhD won’t satisfy me in bed. And I can’t satisfy anyone else if I don’t know what I’m doing. So I’m ready to learn the secrets of physical desire...
Italian playboy Alessandro Ricci is just the expert I’m looking for. Tall, dark and drop-dead gorgeous, Alessandro has a reputation for providing absolute pleasure. He’s agreed to spend one week showing me almost everything he knows. No emotions, though. Just sex. Extremely erotic, pantie-melting sex!
From magical Florence to the golden Tuscan countryside, he’s taking me to ever-higher peaks of ecstasy, letting me get closer than any other woman. Soon our “no emotions” deal is turning into something I never expected: intense connection in every way imaginable. I’m falling hard! But when I learn he’s tipped off the paparazzi to our every location, I have to wonder—was he just using me to save his bad reputation?
Sexy. Passionate. Bold. Discover Harlequin DARE, a new line of fun, edgy and sexually explicit romances for the fearless female.
Formerly a video and radio producer, CHRISTY McKELLEN now spends her time writing provocative, passionate, seductive romance. When she’s not writing she can be found enjoying life with her husband and three children, walking for pleasure and researching other people’s deepest secrets and desires. Christy loves to hear from readers. You can get hold of her at christymckellen.com (http://www.christymckellen.com).
Good Girl
Christy McKellen
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-08691-2
GOOD GIRL
© 2019 Christy McKellen
Published in Great Britain 2019
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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For Lycia, godmother extraordinaire.
Thank you for being there.
Contents
Cover (#u742a3253-f620-5841-bf63-38a415fe87af)
Back Cover Text (#u2fd9cc2f-47b1-5fec-b16a-1974d21afd38)
About the Author (#ud1a91fa1-de5f-55b8-b41d-15ef1da2f2c6)
Title Page (#uc0991411-0e06-5b61-8b9d-9a49d32e32cb)
Copyright (#ua44a2bb7-c8d3-5263-97f3-a36d29230847)
Dedication (#ub113fe3c-90de-51e4-bc98-d9e2c2d11e40)
CHAPTER ONE (#udd506f42-dc01-5d3d-81e5-73bc1137ac77)
CHAPTER TWO (#ud0ed04b0-549e-50bb-beda-215931c7fec3)
CHAPTER THREE (#uf3cc126f-e410-5b45-9093-9d675f38ebac)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ud00fbb47-32fb-5f3c-acbd-252f27be468f)
Juno
ALESSANDRO RICCI IS phenomenal in bed.
At least that’s what I’ve heard other people say about him. Unfortunately, I wouldn’t know, for two reasons: firstly, I’m a virgin, and secondly, he refused to sleep with me when I asked him to.
It wasn’t my finest hour.
The first time we met was at my father’s fiftieth birthday party. Even amongst the plethora of filthy rich, gregariously glamorous socialites that had been invited he stood out like the Sirius star system on a clear night.
I was making my way, head ducked, through the throng of partygoers to a quiet corner to hide out for a while, needing a break from the excruciating, polite conversation that my bully of a father demanded I make with his friends and associates, when my shoulder bumped against something solid and unyielding. Turning to flash whomever it was a look of apology, my gaze locked with a dazzling pair of eyes and my whole world came to a screeching halt, air whooshing from my lungs and a wave of heat rushing up my neck to flood my face.
You see Alessandro Ricci isn’t just handsome—he’s beautiful. Stop-you-in-your-tracks, steal-your-words beautiful. His features appear to be perfectly symmetrical, though I know that’s not physiologically possible. No one’s face is perfect. But he’s as close to perfection as you can get. His bone structure looks as though it’s been carved by a master sculptor; every feature of his face is exactly the right shape and size. As if someone’s taken the best bits of all the most attractive men in the world and put them together to create him.
And his body. It was enthralling to behold. Broad shoulders tapering down to narrow hips and long, athletic legs. He was a good few inches taller than me, and I’m no shorty, so I guessed he was well over six foot. He was wearing an exquisitely tailored suit, which clung to his body like it loved him, and a crisp white shirt open at the collar to reveal a V of tanned olive skin and just the merest promise of dark, downy hair on his muscular chest.
If you asked me to produce an image of the picture-perfect male figure, he’s exactly what I’d draw.
Caught in that moment, like a wraith between worlds, I found it intensely difficult to look at him—he was that dazzling—but at the same time I couldn’t bring myself to look away.
He in turn looked back at me—or rather assessed me—as if he was stripping me naked with his eyes.
Those incredible eyes.
It makes my body rush with a prickly sort of heat just to think about them now. They were a bright, iridescent green that seemed to glow with a deep, secret knowledge. As though he knew exactly what to do to me to turn me into a gibbering wreck. Instinctively I knew they’d be things I’d never experienced before. Hot, dirty, sinful things.
My whole body throbbed with an unfamiliar sensation that made me clench my trembling hands into fists in an attempt to centre myself.
No one has ever made me feel like that before. Not even Adam.
I’m sure it’s something Alessandro must do to all women, though. According to the people I’ve asked about him, he’s reputedly a world-class seducer and an incorrigible playboy but, even so, when he smiled at me like that it made me feel somehow special and most unusually—attractive. I’ve always been compared unfavourably to my beautiful older sisters—I know I appear washed out and pale in comparison to them, like a photo that’s faded in the sun—and this knowledge has rather knocked my confidence when it comes to attracting men.
I do have one outstanding feature, though—my hair, which reaches all the way down to the middle of my back and is a warm chestnut colour. But, honestly, I’ve never really liked it. It makes me stand out too much. I like to be able to position myself quietly on the sidelines and watch what’s going on around me rather than thrusting myself right into the middle of things like Maya and April do.
I know—logically, and away from Sandro’s mesmerising charisma—that the whole encounter had been a purely physical reaction I’d had to his pheromones, rather than a cerebral connection. I’m usually attracted to someone for their intelligence and enterprise rather than something as superficial as their looks—but it hasn’t stopped me from still wanting things from him.
Wanting him to do things to me.
What exactly those things are, I’m not entirely sure, but I’d bet my first-class degree he’d know exactly what to do to push my buttons. He certainly had that air about him, as if he’d been born with the ability to give women pleasure and was more than happy to utilise it.
The scientist in me makes me suspect he’d make a fascinating anthropological study subject.
Anyway, after I finally managed to pull myself away from his tractor-beam gaze, I hid away in the nearest bathroom and attempted to bring my racing heartbeat under control. Staring at my flushed face in the mirror, I thought about the way he’d looked at me with such intense interest that I’d felt the sensual effect of it all the way down deep inside me. It had made my blood thrum and my skin goose-bump and I’d had a sudden impulsive craving to master that skill myself. As I reflected on how powerful having this ability would make me feel, a germ of an idea began to form in my mind.
After recently living through the pain of being rejected by the man I’ve had a planet-sized crush on for the past year—a man who has one of the greatest minds of our time and with whom I’m lucky enough to work alongside in the cardiovascular research department at St George’s University of London—I’d decided it was finally time to do something about my sexual immaturity. I had to stop letting life happen to me and actively do something about getting what I wanted. I needed to ‘woman up’, as my sister Maya would say, no matter how terrifying the idea of that was. And here, in Alessandro Ricci, I just might have found the perfect person to help me.
So that, my patient friend, is how Sandro came to take a starring role in the sorry tale of my mortifyingly misjudged attempt to lose my virginity.
* * *
It happened at a private party in Chelsea.
It’s not the sort of place you’ll usually find me on a Saturday night. Most weekends I’ll either be at home working on my PhD thesis, or hanging out with a friend, eating fine food and having involved conversations about the state of the world. So walking through a dark, sultry room writhing with half-naked bodies all gyrating to a thumping dance track was definitely not on my usual ‘things to do on a weekend’ agenda.
Maya had given me the tip-off that Alessandro was going to be at the party that night after I’d confided in her about my interest in him and she’d suggested it might be a good place to catch up with him. She’d warned me that it definitely wouldn’t be my usual scene, but I’d assured her that it was probably the ideal setting for what I had in mind. There would no doubt be a dark and seductive atmosphere and I’d hoped it’d provide an opportunity for me to get close to him with the bare minimum of conversation required.
Don’t get me wrong; I might sound flippant, but I was terrified about the whole idea. So terrified I’d already drunk three straight shots of vodka before I’d even arrived at the party and had stashed a hip flask in my handbag in case I needed a top-up later. I’m not usually a drinker, so my head was pretty fuzzy as I pushed my way through the throng of hot bodies, all now swaying in time to a pulsing ambient techno track, searching for any sign of Sandro.
I’d deliberately worn the same outfit I’d had on at my father’s party, in the hope that Sandro would be more likely to remember me, but I was already too hot in it and totally overdressed compared to the rest of the guests. The crepe top stuck to my overheated, sweaty skin and the band of the black ankle-length skirt that had fit me fine only a week ago dug uncomfortably into my middle. I’d been stress-eating up till the day of the party and I cursed my weakness as I tugged the button at the back of the skirt open to give me a bit of relief, pulling my top down to cover the gape of the material at the back.
Unable to locate Sandro in the next room, which was similarly besieged with partying guests, I was making for the door, intent on escaping to the bathroom to regroup, when I saw a familiar striking figure stride past the doorway to the hall.
It was him.
Shouting unheard apologies into the throbbing air as I pushed past the other partygoers, I dashed after him, reaching the doorway just as he began to climb the sweeping staircase at the end of the hallway, his long legs making short work of the stairs. He moved with such enigmatic grace that I stood transfixed for a moment and watched him, until it occurred to me I was going to lose him if I didn’t grab his attention.
I tried to call out his name, but my throat was parched and scratchy from the overwhelming heat of the party, so I pulled the hip flask out of my bag and took a quick swallow of the fiery alcohol in an attempt to soothe it as I darted up the stairs after him. The liquid burned my throat and I inhaled sharply, the acrid fumes of it flooding my windpipe, making me splutter and gasp for breath. Eyes stinging, I gripped the banister and attempted to get a hold of myself as the alcohol rushed through my blood, mixing with the adrenaline the choking reflex had produced. I felt spaced out as my intoxicated blood pounded heavily through my veins and for one fleeting moment I considered turning around and running out of there, back to the safety of my quiet, comforting flat...
A warm hand gently pressed my shoulder, jerking me out of my whirling thoughts, and I lifted my head, my cheeks already flaming with the heat of my embarrassment to be caught like this, only to meet the gaze of the last person I wanted to see me in this state.
‘Are you all right?’ Sandro asked in a deep, husky tone, only made more appealing by the warm timbre of his Italian accent.
All I could do was nod stupidly, my eyes brimming with tears and my throat still on fire from the alcohol. ‘I’m fine,’ I forced myself to croak when he gave me a concerned frown. ‘Just swallowed the wrong way.’ I waved a finger vaguely at my throat.
‘Would a slap on the back help?’ he asked, his dazzling eyes searching mine, one dark eyebrow quirked.
‘No, that’s okay.’ I swallowed hard and gave a small cough to clear my airway. ‘Technically, you only need to do that when someone’s got a foreign object lodged in their windpipe, otherwise you’re just assaulting them for no reason.’
An indignant expression flashed across his face, as if I’d just rudely shot down his perfectly reasonable offer of help and basically called him an idiot in the process. I shook my head, frustrated with myself for sounding so prim and schoolmarmish.
‘I’m Juno. We met—well, not met, exactly—bumped into each other—at least I bumped into you—on Wednesday night,’ I said quickly to cover my gaffe. ‘I don’t know if you remember?’ I added rather inelegantly.
I wondered what had happened to me. I wasn’t usually like this. The mixture of alcohol, nerves and Sandro’s befuddling presence appeared to be messing with my neural pathways.
‘I remember. At Maxim’s party,’ he said, seeming to forgive me as a slow, sexy smile broke across his handsome face.
My insides did an excited flip. ‘Oh, good, I was afraid you wouldn’t. I’m not usually that memorable,’ I said stupidly. This really wasn’t going as well as I’d hoped. My plan to appear mature and sexually alluring had already metaphorically face-planted at his feet.
‘You had your hair down then, though,’ he said, kindly ignoring my flustered unsophistication.
I raised my hand to touch the base of my neck where my hair was nestled in a tight bun. I usually wore it like that, or in a plait, to keep it tucked away. I wear my long fringe swept across my forehead, though, so I can hide behind it if I need to.
‘Yes, it was. But it’s too hot to have it down here tonight.’ I flapped a hand across my face. ‘It’s positively steamy in here.’
He gave me a quizzical smile, then reached out his hand to push my fringe out of my eyes. It was such an intimate, proprietary move, I sucked in a breath of surprise.
There was a movement out of the corner of my eye and I glanced round to see a man walking quickly past us, looking down at the mobile phone in his hand. I had the strangest impression that he’d just taken a photo of us talking, but I quickly dismissed the idea. Why would he want a picture of me? The gossip magazines seem to have absolutely zero interest in featuring me on their pages any more, unlike my glamorous sisters. Thank goodness. I can’t think of anything worse than being hounded by paparazzi and having my personal life constantly picked over by the general public.
‘Why so jumpy, Juno?’ Sandro murmured.
When I turned back to look at him, his bright gaze tangled with mine and my stomach did another somersault.
‘I’m not jumpy,’ I squeaked.
‘Really? Because you seem a little edgy to me. Is something wrong? Has something happened here tonight?’ He stood a little taller. ‘Has your date abandoned you?’ His mouth tensed as if the idea of that angered him.
‘No, no, nothing like that.’ I took a deep breath, keenly aware that this would be a great opportunity to ask for his help. My heart gave an extra-hard thump as nerves rattled through me. ‘Actually, I...er...came here on my own hoping to bump into you.’ It didn’t come out sounding quite as seductive as I’d hoped—in fact I sounded more like a mouse with a sore throat—but at that moment I was just pleased I’d been able to get the words out.
‘Me?’ He looked surprised, though I was pretty sure it was a feigned reaction. I imagined women must turn up at parties all the time hoping to bump into him.
‘Yes. I have a proposition for you.’
‘A proposition?’ His eyes flashed with a teasing sort of mirth, but I could tell I’d piqued his interest from the slight tilt of his head and the way he moved fractionally closer to me. This gave me the confidence to carry on.
‘I was hoping we could talk somewhere privately,’ I said as a group of people spilled out of the nearest doorway and rowdily made their way past where we stood in the middle of the staircase.
‘Okay, I’ll admit, I’m intrigued. Let’s find a quiet room upstairs.’ He gestured for me to climb the stairs in front of him. ‘Ladies first.’
I climbed the stairs in front of him on shaky legs, intensely aware of his dominating presence at my back. I imagined I could feel the heat radiating from his powerful body, even though logically I knew that wasn’t possible. Every nerve ending in my body was on high alert and it was clearly messing with my sensory perception.
Heart thumping hard in my chest, I walked into the nearest bedroom, relieved to find it empty of people. He followed me in, closing the door behind him.
There was a small lamp on by the side of an enormous bed, bathing it in a low, warm light. I swallowed hard, suddenly terrified. A dissenting voice in my head was telling me I was crazy to even think of doing this but I knew I had to be brave and take action if I was ever going to get past my hang-ups about sex and men.
I dropped my bag at my feet and turned to look at him.
He was standing proud and tall a few feet away from me with his hands casually by his sides, giving me a respectful amount of personal space. The man was clearly a gentleman, which heartened me. Everything I’d heard about him had pointed towards this, but it was comforting to have it confirmed. Especially as I was now alone in a closed room with him.
‘So, what can I do for you, Juno?’ he prompted when I failed to say anything. I’d been so busy psyching myself up I’d left an uncomfortably long pause hanging in the air.
Clearing my raw throat, I pushed back my shoulders in an attempt to project confidence.
But no words would come. I began to panic. How the heck were you supposed to seduce someone—someone you barely knew anything about? I had absolutely no experience in these matters.
In desperation I thought back to the sex scenes I’d seen on TV, where women who want to initiate sex simply strip off in front of the guy and he seems to know exactly what she wants without her having to say a word.
My blood was thumping so hard in my head by this point, I was afraid Sandro would be able to hear it in the quiet of the room. He was certainly looking at me as if he was concerned about something.
‘Are you okay?’ he asked, his brows knitted together.
‘Mmm-hmm,’ I murmured, sucking in a steadying breath then grasping the bottom of my crepe top in my shaking fingers. Knowing I had to act fast before I lost my nerve, I attempted to slip it over my head seductively. Unfortunately, I managed to get the neck caught round my hair bun and ended up struggling to get it past my chin. The zip at the top of my skirt, which was already loose, decided to choose this moment to undo fully and the whole thing slithered down my legs and pooled at my feet, leaving me flashing my underwear-clad body at him while my head was still trapped in my top.
Needless to say, it wasn’t the elegant disrobing I’d been aiming for.
Finally, I managed to get myself untangled and dropped the offending article onto the floor, my face now flaming with embarrassment.
‘What are you doing?’ There was amusement in his voice, but I ignored it, desperate to get past this humiliating preamble and on to what I’d come here for.
Unfortunately, it seemed I was actually going to have to say the words.
I swallowed hard, my throat now as arid as my sex life. ‘I want you to...to...have s-sex with me.’
He stared at me for a moment, then the corner of his mouth kicked up into a bemused smile.
‘Just like that? No getting to know each other first?’ He folded his arms. ‘Why the rush?’
‘Because I’m a virgin and I don’t want to be any more,’ I blurted, taking a shaky step closer to him and managing to kick my bag in the process. My small silver hip flask slipped out of it and slid onto the floor between us.
He looked down at it, then back up at me with one dark eyebrow raised.
‘Are you drunk?’ he murmured darkly.
‘No,’ I lied, kicking the hip flask back under my bag and taking a couple more sauntering steps towards him, hoping to distract his attention away from it.
‘I’ve heard you’re amazing in bed and I thought you’d be the perfect person to help me out. I want to learn from the best,’ I said in as confident a tone as I could muster, desperately hoping that appealing to his vanity would yield results.
He leaned one shoulder against the wall, his arms still folded. The insouciant slouch he affected only made him look more intimidatingly sexy.
‘So you’ve come here tonight because you want me to get rid of your virginity for you? Is that what you’re saying?’ he asked, his eyes assessing me so thoroughly now a delicious sort of shiver shimmied across my bare skin.
I screwed up all my courage and forced myself to meet his gaze. ‘Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying.’
He let out a low, baffled breath. ‘Why me? We don’t even know each other.’
‘Because when you looked at me at the party on Wednesday it seemed like you found me attractive. And I find you attractive, in a physical way, so I thought it might be mutually agreeable...’
There was an awkward pause before he spoke again. ‘Agreeable?’
‘Yes. Um, fun. And...er...sexy.’ I could barely believe I’d just let those awful words out of my mouth. And I was supposed to be the genius of the family.
‘Well, if you find me attractive in a physical way, how could I possibly refuse?’ he asked, deadpan.
Once again I cursed my lack of confidence in these matters. Get me on my subject and I could talk with utter self-assurance for hours, but here I was just steadily digging myself into a deep, dark hole with no idea how to pull myself out.
I decided being honest was the only way forward from here.
‘No. Look, sorry, this is coming out all wrong.’ I pulled my arms around my body, intensely aware of how exposed I was. ‘As I’m sure you’re painfully aware, I’m really not experienced at negotiating this kind of thing.’
‘You don’t say.’ The drawl of his words made his amusement very clear.
I tried to shake off my frustration. Getting het up was unhelpful. I needed to be cool, like my sister Maya would have been if she’d been in this situation. I attempted to channel her as I forced myself to stand a little taller and saunter up to him, looking him right in the eye.
‘I feel like there’s a connection between us. Chemistry,’ I murmured, trying not to sway on the spot.
He frowned, looking confused, and opened his mouth as if he was going to refute what I’d just said but then closed it again. There was a tense pause while he stared hard at me, his dark brows drawn together tightly.
My blood was pumping so hard through my veins, I could hear the swoosh of it in my ears.
‘Look, Juno, you seem like a lovely woman, and I take it as a huge compliment that I’m at the top of your list, but it’s a no,’ he said finally. ‘I don’t sleep with virgins. Especially not drunk virgins. I prefer to go to bed with women who know what they want and can handle having sex just for fun.’
Disappointment made my eyes sting with held-back tears. ‘It could be fun with me,’ I fired back, desperation straining my voice.
He just shot me a look that clearly said desperation was exactly what he was trying to avoid getting entangled in.
Frustration surged through me. I’d made a total fool of myself tonight and for what? A big, fat negative result.
‘God! What is it with me and men? How am I supposed to get experience if no one will sleep with me?’
I took one last stumbling step towards him, pressing my hand against the wall next to him to steady myself. His wonderful, spicy scent flooded my senses, making my mouth water and my head swim.
‘Please, I’ll do whatever you say. Whatever you want. Just name it. Is there a favour I could do for you? Or would money help? Or—er—something else?’ I asked hurriedly, agonisingly aware that offering him money was a stupid and offensive thing to do. ‘L-l-like a promise to help you out when you next need it?’ I rushed on, hoping he wouldn’t take umbrage at my slip.
‘You’re offering me money?’ His eyes were narrowed now in distaste.
‘No, not money. Ignore that. I didn’t mean it the way it came out—’
‘You didn’t mean it to sound like you were hoping to pay me to have sex with you?’ His voice was filled with reproach.
Shame crawled up my spine. In that horrible moment I imagined I could actually sense his male pride putting up its fists.
‘I’m sorry...’
He waved away my apology with a dismissive sweep of his hand before I was even able to finish it. ‘Even if I do find you attractive, I wouldn’t stoop to sleeping with someone who thinks so little of me,’ he said, his voice dangerously low. ‘I think you should go home before you say something stupid to someone else here. They might not be as forgiving of your crassness.’
Before I could utter another word, he’d marched out of the room, leaving the sound of his disgust ringing in my head.
I was so humiliated I wanted to cry. I couldn’t believe I’d handled that so badly. Made such an utter mess of it. Because I had. A total mess. In fact, I don’t think I could have done a worse job at persuading him to help me.
Which was why I was absolutely astounded when I picked up a voicemail message from him the next afternoon asking me out for a drink.
CHAPTER TWO (#ud00fbb47-32fb-5f3c-acbd-252f27be468f)
Sandro
IT HADN’T BEEN the best of weeks.
First I lost out on buying an old dilapidated building in Shoreditch, that my friend Jon and I had intended to turn into affordable studio space for artists, to a grubby property developer. Then the pretty redhead from Maxim’s party treated me like some brainless piece of ass. That had been especially irritating, because when I’d first realised it was her at Harry’s place in Chelsea I’d actually been pleased to see her. The evening had been a bust up till that point. I’d found myself surrounded by the same familiar faces and boring conversations, so the sight of her had lit something inside me.
I’ve always been a sucker for redheads and when I’d spotted her at Maxim’s party—an event I’d been attending in my father’s place while he was away in Rome on important family business—I’d been intrigued by her air of sweetness. I could tell by the way she held herself that she wasn’t confident and worldly like the majority of the women there and it had made me want to take her away somewhere safe to protect her. And perhaps do other things too, if she’d been willing. She’s an attractive woman, after all. I’d particularly enjoyed the way her porcelain-pale cheeks had flamed with colour when I’d smiled at her.
I love making women blush. It gives me a real kick of pleasure. In fact, any instinctive physical reaction I can tease out of them gets me hot: accelerated breathing, a damp sheen of sweat on an upper lip, dilated pupils, a coquettish eyelash flutter. I love it all. Because I love women.
All women.
They’re such fascinating, exotic creatures.
And they usually love me right back.
So when she’d made it clear she thought I was just some man whore, it had really pissed me off. It had been obvious she wasn’t interested in me as a person when she’d asked me to take her virginity. I was just a throwaway cock she’d be using to fix a problem and I hadn’t been prepared to be treated like that. Her disrespectful approach had actually made me fucking furious, though I’d tried not to show it. I never show my real feelings to a woman, not any more—not when I know how it can strip you of your power and control—which is probably why, after I’d left her in that room, I’d gone downstairs, drunk half a bottle of whisky and ended up getting into a pointless fist fight with one of Harry’s friends over some stupid fucking comment he’d made about a woman I’d been talking to. I can’t even remember what it was now.
Normally I’d laugh off any kind of provocation, putting it down to jealousy or crossing someone’s path at the wrong moment, but added to Juno’s suggestion that I wasn’t the brightest spark in the fire, it had blown something inside me and I’d lashed out.
The moment I woke up this morning with a thumping head and a horrible sense that I’d overstepped a mark, I regretted the whole thing.
I regretted it even more when my father summoned me to his Knightsbridge house later that day and showed me just how far the consequences of my actions had reached.
‘This,’ he said, gesturing angrily towards his open laptop, ‘is unacceptable.’
The screen had a gossip article from one of the popular society pages on it. There was a picture of me with an ugly sneer on my face caught right after I’d punched Harry’s friend in the face. It made the whole incident look much more brutal than it had actually been—I’d been too drunk to do more than glance my knuckles off his chin—but the look on the guy’s face told another story. He looked afraid of me.
Shame sunk through my chest to nestle heavily in my gut. That wasn’t me. I’m not a violent person—quite the opposite, in fact. I’m a lover, not a fighter. But this picture said differently.
‘Well? What have you got to say for yourself? I thought you’d stopped fighting when you were a teenager,’ my father barked. ‘Your mother is distraught and the last thing she needs right now is more stress when she’s so busy helping to organise your brother’s wedding. The press has been calling me for a comment about it. I told them in no uncertain terms that that wasn’t going to happen.’
The good reputation of the family name is everything to my father. He lives and breathes it. And he expects me and my brothers to do the same. My oldest brother took this so seriously he’s now on the path to marrying into the highest echelons of Italian nobility—of which we are currently only lowly-ranking members—and my father is adamant that none of us does anything to jeopardise it. Our inclusion in his close family circle and all that comes with it depends on it.
‘It wasn’t as bad as it looks...’ I began to argue, but my father clearly wasn’t in the mood to hear excuses.
‘I want you to go back to Italy until this blows over. And I don’t want to see anything about you in the papers there either. Unless it’s a positive article. In fact—’ He moved to his laptop and scrolled down the page until he came to another photo. This one also had me in it, but this time I was smiling and brushing hair out of the eyes of a pretty redhead who was gazing up at me as if totally entranced by the intimate moment we’re sharing.
Juno.
My heart sank.
‘This one’s suggesting you’re having a relationship with the youngest Darlington-Hume girl,’ my father said, flashing me a questioning look.
My whole world started to tumble past my ears. She was one of Maxim’s daughters. I hadn’t realised. She’d looked so different from her sisters and she certainly hadn’t acted like a Darlington-Hume—a family my father holds in very high regard indeed. In his estimation, they’re the fucking essence of English high society.
And I’d basically told her to take a running jump when she’d asked me for help.
‘I wouldn’t call it a relationship,’ I replied carefully. I wasn’t entirely sure where he was going with this so I was treading carefully. I really didn’t want to be banished to Italy for long. I have important plans here in England and I need to be around to put them in motion. Plus, this is where all my friends live now. Italy will be a social desert.
‘You could do a lot worse than having a Darlington-Hume in your bed. The family has an excellent if mercenary reputation, but you can’t get more inner-circle than Maxim.’ He nodded, seeming to make up his mind about something, and my gut knotted as I predicted what he was about to demand of me.
‘Take her to Florence. Stay in Maria’s apartment. She’s going to be in Sweden for the next few weeks, and she’s worried it might be broken into again, so it would be good to have you there looking after the place. Let the press know you’re there and make sure you’re seen out and about in the right places. Get your reputation publicly back on even ground. Then you can come back.’
‘I’m not sure she’ll want to go to Florence with me.’
‘I don’t give a shit what she wants. Just make it happen. Prove to me, for once, that you’re worthy of the Ricci family name, like your brothers.’
There was no point in arguing with him. I knew from experience that, when my father demands something, there’s no way of getting out of it. He’s hard-hearted enough to cut me out of the family if I don’t play ball, and won’t hesitate to stop me from seeing my nephews and my mother. That’s the last thing I want. It would devastate her. I’ve disappointed her enough for a lifetime.
So a trip to Florence it was.
With Juno Darlington-Hume.
Assuming I could convince her I’ve changed my mind about helping her out after the contemptuous rejection I threw down at her feet the night before. I suspected it was going to take a monumental amount of charm and a shit-ton of good fucking grace to talk her round. Luckily, those are qualities I have in abundance.
So when I got home I swallowed my pride, sourced her number from a friend of a friend and called her, leaving a message on her voicemail, inviting her out for a drink.
* * *
‘So in your message you said you had something you wanted to talk to me about,’ Juno says warily, once we’re seated in a booth in a chi-chi little cocktail bar in a backstreet of Soho that I’d chosen for its seclusion from the bustle of central London, and hopefully prying eyes. I don’t want word going round about us until Juno’s agreed to the proposal I’m about to lay out for her.
She’s pointedly ordered a virgin cocktail and I’ve had to bite my lip so as not to make a joke about the car-crash conversation we had last night in case it upsets her.
This whole situation needs to be handled very carefully.
I give her my secret-weapon smile and lean forward, spreading my hands on the table and locking my gaze with hers. ‘I want to apologise for the way I spoke to you last night. Your request took me by surprise and I didn’t handle it well.’
She stares back at me as if I’m speaking a foreign language and I panic for a second that I’ve slipped into Italian.
Seeming to snap out of her trance, she shakes her head. ‘You really don’t need to apologise. I’m the one that should be apologising. I don’t know what I was thinking, demanding...what I did...like that.’ She looks down at the table as if she can’t bear to maintain eye contact with me. ‘You were right. I was drunk and totally out of line.’
Her shame-faced confession sends a wave of relief through me and I sit back against the red velvet banquette, feeling a little more in control of things now. I can’t help but forgive her. It’s pretty clear the Juno of last night wasn’t the real her. It was just a glitch. A drunken mistake.
‘How old are you, Juno?’ I ask her gently, hoping to draw her out of her shell and gain her trust. Her shoulders are rigid and her chin dipped as if she’s pulled herself inward for protection. It makes me want to smooth my fingers down her spine to help her relax. She doesn’t seem to be able to look at me. Instead she’s playing with the cocktail menu, lining it up with the edge of the table.
‘Twenty-two.’
‘Why are you so eager to lose your virginity? Twenty-two isn’t old to still be a virgin.’
She takes a stuttering breath and finally looks up at me. ‘Because it seems to me that in order to be sexy you need to have had sex. At least, all the women I know that attract men’s attention are the ones that are really comfortable in their own skin. They ooze sex appeal. And none of them are virgins.’
‘How can you be sure?’ I ask, picking up the whisky sour I’ve ordered and taking a sip.
‘I’ve asked them.’
The drink gets caught in the back of my throat, making me cough.
‘Wow. So, what, you’ve just gone up to them and asked the question?’
‘Yes. For research purposes.’ She shrugs. ‘I like to investigate my subject thoroughly. It’s important to have all the information to be able to make an informed hypothesis.’
I frown, then flip it into a reassuring smile. ‘I don’t think you have to have had sex to be sexy. At least, not in my experience.’
‘Yes, well, unfortunately not everyone shares your viewpoint.’ She looks down at the table again.
‘Ah. So there’s another guy involved in this?’ I hazard a guess.
She visibly bristles. ‘Actually, I don’t think that’s any of your business.’ Her cheeks are bright pink and the expression in her eyes is defensive.
I hold up my hand. ‘Wait—you want me to take your virginity but you won’t tell me why?’
Her throat moves as she swallows. ‘That’s correct.’
I shake my head and frown, concerned about what I might be stepping into the middle of here.
‘I’m really not comfortable with saying yes to this unless I know why you want it. We need to be able to be open and honest with each other. It’s important we trust each other if we’re going to get that close and intimate,’ I say slowly, trying to sound as if I’m looking out for both our interests here.
She stares at me for a moment, then nods, and I can tell from the pained expression on her face that she’s been struggling with what she’s about to tell me. My gut clenches and I stretch back in the seat to ease it. It’s a troubling feeling and not something I’ve experienced much. I usually only get it when I come across a woman I really like but can’t have. Or one that I’m not supposed to have, at least.
‘Okay, fine. I suppose it is better if you know the whole story.’ She takes a shaky breath and splays her hands on the table, staring down at her fingers as she begins to talk. ‘There’s this man—Adam Cormack—he’s a lecturer at St George’s University where I’m doing my PhD.’ I see her swallow and a small pinch appears between her brows. ‘And I...er... I like him...a lot.’
‘But he’s not into you?’
She shuffles a little in her seat. ‘Well, he likes me, I think. We’ve been on a few dates, but I think he’s concerned about how...er...inexperienced I am. He’s a bit older than me and I think he’s looking for someone more like him. Well, not a man like him, but someone with the same sort of life experience as him.’
I smile. ‘You mean he doesn’t want to fuck you because you’re a virgin?’
The frankness of my words seems to shock her and her face flames, bright splashes of red highlighting her pale cheeks.
‘Yes,’ she mutters. ‘But in a much more gentlemanly way than you make it sound.’ She’s having trouble meeting my eye again and picks up her cocktail, taking a big gulp, then pushes her shoulders back in an obvious attempt to appear more confident, but it just looks stiff and awkward. My heart goes out to her. Her shyness is actually a real turn-on, if I’m honest.
‘He’s the only man I’ve ever felt this strongly about,’ she murmurs. ‘And I’ve decided it’s time to stop hiding under a rock, get out there and go for what I really want. And if that means showing him I’m worldly and mature enough to handle a relationship with him, then that’s what I’m going to do.’
I have a moment of unease where I worry that I’m about to take advantage of her heartache, but I push it firmly away. She came to me first, after all.
Clearly she’s sensed my concern, though, because she says, ‘Look, do you think you can help me or not? Because if you’re not interested I’m going to go and find someone who is.’ As if to prove her point, she stands up and reaches for her bag.
Panic ripples through me. I can’t let her walk away. I need this to work out.
‘Perhaps I could help,’ I say quickly, holding up a hand to halt her. ‘If we can agree on a couple of conditions.’
Her eyes widen with hope and she sits back down in her seat. ‘I’m listening.’
‘Okay.’ I nod. ‘I want you to come to Florence with me for a week, go out on some dates with me there, so we can get to know each other first. I don’t know what you’ve heard about me but it’s not my style to just jump into bed with a woman without getting to know her a little first. And honestly...’ I lean forward, giving her a friendly smile ‘... I think you’ll be more comfortable with the whole situation if we handle it that way. With a little class.’
‘Classy sounds good.’
‘You know, that way you could put some photos of the two of us looking happy together on social media. You never know, Adam might see them, assume you’re dating me and realise what a fool he’s been passing you up. Believe me, there’s nothing like jealousy to motivate a guy to action,’ I add as a further incentive.
She shakes her head, wrinkling her nose in disdain. ‘I despise the whole social media circus and avoid it as much as possible. I loathe the idea of everyone knowing exactly where I am and what I’m doing all the time. And I really hate having my photo taken. I had a horrible experience with the press in my teens.’ She shudders. ‘Death by public scrutiny.’
‘Right,’ I say, feeling my heart sink. ‘Okay, then, no photos.’ At least, none she’ll be aware of. I’ll have to make sure that the photographers I call will be discreet. I try not to feel bad about not telling her we’re basically going to be courting the Italian press while we’re there. It sounds as if it’ll be better if she assumes they’re following us off their own bat. It’ll be less complicated that way. And it’ll seem more natural if she looks genuinely surprised to be photographed with me. Anyway, they’ll be positive pictures. They’ll make her look good. I’ll make sure the photographers agree to that when I call to tip them off about where we’ll be.
‘Why do we need to go all the way to Florence?’ she asks, apparently confused by that particular detail, which I guess is understandable.
I play it cool and give a nonchalant shrug. ‘I’ve promised to house-sit an apartment there for a couple of weeks and after that I’ll be too busy to help you.’
‘So if I go out with you on a few dates first, you’ll help me out with my...issue?’
‘I’ll teach you anything you want to know about how to please a guy in bed. When I’m done, believe me, this guy Adam won’t be able to resist you.’
I see her throat work as she swallows hard and a spike of disquiet pierces my chest.
‘My only caveat is no full sex,’ I add, to try and exonerate my guilt. ‘I’ll let him have that honour. You’ll be grateful to me later when you realise what a big emotional deal it is to lose your virginity to someone you care about.’
She frowns, thinks about it, then asks, ‘Did you lose yours to someone you cared about?’
‘No,’ I grunt, unwilling to go any further with that line of conversation. ‘So I know what I’m talking about. There’s plenty of other stuff we can do, though,’ I murmur, giving her a teasing smile and moving my leg gently to press against hers. I’m rewarded with another full-face blush and, predictably, my cock springs to attention.
‘Why are you doing this for me?’ she asks, her voice sounding a little husky now. ‘Especially after the horrendous way I acted last night.’
‘Charity begins at home, right?’ I take another sip of my whisky then smile at her over the rim of the glass, feeling guilt gnaw at my insides. ‘And because I can’t resist a challenge like this, especially when it involves someone as pretty as you.’ I lean forward in my chair, ignoring the uncomfortable tension building in my chest. ‘It’ll be my absolute pleasure to help you out, Juno.’
This, at least, is the God’s honest truth. I pause and take another sip of my drink to give myself a moment to refocus my thoughts on the issue at hand and stop them from wandering towards all the physical delights I’m going to take great satisfaction in introducing her to.
‘Just so we’re clear, it’ll just be for the time we’re in Florence. After that we’ll go our separate ways. You towards your lecturer guy and me back to the uncomplicated lifestyle I love.’
From the look on her face, I can tell she’s seriously thinking it over.
‘I have a lot of work to do for my PhD, though. I can’t be away for too long,’ she says slowly, almost to herself.
‘Bring your laptop with you. You can work during the day and hang out with me in the evenings.’
‘Would that work? I need quiet to be able to concentrate.’
‘Sure. I can entertain myself when you’re busy,’ I say, trying not to think about how bored I’ll be sloping around the city on my own. I guess I should consider it karmic payback for losing my cool and punching that guy in the face.
‘My father’s mistress’s apartment, where we’ll be staying, is right in the centre of Florence and it has a study where you can work in the daytime without being distracted,’ I reassure her.
She blinks at me, her eyes wide with astonishment. ‘You know about your father’s mistress? And you’re prepared to stay in her flat?’
I shrug. ‘Of course. She’s a lovely woman. I get on really well with her. They’ve been together for years.’
She shakes her head, looking utterly scandalised now.
‘Doesn’t your mother mind?’
Again, I shrug. ‘I don’t think so. Their marriage was arranged for convenience so I don’t think they’ve ever really loved each other. They’re very fond of each other, though, and they work well together as a team, so I don’t think they’ll ever split up. Not when the family’s reputation is at stake. Reputation is everything to my father.’
Her expression tells me she’s still completely baffled by the idea of that but I guess you have to live it to understand it.
‘So are you up for it, Juno?’ I press, wanting it absolutely confirmed.
She nods, confidently this time. ‘Yes. I accept your conditions.’ She leaves a small pause before adding, ‘I’ve not had a holiday in ages because I’ve been so focussed on my work—which isn’t particularly healthy, I know—so I suppose it’ll be good for me to take a break away from London.’
‘Great. Then we’ll fly out tomorrow.’
‘Okay. Tomorrow.’
I raise my glass, and when she does too I clink mine against it. ‘A nuove esperienze.’
‘To new experiences,’ she repeats.
‘You speak Italian?’ I ask, impressed.
‘Yes, some. Enough to avoid any embarrassing misunderstandings, I hope,’ she replies, grinning shyly for the first time since she arrived. She has a killer smile and the sight of it warms my chest.
I don’t quite know how it’s happened, but I seem to have landed on my feet here. I now get to spend the next week in bed with this enigmatic woman and all in the name of doing the right thing.
Yeah. This could actually turn out to be a lot of fun.
CHAPTER THREE (#ud00fbb47-32fb-5f3c-acbd-252f27be468f)
Juno
WE FLY OUT to Florence in Sandro’s family’s private plane the following afternoon, though we only just make our scheduled take-off slot, because he was half an hour late picking me up from my flat in his low-slung Italian sports car and has to put his foot down to get us to the airport.
He seems totally unconcerned about his tardiness, though, and throws me the merest of apologies when I raise my eyebrows and pointedly look at my watch.
He’s such a cool customer. I wish I could be so nonchalant.
Upon boarding the plane we’re shown to our seats—two large, cream leather armchairs positioned next to each other in a cabin that only holds six more. It’s a small plane but beautifully upholstered with silk wall linings and soft wool carpets. We take off only minutes later and I settle in for the two-hour journey sitting next to Sandro, my pulse on a high tickover as I breathe in his delicious scent and think about how much closer I’m going to have to get to him over the next week—though not, it seems, as close as I’d initially hoped.
At first I’d been a bit miffed that he was still refusing to take my virginity but, the more I thought about it, the more I’d come round to his point of view. He was probably right. It was a hell of a thing to ask of him and I’ll most likely be glad to have more of an emotional connection with the person I finally lose it to. Someone I’ll be in love with, perhaps.
In the meantime, I hope just by hanging out with him some of his charisma will rub off on me. And, if not, I have a week to study the way he acts and interacts with people, which I can then apply to my dealings with Adam when I get back. Perhaps he will hear about my ‘relationship’ with Sandro, realise I’m not the ingénue he thought I was and regret calling a halt to our burgeoning relationship after only a couple of dates.
I can only hope.
Once the plane is on a steady course we’re served drinks by one of the elegantly dressed cabin crew. I watch Sandro out of the corner of my eye while I pretend to read the guidebook to Florence that I’d picked up the day before in the bookshop round the corner from my flat in Notting Hill. He rolls his cut-glass tumbler round and round in his hands. He has a restless sort of energy about him, as if he finds it hard to sit still and is always on the verge of getting up to do something else. He was the same in the bar where we had the drink and I agreed to this proposal. He flipped the drinks menu round and round in his fingers as we talked, as if he needed something to do with them. It made me wonder whether he’d been a smoker and now needed something in his hands with which to distract himself. As he twists the glass I marvel at the perfection of his long fingers with their square, blunt nails and wonder how he’ll touch me with them, how it’ll feel to have his hands on my body. All over my body. I squirm in my seat as a wave of heat rushes through me, pooling at the juncture of my thighs.
Right at this moment I can totally sympathise with his need to move about.
Just sitting still next to him in our plush leather seats, I can feel the attraction pulling taut between us. At least from my side. He’s brought out a plethora of physical reactions in me. My heartbeat is accelerated, my skin hypersensitive and rushing with sensation and there’s an insistent throb between my thighs that’s steadily building the longer I sit here—as if my body craves something with which I’m not providing it.
It’s a hot, heavy want.
‘You know, I’ve never understood why people rave so much about sex. Practically speaking, it seems like it’d be a messy and uncomfortable thing to do,’ I mutter out loud to try and distract myself from these alien feelings.
He turns to look at me with a quizzical expression in those piercing eyes of his.
‘And how can people let it wreck their lives?’ I add nervously, realising I now have his full attention. ‘It’s just a physical act, right? Perfectly natural, and obviously imperative for continuing the human race, but surely it’s not something to destroy a marriage over? What drives people to do that—to cheat on their partners? Just for the thrill of sex with someone else? I don’t understand how it can be so overwhelming an urge that people are willing to do pretty much anything to get it.’
He shrugs. ‘Passion is an irrational thing.’
‘Passion? But that suggests emotions, feelings.’
‘Not necessarily. It can be a basic human urge. That’s a totally different thing.’
‘So you think it’s possible to have sex with someone without having feelings for them?’
He sits round in his chair, his knee brushing mine and sending an electric thrill of sensation through my whole body. ‘I think it’s perfectly possible. Otherwise I wouldn’t have agreed to my part of the bargain. What I think you’re talking about is something different. More than just the physical need for sex. When people cheat there are always other feelings at play. Insecurity about what they have or low self-worth. Or perhaps a fear they’re missing out on something they’ll regret not experiencing in years to come. I think, for others, the rush of sex with someone new after years of fucking their partner the same, predictable way can be like taking an addictive drug. That’s just pure laziness, of course. There’s no reason for sex to get boring. You have to work hard at being creative.’
‘Are you creative?’ I ask, though I think I already know the answer to that.
‘You bet your sweet ass I am,’ he confirms with an underwear-melting smile.
‘I knew you’d say that,’ I mumble, my throat tight with nerves.
‘Are you suggesting I’m predictable?’ he teases.
I can’t help but grin, which breaks the tension.
He grins back and for a moment I’m lost in the dizzying intimacy of the moment.
I clear my throat. ‘Have you ever felt that sort of passion for someone?’
For a second he glances away, up towards the ceiling. ‘No.’ Sitting back in his chair, he moves his leg away from mine and fixes me with a serious expression.
‘You know, now might be a good time to talk about your expectations for the next week. I want to make sure we’re both on the same page.’
Instinctively I tense at the sudden change in conversational direction.
‘Okay.’ I swallow hard. ‘Well, I want you to do everything to me. Show me everything,’ I say with feigned confidence. I don’t want him thinking for a second that I can’t handle this. I need to get it done so I can move on with my life and stop living under the shadow of my naivety.
‘Everything?’ He raises both eyebrows.
‘Yes, I want to know all there is to know. Get it all ticked off.’
‘Do you have a list you’d like to work from?’ The smile he flashes me is teasing.
I roll my eyes at him. ‘Very funny.’
‘But, seriously, any hard limits I should know about?’ he asks, his expression turning serious again.
I think about it for a moment. ‘I don’t want you to strangle or suffocate me, and I don’t like the idea of being spanked.’
‘Shame.’ His grin lights up his eyes. ‘Pain can actually be very pleasurable. It can give you really intense orgasms when you do it right.’
‘Okay, well, I’ll have to reserve judgement on that. But definitely no whipping.’
‘Okay, fine. No whipping.’
I can tell from the look on his face that he’s finding my sexual naivety amusing and it’s irritating me.
‘It’s all right for you to sit there smirking, but I have no idea about these things,’ I mutter. ‘I’m learning from scratch so you’re going to have to give me a break.’ I’m shaking with both adrenaline and frustration. It’s really unlike me to stand up for myself like this, but I know I need to do it if I’m going to maintain any vestige of control over this situation.
He puts up a hand in apology. ‘I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m being an asshole. I promise not to tease you any more. Not about your lack of experience anyway.’ His eyes glitter with mischief. ‘There are plenty of other ways to tease you that I think you’re going to like a lot.’
I squirm in my seat as more heat surges between my legs and my knickers grow damp. At this rate I’m going to slide right off this chair in a pool of lust. And he’s not even touched me yet.
* * *
We make it to the apartment in the early evening, doing the journey from Peretola airport to the centre of Florence in another powerful open-top sports car, whose roaring engine makes it impossible to conduct any conversation.
Our home for the next week is on the top floor of a grand apartment block right next to the Ponte Vecchio. Our windows look out over the quirky bridge with its jumble of jewellery shops clinging like limpets to each side with the help of precarious-looking wooden struts, and on across the wide Arno river to the deep russet-red-roofed buildings beyond. It’s a magnificent city and I stand for a moment, drinking in the sheer unique elegance of the place.
‘Let me show you your room,’ Sandro says, beckoning me to follow him with one crooked finger.
I’m relieved to find he doesn’t expect us to share and give a delighted smile as I look around the beautiful airy room with its Art Deco furniture and enormous, cushion-strewn bed.
‘It’s wonderful,’ I say breathily. This room also has a view of the river and I push the wooden shutters open as far as they’ll go to drink it in some more.
Turning back, I see he’s moved to stand right next to the large bed and is watching me with an intensely thoughtful expression on his face. My pulse immediately picks up and my breath catches in my throat.
Is he going to start my first lesson right now?
The idea both thrills and terrifies me.
I move closer to him on shaky legs, telling myself not to be nervous, that he’ll take good care of me like he promised. Based on all my dealings with him so far, it’s obvious he’s absolutely the gentleman I’d hoped he’d be.
Even so, my heart is racing and my palms are sweaty.
He continues to look at me as I get closer, his fingers beating a silent rhythm against his thighs.
‘S-so, do you want to get started right away?’ I ask, nerves making my voice tremble.
A frown crosses his brow, then vanishes behind a smile. ‘So eager.’
‘Well, I’ve not come all the way to Italy just to sightsee,’ I joke, but it comes out sounding a bit defensive.
He shakes his head and walks over to meet me in the middle of the room. Reaching out his hand, he pushes my fringe out of my eyes and I just stand there blinking stupidly at him.
The air crackles between us, as if the tension is charging it with electricity.
‘You know, anticipation is a powerful aphrodisiac,’ he murmurs, sweeping his thumb over my cheek so softly I wonder whether he’s actually touched me or if the mere promise of it has set all my nerve endings on fire. My whole body is one big throb of need and I stare up into his beautiful eyes, losing myself in the perfection of them.
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Christy McKellen
One week of pleasure… With an Italian bad boy! Academic Juno Darlington-Hume wants a top-quality education—in sexual pleasure! Renowned Italian playboy Alessandro Ricci agrees to show the gorgeous virgin almost everything he knows… From magical Florence to the golden Tuscan countryside, he’s taking her to ever higher peaks of ecstasy, letting her get closer than any other woman. But he’ll never take the one thing she truly wants to give him—her heart.
One week of pleasure...with an Italian bad boy!
Good girl Juno Darlington-Hume is getting a sexual education in this steamy second installment of Christy McKellen’s Sexy Little Secrets miniseries.
I’ve always been in my famous sisters’ shadows. I’m the smart one. Not the sexy one. Not the beautiful one. But a PhD won’t satisfy me in bed. And I can’t satisfy anyone else if I don’t know what I’m doing. So I’m ready to learn the secrets of physical desire...
Italian playboy Alessandro Ricci is just the expert I’m looking for. Tall, dark and drop-dead gorgeous, Alessandro has a reputation for providing absolute pleasure. He’s agreed to spend one week showing me almost everything he knows. No emotions, though. Just sex. Extremely erotic, pantie-melting sex!
From magical Florence to the golden Tuscan countryside, he’s taking me to ever-higher peaks of ecstasy, letting me get closer than any other woman. Soon our “no emotions” deal is turning into something I never expected: intense connection in every way imaginable. I’m falling hard! But when I learn he’s tipped off the paparazzi to our every location, I have to wonder—was he just using me to save his bad reputation?
Sexy. Passionate. Bold. Discover Harlequin DARE, a new line of fun, edgy and sexually explicit romances for the fearless female.
Formerly a video and radio producer, CHRISTY McKELLEN now spends her time writing provocative, passionate, seductive romance. When she’s not writing she can be found enjoying life with her husband and three children, walking for pleasure and researching other people’s deepest secrets and desires. Christy loves to hear from readers. You can get hold of her at christymckellen.com (http://www.christymckellen.com).
Good Girl
Christy McKellen
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-08691-2
GOOD GIRL
© 2019 Christy McKellen
Published in Great Britain 2019
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For Lycia, godmother extraordinaire.
Thank you for being there.
Contents
Cover (#u742a3253-f620-5841-bf63-38a415fe87af)
Back Cover Text (#u2fd9cc2f-47b1-5fec-b16a-1974d21afd38)
About the Author (#ud1a91fa1-de5f-55b8-b41d-15ef1da2f2c6)
Title Page (#uc0991411-0e06-5b61-8b9d-9a49d32e32cb)
Copyright (#ua44a2bb7-c8d3-5263-97f3-a36d29230847)
Dedication (#ub113fe3c-90de-51e4-bc98-d9e2c2d11e40)
CHAPTER ONE (#udd506f42-dc01-5d3d-81e5-73bc1137ac77)
CHAPTER TWO (#ud0ed04b0-549e-50bb-beda-215931c7fec3)
CHAPTER THREE (#uf3cc126f-e410-5b45-9093-9d675f38ebac)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ud00fbb47-32fb-5f3c-acbd-252f27be468f)
Juno
ALESSANDRO RICCI IS phenomenal in bed.
At least that’s what I’ve heard other people say about him. Unfortunately, I wouldn’t know, for two reasons: firstly, I’m a virgin, and secondly, he refused to sleep with me when I asked him to.
It wasn’t my finest hour.
The first time we met was at my father’s fiftieth birthday party. Even amongst the plethora of filthy rich, gregariously glamorous socialites that had been invited he stood out like the Sirius star system on a clear night.
I was making my way, head ducked, through the throng of partygoers to a quiet corner to hide out for a while, needing a break from the excruciating, polite conversation that my bully of a father demanded I make with his friends and associates, when my shoulder bumped against something solid and unyielding. Turning to flash whomever it was a look of apology, my gaze locked with a dazzling pair of eyes and my whole world came to a screeching halt, air whooshing from my lungs and a wave of heat rushing up my neck to flood my face.
You see Alessandro Ricci isn’t just handsome—he’s beautiful. Stop-you-in-your-tracks, steal-your-words beautiful. His features appear to be perfectly symmetrical, though I know that’s not physiologically possible. No one’s face is perfect. But he’s as close to perfection as you can get. His bone structure looks as though it’s been carved by a master sculptor; every feature of his face is exactly the right shape and size. As if someone’s taken the best bits of all the most attractive men in the world and put them together to create him.
And his body. It was enthralling to behold. Broad shoulders tapering down to narrow hips and long, athletic legs. He was a good few inches taller than me, and I’m no shorty, so I guessed he was well over six foot. He was wearing an exquisitely tailored suit, which clung to his body like it loved him, and a crisp white shirt open at the collar to reveal a V of tanned olive skin and just the merest promise of dark, downy hair on his muscular chest.
If you asked me to produce an image of the picture-perfect male figure, he’s exactly what I’d draw.
Caught in that moment, like a wraith between worlds, I found it intensely difficult to look at him—he was that dazzling—but at the same time I couldn’t bring myself to look away.
He in turn looked back at me—or rather assessed me—as if he was stripping me naked with his eyes.
Those incredible eyes.
It makes my body rush with a prickly sort of heat just to think about them now. They were a bright, iridescent green that seemed to glow with a deep, secret knowledge. As though he knew exactly what to do to me to turn me into a gibbering wreck. Instinctively I knew they’d be things I’d never experienced before. Hot, dirty, sinful things.
My whole body throbbed with an unfamiliar sensation that made me clench my trembling hands into fists in an attempt to centre myself.
No one has ever made me feel like that before. Not even Adam.
I’m sure it’s something Alessandro must do to all women, though. According to the people I’ve asked about him, he’s reputedly a world-class seducer and an incorrigible playboy but, even so, when he smiled at me like that it made me feel somehow special and most unusually—attractive. I’ve always been compared unfavourably to my beautiful older sisters—I know I appear washed out and pale in comparison to them, like a photo that’s faded in the sun—and this knowledge has rather knocked my confidence when it comes to attracting men.
I do have one outstanding feature, though—my hair, which reaches all the way down to the middle of my back and is a warm chestnut colour. But, honestly, I’ve never really liked it. It makes me stand out too much. I like to be able to position myself quietly on the sidelines and watch what’s going on around me rather than thrusting myself right into the middle of things like Maya and April do.
I know—logically, and away from Sandro’s mesmerising charisma—that the whole encounter had been a purely physical reaction I’d had to his pheromones, rather than a cerebral connection. I’m usually attracted to someone for their intelligence and enterprise rather than something as superficial as their looks—but it hasn’t stopped me from still wanting things from him.
Wanting him to do things to me.
What exactly those things are, I’m not entirely sure, but I’d bet my first-class degree he’d know exactly what to do to push my buttons. He certainly had that air about him, as if he’d been born with the ability to give women pleasure and was more than happy to utilise it.
The scientist in me makes me suspect he’d make a fascinating anthropological study subject.
Anyway, after I finally managed to pull myself away from his tractor-beam gaze, I hid away in the nearest bathroom and attempted to bring my racing heartbeat under control. Staring at my flushed face in the mirror, I thought about the way he’d looked at me with such intense interest that I’d felt the sensual effect of it all the way down deep inside me. It had made my blood thrum and my skin goose-bump and I’d had a sudden impulsive craving to master that skill myself. As I reflected on how powerful having this ability would make me feel, a germ of an idea began to form in my mind.
After recently living through the pain of being rejected by the man I’ve had a planet-sized crush on for the past year—a man who has one of the greatest minds of our time and with whom I’m lucky enough to work alongside in the cardiovascular research department at St George’s University of London—I’d decided it was finally time to do something about my sexual immaturity. I had to stop letting life happen to me and actively do something about getting what I wanted. I needed to ‘woman up’, as my sister Maya would say, no matter how terrifying the idea of that was. And here, in Alessandro Ricci, I just might have found the perfect person to help me.
So that, my patient friend, is how Sandro came to take a starring role in the sorry tale of my mortifyingly misjudged attempt to lose my virginity.
* * *
It happened at a private party in Chelsea.
It’s not the sort of place you’ll usually find me on a Saturday night. Most weekends I’ll either be at home working on my PhD thesis, or hanging out with a friend, eating fine food and having involved conversations about the state of the world. So walking through a dark, sultry room writhing with half-naked bodies all gyrating to a thumping dance track was definitely not on my usual ‘things to do on a weekend’ agenda.
Maya had given me the tip-off that Alessandro was going to be at the party that night after I’d confided in her about my interest in him and she’d suggested it might be a good place to catch up with him. She’d warned me that it definitely wouldn’t be my usual scene, but I’d assured her that it was probably the ideal setting for what I had in mind. There would no doubt be a dark and seductive atmosphere and I’d hoped it’d provide an opportunity for me to get close to him with the bare minimum of conversation required.
Don’t get me wrong; I might sound flippant, but I was terrified about the whole idea. So terrified I’d already drunk three straight shots of vodka before I’d even arrived at the party and had stashed a hip flask in my handbag in case I needed a top-up later. I’m not usually a drinker, so my head was pretty fuzzy as I pushed my way through the throng of hot bodies, all now swaying in time to a pulsing ambient techno track, searching for any sign of Sandro.
I’d deliberately worn the same outfit I’d had on at my father’s party, in the hope that Sandro would be more likely to remember me, but I was already too hot in it and totally overdressed compared to the rest of the guests. The crepe top stuck to my overheated, sweaty skin and the band of the black ankle-length skirt that had fit me fine only a week ago dug uncomfortably into my middle. I’d been stress-eating up till the day of the party and I cursed my weakness as I tugged the button at the back of the skirt open to give me a bit of relief, pulling my top down to cover the gape of the material at the back.
Unable to locate Sandro in the next room, which was similarly besieged with partying guests, I was making for the door, intent on escaping to the bathroom to regroup, when I saw a familiar striking figure stride past the doorway to the hall.
It was him.
Shouting unheard apologies into the throbbing air as I pushed past the other partygoers, I dashed after him, reaching the doorway just as he began to climb the sweeping staircase at the end of the hallway, his long legs making short work of the stairs. He moved with such enigmatic grace that I stood transfixed for a moment and watched him, until it occurred to me I was going to lose him if I didn’t grab his attention.
I tried to call out his name, but my throat was parched and scratchy from the overwhelming heat of the party, so I pulled the hip flask out of my bag and took a quick swallow of the fiery alcohol in an attempt to soothe it as I darted up the stairs after him. The liquid burned my throat and I inhaled sharply, the acrid fumes of it flooding my windpipe, making me splutter and gasp for breath. Eyes stinging, I gripped the banister and attempted to get a hold of myself as the alcohol rushed through my blood, mixing with the adrenaline the choking reflex had produced. I felt spaced out as my intoxicated blood pounded heavily through my veins and for one fleeting moment I considered turning around and running out of there, back to the safety of my quiet, comforting flat...
A warm hand gently pressed my shoulder, jerking me out of my whirling thoughts, and I lifted my head, my cheeks already flaming with the heat of my embarrassment to be caught like this, only to meet the gaze of the last person I wanted to see me in this state.
‘Are you all right?’ Sandro asked in a deep, husky tone, only made more appealing by the warm timbre of his Italian accent.
All I could do was nod stupidly, my eyes brimming with tears and my throat still on fire from the alcohol. ‘I’m fine,’ I forced myself to croak when he gave me a concerned frown. ‘Just swallowed the wrong way.’ I waved a finger vaguely at my throat.
‘Would a slap on the back help?’ he asked, his dazzling eyes searching mine, one dark eyebrow quirked.
‘No, that’s okay.’ I swallowed hard and gave a small cough to clear my airway. ‘Technically, you only need to do that when someone’s got a foreign object lodged in their windpipe, otherwise you’re just assaulting them for no reason.’
An indignant expression flashed across his face, as if I’d just rudely shot down his perfectly reasonable offer of help and basically called him an idiot in the process. I shook my head, frustrated with myself for sounding so prim and schoolmarmish.
‘I’m Juno. We met—well, not met, exactly—bumped into each other—at least I bumped into you—on Wednesday night,’ I said quickly to cover my gaffe. ‘I don’t know if you remember?’ I added rather inelegantly.
I wondered what had happened to me. I wasn’t usually like this. The mixture of alcohol, nerves and Sandro’s befuddling presence appeared to be messing with my neural pathways.
‘I remember. At Maxim’s party,’ he said, seeming to forgive me as a slow, sexy smile broke across his handsome face.
My insides did an excited flip. ‘Oh, good, I was afraid you wouldn’t. I’m not usually that memorable,’ I said stupidly. This really wasn’t going as well as I’d hoped. My plan to appear mature and sexually alluring had already metaphorically face-planted at his feet.
‘You had your hair down then, though,’ he said, kindly ignoring my flustered unsophistication.
I raised my hand to touch the base of my neck where my hair was nestled in a tight bun. I usually wore it like that, or in a plait, to keep it tucked away. I wear my long fringe swept across my forehead, though, so I can hide behind it if I need to.
‘Yes, it was. But it’s too hot to have it down here tonight.’ I flapped a hand across my face. ‘It’s positively steamy in here.’
He gave me a quizzical smile, then reached out his hand to push my fringe out of my eyes. It was such an intimate, proprietary move, I sucked in a breath of surprise.
There was a movement out of the corner of my eye and I glanced round to see a man walking quickly past us, looking down at the mobile phone in his hand. I had the strangest impression that he’d just taken a photo of us talking, but I quickly dismissed the idea. Why would he want a picture of me? The gossip magazines seem to have absolutely zero interest in featuring me on their pages any more, unlike my glamorous sisters. Thank goodness. I can’t think of anything worse than being hounded by paparazzi and having my personal life constantly picked over by the general public.
‘Why so jumpy, Juno?’ Sandro murmured.
When I turned back to look at him, his bright gaze tangled with mine and my stomach did another somersault.
‘I’m not jumpy,’ I squeaked.
‘Really? Because you seem a little edgy to me. Is something wrong? Has something happened here tonight?’ He stood a little taller. ‘Has your date abandoned you?’ His mouth tensed as if the idea of that angered him.
‘No, no, nothing like that.’ I took a deep breath, keenly aware that this would be a great opportunity to ask for his help. My heart gave an extra-hard thump as nerves rattled through me. ‘Actually, I...er...came here on my own hoping to bump into you.’ It didn’t come out sounding quite as seductive as I’d hoped—in fact I sounded more like a mouse with a sore throat—but at that moment I was just pleased I’d been able to get the words out.
‘Me?’ He looked surprised, though I was pretty sure it was a feigned reaction. I imagined women must turn up at parties all the time hoping to bump into him.
‘Yes. I have a proposition for you.’
‘A proposition?’ His eyes flashed with a teasing sort of mirth, but I could tell I’d piqued his interest from the slight tilt of his head and the way he moved fractionally closer to me. This gave me the confidence to carry on.
‘I was hoping we could talk somewhere privately,’ I said as a group of people spilled out of the nearest doorway and rowdily made their way past where we stood in the middle of the staircase.
‘Okay, I’ll admit, I’m intrigued. Let’s find a quiet room upstairs.’ He gestured for me to climb the stairs in front of him. ‘Ladies first.’
I climbed the stairs in front of him on shaky legs, intensely aware of his dominating presence at my back. I imagined I could feel the heat radiating from his powerful body, even though logically I knew that wasn’t possible. Every nerve ending in my body was on high alert and it was clearly messing with my sensory perception.
Heart thumping hard in my chest, I walked into the nearest bedroom, relieved to find it empty of people. He followed me in, closing the door behind him.
There was a small lamp on by the side of an enormous bed, bathing it in a low, warm light. I swallowed hard, suddenly terrified. A dissenting voice in my head was telling me I was crazy to even think of doing this but I knew I had to be brave and take action if I was ever going to get past my hang-ups about sex and men.
I dropped my bag at my feet and turned to look at him.
He was standing proud and tall a few feet away from me with his hands casually by his sides, giving me a respectful amount of personal space. The man was clearly a gentleman, which heartened me. Everything I’d heard about him had pointed towards this, but it was comforting to have it confirmed. Especially as I was now alone in a closed room with him.
‘So, what can I do for you, Juno?’ he prompted when I failed to say anything. I’d been so busy psyching myself up I’d left an uncomfortably long pause hanging in the air.
Clearing my raw throat, I pushed back my shoulders in an attempt to project confidence.
But no words would come. I began to panic. How the heck were you supposed to seduce someone—someone you barely knew anything about? I had absolutely no experience in these matters.
In desperation I thought back to the sex scenes I’d seen on TV, where women who want to initiate sex simply strip off in front of the guy and he seems to know exactly what she wants without her having to say a word.
My blood was thumping so hard in my head by this point, I was afraid Sandro would be able to hear it in the quiet of the room. He was certainly looking at me as if he was concerned about something.
‘Are you okay?’ he asked, his brows knitted together.
‘Mmm-hmm,’ I murmured, sucking in a steadying breath then grasping the bottom of my crepe top in my shaking fingers. Knowing I had to act fast before I lost my nerve, I attempted to slip it over my head seductively. Unfortunately, I managed to get the neck caught round my hair bun and ended up struggling to get it past my chin. The zip at the top of my skirt, which was already loose, decided to choose this moment to undo fully and the whole thing slithered down my legs and pooled at my feet, leaving me flashing my underwear-clad body at him while my head was still trapped in my top.
Needless to say, it wasn’t the elegant disrobing I’d been aiming for.
Finally, I managed to get myself untangled and dropped the offending article onto the floor, my face now flaming with embarrassment.
‘What are you doing?’ There was amusement in his voice, but I ignored it, desperate to get past this humiliating preamble and on to what I’d come here for.
Unfortunately, it seemed I was actually going to have to say the words.
I swallowed hard, my throat now as arid as my sex life. ‘I want you to...to...have s-sex with me.’
He stared at me for a moment, then the corner of his mouth kicked up into a bemused smile.
‘Just like that? No getting to know each other first?’ He folded his arms. ‘Why the rush?’
‘Because I’m a virgin and I don’t want to be any more,’ I blurted, taking a shaky step closer to him and managing to kick my bag in the process. My small silver hip flask slipped out of it and slid onto the floor between us.
He looked down at it, then back up at me with one dark eyebrow raised.
‘Are you drunk?’ he murmured darkly.
‘No,’ I lied, kicking the hip flask back under my bag and taking a couple more sauntering steps towards him, hoping to distract his attention away from it.
‘I’ve heard you’re amazing in bed and I thought you’d be the perfect person to help me out. I want to learn from the best,’ I said in as confident a tone as I could muster, desperately hoping that appealing to his vanity would yield results.
He leaned one shoulder against the wall, his arms still folded. The insouciant slouch he affected only made him look more intimidatingly sexy.
‘So you’ve come here tonight because you want me to get rid of your virginity for you? Is that what you’re saying?’ he asked, his eyes assessing me so thoroughly now a delicious sort of shiver shimmied across my bare skin.
I screwed up all my courage and forced myself to meet his gaze. ‘Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying.’
He let out a low, baffled breath. ‘Why me? We don’t even know each other.’
‘Because when you looked at me at the party on Wednesday it seemed like you found me attractive. And I find you attractive, in a physical way, so I thought it might be mutually agreeable...’
There was an awkward pause before he spoke again. ‘Agreeable?’
‘Yes. Um, fun. And...er...sexy.’ I could barely believe I’d just let those awful words out of my mouth. And I was supposed to be the genius of the family.
‘Well, if you find me attractive in a physical way, how could I possibly refuse?’ he asked, deadpan.
Once again I cursed my lack of confidence in these matters. Get me on my subject and I could talk with utter self-assurance for hours, but here I was just steadily digging myself into a deep, dark hole with no idea how to pull myself out.
I decided being honest was the only way forward from here.
‘No. Look, sorry, this is coming out all wrong.’ I pulled my arms around my body, intensely aware of how exposed I was. ‘As I’m sure you’re painfully aware, I’m really not experienced at negotiating this kind of thing.’
‘You don’t say.’ The drawl of his words made his amusement very clear.
I tried to shake off my frustration. Getting het up was unhelpful. I needed to be cool, like my sister Maya would have been if she’d been in this situation. I attempted to channel her as I forced myself to stand a little taller and saunter up to him, looking him right in the eye.
‘I feel like there’s a connection between us. Chemistry,’ I murmured, trying not to sway on the spot.
He frowned, looking confused, and opened his mouth as if he was going to refute what I’d just said but then closed it again. There was a tense pause while he stared hard at me, his dark brows drawn together tightly.
My blood was pumping so hard through my veins, I could hear the swoosh of it in my ears.
‘Look, Juno, you seem like a lovely woman, and I take it as a huge compliment that I’m at the top of your list, but it’s a no,’ he said finally. ‘I don’t sleep with virgins. Especially not drunk virgins. I prefer to go to bed with women who know what they want and can handle having sex just for fun.’
Disappointment made my eyes sting with held-back tears. ‘It could be fun with me,’ I fired back, desperation straining my voice.
He just shot me a look that clearly said desperation was exactly what he was trying to avoid getting entangled in.
Frustration surged through me. I’d made a total fool of myself tonight and for what? A big, fat negative result.
‘God! What is it with me and men? How am I supposed to get experience if no one will sleep with me?’
I took one last stumbling step towards him, pressing my hand against the wall next to him to steady myself. His wonderful, spicy scent flooded my senses, making my mouth water and my head swim.
‘Please, I’ll do whatever you say. Whatever you want. Just name it. Is there a favour I could do for you? Or would money help? Or—er—something else?’ I asked hurriedly, agonisingly aware that offering him money was a stupid and offensive thing to do. ‘L-l-like a promise to help you out when you next need it?’ I rushed on, hoping he wouldn’t take umbrage at my slip.
‘You’re offering me money?’ His eyes were narrowed now in distaste.
‘No, not money. Ignore that. I didn’t mean it the way it came out—’
‘You didn’t mean it to sound like you were hoping to pay me to have sex with you?’ His voice was filled with reproach.
Shame crawled up my spine. In that horrible moment I imagined I could actually sense his male pride putting up its fists.
‘I’m sorry...’
He waved away my apology with a dismissive sweep of his hand before I was even able to finish it. ‘Even if I do find you attractive, I wouldn’t stoop to sleeping with someone who thinks so little of me,’ he said, his voice dangerously low. ‘I think you should go home before you say something stupid to someone else here. They might not be as forgiving of your crassness.’
Before I could utter another word, he’d marched out of the room, leaving the sound of his disgust ringing in my head.
I was so humiliated I wanted to cry. I couldn’t believe I’d handled that so badly. Made such an utter mess of it. Because I had. A total mess. In fact, I don’t think I could have done a worse job at persuading him to help me.
Which was why I was absolutely astounded when I picked up a voicemail message from him the next afternoon asking me out for a drink.
CHAPTER TWO (#ud00fbb47-32fb-5f3c-acbd-252f27be468f)
Sandro
IT HADN’T BEEN the best of weeks.
First I lost out on buying an old dilapidated building in Shoreditch, that my friend Jon and I had intended to turn into affordable studio space for artists, to a grubby property developer. Then the pretty redhead from Maxim’s party treated me like some brainless piece of ass. That had been especially irritating, because when I’d first realised it was her at Harry’s place in Chelsea I’d actually been pleased to see her. The evening had been a bust up till that point. I’d found myself surrounded by the same familiar faces and boring conversations, so the sight of her had lit something inside me.
I’ve always been a sucker for redheads and when I’d spotted her at Maxim’s party—an event I’d been attending in my father’s place while he was away in Rome on important family business—I’d been intrigued by her air of sweetness. I could tell by the way she held herself that she wasn’t confident and worldly like the majority of the women there and it had made me want to take her away somewhere safe to protect her. And perhaps do other things too, if she’d been willing. She’s an attractive woman, after all. I’d particularly enjoyed the way her porcelain-pale cheeks had flamed with colour when I’d smiled at her.
I love making women blush. It gives me a real kick of pleasure. In fact, any instinctive physical reaction I can tease out of them gets me hot: accelerated breathing, a damp sheen of sweat on an upper lip, dilated pupils, a coquettish eyelash flutter. I love it all. Because I love women.
All women.
They’re such fascinating, exotic creatures.
And they usually love me right back.
So when she’d made it clear she thought I was just some man whore, it had really pissed me off. It had been obvious she wasn’t interested in me as a person when she’d asked me to take her virginity. I was just a throwaway cock she’d be using to fix a problem and I hadn’t been prepared to be treated like that. Her disrespectful approach had actually made me fucking furious, though I’d tried not to show it. I never show my real feelings to a woman, not any more—not when I know how it can strip you of your power and control—which is probably why, after I’d left her in that room, I’d gone downstairs, drunk half a bottle of whisky and ended up getting into a pointless fist fight with one of Harry’s friends over some stupid fucking comment he’d made about a woman I’d been talking to. I can’t even remember what it was now.
Normally I’d laugh off any kind of provocation, putting it down to jealousy or crossing someone’s path at the wrong moment, but added to Juno’s suggestion that I wasn’t the brightest spark in the fire, it had blown something inside me and I’d lashed out.
The moment I woke up this morning with a thumping head and a horrible sense that I’d overstepped a mark, I regretted the whole thing.
I regretted it even more when my father summoned me to his Knightsbridge house later that day and showed me just how far the consequences of my actions had reached.
‘This,’ he said, gesturing angrily towards his open laptop, ‘is unacceptable.’
The screen had a gossip article from one of the popular society pages on it. There was a picture of me with an ugly sneer on my face caught right after I’d punched Harry’s friend in the face. It made the whole incident look much more brutal than it had actually been—I’d been too drunk to do more than glance my knuckles off his chin—but the look on the guy’s face told another story. He looked afraid of me.
Shame sunk through my chest to nestle heavily in my gut. That wasn’t me. I’m not a violent person—quite the opposite, in fact. I’m a lover, not a fighter. But this picture said differently.
‘Well? What have you got to say for yourself? I thought you’d stopped fighting when you were a teenager,’ my father barked. ‘Your mother is distraught and the last thing she needs right now is more stress when she’s so busy helping to organise your brother’s wedding. The press has been calling me for a comment about it. I told them in no uncertain terms that that wasn’t going to happen.’
The good reputation of the family name is everything to my father. He lives and breathes it. And he expects me and my brothers to do the same. My oldest brother took this so seriously he’s now on the path to marrying into the highest echelons of Italian nobility—of which we are currently only lowly-ranking members—and my father is adamant that none of us does anything to jeopardise it. Our inclusion in his close family circle and all that comes with it depends on it.
‘It wasn’t as bad as it looks...’ I began to argue, but my father clearly wasn’t in the mood to hear excuses.
‘I want you to go back to Italy until this blows over. And I don’t want to see anything about you in the papers there either. Unless it’s a positive article. In fact—’ He moved to his laptop and scrolled down the page until he came to another photo. This one also had me in it, but this time I was smiling and brushing hair out of the eyes of a pretty redhead who was gazing up at me as if totally entranced by the intimate moment we’re sharing.
Juno.
My heart sank.
‘This one’s suggesting you’re having a relationship with the youngest Darlington-Hume girl,’ my father said, flashing me a questioning look.
My whole world started to tumble past my ears. She was one of Maxim’s daughters. I hadn’t realised. She’d looked so different from her sisters and she certainly hadn’t acted like a Darlington-Hume—a family my father holds in very high regard indeed. In his estimation, they’re the fucking essence of English high society.
And I’d basically told her to take a running jump when she’d asked me for help.
‘I wouldn’t call it a relationship,’ I replied carefully. I wasn’t entirely sure where he was going with this so I was treading carefully. I really didn’t want to be banished to Italy for long. I have important plans here in England and I need to be around to put them in motion. Plus, this is where all my friends live now. Italy will be a social desert.
‘You could do a lot worse than having a Darlington-Hume in your bed. The family has an excellent if mercenary reputation, but you can’t get more inner-circle than Maxim.’ He nodded, seeming to make up his mind about something, and my gut knotted as I predicted what he was about to demand of me.
‘Take her to Florence. Stay in Maria’s apartment. She’s going to be in Sweden for the next few weeks, and she’s worried it might be broken into again, so it would be good to have you there looking after the place. Let the press know you’re there and make sure you’re seen out and about in the right places. Get your reputation publicly back on even ground. Then you can come back.’
‘I’m not sure she’ll want to go to Florence with me.’
‘I don’t give a shit what she wants. Just make it happen. Prove to me, for once, that you’re worthy of the Ricci family name, like your brothers.’
There was no point in arguing with him. I knew from experience that, when my father demands something, there’s no way of getting out of it. He’s hard-hearted enough to cut me out of the family if I don’t play ball, and won’t hesitate to stop me from seeing my nephews and my mother. That’s the last thing I want. It would devastate her. I’ve disappointed her enough for a lifetime.
So a trip to Florence it was.
With Juno Darlington-Hume.
Assuming I could convince her I’ve changed my mind about helping her out after the contemptuous rejection I threw down at her feet the night before. I suspected it was going to take a monumental amount of charm and a shit-ton of good fucking grace to talk her round. Luckily, those are qualities I have in abundance.
So when I got home I swallowed my pride, sourced her number from a friend of a friend and called her, leaving a message on her voicemail, inviting her out for a drink.
* * *
‘So in your message you said you had something you wanted to talk to me about,’ Juno says warily, once we’re seated in a booth in a chi-chi little cocktail bar in a backstreet of Soho that I’d chosen for its seclusion from the bustle of central London, and hopefully prying eyes. I don’t want word going round about us until Juno’s agreed to the proposal I’m about to lay out for her.
She’s pointedly ordered a virgin cocktail and I’ve had to bite my lip so as not to make a joke about the car-crash conversation we had last night in case it upsets her.
This whole situation needs to be handled very carefully.
I give her my secret-weapon smile and lean forward, spreading my hands on the table and locking my gaze with hers. ‘I want to apologise for the way I spoke to you last night. Your request took me by surprise and I didn’t handle it well.’
She stares back at me as if I’m speaking a foreign language and I panic for a second that I’ve slipped into Italian.
Seeming to snap out of her trance, she shakes her head. ‘You really don’t need to apologise. I’m the one that should be apologising. I don’t know what I was thinking, demanding...what I did...like that.’ She looks down at the table as if she can’t bear to maintain eye contact with me. ‘You were right. I was drunk and totally out of line.’
Her shame-faced confession sends a wave of relief through me and I sit back against the red velvet banquette, feeling a little more in control of things now. I can’t help but forgive her. It’s pretty clear the Juno of last night wasn’t the real her. It was just a glitch. A drunken mistake.
‘How old are you, Juno?’ I ask her gently, hoping to draw her out of her shell and gain her trust. Her shoulders are rigid and her chin dipped as if she’s pulled herself inward for protection. It makes me want to smooth my fingers down her spine to help her relax. She doesn’t seem to be able to look at me. Instead she’s playing with the cocktail menu, lining it up with the edge of the table.
‘Twenty-two.’
‘Why are you so eager to lose your virginity? Twenty-two isn’t old to still be a virgin.’
She takes a stuttering breath and finally looks up at me. ‘Because it seems to me that in order to be sexy you need to have had sex. At least, all the women I know that attract men’s attention are the ones that are really comfortable in their own skin. They ooze sex appeal. And none of them are virgins.’
‘How can you be sure?’ I ask, picking up the whisky sour I’ve ordered and taking a sip.
‘I’ve asked them.’
The drink gets caught in the back of my throat, making me cough.
‘Wow. So, what, you’ve just gone up to them and asked the question?’
‘Yes. For research purposes.’ She shrugs. ‘I like to investigate my subject thoroughly. It’s important to have all the information to be able to make an informed hypothesis.’
I frown, then flip it into a reassuring smile. ‘I don’t think you have to have had sex to be sexy. At least, not in my experience.’
‘Yes, well, unfortunately not everyone shares your viewpoint.’ She looks down at the table again.
‘Ah. So there’s another guy involved in this?’ I hazard a guess.
She visibly bristles. ‘Actually, I don’t think that’s any of your business.’ Her cheeks are bright pink and the expression in her eyes is defensive.
I hold up my hand. ‘Wait—you want me to take your virginity but you won’t tell me why?’
Her throat moves as she swallows. ‘That’s correct.’
I shake my head and frown, concerned about what I might be stepping into the middle of here.
‘I’m really not comfortable with saying yes to this unless I know why you want it. We need to be able to be open and honest with each other. It’s important we trust each other if we’re going to get that close and intimate,’ I say slowly, trying to sound as if I’m looking out for both our interests here.
She stares at me for a moment, then nods, and I can tell from the pained expression on her face that she’s been struggling with what she’s about to tell me. My gut clenches and I stretch back in the seat to ease it. It’s a troubling feeling and not something I’ve experienced much. I usually only get it when I come across a woman I really like but can’t have. Or one that I’m not supposed to have, at least.
‘Okay, fine. I suppose it is better if you know the whole story.’ She takes a shaky breath and splays her hands on the table, staring down at her fingers as she begins to talk. ‘There’s this man—Adam Cormack—he’s a lecturer at St George’s University where I’m doing my PhD.’ I see her swallow and a small pinch appears between her brows. ‘And I...er... I like him...a lot.’
‘But he’s not into you?’
She shuffles a little in her seat. ‘Well, he likes me, I think. We’ve been on a few dates, but I think he’s concerned about how...er...inexperienced I am. He’s a bit older than me and I think he’s looking for someone more like him. Well, not a man like him, but someone with the same sort of life experience as him.’
I smile. ‘You mean he doesn’t want to fuck you because you’re a virgin?’
The frankness of my words seems to shock her and her face flames, bright splashes of red highlighting her pale cheeks.
‘Yes,’ she mutters. ‘But in a much more gentlemanly way than you make it sound.’ She’s having trouble meeting my eye again and picks up her cocktail, taking a big gulp, then pushes her shoulders back in an obvious attempt to appear more confident, but it just looks stiff and awkward. My heart goes out to her. Her shyness is actually a real turn-on, if I’m honest.
‘He’s the only man I’ve ever felt this strongly about,’ she murmurs. ‘And I’ve decided it’s time to stop hiding under a rock, get out there and go for what I really want. And if that means showing him I’m worldly and mature enough to handle a relationship with him, then that’s what I’m going to do.’
I have a moment of unease where I worry that I’m about to take advantage of her heartache, but I push it firmly away. She came to me first, after all.
Clearly she’s sensed my concern, though, because she says, ‘Look, do you think you can help me or not? Because if you’re not interested I’m going to go and find someone who is.’ As if to prove her point, she stands up and reaches for her bag.
Panic ripples through me. I can’t let her walk away. I need this to work out.
‘Perhaps I could help,’ I say quickly, holding up a hand to halt her. ‘If we can agree on a couple of conditions.’
Her eyes widen with hope and she sits back down in her seat. ‘I’m listening.’
‘Okay.’ I nod. ‘I want you to come to Florence with me for a week, go out on some dates with me there, so we can get to know each other first. I don’t know what you’ve heard about me but it’s not my style to just jump into bed with a woman without getting to know her a little first. And honestly...’ I lean forward, giving her a friendly smile ‘... I think you’ll be more comfortable with the whole situation if we handle it that way. With a little class.’
‘Classy sounds good.’
‘You know, that way you could put some photos of the two of us looking happy together on social media. You never know, Adam might see them, assume you’re dating me and realise what a fool he’s been passing you up. Believe me, there’s nothing like jealousy to motivate a guy to action,’ I add as a further incentive.
She shakes her head, wrinkling her nose in disdain. ‘I despise the whole social media circus and avoid it as much as possible. I loathe the idea of everyone knowing exactly where I am and what I’m doing all the time. And I really hate having my photo taken. I had a horrible experience with the press in my teens.’ She shudders. ‘Death by public scrutiny.’
‘Right,’ I say, feeling my heart sink. ‘Okay, then, no photos.’ At least, none she’ll be aware of. I’ll have to make sure that the photographers I call will be discreet. I try not to feel bad about not telling her we’re basically going to be courting the Italian press while we’re there. It sounds as if it’ll be better if she assumes they’re following us off their own bat. It’ll be less complicated that way. And it’ll seem more natural if she looks genuinely surprised to be photographed with me. Anyway, they’ll be positive pictures. They’ll make her look good. I’ll make sure the photographers agree to that when I call to tip them off about where we’ll be.
‘Why do we need to go all the way to Florence?’ she asks, apparently confused by that particular detail, which I guess is understandable.
I play it cool and give a nonchalant shrug. ‘I’ve promised to house-sit an apartment there for a couple of weeks and after that I’ll be too busy to help you.’
‘So if I go out with you on a few dates first, you’ll help me out with my...issue?’
‘I’ll teach you anything you want to know about how to please a guy in bed. When I’m done, believe me, this guy Adam won’t be able to resist you.’
I see her throat work as she swallows hard and a spike of disquiet pierces my chest.
‘My only caveat is no full sex,’ I add, to try and exonerate my guilt. ‘I’ll let him have that honour. You’ll be grateful to me later when you realise what a big emotional deal it is to lose your virginity to someone you care about.’
She frowns, thinks about it, then asks, ‘Did you lose yours to someone you cared about?’
‘No,’ I grunt, unwilling to go any further with that line of conversation. ‘So I know what I’m talking about. There’s plenty of other stuff we can do, though,’ I murmur, giving her a teasing smile and moving my leg gently to press against hers. I’m rewarded with another full-face blush and, predictably, my cock springs to attention.
‘Why are you doing this for me?’ she asks, her voice sounding a little husky now. ‘Especially after the horrendous way I acted last night.’
‘Charity begins at home, right?’ I take another sip of my whisky then smile at her over the rim of the glass, feeling guilt gnaw at my insides. ‘And because I can’t resist a challenge like this, especially when it involves someone as pretty as you.’ I lean forward in my chair, ignoring the uncomfortable tension building in my chest. ‘It’ll be my absolute pleasure to help you out, Juno.’
This, at least, is the God’s honest truth. I pause and take another sip of my drink to give myself a moment to refocus my thoughts on the issue at hand and stop them from wandering towards all the physical delights I’m going to take great satisfaction in introducing her to.
‘Just so we’re clear, it’ll just be for the time we’re in Florence. After that we’ll go our separate ways. You towards your lecturer guy and me back to the uncomplicated lifestyle I love.’
From the look on her face, I can tell she’s seriously thinking it over.
‘I have a lot of work to do for my PhD, though. I can’t be away for too long,’ she says slowly, almost to herself.
‘Bring your laptop with you. You can work during the day and hang out with me in the evenings.’
‘Would that work? I need quiet to be able to concentrate.’
‘Sure. I can entertain myself when you’re busy,’ I say, trying not to think about how bored I’ll be sloping around the city on my own. I guess I should consider it karmic payback for losing my cool and punching that guy in the face.
‘My father’s mistress’s apartment, where we’ll be staying, is right in the centre of Florence and it has a study where you can work in the daytime without being distracted,’ I reassure her.
She blinks at me, her eyes wide with astonishment. ‘You know about your father’s mistress? And you’re prepared to stay in her flat?’
I shrug. ‘Of course. She’s a lovely woman. I get on really well with her. They’ve been together for years.’
She shakes her head, looking utterly scandalised now.
‘Doesn’t your mother mind?’
Again, I shrug. ‘I don’t think so. Their marriage was arranged for convenience so I don’t think they’ve ever really loved each other. They’re very fond of each other, though, and they work well together as a team, so I don’t think they’ll ever split up. Not when the family’s reputation is at stake. Reputation is everything to my father.’
Her expression tells me she’s still completely baffled by the idea of that but I guess you have to live it to understand it.
‘So are you up for it, Juno?’ I press, wanting it absolutely confirmed.
She nods, confidently this time. ‘Yes. I accept your conditions.’ She leaves a small pause before adding, ‘I’ve not had a holiday in ages because I’ve been so focussed on my work—which isn’t particularly healthy, I know—so I suppose it’ll be good for me to take a break away from London.’
‘Great. Then we’ll fly out tomorrow.’
‘Okay. Tomorrow.’
I raise my glass, and when she does too I clink mine against it. ‘A nuove esperienze.’
‘To new experiences,’ she repeats.
‘You speak Italian?’ I ask, impressed.
‘Yes, some. Enough to avoid any embarrassing misunderstandings, I hope,’ she replies, grinning shyly for the first time since she arrived. She has a killer smile and the sight of it warms my chest.
I don’t quite know how it’s happened, but I seem to have landed on my feet here. I now get to spend the next week in bed with this enigmatic woman and all in the name of doing the right thing.
Yeah. This could actually turn out to be a lot of fun.
CHAPTER THREE (#ud00fbb47-32fb-5f3c-acbd-252f27be468f)
Juno
WE FLY OUT to Florence in Sandro’s family’s private plane the following afternoon, though we only just make our scheduled take-off slot, because he was half an hour late picking me up from my flat in his low-slung Italian sports car and has to put his foot down to get us to the airport.
He seems totally unconcerned about his tardiness, though, and throws me the merest of apologies when I raise my eyebrows and pointedly look at my watch.
He’s such a cool customer. I wish I could be so nonchalant.
Upon boarding the plane we’re shown to our seats—two large, cream leather armchairs positioned next to each other in a cabin that only holds six more. It’s a small plane but beautifully upholstered with silk wall linings and soft wool carpets. We take off only minutes later and I settle in for the two-hour journey sitting next to Sandro, my pulse on a high tickover as I breathe in his delicious scent and think about how much closer I’m going to have to get to him over the next week—though not, it seems, as close as I’d initially hoped.
At first I’d been a bit miffed that he was still refusing to take my virginity but, the more I thought about it, the more I’d come round to his point of view. He was probably right. It was a hell of a thing to ask of him and I’ll most likely be glad to have more of an emotional connection with the person I finally lose it to. Someone I’ll be in love with, perhaps.
In the meantime, I hope just by hanging out with him some of his charisma will rub off on me. And, if not, I have a week to study the way he acts and interacts with people, which I can then apply to my dealings with Adam when I get back. Perhaps he will hear about my ‘relationship’ with Sandro, realise I’m not the ingénue he thought I was and regret calling a halt to our burgeoning relationship after only a couple of dates.
I can only hope.
Once the plane is on a steady course we’re served drinks by one of the elegantly dressed cabin crew. I watch Sandro out of the corner of my eye while I pretend to read the guidebook to Florence that I’d picked up the day before in the bookshop round the corner from my flat in Notting Hill. He rolls his cut-glass tumbler round and round in his hands. He has a restless sort of energy about him, as if he finds it hard to sit still and is always on the verge of getting up to do something else. He was the same in the bar where we had the drink and I agreed to this proposal. He flipped the drinks menu round and round in his fingers as we talked, as if he needed something to do with them. It made me wonder whether he’d been a smoker and now needed something in his hands with which to distract himself. As he twists the glass I marvel at the perfection of his long fingers with their square, blunt nails and wonder how he’ll touch me with them, how it’ll feel to have his hands on my body. All over my body. I squirm in my seat as a wave of heat rushes through me, pooling at the juncture of my thighs.
Right at this moment I can totally sympathise with his need to move about.
Just sitting still next to him in our plush leather seats, I can feel the attraction pulling taut between us. At least from my side. He’s brought out a plethora of physical reactions in me. My heartbeat is accelerated, my skin hypersensitive and rushing with sensation and there’s an insistent throb between my thighs that’s steadily building the longer I sit here—as if my body craves something with which I’m not providing it.
It’s a hot, heavy want.
‘You know, I’ve never understood why people rave so much about sex. Practically speaking, it seems like it’d be a messy and uncomfortable thing to do,’ I mutter out loud to try and distract myself from these alien feelings.
He turns to look at me with a quizzical expression in those piercing eyes of his.
‘And how can people let it wreck their lives?’ I add nervously, realising I now have his full attention. ‘It’s just a physical act, right? Perfectly natural, and obviously imperative for continuing the human race, but surely it’s not something to destroy a marriage over? What drives people to do that—to cheat on their partners? Just for the thrill of sex with someone else? I don’t understand how it can be so overwhelming an urge that people are willing to do pretty much anything to get it.’
He shrugs. ‘Passion is an irrational thing.’
‘Passion? But that suggests emotions, feelings.’
‘Not necessarily. It can be a basic human urge. That’s a totally different thing.’
‘So you think it’s possible to have sex with someone without having feelings for them?’
He sits round in his chair, his knee brushing mine and sending an electric thrill of sensation through my whole body. ‘I think it’s perfectly possible. Otherwise I wouldn’t have agreed to my part of the bargain. What I think you’re talking about is something different. More than just the physical need for sex. When people cheat there are always other feelings at play. Insecurity about what they have or low self-worth. Or perhaps a fear they’re missing out on something they’ll regret not experiencing in years to come. I think, for others, the rush of sex with someone new after years of fucking their partner the same, predictable way can be like taking an addictive drug. That’s just pure laziness, of course. There’s no reason for sex to get boring. You have to work hard at being creative.’
‘Are you creative?’ I ask, though I think I already know the answer to that.
‘You bet your sweet ass I am,’ he confirms with an underwear-melting smile.
‘I knew you’d say that,’ I mumble, my throat tight with nerves.
‘Are you suggesting I’m predictable?’ he teases.
I can’t help but grin, which breaks the tension.
He grins back and for a moment I’m lost in the dizzying intimacy of the moment.
I clear my throat. ‘Have you ever felt that sort of passion for someone?’
For a second he glances away, up towards the ceiling. ‘No.’ Sitting back in his chair, he moves his leg away from mine and fixes me with a serious expression.
‘You know, now might be a good time to talk about your expectations for the next week. I want to make sure we’re both on the same page.’
Instinctively I tense at the sudden change in conversational direction.
‘Okay.’ I swallow hard. ‘Well, I want you to do everything to me. Show me everything,’ I say with feigned confidence. I don’t want him thinking for a second that I can’t handle this. I need to get it done so I can move on with my life and stop living under the shadow of my naivety.
‘Everything?’ He raises both eyebrows.
‘Yes, I want to know all there is to know. Get it all ticked off.’
‘Do you have a list you’d like to work from?’ The smile he flashes me is teasing.
I roll my eyes at him. ‘Very funny.’
‘But, seriously, any hard limits I should know about?’ he asks, his expression turning serious again.
I think about it for a moment. ‘I don’t want you to strangle or suffocate me, and I don’t like the idea of being spanked.’
‘Shame.’ His grin lights up his eyes. ‘Pain can actually be very pleasurable. It can give you really intense orgasms when you do it right.’
‘Okay, well, I’ll have to reserve judgement on that. But definitely no whipping.’
‘Okay, fine. No whipping.’
I can tell from the look on his face that he’s finding my sexual naivety amusing and it’s irritating me.
‘It’s all right for you to sit there smirking, but I have no idea about these things,’ I mutter. ‘I’m learning from scratch so you’re going to have to give me a break.’ I’m shaking with both adrenaline and frustration. It’s really unlike me to stand up for myself like this, but I know I need to do it if I’m going to maintain any vestige of control over this situation.
He puts up a hand in apology. ‘I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m being an asshole. I promise not to tease you any more. Not about your lack of experience anyway.’ His eyes glitter with mischief. ‘There are plenty of other ways to tease you that I think you’re going to like a lot.’
I squirm in my seat as more heat surges between my legs and my knickers grow damp. At this rate I’m going to slide right off this chair in a pool of lust. And he’s not even touched me yet.
* * *
We make it to the apartment in the early evening, doing the journey from Peretola airport to the centre of Florence in another powerful open-top sports car, whose roaring engine makes it impossible to conduct any conversation.
Our home for the next week is on the top floor of a grand apartment block right next to the Ponte Vecchio. Our windows look out over the quirky bridge with its jumble of jewellery shops clinging like limpets to each side with the help of precarious-looking wooden struts, and on across the wide Arno river to the deep russet-red-roofed buildings beyond. It’s a magnificent city and I stand for a moment, drinking in the sheer unique elegance of the place.
‘Let me show you your room,’ Sandro says, beckoning me to follow him with one crooked finger.
I’m relieved to find he doesn’t expect us to share and give a delighted smile as I look around the beautiful airy room with its Art Deco furniture and enormous, cushion-strewn bed.
‘It’s wonderful,’ I say breathily. This room also has a view of the river and I push the wooden shutters open as far as they’ll go to drink it in some more.
Turning back, I see he’s moved to stand right next to the large bed and is watching me with an intensely thoughtful expression on his face. My pulse immediately picks up and my breath catches in my throat.
Is he going to start my first lesson right now?
The idea both thrills and terrifies me.
I move closer to him on shaky legs, telling myself not to be nervous, that he’ll take good care of me like he promised. Based on all my dealings with him so far, it’s obvious he’s absolutely the gentleman I’d hoped he’d be.
Even so, my heart is racing and my palms are sweaty.
He continues to look at me as I get closer, his fingers beating a silent rhythm against his thighs.
‘S-so, do you want to get started right away?’ I ask, nerves making my voice tremble.
A frown crosses his brow, then vanishes behind a smile. ‘So eager.’
‘Well, I’ve not come all the way to Italy just to sightsee,’ I joke, but it comes out sounding a bit defensive.
He shakes his head and walks over to meet me in the middle of the room. Reaching out his hand, he pushes my fringe out of my eyes and I just stand there blinking stupidly at him.
The air crackles between us, as if the tension is charging it with electricity.
‘You know, anticipation is a powerful aphrodisiac,’ he murmurs, sweeping his thumb over my cheek so softly I wonder whether he’s actually touched me or if the mere promise of it has set all my nerve endings on fire. My whole body is one big throb of need and I stare up into his beautiful eyes, losing myself in the perfection of them.
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Christy McKellen
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современная зарубежная литература
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 23.04.2024
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О книге: One week of pleasure… With an Italian bad boy! Academic Juno Darlington-Hume wants a top-quality education—in sexual pleasure! Renowned Italian playboy Alessandro Ricci agrees to show the gorgeous virgin almost everything he knows… From magical Florence to the golden Tuscan countryside, he’s taking her to ever higher peaks of ecstasy, letting her get closer than any other woman. But he’ll never take the one thing she truly wants to give him—her heart.