Carpathian 00 - The Scarletti Curse

indecency of it all. "You did not answer my question, Don Scarletti," she said softly, looking up at him, more confident with the water covering her bare skin, the wispy clouds of steam playing over her body, and the dark shadows cast by several candles skimming her flesh.
    "I worship in my way. I am the don, responsible for the lives of many. I do not have the luxury of believing blindly. Each decision I make must be a political one. Our country is divided, and as long as it is, we will fall to the larger powers, be it the rule of the Holy Church, France, Spain, or Austria." He walked down the steps slowly. "I hold these lands because I am strong. I strike hard and fast, and my reach is long. If there is a whisper of treason, if there is talk of attacking me and taking my lands, conquering my people, I eliminate the threat at the very throat of my enemy, long before it reaches my borders."
    Nicoletta's teeth bit at her lower lip in agitation. "There is a rumor that you head a society of assassins."
    She was backing away from him, away from the mesmerizing effect he seemed to have on her. She could almost believe he led a society of assassins. She already half believed he was a sorcerer casting a spell over her. But he was so adept at it, she had no real desire to escape.
    "I have heard that rumor," he said with a casual shrug.
    Nicoletta was very aware of trickles of sweat running along the defined muscles of his chest and arms.
    She wanted to touch him, to taste those tiny beads of moisture. The thought was terrifying, a corruption of her ingrained modesty. She wanted him to touch her again, to bring her body to a fiery conflagration.
    "Even with all you have just told me, how is it that you have managed to keep your lands when so many others have fallen?" She was struggling to control the terrible hunger raging in her body.
    "You are thinking il diavolo has aided me. I do not know if he has, Nicoletta. There is much I must do to protect our lands that a little innocent like you could not conceive of." He reached for her, his hands finding her rib cage, pulling her toward him through the lapping water. Her breasts pushed against his Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
    chest in blatant invitation. At once his hands came up to cup the soft weight in his hands.
    "I need you to explain something to me, Don Scarletti," she said, leaning in close, nearly hypnotized by the small beads of water running down his skin. "Is this wrong? How you make me feel—is it wrong?"
    "Giovanni," he corrected her. "And what could be wrong between a husband and his wife? You are my other half, cara mia." He reached for her hand. "This is what is meant to be. Feel how much I need you, Nicoletta. How much I want you." He wrapped her fingers around the thick, hard length of him, then closed his eyes, savoring her touch.
    He could feel her trembling despite the warmth of the water. His hand moved in a caress over her hair, a stroke of tenderness even as his other hand shaped her fingers to massage and explore. "When a man knows a woman wants to touch him like this, when she seeks to please him in the way he has pleased her, he grows all the more hungry for her." The steamy water was flowing around them, between their bodies, lapping at their skin, like a thousand tongues. "Look at me, cara mia, at how great my need for you has already become." He whispered the words as he drew her close, as he caught her head in his hands and bent to kiss the nape of her neck. A seduction. A temptation.
    She could feel the curious melting inside, the heat in her blood surging through her veins, pooling into a low, constant ache of nearly desperate need. She wanted to lean forward and taste the drops of moisture on his skin. And she was no longer able to stop herself. Nearly in a trance, she leaned into his chest and traced the line of his muscles with her lips. As her mouth drifted over his skin, she felt him tremble, felt him grow harder in her hand, pulsing with urgent need. Daringly, tempted beyond endurance, her tongue flicked out to capture a small bead of moisture on his chest. He tasted of salt, of earth, his masculine scent enfolding her. And she wanted more.
    A feeling of power was growing in her, replacing the terrible vulnerability. She could make him want her in the same way he had made her burn for him. Her tongue caught another bead, swirling lazily, a natural, sensual movement that wrenched a gasp from