“You should be afraid of me, Antonietta,” Byron reprimanded. “You have no sense of self-preservation whatsoever.”
Antonietta cautiously sat up, gasped when his arm brushed her full breast as he reached past her to straighten her pillows. Her entire body went warm. He didn’t apologize for the contact. Instead, his hands dropped lower to settle in her hair. She could feel the small tug on her braid. Her breath caught in her throat at the intimate contact. She was certain it was an accident, so she sat quietly with folded hands. To keep from feeling her burning body, she tilted her chin and concentrated on looking regal.
“I have plenty of self-preservation,” she denied. “I had the presence of mind to call you when my grandfather fell into the sea.”
“He did not fall into the sea, Antonietta. He was pushed. You know someone drugged the two of you and dragged you up onto the cliffs. And you know the man was hired to kill you both. This cannot be allowed to go on. I won’t let it.” There was resolution in his voice. “You cannot wish this attempt on your life away.”
Something in his beautiful voice sent a chill down her spine. Byron was always so quiet. She thought of him as a dark, brooding, mysterious angel, sent to watch over her and her grandfather, yet he sounded dangerous. Antonietta forced a smile. “I don’t wish things away, Byron, I deal with them. I run the palazzo, and my people believe in me. I don’t let them down by pretending or wishing.”
“Then stop closing your eyes to the possibility that someone wants you dead.”
“You’re reprimanding me as if I were a small child. I can’t remember the last time anyone dared to do so. You even had the audacity to send me off to bed in my own home, which no one has dared to do since I was a child.”
“You were freezing, Antonietta, and the temptation to put you in a hot tub and thoroughly bathe you was getting the better of me.”
Her heart jumped. The sound of his voice was a caress, a stroke of fingers down her body. She felt it all the way to her toes. For a moment she couldn’t think, let alone breathe. Antonietta held tightly to her fingers to keep them from trembling or to keep from reaching for him, running her hand over his chest. “That would have been quite an experience, Byron.” She tried another carefree laugh, very much afraid it came out a husky croak. She could feel the intensity of his gaze burning over her face. A slow smolder began in the pit of her stomach.
“You have no idea what an experience it would be.” His tone held a blatant sexual appeal. There was no mistaking it.
He was flirting with her. The idea was both exhilarating and frightening. “I need my dark glasses.” She couldn’t bear the thought of him staring into her dead eyes, seeing the scars, while she was going up in flames at the sound of his voice.
“Why? It is dark in your room. There is not even a small sliver of moon able to get through the clouds this night. And it is just me here with you.” His fingers brushed her face. Feather-light. Tracing her high cheekbones, her wide, generous mouth. There was possession in the way he touched her, a man’s clear interest.
Antonietta inhaled sharply, pressed back against the pillows, afraid she had made a fool of herself. “What are you doing?”
“Touching you. Feeling your skin. Maybe tonight did not scare you, but it terrified me. I have to know you are safe, so just sit there and let me do this.”
“Byron, you’re not making any sense. Of course I’m safe. I’m here in the palazzo, safe in my bed, thanks to you.” She tried to be practical. Antonietta was always practical, even in her bed in a frivolous white lace nightgown.
He caught the nape of her neck, pulled her toward him. His mouth settled on hers and the earth moved. Shifted. Stilled. Antonietta melted. Byron burned. The kiss deepened into something molten; it was tender, hot, and merciless, all at the same time. The world exploded into a sizzling heat neither could recover from. Sparks leapt over skin, arced through them. Lightning danced in their veins.
Antonietta simply merged with him. She belonged. Had always belonged. Lord Byron, her dark, brooding poet with his black velvet voice and his mysterious ways. She gave herself up to him, embraced the magic of the moment, pouring the fiery passion welling up inside of her into her response, matching him heartbeat for heartbeat, flame for flame.
Byron growled deep in his throat, sounding more beast than man. He lifted his head just inches away from her. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”
His breath was warm on her skin. His lips brushed the corner of her mouth. A caress? A tease? An accident? She had no idea which. Antonietta shook her head, touching her burning lips to make certain she wasn’t locked in a dream. “How could I possibly know? You have never said anything to indicate you’re attracted to me.” It was difficult to talk. To maintain any semblance of normalcy when she wanted him with every fiber of her being.
“Attracted to you?” There was a derisive note in his voice, self-mocking. “I hardly call what I feel, when I am anywhere near you, attraction. I burn for you. Every waking moment, I burn for you.”
Antonietta shifted back away from him, pushing deeper into the pillows. She pressed her trembling fingertips to her lips. She could still taste him. She could still feel him deep inside her as if he’d burrowed into her skin and wrapped himself tightly around her heart. “You’ve never said anything. Never.”
Music was rioting in her mind, clear melodic notes begging to be given freedom. She clearly heard the sharper notes. The off-key tones. The sudden clashing of the cymbals, striking a discordant note. “After all this time, you suddenly decide you want me? I’m to believe it has nothing whatsoever to do with who I am? Just my good looks?” She forced the ugly accusation out, even when everything inside of her screamed at her to stay silent, to take what he offered for whatever his reasons. She might have done so had he been anyone other than Byron.
She felt the movement as his weight left her bed, but she couldn’t hear a sound. The silence stretched until she wanted to give in to the tears burning behind her eyes. She lifted her chin and waited instead. Damn him for letting her make a fool of herself.
“I never once considered you might be a coward.” His tone was thoughtful, not accusing. “You have such confidence in yourself. I have watched you perform in front of ten thousand people. You even walk onto the stage alone, without an escort.”
Antonietta could hear the note of admiration in his voice.
He must be standing by the stained glass window, turned away from her, where the clear resonance of his tones was slightly muffled. She had deliberately worn the white lace in hopes of enticing him, and she was angrier with herself than with him for his reaction. Was she a coward? She never thought of herself that way.
“The first time I saw you was at a concert. I could not take my eyes off of you. You were so beautiful with the lights on your shining hair. You walked with perfect confidence, without hesitation, straight to the piano. You took my breath away, and you had not played a single note.”