Bellissima by Anya Richards Read Free Book Online

judgmental. Young men—old ones too, for that matter—could romp where they would with impunity. Women, no matter their age or station, were regarded as little better than whores if they loosely gave their favors. It was one of the many hypocrisies of their world, and she had nothing but disdain for the men who felt free to plant their pricks wherever they desired, yet expected women to remain at home, unsatisfied.
    She would like to think better of this particular man but knew not to raise her hopes.
    Instead she drew around her the cloak of cool calm she had so laboriously created over the years. As he tugged at his waistcoat, patted the waist of his trousers to ensure he was put to rights, she raised her eyebrows slightly and said, “Your hair, signor.” Lifting an arm that felt too boneless to truly be of use, trying to control the tiny tremors still firing through her muscles, she swept her hand above the back of her head in illustration. “Just there…”
    He mirrored her movement, finding the tuft of curls she’d disarranged and smoothing them back into place, but his concentrated focus never left her face.
    “Thank you,” he murmured. “Sweet Jane.”
    Immediately heat flooded her face, and her traitorous heart leapt. Taking a breath, she attempted to maintain her composure, but Sergio would not allow it.
    “Delicious Jane.”
    “Signor…”
    “Jane who just had my tongue on her cunt, who let me fuck her mouth so beautifully I thought I would die as I spent.”
    Now she wanted to look away, break the spell he put on her so effortlessly, but couldn’t. Those eyes, so dark and filled with an enticing mixture of laughter and lust, wouldn’t let her go.
    With habitual grace, he suddenly stooped once more before her chair, his hands on the arms, his broad chest and strong arms hemming her in as he had before. There was no more amusement in his eyes. All she saw in those black depths was the same commanding, arousing gleam she had been unable to resist before.
    “Think of me, Jane, as you go about your duties with your arse exposed, your drawers torn by my hands. Remember the moment I refused to allow them to hide your beauty from me and know I will not allow you to hide any of yourself from me again.”
    Before she could find words to reply, he leaned in and kissed her, his lips demanding her acquiescence, stealing her breath, drawing a low sound of resurging need from her throat. Whatever she may have wanted to say fled her mind, and all she could do was grasp his shoulders, hold on as he ravished her senses all over again.
    Then he pulled back to trace a warm, wet line across her lower lip with his tongue. When he spoke, Jane instinctively inhaled, taking his breath into her lungs, wanting one more part of him to hold on to. “I see you, Jane Rollins. I will always see you as you are.”
    He rose and stepped away to pick up the cup and saucer he had left on the floor. After depositing it on the table beside her, he crossed to the ewer and bowl on the little dresser and washed his hands and face.
    All this Jane watched, still shaken by his words, the tone in which they were delivered. They spoke of a continued association, of the future—something she dare not dwell on. Not if she valued herself and her life as it was.
    But she couldn’t bring herself to say that, to tell him what had begun today couldn’t continue. She should. God knew she should, but the words wouldn’t come.
    He dried his hands and face, neatly refolding the towel and placing it over its hook before turning to face her again.
    “Thank you for the tea, Mrs. Rollins.” There was no mistaking the timbre of his voice. It was a caress—intimate and filled with promise. “I will see you on Tuesday next, when I hope your hospitality will be as”—his voice trailed away, and his eyelids lowered—“warm.”
    Then he crossed the room, slipped through the doorway and was gone.
    For a long few minutes, she didn’t move, her eyes still