Italian’s Christmas Acquisition

Chapter Seven

CHAPTER SEVEN

R OCCO GOT OUT of bed, and grimaced when he stepped into a cold puddle.

He looked down, and saw that it looked as if there was a spilled drink there on the floor, though there was no cup. It smelled of tea. He wondered if he had knocked it over in his half delirium.

He felt better. As if the fever had broken. He looked out the window and saw that it was dark. He wondered how long he had slept.

It took him a moment to find where the clock was in the room, and the digital readout indicated that it was only six o’clock in the evening. At least, he assumed it was the evening.

He turned the light on, and found a T-shirt, shrugging it on before walking out of the bedroom. He felt driven to find Noelle, though he couldn’t say why.

He paused. The memory of her hands on his face, of the way she’d cared for him stopped him cold. His chest felt sore, his body suddenly immobilized. Why was it like this?

He had never...felt sore in his heart like this thinking about a woman.

But then, no one had ever taken care of him like that before.

He was familiar enough with sexual touch. But the way she’d touched him, the way she’d soothed him, that was something else entirely.

His stomach growled, and he thought perhaps he wanted to find her because he needed food. That was reasonable enough.

He made his way down the stairs, and didn’t see her. He walked into the library, and there she was, sitting in a chair by the fireplace.

“I’m hungry,” he said.

She startled and turned. She was looking at him as if he had grown a second head. It was possible that he was being rude.

“I made dinner,” she said.

“Thank you,” he said, those words felt so foreign to him, and yet he had found himself saying them to her often.

“You’re welcome,” she said.

She was staring at him. He couldn’t quite work out why.

“Are you well?”

“Perfectly,” she said.

She stood up, and attempted what he could only describe as a scurry when she went past him. He reached out and took her arm. Forcing her to face him. Her eyes connected with his, and his gaze dropped to her mouth. And suddenly he remembered.

He had kissed her. He had pulled her down onto the bed, and he had...

He let go of her and took a step back. “I’m sorry,” he said. Those words really were foreign on his lips. He never said them. He never had occasion to. He was never wrong.

But this had been wrong. He had been half out of his mind, he hadn’t made sure that she even wanted to kiss him, he had held her to him, and then she had run away. She had spilled the tea. That was what had happened.

The touching had not been comforting, it had, in fact, been sexual and while he felt like a brute for how it must have occurred there was something placating in the realization that it was sexual, and familiar to him for that reason.

It wasn’t different.

It wasn’t singular.

“I was... Not thinking.”

“Oh, I know,” she said.

“No, I mean... I had a fever and I...”

“I know,” she practically wailed. “And I feel terrible.”

“You feel terrible?”

“Yes,” she said. “It was wrong with me to do that. I took advantage of you.”

He barked out a helpless laugh. “You took advantage of me?”

“Yes.”

“You are tiny. And the first time I saw you, you were dressed as a deer. You are hardly a seductive siren. I am the one that took advantage.”

“Now you’re insulting me on top of everything else.”

“Nothing that I said was an insult, it was simply true.”

“Well, it was bracing,” she said. “And not fair.”

“What do you not find fair about it, little one?”

“It’s... Okay. Maybe it’s true. Maybe I’m not a seductive siren. But I knew what I was doing. I mean, I meant to kiss you. You didn’t force me to. But you clearly wouldn’t have chosen to kiss me if you weren’t out of your mind.”

“That is categorically untrue,” he said, feeling the danger rise up inside of him. Feeling the warning. He shouldn’t be saying this, he shouldn’t be drawing closer to her, none of this should be happening right now.

“Well, you didn’t kiss me until you had a fever, so we can’t prove it, can we.”

“You are a silly girl, and unless you want to find yourself flat on your back in front of that fireplace, I suggest that you stop pushing me.”

Her hands had been so soft on his skin. The way that she had cared for him... No one else had ever done that. It was that caring hand on his face, that was what had undone him upstairs. That sweet way that she had touched him. It left him feeling... Not himself. It left him feeling on edge.

Because he understood attraction. But there was something else with her. Everything he had said was true. She was tiny. And she had been dressed like a reindeer. Nothing about that should appeal to him. And yet she did.

The easiest thing would be to kiss her. The easiest thing would be to reduce it to sex. Because that was what he understood. That was the connection he always had with women. The only physical touch that had ever existed in his life.

Not this...soothing of his fevered brow. Not this...wide-eyed country girl care that she was forcing upon him.

“Who says I don’t want that?” she asked breathlessly, her eyes round as copper coins.

“Do not push me,” he said. “I knew exactly what I was doing. I am not a nice man.”

“I already know that. You’re trying to take my home from me. But you also took care of me when I was unwell.”

“I am a man with a strong sense of honor, but that doesn’t make me nice. And it doesn’t make me good. Do you know how many women I’ve had?”

“No. Because you didn’t tell me. And the internet wasn’t really forthcoming with information about you.”

He lifted a brow. “You googled me?”

“Well yes. Obviously.”

“There is nothing obvious about that.” Or perhaps there was, and most people simply wouldn’t admit to such a thing.

“There should be,” she said.

She was entirely artless. And he was a brute. But he was giving her a chance. A chance to turn away from this. To turn away from him. Yes. He was giving her a chance to make a wise decision, rather than a foolish one. And if she was a fool, then it was on her head. Her...antlers.

It was not up to him to protect her from him. He was giving her ample chance. Ample choice.

“I... I want you,” she said.

Her face turned scarlet.

“Why?” he asked.

“You’re... A handsome, mysterious stranger. Who wouldn’t want that?”

That made sense to him. And he latched onto it. He wasn’t special. She wasn’t romanticizing this, not beyond the sexual fantasy inherent in sleeping with someone that you ought not to.

He wanted her, because he wanted this to make sense. And it did make sense. They were a man and woman snowed in together, so why shouldn’t they?

She wasn’t special. This was biology. He was not special to her. He was simply an object of desire.

He could understand that.

It pleased him.

He moved closer to her, and gripped her chin, tilting her face up and forcing her eyes to meet his. “That’s what you want, then? The fantasy. Snowed in here at the top of this mountain? Does your snowplow actually work?”

She huffed a laugh. “I wish that I was that crafty, but I’m not. We really are stuck here. It’s really... All of this, but my life is very unexciting. This is the most exciting thing that’s ever happened. And I...” She looked up at him. “Am I worthy of a little bit of excitement?”

“You are worthy of being worshiped,” he said. “Let me show you.”

He dipped his head and kissed her lips. They were softer than he remembered. She was soft. He pulled her against him, moving his hands over her curves, bringing her flush against him. He held her tightly.

She was glorious. Everything he had ever fantasized about and more.

It was just sex.

What a relief.

Because he understood this. Because this made sense.

And he could have her. He could have this.

He kissed her, deep and long and endlessly.

He kissed her because he wanted her.

He kissed her until she was whimpering, until she brought her hands up to grip the fabric of his T-shirt. She was kneading him like a little cat, her nails sharp through the fabric.

“You do want me,” he said, looking down at her.

She turned red again. “Yes,” she said. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize for your passion. You’re beautiful.”

He was going to show her. He was going to show her exactly what he wanted to do with her. Petite and pretty and about to be his.

The snow would melt. He would buy this place, and he would level it. They would never see each other again. She would hate him after.

But she wanted him now. So he would have her.

It was that simple.

This was simple.

It would change nothing. Because nothing ever changed him.

He picked her up, and carried her over to the fireplace, laying her down on the plush rug. A kick of annoyance hit him in the chest. He didn’t think he had any condoms with him. This was a business trip, and he was one to keep things compartmentalized. He thought it was perhaps a little bit too much to ask that the woman who had been dressed like a deer had condoms.

“I don’t have protection,” he said.

She looked confused for a moment. “Oh,” she said. She frowned deeply. “I take birth control.”

He was fastidious in all things, and he knew that he had nothing to worry about as far as cleanliness. Perhaps she made a habit of sleeping with men when she didn’t have condoms. He doubted it.

“If that’s all right with you,” he said.

She nodded. “It is. It’s okay with me.”

The color in her cheeks was high, but it wasn’t from embarrassment now. She seemed excited.

“Good. Now that we have gotten responsibility out of the way.”

He stripped his shirt off, and the rest of his clothes. Her shoulders were scrunched up by her ears, and it looked as if she wasn’t certain where she was allowed to look.

“What?” he asked.

“You just... Oh... You are... Impressive.”

There was something so sweet, so guileless about the way that she said that. About the way that she looked at him. He couldn’t help but be charmed. He couldn’t help but be mesmerized.

“It’s your turn now.”

He knelt down beside her, and stripped her sweater off. The bra she was wearing was simple, pretty. White with a little bow in the center. Definitely not the kind of underwear he was used to seeing on a woman. This wasn’t for show. But for practicality. He found himself transfixed.

“I’m not... I mean my boobs aren’t very big,” she said.

“They’re perfect,” he said, the understatement of the century. He unclipped her bra, and pulled it off, revealing small, perfectly formed breasts. The tips were rosy pink and beautiful.

His breath hissed through his teeth, tension gathering in his chest. “More than fine. You are beautiful,” he said.

He leaned forward, and kissed the sweet curve of her neck, down to her breasts, taking one crest into his mouth and sucking hard. She arched against him, a rough sound in her throat.

And he found that he was driven for her to make that sound as many times as possible.

Yes. He was.

He hooked his finger in the waistband of her leggings, and her underwear, and dragged them down her body, leaving her bare for his appraisal.

He kissed his way down her stomach, down to the sweet center between her thighs, where he began to taste her.

She gasped, and he thought she even tried to pull away from him, but he didn’t allow it.

“Let me pleasure you,” he said.

He nuzzled her there, parting her legs for him as he began to lick toward her center.

“Rocco,” she said, her fingers pushed into his hair.

Yes.

She arched against him, saying his name over and over again like a prayer.

Her hands moved through his hair. It reminded him of the way that she had touched him when she was caring for him while he was ill.

Maybe he was still sick. He felt dizzy. Dizzy with need for her. With the flavor of her coating his tongue. She was like a drug, one that he was more than happy to indulge in.

He pleasured her like that until he felt her body draw up tight like a bow. Then he pushed one finger inside of her, continuing to lick her as he did. And he felt her shatter. She gasped, crying out his name, forking her fingers through his hair and rolling her hips against him.

He growled, surging up her body and claiming her mouth with his, swallowing her cries of pleasure.

Then he positioned himself between her thighs, and thrust home.

She was tight. So tight.

And the way that she cried out didn’t feel like pleasure now, but pain.

He looked down at her face.

“Noelle?”

“Don’t stop,” she said, arching against him. And he was powerless to deny her. He began to move, thrusting deep and hard. Until she began to relax, until she became pliant against him. He moved against her, again and again.

He wanted to take her to the peak one last time. He couldn’t please only himself.

He moved his hand between them, began to rub her with his thumb, and she dug her fingers into his shoulder, crying out as she pulsed around him, and then he lost control. He thrust into her once, twice, surging inside of her, his orgasm overtaking him like a train.

He poured his desire out inside of her, kissed her lips, let her swallow his roar of need.

And they lay there like that, sweat-slicked. He was undone.

“You were a virgin,” he said.

It didn’t seem possible, and yet it did. She was the strangest woman that he had ever met. The only person that he had ever met who was as isolated as he was.

He let that realization rest heavy on his shoulders. He wasn’t a virgin. He had traveled the world. And many women had touched his body. But no one had touched him deeper than that.

Her life was different. She was in this small town, where anyone you slept with, you would have to contend with again. He imagined it changed the complexion of how people did things.

Perhaps.

“Noelle...”

“Okay,” she said, sounding grumpy. “I was. But... I don’t expect anything from you.”

She looked sad, though. And the trouble was, he now expected something. The trouble was, something had changed. This place, it didn’t mean anything to him, not specifically, and it did to her.

Which was beginning to matter. She was not just a faceless person he could fling money at. Was not just a number or a statistic. She was a woman. Who had taken care of him.

Sex was one thing. It was everything else.

But he was caught. Caught in the web of his mother’s making. In her game.

He had wanted to dodge it. He had thought that he could serve his own ambitions while completing the terms of the will, and it would never bother him. But it bothered him now.

There was only one other way to sidestep it.

He would have to think about this. Not what he was going to do. He was determined on that. But how he was going to do it.

Rocco Moretti had yet to enter into a battle that he hadn’t won. But he had a feeling if anyone was going to challenge him in ways that he couldn’t anticipate, it was her.

She had been pushing him from the moment they’d met. Refusing to give in to offers of money, caring for him even when she claimed not to like him.

But he would be able to win. He knew it.

Just then, the phone rang.

“Oh,” she said, scrambling up. It was the landline.

“You have an actual phone?” he asked.

“This is a bed-and-breakfast,” she said. She was naked, shivering, she didn’t quite know what to do with herself, but she gathered herself to answer the phone.

“Holiday House.”

“Is that you, Noelle?”

“Yes,” she said.

“This is Fred, we’re headed up to plow your road.”

“Oh,” she said. “Thank God.”

“Everything should be open for you within the hour.”

“Thank you,” she said.

She hung up the phone. And suddenly she felt bereft. They were free now. They had... Cared for each other while they were sick. She had just lost her virginity.

And the roads would be open.

He could leave. She was suddenly seized with the strangest sense of grief. It didn’t make any sense. She shouldn’t be grieving.

She had known that this would happen. It was okay that it was happening.

Still, she felt overcome.

“I... The road is going to be cleared today,” she said.

“Oh,” he said. “Then we can go to town.”

“Yes,” she said. “You can leave—what?”

“We can go to town,” he said. “Noelle, I want to see this town. The way that you do.”

It was the nicest, most unexpected thing he could’ve said.

“Okay,” she said.

That was how she found herself bundled up two hours later, and headed down to town with Rocco. She hadn’t really thought this through. She felt raw from having made love to him. She felt overawed by him in the entire situation, in fact.

And she was going to town, where she would run into people that she undoubtedly knew, and she would be forced to look at them in the eye and not announce that she had just had sex with this man.

This man who was now going to leave.

She ignored the lancing pain in her heart.

She had bigger problems on her hands. He was still going to try to take the bed-and-breakfast away from her.

That was a much bigger problem than him leaving. She felt torn in half, and she didn’t want to examine it.

What if she’d played right into his hand? She was more afraid of the sex being an act of manipulation than she was of actually being manipulated by it.

Which maybe didn’t make sense, but she wasn’t sure she was thinking clearly.

He parked his car on the street, and he surprised her by taking her hand when they began to walk down the sidewalk.

“People know me here,” she said.

“And? Do you have an attachment to them seeing you as Mother Mary?”

“No,” she said. “I don’t have an attachment to that at all.”

“Well, that is good. Because you are decidedly no longer virginal.”

“But people will talk,” she said.

“And you care about that?”

She thought about it. No. Not really. But she was predictable. She’d always been Noelle Holiday of Holiday House and she’d never dated any men around town. So no one...thought of her like that really.

So nobody would see this coming. And they wouldn’t be able to figure out what exactly it meant. She liked that.

Why not? Why not revel in walking down the street with the most handsome man she had ever seen.

So she did. From shop to shop. She took him to the ice skating rink that was put over the top of the parking lot every year in the center of town. They didn’t skate, but they watched people. She took him to the town Christmas tree, and through any number of shops that boasted the best souvenirs in town. He declined to buy any. Not even the taxidermist raccoon holding a banjo. Which, if she were a billionaire, she probably would have bought. Because it was hilarious.

Everywhere they went, people said hi to her. And to him. They looked at them with curiosity, and she simply smiled.

Then they went into Sweet Melody, and she walked to the counter with him smiling, and ordered them both hot chocolate.

“Hi, Noelle,” Melody said, her eyebrows rising up to her hairline.

“Hello,” she said cheerfully.

“Who is this?”

“Melody Stevens, this is Rocco Moretti. We got snowed in up at the inn,” she said.

“Oh,” Melody said.

Noelle smiled cheerfully.

“We need to go out to dinner soon,” she said.

“Oh, we will,” Noelle said.

She walked back out of the coffeehouse holding Rocco’s hand still, and drinking the hot chocolate. He grimaced as he said, “It’s very sweet.”

“Yes,” she said. “It is.”

They looked around, she wondered if maybe, just maybe, him having an attachment to the town would change the way that he saw Holiday House. If it would change his intentions.

“So,” she said. “What do you think?”

“I hate it.”

He took another sip of hot chocolate.

She simply stared at him. “You... You hate it?”

“Yes. Everyone knows you...they talk to you constantly. It is saccharine to the point of being sickening, and I am not talking about the hot chocolate. The decorations are too bright, and it is too much. But you clearly love it.”

“I do,” she said.

“You love it, and you would do anything to preserve your life here, yes?”

“Yes.”

Her heart was pounding, she didn’t know where this was going.

“I have something to ask you.”

“Okay.”

He looked around the street, and the Christmas lights reflected in his dark eyes. Then he looked back at her, and they were nothing but coal black. “Noelle Holiday, I want you to be my wife.”