arms, his blood firing when her full breasts flattened against his chest. His body was so taut and straining with need he almost missed it when she gave a small jerk. He whipped up his head and caught her trying to cover a wince.
“Christ! I hurt you.”
“No!” Her cheeks were flushed, her breathing ragged. “I banged my foot. The elevator … it’s so small.”
Shame and disgust hammered at him with vicious blows. Calling himself all kinds of a pig, Marco angled her injured foot away from the elevator wall.
“To kiss you like that was inexcusable of me,” he ground out as he carried her into the corridor. His footsteps echoing on the tiles, he strode toward the guest suite. “I’m sorry, Sabrina.”
The flush faded as her mouth tipped into a smile. “I’m not.”
Still thoroughly disgusted with his lack of control, Marco shook his head. “I don’t usually assault injured women.”
“You don’t, huh?” Amusement danced in her eyes. “How about those who aren’t injured?”
“You tease, but that was no way for me—for anyone!—to treat a guest.”
“Hey, you can’t take all the credit, Doc. I was giving as good as I got back there in the elevator.” She cocked a brow. “Or was I?”
He couldn’t help but grin. “You were, Ms. Russo. You most definitely were.”
That was still no excuse for his behavior. It took a fierce effort of will, but Marco managed to block the all-too-vivid feel of her mouth hot and eager under his and shouldered open the door to the guest suite. Signora Bertaldi had come down to straighten the room while he and Sabrina lingered over cappuccino. The bed was turned back, the sheets smoothed, the pillows plumped and ready.
Firmly suppressing the erotic and highly inappropriate thoughts that jumped into his head, Marco tugged down the top sheet and lowered his burden.
“We left the crutches upstairs. I’ll ask Signora Bertaldi to bring them to you. She waited to help you prepare for bed before she left for the evening.”
“Sure you don’t want to tuck me in yourself?”
Laughter lurked behind her all-too-innocent expression. She was teasing him again. He knew it, but the knowledge didn’t keep the gates from springing open and the mental images he’d just suppressed from pouring through. He could see her stretched out on those smooth sheets, one arm curled above her head, her lips parted in invitation …
Dammit!
“No,” he admitted with brutal honesty. “I am not at all sure. But I’ll send Rafaela’s mama to you.”
Marco was sweating when he left the guest suite. Shunning the elevator, he took the stairs to the upper floor. What the devil was wrong with him? Why did this woman stir such intense, erotic fantasies?
He hadn’t remained completely celibate after his wife’s death. He was a man. He had normal appetites, the usual physical needs. There were women in Rome, sophisticated women who played the game of flirtation and seduction with practiced charm. Yet none of them had roused him like this long-limbed American beauty.
Now he had to decide what the devil he would do about it.
Four
“Oh, yuck! Your ankle looks like an overcooked bratwurst.”
Grinning at her friend’s apt description, Sabrina swung the laptop propped on her stomach around. Its built-in camera made a dizzying sweep of the guest bedroom before her face was once again displayed on the screen alongside those of her two partners. How the heck had the world survived before videoconferencing?
“It is pretty gross,” she agreed with a glance at her garish, yellow-and-purple lower limb. She’d un-bandaged the ankle to let it breathe for a while. Before wrapping it up again and crawling under the covers for the night, she’d decided to try and contact her partners.
She’d caught Devon in Germany, where she was working frantically to set up the premerger meeting of executives from Logan Aerospace and Hauptmann Metal Works. Caroline, like Sabrina, was scouting sites for the job that had unexpectedly dropped into their laps last week.
“You need to stay off that ankle,” Caro insisted, her heart-shaped face showing genuine concern. “Hole up at your hotel for the next few days and do not, I repeat, DO NOT even think about checking out those conference sites. I’ll finish here and zip over to Italy. I can be there Thursday. Friday at the latest.”
Devon countered with an alternate plan. “Don’t cut your schedule short, Caro. I’ll put things on hold here and fly down tomorrow. I can play nurse to ‘Rina and scope out sites at the same time.”
“Guys. Really. No need for either of you to charge to the rescue. I’ll manage just fine.”
“Sure you will,” Devon scoffed. Her warm brown eyes held a combination of affection and concern. “I’ve been to the Amalfi coast. I know it’s straight up and down. I also remember you mentioning that the hotel in Ravello had a lot of stairs and terraces.”
“Actually, I’m not staying at the hotel. The doc who almost hit me offered to put me up at his villa tonight. He wants to check my ankle tomorrow to make sure I’m good to go before I take to the road again.”
“That’s the least the jerk can do,” Dev huffed.
“Hey, did I mention that the jerk is a duke as well as a doc?”
Judging by their expressions, her partners weren’t impressed.
“He’s also seriously hot,” Sabrina added nonchalantly.
The too-casual comment didn’t fool either of her friends. They’d known her too long. They knew, as well, the good-time-girl reputation she’d worked so hard to maintain during her rebellious teen and college years.
Sabrina still enjoyed a good time. She wasn’t particularly vain, but she recognized that her long legs and seductive curves attracted as many men as her family name and her father’s wealth once had. As a consequence, she maintained a wide circle of male friends. Several had pushed to become more than friends. After so many years of resisting her father’s attempts to dominate her, though, Sabrina was in no hurry to give up the freedom she’d struggled so hard to achieve.
That didn’t mean she couldn’t appreciate a real hottie when one almost ran her over. Especially one who could kiss like Marco Calvetti. She could still feel the delicious aftershocks of their session in the elevator.
“Uh-oh.” Devon squinted into the camera at her end of the connection. “You’ve got that look on your face.”
“What look?”
“The one that says your doc is fair game.”
“Well, he is. His wife died a few years ago. I may be reading between the lines, but I think he’s buried himself in his work since then. You wouldn’t believe how gorgeous his villa is, yet this is only the second time this year he’s driven down from Rome.”
She
