Page 34 of Resisting the Bossy Billionaire

‘Please?’ she breathed into his ear, now masturbating him with the vigour he craved.

‘You are not playing fair,’ he groaned.

‘I know.’ And with that, she released his arousal and twisted around so her back was to him.

‘Why, you little tease...’ Moving quicker than he’d done since childhood, he ignored her kicks and squeals of laughter as he tussled with her and pinned her onto her back.

They were both still laughing when, fully sheathed, he drove himself inside her.

Victoria thought the best thing about being a billionaire had to be the way it made mere mortals bow to your requests. Two hours after Marcello suggested a walk in Central Park, they were both dressed for an Arctic expedition and crossing the slushy, gritted road, heading towards the most magical of winterwonderlands. Fresh snow had settled overnight and covered it all afresh, and it seemed that the whole of Manhattan had come out to experience it, families building snowmen, children being pulled along on sleds by hardy parents, even hardier joggers making the most of their freedom and ploughing their own trail.

‘Shall we skate?’ he suggested when they spotted an ice rink through the trees ahead.

‘I don’t know how.’

‘Then I shall teach you.’

‘You know how to skate?’ she asked, amazed.

‘My grandparents lived in Milan near the Bagni Misteriosi. It is the most beautiful outdoor swimming pool and in the winter it is turned into an ice rink. When we were children, Benito and I spent much of our Christmas holidays skating on it.’

Once upon a time, Victoria would have changed the subject at such a personal turn to a conversation. It had been a part of the rhythm of their lives. Talk about anything and everything so long as it didn’t have real meaning. Now, though, everything was different. She was different. They were different. And it was his use of the past tense that made her carefully ask, ‘Are they still with us?’

‘My grandfather is. He moved back to Rome after my grandmother died. That was a few months before I poached you.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.’

Victoria had met his parents during their last two visits to Manhattan and thought them lovely, warm people. She wouldn’t have guessed they’d been suffering a recent bereavement.

He squeezed her hand. ‘No need to be sorry. She was very ill and now she is at peace.’

They’d reached the queue waiting their turn on the rink.

‘Shall we?’ he invited.

‘You’re sure you can teach me?’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘You doubt me?’

Laughing, she shook her head. ‘If I know you, you were probably good enough to turn professional.’

‘It was suggested,’ he said without an ounce of fake modesty that only made her laugh harder.

‘What stopped you?’

‘It was a winter hobby. I cannot help that I am naturally talented at everything.’

She’d only just stopped the tears rolling down her cheeks when he used his magic charm to wangle them to the front of the queue without a pre-booked ticket, and without anyone trying to kill them.

Marcello could not remember a better day. Watching Victoria attempt to ice skate would go down in his annals of history. If he lived to be a hundred he would never forget the day his super-professional right-hand woman was laughed at by small children zooming past her. If he lived to be one hundred he would never forget his pride at the moment she finally dared let go of his hand and skated three feet on her own. Afterwards, they’d shared a giant box of churros dipped in chocolate and drank mulled wine, then taken a carriage ride back to his apartment with the sun setting behind them. Her joy at this had lit her face into something that transcended beauty.

The best part came when they returned to his apartment and she found a pile of boxes laid on the freshly laundered and made bed.

The large hazel eyes landed on him with a question. He adored that her cheeks were still rosy from the cold.

He sat on the armchair. ‘Open the Genevieve box first.’

Excitement thrumming—Genevieve was the current go-to designer of New York’s elite—Victoria removed the lid and carefully parted the tissue paper to lift out a red velvet dress. Shaking it out, she fingered the soft texture with amazement then looked back at Marcello. Expectation was alive on his face.

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