Roman Reunion (Destination: Desire) Read online

  “You have no idea how good it feels to be inside you,” he growled.

  A breathless laugh poured from her. “About as good as it feels to have you inside me, maybe?”

  “Maybe, but somehow I doubt it.” There was a smile in his voice when he spoke. “Let’s see if we can make it feel even better.”

  He pinched her clitoris, and that was enough to spin her into ecstasy. Pinpricks of light exploded behind her eyelids, she came so hard. Her channel fisted around his plunging dick, and each time he entered her sent another wave of orgasm crashing over her. She bowed her torso, pushing her hips back to meet his thrusts, more than willing to let this rush of sensation last as long as possible. His groans kissed her ears, the hitch to his breath telling her he was close to the edge, so she deliberately clenched her inner muscles around him.

  “Karen!” A long, tortured moan ripped from his throat. He slammed deep, grinding his hips into her as he climaxed. Shudders racked him, shaking through her as well. They stayed that way for a long time, gasping for breath, shivers of completion passing through them. Karen dropped her forehead to one of the hands resting against the wall, her eyes sliding shut.

  Tate kissed the back of her shoulder. “You are so amazing.”

  The gentle touch and the rough reverence in his voice made her heart skip a beat. No. None of that mushy stuff. Hot, sweaty shagging. That was all. She pushed herself upright. “We need to get back.”

  “Yes.” He sighed, and they both tidied themselves as best they could.

  She shook her head. “We’re officially insane, you know.”

  “Yep.” He heaved another sigh, the sound utterly satisfied.

  “And way too old to be doing stuff like this.” Someone had to point it out, so it might as well be her.

  “No arguments here,” he agreed cheerfully while zipping his pants. He cast her a sexy grin, his gaze dark and hooded. Bedroom eyes.

  Awareness shimmered between them, even though she should be exhausted and fully satiated. “Want to go back to the hotel and do it again?”

  His smile widened, his voice dropping to a sinful rumble. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  Her thighs quivered at that dark tone—the one he used when they were in bed together, urging her to further depths of depravity. She cleared her throat. “I think I have a headache from the loud music.”

  “I’ll make our excuses.” He held the door open for her. Thankfully, the short hallway was clear.

  “Then I’ll get in line for a cab.”

  Four more nights left. She intended to indulge herself before she got back to the sanity of her new, single life. Her gaze dropped to Tate’s sculpted ass as he preceded her down the hall. Mm-hm. The sex was as amazing as it had ever been, and she was determined to crush any other tender feelings that might be cropping up. Sex and chemistry, that was all.

  And it was damn good.

  Chapter Eight

  The wedding day was a bittersweet kind of hell for Tate. Sure, he was thrilled for his friends and he got to sit next to Karen, which somehow made the whole thing a torturous reminder of everything that was both wrong and right with his life.

  He still hadn’t gotten up the balls to ask Karen to reconcile. The bottom line was, he was terrified to even try. There were moments where she seemed to soften toward him, and others where she clearly wanted distance. Emotional, if not physical. It was a white-hot blade to the heart to be used for sex by the woman he loved more than life itself. How the hell had he ended up his wife’s sex toy? It would be laughable if it didn’t hurt so fucking much. Even if he deserved the pain, it didn’t mean he enjoyed it. Masochism had never been his thing, and yet here he was, agonized and unable to make it stop. Looking forward to even a single moment in Karen’s company, even if it pained him.

  He really was a sick bastard.

  Music swelled and he rose a half-beat behind everyone else as they watched the bride enter the cathedral. Karen leaned over and whispered in his ear while Valentina started down the aisle. “She was right. That is absolutely the perfect dress for her.”

  Yes, because it was over the top in a way that only she could pull off. She looked beautiful and stylish—she always did—but her gown was so avant garde, it was difficult to see it as a wedding dress. Well, it was white. Most of it anyway. It screamed drama, which meant it screamed Valentina. Perfect, indeed.

  “It suits her.” He nodded. The scent of Karen’s perfume teased his nose—citrus and roses and something spicy. So familiar and so her. He glanced away, his attention catching on Giovanni’s expression. “I have never seen Gio so nervous or so happy. That’s how I felt on our wedding day.”

  What compelled him to insert that last part, he didn’t know. She stiffened a bit beside him, and that made him ache. The conversation the night before about her potential pregnancy, and hearing her say she hoped they wouldn’t have a child had twisted something painful inside him.

  Logically, he knew an unexpected pregnancy when he had so much ground to make up with her would only confuse things, but it had still hurt to have her say it. Maybe because she had always been vocal about wanting children, maybe because he’d only just figured out how much he wanted them too, maybe because it felt like he was losing ground with her, that hoping they might get back together was utterly futile. Then again, he still didn’t know when or if he should tell her what he wanted. Should he make it clear he was angling for reconciliation? At what point would that idea not send her running? Was hiding his real motivation a lie of omission or good strategy for getting her in a receptive frame of mind? Fuck, he had no clue. Every day that passed made everything more muddled, but left him more determined—okay, desperate—to win her over to his way of thinking.

  “I hope their wedding and marriage has a happier ending than ours.” She hastened to add, “But they’re older and wiser than we were, which I’m sure makes all the difference in the world.”

  “True.” He slanted a look at her. “I think I’d be more certain at my age that I found the right person than I was then, and I was pretty damn sure then.”

  She cast him a glance, as if unsure how to take his words. She didn’t ask him to explain and he didn’t offer. He’d known at twenty-one that he’d found the right woman when he’d met her, and he was just as sure now. No matter how badly he’d messed up, that was one thing he’d never doubted.

  After Valentina reached Giovanni’s side, the guests resumed their seats. The lengthy Catholic ceremony gave Tate time to think, to consider, to make some decisions. He needed to be upfront with Karen, ask her to take him back, beg her for a second chance. Hopefully, this week had warmed her to the idea, but he was never going to know unless he manned up and laid his cards on the table.

  The question was—when? He had three days until they flew back to the States. Should he have The Talk today, after the wedding, or let himself use the time he had left to continue to make his case?

  He tensed when Karen set her hand on his leg. Her fingers stroked gentle circles—up, down. From the outside of his knee to the inside of his thigh. Almost reaching his cock, but not quite. It was a subtle teasing that had him sweating, fire beginning to pump through his veins. His dick stiffened to an uncomfortable semi-erection, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it except endure the torment. As non-family, they were sitting toward the back, so he doubted anyone would notice them, but still.

  Leaning down let him whisper in her ear. “You realize this is a church, right?”

  “Mmm-hmm.” Her nail ran along his inseam.

  He swallowed hard, trying to urge his body not to respond. As if there was a hope in hell of that happening. “Lightning is going to strike.”

  A half-smile tilted one corner of her full lips. “I note you’re not doing anything to stop me, Patton.”

  No, he wasn’t, was he? A soft snort escaped him. “You are gonna get it later.”

  “Looking forward to it,” she murmured.

  Ah, damn. H
e closed his eyes, shaking his head. Carnal images flooded his mind, making the semi-erection turn into the real thing. He was going to embarrass himself when he stood up if he didn’t stop her. The slow caresses would drive him mad. He caught her wandering hand. “Okay, that’s all I can handle.”

  “Aw, how sad.” She bumped her shoulder against his. “This ceremony is long, boring and my Italian isn’t good enough to catch everything.”

  “Agreed.” He brought her palm to his mouth, kissed the center, then bit the base of her thumb. Her breath caught, and he grinned. He loved how quickly and easily she reacted for him. Then again, he did the same for her, didn’t he?

  “Oh, good.” A soft sigh made her chest swell against the bodice of her dress. “We’re getting to the kissing part. That means it’s almost over, right?”

  “God, I hope so.”

  She smothered a laugh. “We’re terrible.”

  “Hey, our ceremony was over in ten minutes. Fifteen, tops.” He shrugged unapologetically. “We’ve been sitting here for an hour, at least.”

  “Eighty-three minutes.” She tilted her wrist to show him the delicate bracelet-watch. “I clocked it.”

  “Damn.” No wonder his ass was starting to go numb on the wooden pew.

  “Soooo ready for the reception.”

  “And the food.” As if on cue, his stomach growled. He’d rolled her under him first thing this morning, and they’d had to scramble to get ready and make it to the wedding. No breakfast for them, but it had been completely worth it.

  He kept her hand in his when the wedding finished and they filed out behind the bridal couple. Karen didn’t try to pull away, but Tate wasn’t sure if that meant anything other than she didn’t want to draw attention now that they weren’t sitting safely behind everyone else.

  Yeah, it was time to have it out. This will-she-won’t-she debate in his head wouldn’t achieve anything more than driving him insane. He needed to know where they stood, if he had even the slimmest hope of winning her back.

  And he’d thought asking her to marry him was the most terrifying question he’d ever asked.

  “Darling!” Valentina held her arms open and Karen stepped into them, returning the embrace.

  She bent awkwardly at the waist to reach her friend. “I’m afraid to crush your dress.”

  “Isn’t it perfect?” Valentina stroked her hand down the exquisite bodice. She glowed with joy, taking her from beautiful to utterly breathtaking.

  Karen nodded. “I told you it was during your fitting, but somehow it’s even better today.”

  “Yes, it is.” Tears brightened Valentina’s eyes, a smile curving her red-tinted lips. “My grandmother said I was even more gorgeous than she was on her wedding day.”

  From a rather vain old lady, that was saying a lot. Karen waggled her eyebrows. “The highest possible compliment.”

  “Truly, yes.” Valentina winked.

  They chuckled, and she tapped her champagne flute against Karen’s glass. Karen held a tumbler of orange juice, which she figured everyone assumed was a screwdriver cocktail. That was fine with her. She didn’t want questions she couldn’t answer. “The reception is fabulous.”

  Giovanni’s parents were hosting the event, and their home was absolutely beautiful. Not huge, but it was clear where the man got his sense of style. They’d had lunch catered by Valentina’s favorite Moroccan restaurant, and now guests were mingling while waiters circulated with trays loaded down with teeny desserts from Gio’s favorite pasticceria.

  The bride flashed her dimples. “Did you try the miniature tiramisu?”

  “I think I’ve tried one of everything.” Karen slapped a hand over her stomach. “I’ve eaten too much, but it’s so good I can’t stop.”

  “That’s exactly how we want our guests to feel about the food.” Satisfaction oozed from the other woman.

  A loud guffaw drew their attention, and Karen saw the priest holding his middle in a belly laugh while he spoke to Tate. Damn, Tate was good-looking—all dark hair and golden skin. He’d been outside enough this week that he’d tanned deeply, and his teeth shone white in contrast when he smiled.

  Valentine leaned close. “The priest is Gio’s uncle, you know.”

  “I heard.” The man was a shorter, pudgier, balder version of the groom.

  “He hates it when I make altar boy jokes.”

  Karen cast her an incredulous glance. “You don’t.”

  “I do.” Valentina snickered.

  “Shame on you. That’s so bad.”

  She hummed in agreement. “Maybe Gio will spank me for it.”

  “I thought you wanted to do the spanking.” Karen nudged her friend. “You were testing the swing of that pink riding crop like you intended to use it yourself.”

  The bride sipped her champagne. “I am—how do you Americans say it?—equal opportunity.”

  Karen snorted and decided it was safer not to comment.

  After a brief pause, Valentina said, “Tate’s looking better than I’ve seen him in a long time. He was always hot, but…Italy is good for him, I think.”

  “Taking the first vacation in a decade will relax a man,” Karen replied with as mild a tone as she could manage. Getting laid on a regular basis might also contribute to his mellow frame of mind.

  “Gio tells me he’s quit his father’s law firm and will start his own. This is a good thing.”

  “Yeah.” Karen went from mild to noncommittal. “Good for him.”

  Valentina tilted her head. “You’re also looking very good, less sad than you did the day you arrived.”

  Karen couldn’t prevent a flinch, as if her friend had prodded her with a hot poker. “Oh.”

  “I think Italy is good for you too. Or maybe it is just Tate who’s good for you.”

  “Valentina. Stop.” She sighed. “This is your wedding day. It’s all about you. Take shameless advantage of that. Forget about my marital problems. Or my lack of marital problems, since I have no marriage.”

  The bride’s lips firmed in a stubborn line. “You are good together. I want you to be as happy as I am. You could have that with him, now that he’s turned his life around.”

  Now that was giving an old wound a hot poker prod. Karen’s tone went sharper than she intended. “Is it turned around? Tell me starting his own firm won’t make him just as bad as he was before. Always at the office, total workaholic.”

  Valentina’s mouth opened, closed. “I think he will not let that happen.”

  “I think he didn’t mean to let it happen with his father’s firm. Or so he said the day he proposed. Life doesn’t always go according to plan.” Truer words had never been spoken.

  “No, sometimes it goes better. If you let it.” She wagged a finger in Karen’s face. “There’s still love there. I see it in your eyes. Love is something you should not throw away.”

  “Are we done arguing?” Karen arched her eyebrows, refusing to be drawn into this discussion further. No one would win, and it would just upset her and make her dwell on all the failings of her marriage and whether it was worth it to try again. It wasn’t. She knew that, no matter what her stupid heart or unruly hormones might say. She offered the bride a gamine grin. “And did I mention you look pretty today?”

  Frustration crossed her friend’s face. She continued shaking that admonishing finger. “Stubborn.”

  “Look who’s talking,” Karen shot back, crossing her arms.

  Valentina burst into laughter. “True. But remember what I said. Now come with me.”

  Because she turned away from Tate and all the turmoil and temptation he engendered just by standing there, Karen didn’t hesitate to scurry after the other woman. By the time she caught up, Valentina was rooting around a mess of bags and boxes in her in-laws guest bedroom.

  “Here, this is for you.” She held out a gift, then pulled back. “Don’t unwrap it now. My family likes to look into any open box. The priest too.”

  The box was light, but the wick
edness on her face made Karen shake her head. “It’s something dirty, isn’t it?”

  The bride crinkled her nose prettily. “But, of course, darling! It is me, yes?”

  “Yes.” If anyone had a claim to eternal naughtiness, it was Valentina.

  She winked, tapping a finger against the top of the present. “To help you enjoy la Bella Italia. And perhaps Tate too.”

  Karen’s eyes narrowed, but Valentina’s expression was guileless. Always a bad sign. But without opening the gift, there was no way to know what might be inside. Sex toys? Slutty lingerie? A riding crop of her own?

  “Pick this up before you go.” Valentina took the present back and set it on a shelf. Then she headed outside to the garden, where her guests were gathered. A waiter took their empty glasses, and she glanced over her shoulder as she walked. “Gio booked two nights for us at Grand Hotel de la Minerve. It was less expensive to do it that way and leave for the honeymoon a day later. He’s a romantic, but not a fool with his money. Which I like because you know I’m an expensive woman.” Her eyes twinkled. “I can’t complain, in any case—I’ve always wanted to stay at that hotel. We have a couple’s massage tomorrow, and then room service all day. You and I must say goodbye today, darling, because I don’t intend to let him out of bed until we have to run to the airport.”

  Karen hooked her arm through her friend’s. “Good plan.”

  “Isn’t it?” A single eyebrow rose, and Valentina bit her lower lip, the picture of wickedness. “Giovanni will need to work to keep up with me. But he’s up to the task, I think.”

  Unable to prevent a laugh, Karen hugged the other woman. “It’s been so good to see you again.”

  “Yes.” Valentina squeezed her tight, then held her at arm’s length. “I’ve told you how happy I am that you could come, haven’t I? It meant so much to me to have you here.”

  “I’m glad I made it over.” More than glad. She’d been long overdue for a visit. She loved Italy, always had, always would. “I’ll even have a few days to get over the jetlag before I start my new job.”