Page 38 of The Convenient Cosentino Wife

He transferred her hands to one of his and allowed the other hand to slide down her body, from her breasts over her flat stomach to the hem of her tunic. He reached beneath the tunic to stroke up one thigh, and then down her thigh and then back up again, his touch slow, building the pleasure but also the torment. Finally he was at the elastic waistband of her leggings and he tugged it down on her hips, low, lower. With her tunic pushed up, and her leggings down, she was exposed, the only thing between her and his eyes her orange silk thong, which offered little coverage and even less protection.

He pressed his palm to the orange silk covering her mound, and when she shuddered, he lowered his head and kissed her there, through the damp silk.

She gasped, legs trembling. He was touching her now beneath the silk, ever so gently, fingers slipping through her curls to her very tender skin, and she nearly cried at the exquisite sensation. “You’re wet,” he said.

“You’re a very good kisser.”

“That’s all from a kiss?”

“Do you want a medal, Rocco?”

He laughed softly, amused, and aroused. She heard it in the huskiness of his voice, and the gleam in his eyes. He was still lightly stroking, exploring, watching her face and she tried not to squirm, so difficult when she ached for him.

With his mouth on her, blowing on her through the silk, his hand was between her thighs, circling the tender inner lips, outlining the shape of her, making her gasp and tilt her hips trying to capture more. He gave her more, thrusting a finger inside her and she rocked against his hand to feel more pleasure.

The tip of his tongue was against her nub and his finger found a spot within her that craved pressure and friction. She panted as he plunged another finger into her, taking her, filling her, then retreating to do it again, slow and deep, while he sucked on her silk-covered clit, pleasure building, pressure everywhere, his mouth and tongue and teeth driving her over the edge. She wrestled her hands free and one hand pushed hard against his shoulder while the other tangled in his hair. Clare cried his name as she shattered, the intensity of the orgasm rippling through her, again and then again.

When she’d finally begun to recover and pull what was left of her blown mind together, she looked at Rocco who was watching her, and waiting for her to return to the present.

“That was...uh...um...amazing,” she said, cheeks still hot and flushed.

“That was just thecicchetti,” he murmured, cicchetti meaning small snack. “Wait until I give you everything.”

Upstairs Rocco took her to his room, and she slept with him there, safe in the circle of his muscular arm, his broad chest against her back.

He woke her up in the night and made love to her slowly, thoroughly, and Clare didn’t think she’d ever understood the power of sex until then. Of making love. It was so deeply satisfying that it wasn’t just a physical act, but emotional, almost spiritual. With him in her, she felt whole, and at peace. Grateful, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and held him tightly, loving the press of his hard chest to her breasts, his hips against hers, legs tangled. They’d become one, and she didn’t want it to end. She wanted to feel this connected forever, and kissing him back, she gave herself up to him, and in doing so, Clare felt a shift within her, as though a lock had been turned and her chest opened, her heart freed.

For the first time since the wedding she thought—knew—she could be happy with him. That they could be happy together.

Maybe, maybe this was what was meant to be.

The next morning they breakfasted with Adriano and over breakfast Rocco asked Adriano what his favorite beach was.

Adriano thought and then answered. “I only know the beach at our villa.” He thought for another moment. “But Castello di Palo has a beach, too.”

“What about a beach with palm trees? And water so warm you never want to get out of it?” Rocco’s eyebrow rose. “And sand so soft it’s like touching velvet?”

Adriano’s eyes grew wide and he glanced at his mom, who was looking at Rocco with a little amusement and puzzlement. Where was Rocco going with this?

Rocco looked at her, creases at his eyes, the smile lines making him even more attractive. “Should we go somewhere? Have a proper honeymoon—taking Adriano, of course.”

Clare hadn’t felt deprived in any way. Going on a honeymoon hadn’t even crossed her mind, not when they’d married for the sake of Adriano, but also, taking a holiday, going somewhere tropical and exotic...exposing Adriano to someplace new. Her pulse jumped. Excitement flooded her. “I’d love that,” she answered. “When could we go?”

“How soon can you be ready?”

“An hour. Maybe two so I won’t feel frantic.”

“Take your time, but remember, you won’t need too much. It’s an island and we’ll be living in swimsuits much of the time.”

They left from the private executive airport outside Rome, traveling in one of Rocco’s private jets which would be able to land on a shorter runway, which was the only runway on the island. Ava and Gio were coming, too, which made Clare feel better as she knew little about where they were going, but was also excited to just be surprised. For years she’d been in charge of everything, having to think of everything, responsible for every detail, worried that she might make a potentially tragic mistake. But Clare trusted Rocco. She knew he’d protect them and take care of them and she could let go and just breathe. And be.

They landed on a tiny island in the middle of turquoise water. Clare had held her breath as the pilots made the most of the short runway, coming to a quick but smooth stop. Beyond the window were palm trees and the sparkling ocean. Rocco had been holding Adriano on his lap for the descent and Adriano’s gaze was fixed on the view. “Are we here, Zio?” he asked.

“We are here,” Rocco said. “And it’s going to be so warm outside. You’ll think it’s a little bit like heaven.”

It was more than a little like heaven, Clare thought, as they transferred into little golf carts with Rocco at the wheel of one, and Gio and Ava and the luggage in the other. The drive was lined with trees and blooming shrubs, flowers she recognized from growing up in southern Florida—hibiscus, plumeria, orchids, jasmine and ginger. Close to the house tangerine cannas with dark green and purple leaves competed for attention with purple and pink bougainvillea. The house itself was a sprawling compound of cool white stucco walls and enormous glass windows and doors that could be opened all the way so that living flowed seamlessly between inside the house and outside.

Adriano ran through the house, all built on one level, and every room with breathtaking views. Furniture was low and welcoming, the fabric all neutrals so nothing competed with the vivid colors of paradise.

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