Carpathian 00 - The Scarletti Curse

his weight off her, his arms still wrapping her closely to him. "I am a Scarletti, piccola. Much was demanded of us. Many heirs expected of us. Our education in such matters was required at a very early age. Mio padre sent women to us to teach us these things. The women reported our progress to him. If we were not as successful as he thought we should have been, we were severely punished." Bitterness and distaste were like ashes in his mouth.
    Nicoletta frowned, turning her head to look at him. "How terrible. I have never heard of such a thing.
    Are all the aristocrazia treated in such a manner?"
    "It was solely the wish of mio padre. His demands were always excessive. Later he sent young girls to us, to be certain we would know what to do with an innocent. He insisted his sons had to excel in every area. The things he wanted done to the women and girls often made me sick, and I would refuse. He would beat me, but I refused to give him the satisfaction of concurring with his wishes or of crying out at his blows. Some things done under the guise of lovemaking are abnormal and deviant, piccola, and not for your ears."
    Nicoletta heard the distaste in his voice. She had no idea what he was implying, but something in his tone twisted her stomach. She laid a hand on his arm. "I think it is a strange thing the way we have false ideas of how others live. I am happy I am no aristocratico." His hands were moving over her body, seeking shadows, soft curves, and hidden hollows. She watched the firelight play over his face as he indulged his ability to memorize every inch of her body. He looked relaxed, even happy, and it occurred to her that she had never seen him this way before. He was always so remote or serious.
    He bent his head to find her throat, and his hair brushed her sensitive skin like the tickling flames. "I have a surprise for you," he murmured, his mouth drifting lower so that the dark shadow on his jaw rubbed along the swell of her breast, sending fire racing through her blood. "Something to keep you out of the hills."
    "I was born to run in the hills," she cautioned, her chin lifting in a subtle challenge.
    He smiled, his warm breath teasing her nipple erect.
    "Ah, but your running days are over, piccola.'" His mouth closed over her breast, and she cried out with the exquisite pleasure of it, arching into him, seeking relief from the burning in her body. She still throbbed with need. His hand traced the indentation of her waist, then glided down over her belly to find the nest of damp curls. His mouth was hot and demanding even as his fingers moved inside her.
    For one moment Nicoletta thought to pull away from him, aware he was an expert at arousing a woman, any woman, but the fire was already burning out of control. She moved against him frantically, the pressure building almost to the point of pain. And then she cried out, clinging to him for support as her entire body seemed to fragment and waves of pleasure washed through her, over her, inside her.

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    Giovanni found her mouth with his, tasting her passion. It is not the same with other women. It was never like this. And he couldn't explain it to her. How could he? The palazzo was his home, and he was the guardian of his people. The duty was his; it rested squarely on his shoulders, and he would never shirk it. But the curse on the famiglia Scarletti was very real. The palazzo was aptly named by those who whispered— Palazzo delta Morte. Palace of Death. It was a dark, monstrous place to live, to grow. A shroud of evil encased it, one he could not hope to lift. There was no laughter or love there, only emptiness and fear and envy. Something evil lurked there, poisoning all that was good.
    The women who had come and gone in his life had been mere duty, a thing that shamed him. He was well aware of the curse, well aware of the savage beast that crouched within his body, of the hot blood that ran in his veins. He had seen the results when watching his father. Giovanni kissed Nicoletta again, gently, tenderly. How could he tell her he should never have been so selfish as to force her to accept him? That her life was in constant danger, that death stalked her every moment she was in the palazzo.
    He kissed her again because he had to, because he couldn't possibly do anything else in that moment.
    She lay in his bed, her body soft and inviting, her eyes luminous, enormous, shy, an