Page 53 of Forbidden Bride (Forbidden 1)
MARCO
I planned this entire thing…butwhat I didn’t account for was how it would actually feel to make Karina my wife.
I arranged for Father Alfredo, reserved the most luxurious suite at a quaint bed-and-breakfast not far away, ordered room service and champagne to be waiting for us when we arrived. Yet I didn’t plan for how hard my heart would pound when I saw her in the bridal suite dressed in her creamy white slip, or the fierce protectiveness that would pump through me at the fear we’d be caught, the worry that someone would take her away from me before we could exchange our vows.
Never could I have prepared for the wave of emotions that hit me when she said I do and slipped the ring on my finger. I’d barely given marriage a second thought all these years, and now I have a wife—and I’m happy with it. Not just happy, but over the moon. I feel lucky, I feel blessed. I feel like I’ve won some lottery I didn’t even realize I was playing. And I beat the hell out of Pietro by stealing his fiancée out from under his nose, consequences be damned. How I would have loved to see the look on his face when he found out she was gone, the look when he realizes who stole his woman. But I’m sure we’ll beat it out on the racetrack in the near future.
I look forward to it.
Karina squeezes my hand as I drive us to the bed-and-breakfast. She’s quiet but relaxed, and I wonder if she’s thinking about what comes next. I sure as fuck am. Stripping her bare and getting her in bed is the only thing I’ve been able to think about since we walked out of the chapel as husband and wife.
We’re going to be the only guests at the B&B tonight, so there won’t be anything holding us back. I paid a hefty amount to make sure of it. The place is ours.
Karina gasps in delight when I park before the gingerbread-style Victorian tucked onto the end of a heavily tree lined dead-end road. I haven’t said a word to my family about any of this, except that I had plans to be out of town for a couple days. They’re too busy to even question me, which is par for the course.
“We’ve got the place to ourselves,” I tell her with a sly grin.
We get out of the car and she takes my hand again, mouth agape at the beautiful manse. “This entire house? It’s three stories!”
Moving the tumble of glossy brown hair away from her neck, I kiss behind her ear. “There’s only one room that matters, sweetheart.”
Her quick intake of breath flames my urgency to get her to bed as soon as humanly possible. How many sounds can I draw out of her? Jesus, I can’t wait to find out. Her face is flushed pink, so I don’t say anything more as I lead her up the steps to the porch. The door opens and a gray-haired woman with teak skin comes out, hair pulled back in a sensible bun, a checkered apron tied around her like a fairy-tale grandmother. The honest to God scent of fresh-baked cookies wafts out of the house.
“Mr. and Mrs. Bellanti, welcome. Everything is ready for you!”
She gives Karina a subtle once-over, no doubt wondering why my wife is dressed in sneakers and a slip that’s stained with grass and mud. Like the truly well-paid-to-keep-quiet woman she is, however, she says nothing of it and ushers us inside with a warm smile. Karina looks around as we enter, making a circle to take in the charming room full of a pleasing, balanced mix of antiques and contemporary furniture, floral patterns and masculine stripes.
“Your suite is up the stairs on the second floor, end of the hallway on the left. The kitchen is fully stocked and our chef is on call to prepare your meals from 6 a.m. to midnight; he can be reached at the number written on the chalkboard beside the refrigerator. And, of course, please don’t hesitate to call me directly if you need anything else at all.”
Leading Karina to the staircase, I thank the woman for her help and take the steps. Karina lags behind a bit, still looking around in awe, but I can’t fight this urgency to get her alone. This will be the first time since we met that we’ll be truly free together, without fear of interruption or being caught. She’s completely mine.
For now, and for always.
“Marco, look at the carvings on the—”
Holding out my hand to her, I say, “We’ll take a complete tour in the morning. I promise. Right now, I’m starving.”
She catches up to me and takes my hand. “But…we just had lunch with Father Alfredo.”
“I know,” I say, my eyes burning into hers.
Karina looks down shyly, finally understanding what I’m really talking about. “I’m hungry, too,” she says.
Looking down at her, I make the split-second decision to lift her from the steps and into my arms. She yelps gleefully and grabs me around the neck. I turn left at the top of the stairs, carry her to the end of the hall, and then fumble with the suite door one-handed until I’ve got it open, too stubborn to put my wife down until I’ve officially carried her over the room’s threshold.
“Welcome to your honeymoon, Mrs. Bellanti,” I say, stepping inside.
She pulls my lips down to hers, her mouth taking mine with a passion she hasn’t displayed before. I navigate the dimly lit room as we kiss and set her on the bed. Karina sighs happily as her body sinks into the mattress.
“Stay here. Relax.”
I kiss her again, but she starts to sit up when I pull back. “Wait. Where are you going?”
“To take care of my wife. Don’t move.”
Walking backwards, I wag a finger at her and disappear into the bathroom. Flicking on the light, I glance over my shoulder to see if she listened.
Karina giggles. “Okay, okay! I’m staying put!”
The bathroom is old-fashioned, but has been updated with a large, oval spa tub and a walk-in shower. I turn on the taps to start filling the tub and rifle through the assortment of bath items on the vanity. A black foil packet with an embossed floral motif catches my eye. The writing looks like Japanese but the words bath milk are printed in bold at the bottom.
I make sure the water is hot enough and then stop the drain and pour the milk into the rushing water. When I return to my bride, I find her stretched out on the bed, relaxed and peaceful.
“Are you ready for your bath?” I ask.
Karina just smiles and bites her bottom lip. Her breathing picks up, her nipples perked beneath the thin fabric of her slip. The hem has ridden up to the tops of her thighs, showing off her long, shapely legs. She’s taken off her shoes and her pretty, bare feet have me breathing a little harder myself.
“Time for this to go.” Taking hold of the hem, I tug the slip up, intending to pull it off her quickly.
But I slow down, taking in the view as her body reveals itself to me inch by inch. Curvy hips, smooth, flat belly, nipped-in waist. Karina holds her breath when I peel her panties off and then lets out a sigh as I take hold of her slip again and pull it up over her breasts—perfect mounds that will fit just right in my hands, with their tight pink peaks to toy with and suck on.
Fuck.
