Taken by the highest bidder - الصفحة 16

06-12-07, 03:58 PM

المشاركة رقم: 76

المعلومات
الكاتب:	GKarima
اللقب:	عضو راقي

البيانات
التسجيل:	Oct 2006
العضوية:	15026
المشاركات:	10,594
الجنس	أنثى
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كاتب الموضوع : GKarima المنتدى : الارشيف

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The white-haired chef handed the decorated knife to Sam. "Madame," he said. "White chocolate cake filled with chocolate mousse, covered in white chocolate frosting and handcrafted gum paste seashells and roses."

Gabby came running back in followed by Marcelle who'd brought a camera.

And it struck Sam as Cristiano's hand covered hers and they cut the wedding cake together, that this was a real wedding, as real as her wedding to Charles all those years ago. Gabby begged for the edible shells and roses and Cristiano fed her a bite of cake, and as he put the piece between her lips, he let his fingertip lin*ger on her bottom lip.

His touch made her tremble. She could barely get herself to chew and swallow.

"I think." he drawled, leaning close, "it's time we left and had a little time for ourselves."

Their honeymoon destination wasn't far, Cristiano had booked them one of the luxurious suites at the Hermitage in Monaco, where the famous five-star hotel dominated Square Beaumarchais and overlooked the poit and the famous Winter Garden.

Sam had spent so much time with Cristiano away from crowds that she'd forgotten how the public responded to him. But the moment they stepped from his one-of-a-kind Italia Motors sports car in front of the Hermitage, to the moment they reached the door of their suite, people stopped, murmured, nodded, smiled, stared- Some even followed- One or two were bold enough to ask for autographs.

He was a huge celebrity. People knew him, and people were equally fascinated by him, and it jolted her more than a little.She'd remarried, and not just any man, but someone the public adored.

Inside their three-room suite, Cristiano locked the door and shrugged off his coat. In the living room the lights were already soft, music played from the suite's stereo system, and champagne chilled on ice.

Cristiano headed into the kitchen where vases of roses awaited them and a card from the hotel management welcom*ing Mr. and Mrs. Cristiano Bartolo to the hotel.

"Hungry?" Cristiano asked teasingly, swinging the refriger*ator door open in the suite and revealing the platters of delicacies awaiting them—cheeses, pates, exotic fruits, chocolate-dipped strawberries.

Sam groaned, covered her eyes. "I can't even look at that. I think I'd die if I had to eat anything else."

He laughed appreciatively, drew two cold Perrier bottles out before letting the refrigerator door swing shut. "Should we check out the rest?" he asked, nodding toward the remaining rooms.

The bedroom was as big, if not bigger than the living room with two enormous walk-in closets, which prompted Sam to ask who actually had that many clothes, or wanted to travel with that many clothes, and then a blue marble bath with a huge whirl*pool tub and a shower big enough for two.

"What do you want to do now?" he asked, sitting down on the edge of the huge bed and handing her one of the waters.

Nervously Sam twisted the cap from the green bottle. "Watch TV?"

"We could do that." He leaned across the bed, lifted the re*mote from the night table. "Come here. Help me find something to watch."

Cristiano heard her exhale softly, saw the tip of her tongue appear, and saw her swallow. She was so nervous and she hesitated, one second, two seconds and then she moved toward him, her bridal gown swishing, the sleeveless lace top and full silk skirt remind*ing him of the dresses American girls wore to their high school dances. She looked just as young, too, and very unsure of her*self.

Sam sat next to him on the bed, hands folding demurely in her lap. He leaned toward her, watched her lashes flutter close, her full mouth soften.

He brushed her mouth with his then lifted his head to mea*sure her response. Her lashes lifted slightly. She looked up at him and her blue eyes were dark, mysterious, tilled with unspoken wants and needs.

He kissed her again, slowly, so slowly that he felt her lips tremble against his. The heat between them flickered and flamed, exploding to life. The intensity startled her. He felt her resist, draw back. She would have pulled away, broken off the kiss, but he slid a hand into her long silky curls, crushing them with his hand, keeping her mouth pressed to his.

Her heart was beating harder now. He could feel the pulse in her throat, the throb in her veins. She was excited and yet afraid, but he understood that. Passion needed both. Passion required intensity, risk and the unknown.

He deepened the kiss, increasing pressure against her mouth and her lips quivered then opened beneath his. Her lips were soft, and her breath was warm and she tasted like Tuscany in the summer—warm, ripe, sweet.

He stroked the inside of her mouth with his tongue, teased her silken inner lip, flicked the tip of his tongue across the crease of her lips, sucked her tongue into his mouth, applying pressure until she whimpered, her hands kneading his chest, fingers curl*ing into his skin.

Her soft muffled whimper nearly shattered his self-control. Reaching over, he scooped her up, into his arms and drew her firmly down onto his lap to feel her warmth on his legs, the curve of her bottom on his heavy erection.

"Bella,Samantha," he whispered against her mouth, one hand against her jaw, fingers spread taut across the curve of bone and the softness of her cheek-Sam shuddered at the pleasure of the kiss.

No one had ever touched her the way he did, no one had ever made her feel beau*tiful and alive like this.

Reaching up, she clasped the back of his neck, her fingers twining in his thick hair that touched his collar, Charles's kisses had always been so chaste, so safe and controlled, but this kiss leveled her, this kiss proved how little she knew of life, and love, and men-He was kissing her mouth again, teaching her how to play, how to tease, how to make her want him.

But the kissing wasn't enough. Sam wanted more and she arched against him, and as she arched, she felt his hand cover her breast, first cupping the fullness then palming the nipple. The longer he touched her breast, the more fire she felt race through her veins. He was making her feel wild inside, making her feel hot and explosive from her breasts all the way to between her legs.

He continued to touch her, stroking beneath her breast, down her rib cage, low to her hip, then up again. And as he stroked slowly back up, he rediscovered her breast, lingered over her taut nipple.

She felt sensitive, so sensitive and Sam writhed at the merci*less attention. Her lower abdomen felt so tight it was almost un*comfortable and she shifted again on his lap, moving her hips in a restless, unconscious rhythm.

"Cristiano," she groaned against his mouth, not sure if it was a plea or a protest. He was making her feel at so many levels, and she could think of nothing but feeling more.

With one hand he began to unfasten the first of the dozen tiny buttons on the back of her dress while he caressed her hipbone and thigh with the other. It was maddening, the touches. While her dress began to slowly open, Cristiano teased and tormented her inner thighs. She clenched and unclenched her legs, felt wanton for wanting his hand between her thighs, then frightened of giving herself up to him.

Patiently he worked his way down the back of her gown, lower and lower, Sam could feel the cool air on her shoulders and back. She hadn't worn a bra as a bustier had been stitched into the bodice to provide shape and support and now that he'd opened the gown at the back he could peel the bodice away from her breasts.

He drew her to her feet, stood her between his knees and slowly tugged the gown off her breasts, over her waist and down her hips.

She was wearing a very simple cream lace garter and panty and nothing else. Sam blushed, looked away, incredibly self-con*scious.

Cristiano caught her chin in his hand and turned her face to his, forcing her to look at him, "You are the most beautiful woman I've ever known."

06-12-07, 03:59 PM

المشاركة رقم: 77

المعلومات
الكاتب:	GKarima
اللقب:	عضو راقي

البيانات
التسجيل:	Oct 2006
العضوية:	15026
المشاركات:	10,594
الجنس	أنثى
معدل التقييم:
نقاط التقييم:	2934

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كاتب الموضوع : GKarima المنتدى : الارشيف

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"No-"

"Yes," He drew her toward him, folding her into his arms so that her breasts were crushed against his shirt. "Yes, Signora Bartolo. Trust me on this one. I know."

CHAPTER ELEVEN

From there, things moved quickly, although Cristiano had fully intended to take it slow. And he had been taking it slow, even after he'd peeled her gown off, exposing Sam's gorgeous full breasts and her small waist and the rounded hips that made her all woman.

Lying back, he drew her down next to him, sliding his hands from her breasts down her ribs, over her hips and up again. She arched as he swept the warm soft length of her, arched and whimpered as his hands explored the small of her back and then the ripe curve of her pert derriere.

As she pressed herself against him, he groaned deep in his throat. Santo Cielo,did this woman have any idea what she was doing to him?

He wasn't a saint, not like her. He did what he wanted, took what he needed, and gave what he could. No more, no less. He didn't live for others, had given up years ago trying to please others, and yet with Sam it was different. Luscious English Samantha made him want to turn the world upside down to please her.

Her skin glowed hot beneath his hands and he measured each of her ribs then down over her flat taut belly. Wife, he thought, fingers brushing the apex of her thighs. My wife. My woman.

She shifted as his fingers explored her, shyly opening her knees for him and the blood roared in Cristiano's ears, drumming through his body. He was so hard he hurt, so turned on he felt dangerous- There was no more slow and gentle. He wanted her. Needed her. Was determined to possess her, thoroughly, com*pletely so there could be no doubt she was now his.

Cristiano didn't remember shedding his clothes but they were gone and he was rolling her beneath him, his hand parting her knees, teasing the satin skin of her thighs and then the even softer satin skin between her thighs. She was wet, warm and so damn willing.

And it wasn't until he'd entered her, thrusting into her very tight body and he heard her gasp, that he realized he'd hurt her and his desire to possess her faded in the face other pain,

"Sam," he whispered, holding still, afraid to move for fear of inflicting more hurt. "Bella,what did I do?"

Her small hand stroked his back. "Nothing,"

But he felt the tension in her, her slender thighs taut on either side of his hips,

"I'm sorry," he whispered, smoothing her long blond hair back from her face as he kissed her mouth and then her jaw and the soft skin beneath her ear. "I'm sorry. I thought you were ready."

Her blue gaze met his and there was no anger there, no blame, either. "I was ready."

"But I did hurt you."

"It always hurts the first time, doesn't it?"

For a moment he didn't understand and then still buried in her body, awareness dawned. He pushed up on his elbows to take the weight of his body off her. "You're—"

"Yes, but it's okay." She reached for him, clasped his face in her hands and brought his head down to hers. "I couldn't be one forever," she murmured against his mouth.

"I should have known," he protested. "You should have told me,"

"Told you what? That I'm a virgin?" "But you've been married."

"Yes, twice. Well, three times in a way," She tried to make a joke of it so they could move on. "Says a lot for my sex appeal, doesn't it?" But before he could answer, she kissed him again, kissed suggestively, tracing his lip with her tongue until she felt the spark between them again, the sharp electric heat that was both hot and maddening.

His body throbbing in hers, he began to move, slowly, giving her time to adjust to him and little by little she could take him even deeper and she did. He seemed to want as much of her as he could, as much of her as she'd give-Sighing, she wrapped her legs around him, felt him bury deeper, felt the last lingering discomfort give way to pleasure and interest-As he stroked her with his body, Sam pressed her face to his chest, she wrapped her legs around his hips and breathed him in. She loved the feel of his skin on hers, the warmth, the pres*sure, the sensation- It was all wonderful, she thought, his scent, the hard planes of his muscles, his strength-She loved the way he drove his body into hers, and as he moved in her, with her, she discovered how the pleasure just grew. She'd never been this close to anyone, couldn't imagine doing this with anyone else but with Cristiano it felt right-Being in his arms, with his body joined with hers, she felt safe, cherished- Loved.

And the feeling of love intensified, tightening, strengthening until it exploded, shaping and reshaping into something bigger and brighter than she'd ever felt-It was an orgasm, she knew that much, but it wasn't what she'd thought it would feel like. She'd always thought an orgasm would feel well, physical- Sexual- But this pleasure, this release, was gorgeous and emotional, sensual and spiritual. She'd never felt so close to anyone as she did to Cristiano just then, and as she shuddered in his arms, her body rippling around his, she was part earth, part universe, a comet streaking across the sky before dropping like Stardust into the sea.

She was still sensitive, still shuddering at the intense pleasure when Cristiano groaned and came deep inside of her . Cristiano held her close against him and he was so quiet she thought he must have fallen asleep but when she stirred to go to the bathroom, Cristiano took her hand in his and brought it to his mouth, kissing the back of her hand. "I'm sorry I hurt you,"

She turned on the bed, looked down at him, moonlight playing across the bed. "You didn't hurt me. You made me feel wonderful."

"I'd never hurt you, Sam. You're to be cherished,"

She leaned over and kissed him. "I'm glad you were my first lover. I hope you're my last. I can't imagine being with anyone else now."

He made a rough sound, primitive and raw and dragged her closer to his side. "Good” he grunted. I shouldn't like to think of my wife fantasizing about other men."

Early that morning they made love again, Cristiano taking time to teach her, encourage her, compliment her. "There are no rules between a man and woman in bed. If you trust one another, respect one another, everything's good, everything's right. It's a matter of being comfortable and communicating."

"You know a lot about sex," she said, trying not to be jealous of the history he had before her but not quite succeeding.

He smiled and drew her on top of him, introducing her to yet another position. "What can I say? ‘I’m Italian. We enjoy women. But now you're my wife."

Later they ordered breakfast in bed and napped after their late breakfast and then Cristiano carried her into the shower where he introduced her to a few more new things.

Later, taking him in her hand, she relished soaping him up and down, using the excuse of showering to get to know his body better.

But when her soapy hand brushed one of his thighs he stiff*ened, caught her hand, and moved it away.

"Did I hurt you?" she asked.

"No." He adjusted the shower nozzle so the water didn't splash her face or in her eyes.

"Do they ever hurt? The burns?"

"Yes," It was his turn to lather his hands and begin applying the suds to her body.

"Is that why you don't want me to touch you there?"

"No." Dropping his head, he brushed his mouth across her lips. "I just don't think you need to touch something like that."

06-12-07, 04:01 PM

المشاركة رقم: 78

المعلومات
الكاتب:	GKarima
اللقب:	عضو راقي

البيانات
التسجيل:	Oct 2006
العضوية:	15026
المشاركات:	10,594
الجنس	أنثى
معدل التقييم:
نقاط التقييم:	2934

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كاتب الموضوع : GKarima المنتدى : الارشيف

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Sam grabbed the soap away from him, pushed him back from her so she could see him clearly. "We're talking about you. Yourlegs."

"Exactly."

"I like your legs,"

"Sam, hello—"

"No. No, hello,no Sam. Listen to me—"

"I am and you sound like my nanny now."

She ignored his complaint, moving closer to him so she could kiss his shoulder. "I like you," she murmured against the mus*cular plane of his chest, "and I like your legs, so I'm going to touch you where I want, and how I want, because that's what you do for me,"

Then without waiting for permission, she slid her hands across the front of his thighs, feeling the thick scars and the un*even texture, the skin a complex map of seams, hollows and ridges, before circling to the back of his legs. The skin had been burnt there, too, but the scarring wasn't quite as thick and she felt the long thin surgical scar she'd seen that afternoon at the cottage.

Cristiano stood stiffly while she touched him. His head averted, silently suffering through her gentle exploration. But as her hands circled back around, hands clasping his shaft, he be*came very hard, very fast and after a minute of gritting his teeth, he turned her around, parted her legs, made sure she was wet and then with a slow, smooth thrust into her. Introduced her to yet another of his favorite positions.

Finally worn-out, they both slept and when they woke, Cristiano let Sam have the bath to herself for a long hot soak in the tub. When she emerged, still wrapped in two fluffy towels, he surprised her with a large wrapped gift box.

"Something special for you to wear tonight." he said,

Sam tore open the wrapping paper, pulled off the top of the box and pushed aside the lilac tissue to discover a puddle of blue-gray fabric, a beaded evening bag of the same color, and a pair of high heel sandals that laced around her ankles.

The dress was little more than a silk slip with delicate spa*ghetti straps and a softly shirred bodice that plunged deeply, nearly all the way to the high empire waist, Sam dropped her towel, stepped into the dress and after adjusting the slender straps, let Cristiano zip it at the back for her.

It was a perfect fit. The color made her skin glow creamy-gold and the short hem. hitting several inches above her knees, high*lighted her slender legs.

Sam had pulled the towel off her still-damp hair and she started to pin it up but Cristiano pulled her hands away. "Leave it down. Let me see you. I love to look at you."
"My hair will be too curly if I don't style it."

"I love the curls. You—your hair—it's all perfect"

Coloring, she shook her head, feeling shy despite the intimacy between them. "I'm not perfect, Cristiano. Far from it,"

"In my eyes you're perfect."

"Maybe it's because you don't know me very well yet."

He took her hand, drew her to him, shaped her hips to his so that she felt him, and felt his hunger and desire and pleasure. "I will al*ways think you're perfect because I know you are perfect for me."

The compliment warmed her, but it was the caress of his hand beneath her dress where he cupped her breast, and then pinched her nipple that inflamed her,

Sam stood on tiptoe and kissed him, a deep, erotic kiss where she sucked the tip of his tongue the way he'd kissed her yester*day and sliding her hands down his chest, over his flat abdomen she stroked his erection through his trousers. She could feel him grow beneath her touch, feel him strain against the fabric and emboldened, she unzipped his pants, took him out, caressed him with her hands and then kneeling, put her mouth on him, trying something new of her own.

It was much later when they finally left their room to have an early evening drink in one of the hotel's elegant lounges.

Even though she was sitting with a famous, gorgeous man in a sophisticated bar, Sam had never felt more comfortable in her life, Cristiano somehow knew how to put her at ease. It was just the way he talked to her, looked at her, smiled at her. Even from the beginning he'd made her feel special, different, and now after thirty-six hours alone in a hotel room with him, she felt even better-She smiled shyly at him, the bar's great chandeliers splash*ing light here and there like a glittering ball gown. He was, she thought, smiling even bigger, perfect for her, too. Not because he was rich, or famous, or even heartbreakingly gorgeous, but because he treated her so well and he made her feel like the most beautiful woman in the world.

And no one, not even dear good Charles, had ever made her feel beautiful.

Kind, yes. Patient, yes. Gentle, yes. But sexy? Interesting? Fun?

Cristiano reached across the table, ran his thumb along the curve of her lips. "You're smiling."

"I know." And she could even feel her eyes smile, "I'm just so happy."

For a moment he said nothing and then he said in a surpris*ingly husky voice. "You should always be happy. You deserve to be happy."

With two hours still before their dinner reservations Cristiano slid his arm around Sam and they went for a leisurely walk through the Hermitage's Italian loggia, and then on to the Hotel de Paris where they were to have dinner later at the famous Le Louis XV.

Le Louis XV was the most prestigious restaurant in the city. Between Alain Ducasse's superb menu and the restaurant's op*ulent golden interior, it was impossible to dine at Louis XV and not be dazzled.

As they were escorted to their table at ten, Sam noted that the restaurant was packed, every table full, and there were dozens of chic people still hoping to get lucky and get a reservation for the night. Dinner was lovely, Cristiano couldn't have been more atten*tive and after they'd finished their meal, they shared the restau*rant's classic dessert, Crepes Suzette which had been created nearly a hundred years earlier for Edward VII, the then Prince of Wales, and his mistress.

On their way out, several people stopped Cristiano to congrat*ulate him and or wish him well. By the time they escaped the restaurant and stepped outside, Sam marveled at Cristiano's pa*tience with the interruptions- He was obviously used to being a public figure. It was new for her, and frankly uncomfortable, but she admired the way he handled himself—cordial, sincere, even if not particularly loquacious.

Back in their suite at the Hermitage, they made love slowly taking time to build the pleasure and tension, and after they reached orgasm, Cristiano drifted off to sleep, his arm wrapped protectively around Sam. And even though Sam was tired, and not surprisingly, sore, she couldn't sleep.

She was too warm on the inside. Too full of thoughts and memories. Memories of her life before Cristiano and it stunned her, how much he'd changed her life in less than four weeks.

She'd fallen for him so hard. And already she trusted him so much, depending on him for a dozen things she'd never de*pended on anyone for. At least not since her parents died.

She felt a niggle of alarm. Everything was too good, too happy, and too lovely. This couldn't be real. Happiness like this never lasted. It was romance—passion—maybe just plain old lust, but it wasn't love. Couldn't be love. She didn't know Cristiano well enough, or long enough. Their attraction was chemistry and sex, very good sex, but wasn't that all it was?

No. This wasn't sex. She knew it wasn't just sex. She admired Cristiano. Had only fallen for him after she'd seen how he inter*acted with Gabriela. She loved his strength and patience with his sister, loved his determination to take care of her and protect her.

And that was why she was afraid. Because all the good feelings, all her tenderness and love made her realize how starved she'd been for love.

Scarcity.

Lying close to Cristiano, Samantha admitted how empty she'd been, how hopeless she'd become. Looking back on the past eight years she could have been a feudal peasant during a time of plague or famine- She keenly felt the lack of all she'd been deprived of.

06-12-07, 04:02 PM

المشاركة رقم: 79

المعلومات
الكاتب:	GKarima
اللقب:	عضو راقي

البيانات
التسجيل:	Oct 2006
العضوية:	15026
المشاركات:	10,594
الجنس	أنثى
معدل التقييم:
نقاط التقييم:	2934

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كاتب الموضوع : GKarima المنتدى : الارشيف

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It wasn't that she wanted to feel sorry for herself- She was grateful for Charles. Charles had been wonderful, so kind, so car*ing—generous to a fault—for wasn't it his generosity that put him in danger?

After he died she tried to do what he would have wanted- She tried to follow his example, tried hard to be as good, and self*less, and kind as he had been. But she wasn't by nature so altru*istic. Not that she wanted to be selfish, but she'd had so little of her own, so little time and attention, so little emotional support that on the inside she felt downright drained. Depleted.

Scarcity.

She 'd become a woman who thought in terms of hunger, who trusted nothing, was famished—starved—for more. And she hadn't even known she'd been so starved until now when she'd had this heady taste of comfort and warmth and sensation.

And that was her terror—her need was huge. She couldn't bear to ever be that empty and hungry again. But she wasn't sated, not yet, not by a long shot. She was still starved, starved for more, starved for abundance and secretly it horrified her. Just how great her need was.

If this time with Cristiano didn't last, if this closeness and warmth disappeared, what would she do then?

She couldn't let herself rely too heavily on him, couldn't let herself become too vulnerable. She had to know that comfort— closeness—never lasted.

Her parents had loved her and they'd died. Charles, who'd loved her, died. She didn't have to be a rocket scientist to see a pattern here. Anyone who might love her would leave or perish.

Fighting panic, Sam scooted out from beneath his arm, slipped from the bed and realizing she couldn't find any of her real clothes, picked up one of the hotel towels still tossed over the chaise lounge in the bedroom corner and wrapped it around her.

Covered in the towel, Sam went to the living room, opened the balcony door and stepped outside. Breathe, she told herself, just breathe.

She took long slow, deep breaths until her heart stopped rac*ing and the panic eased. She wasn't starving now, not this mo*ment. She wasn't alone right now. Cristiano was just inside, in bed. Don't anticipate the worst,she reminded herself. Focus on the moment.

Leaning on the balcony railing she looked out and around. It was the middle of the night but the city was still alive. For a few minutes Sam watched the cars and taxis below until she turned toward the ocean. Far out the horizon was dark but close to the harbor, illuminated yachts bobbed.

"Can't sleep?" Cristiano's voice sounded behind hen

Warmth filled her, warmth and delight. Leaning on the bal*cony Sam flashed him a welcoming smile. "No. My head's spin*ning too much."

"Too much champagne?"

"Too much you."

"Impossible." He stepped outside to stand beside her. The night had grown cool and when she shivered he wrapped an arm around her and brought her close. "I'm good for you."

She looked up at him over her shoulder. "I was never going to get married again. This is all your fault, you know,"

"Marriage doesn't have to be a losing proposition, Sam. Good things can happen in relationships."

"If marriage is so wonderful, Cristiano, why did you wait until now to get married?"

"Timing." He kissed the top of her head. "And fate."

"So you've never met anyone you even considered marry*ing?"

When he didn't answer immediately, she knew she had her answer. But she didn't rush him and eventually he answered. "There was someone once, but the timing couldn't have been worse."

"So it ended?"

"Yes."

"And we're together because you got tired of waiting for the right woman to come along," she concluded.

"No. We're together because of fate." He scooped her into his arms and began walking back toward the bedroom. "And now we're together because it's late, and I'm tired, and we're going to bed."

In the big bed with the soft down pillows, Sam nestled close to Cristiano's warm chest. She'd only been with him two days and yet she already had her favorite place to be. And if she was scared, it was only because she couldn't bear the thought of ever being without him. The last time she'd been held like this, she'd been just a child, not much more than Gabby's age.

"Thank you, Cristiano, for everything," she whispered.

He kissed her temple, smoothed her hair. "Sleep, bella.There's a little girl anxious to see you in the morning, and trust me, she won't care if you haven't slept in days”

The next morning they returned to the villa in Cap Ferrat and yes, Gabby was thrilled to see them. She danced around their legs as they walked from the car to the house and finally Cristiano picked her up to keep from stepping on her. "You're as bad as a puppy," he teased.

Gabby responded with a big lick on the side of his face.

Cristiano groaned and Sam laughed quietly thinking she'd been right, about those thoughts she'd had on the plane. Nothing was the same. Not for Gabby, not for her, not for any of them. But they did adapt, slowly settling into a new routine where they spent the work week in Monte Carlo and Cristiano's penthouse apartment and then weekends and school holidays at the villa.

It was a relatively easy commute and Sam and Gabby loved the villa best. It was always such a treat to return to the villa after five days in the city.

It was nearly the end of January and with February approach*ing Sam knew she had to do something about Gabby's party but wasn't sure where to even begin.

"Call an event planner," Cristiano told her when she confessed to him one evening that she was nervous about throwing a big party. Married to Johann they'd never had money to do a proper party and yet Sam knew that some of the parties Gabby had at*tended were incredibly lavish.

"That'll cost a fortune," Sam told him, crawling into bed after checking on Gabby once more for the night.

"Money's not an issue," he answered, "and you did promise her a real party. It's her fifth birthday after all."

"I know, but spending huge amounts of money on five-year-olds doesn't really make a lot of sense."

"It's not about the money, Sam. It's about giving Gabriela something special to remember."

And Sam knew that, but one of the hardest transitions for her in married life was this concept of spending freely. She'd never had extra money. It was a necessity to be frugal and fifteen years later it was a very hard habit to break. "You honestly don't mind me putting on a big party for Gabby?"

"I'd be disappointed if you didn't. This has been a traumatic year for her. I'd like nothing better than for her to have an abso*lutely magical fifth birthday."

"So clowns, face painters, trained dogs...that's all okay?"

"Acrobats, jugglers, magicians. No problem."

"What about elephants?"

06-12-07, 04:03 PM

المشاركة رقم: 80

المعلومات
الكاتب:	GKarima
اللقب:	عضو راقي

البيانات
التسجيل:	Oct 2006
العضوية:	15026
المشاركات:	10,594
الجنس	أنثى
معدل التقييم:
نقاط التقييم:	2934

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مدونتي

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الحالة:
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كاتب الموضوع : GKarima المنتدى : الارشيف

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مكتبة روايات عبق الرومانسية على هيئة كتب Epub

Cristiano grabbed Sam, rolled her beneath him and kissed her until she melted against him. "No elephants," he growled when he finally lifted his head. "And let's skip the tigers, too."

He dipped his head to kiss her once more and it didn't take long for the sweet, playful kiss to spark into hot, explosive de*sire.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Sam hired an event planner Chef Sacchi had worked with when he was the head pastry chef at the La Palme d'Or in Cannes and after the event planner visited the villa, saw the space for the party and heard the circus theme, he promised he could create something fantastic that would thrill children and adults alike.

"We shall do our own Festival du Cirque Monte-Carlo, yes?" The theatrical young man said, "A tent, a marquee, red carpet and of course the circus acts,"

"My husband has only two stipulations" Sam said. "No ele*phants—they would be hard on the gardens, and no tigers. If one escaped he knows the neighbors would complain."

"Ah, yes, a wise husband." The young man nodded his head thinking. "We can pass on the exotic animals but I can maybe find you a small elephant, one not so big it'd crush the daffo*dils."

Sam fought the desire to smile. "I'm sorry. Cristiano was re-ally quite clear. No elephants, but I think the children would love small ponies”

Two days after trucks began to line the villa driveway as scores of workers from the different party rental companies set to work constructing the circus tent, the center ring and the bleacher seating. Lights were strung inside the white tent and more lights were strung outside the tent. A great cobalt-blue sign with fancy gold lettering that had been hand-painted just for the occasion was hung outside the tent. Festival du Cirque Gabriela, and in the middle was a big gold number 5.

Weeks earlier the invitations had been hand delivered by a courier, the red and white striped envelopes with red and gold card stock inviting the children and their parents to Gabriela Bartolo's fifth birthday party. Sam had feared many children wouldn't drive from Monte Carlo to the villa in Cap Ferrat for the party, but there was only one regret and that was a last min*ute cancellation when a little girl came down sick.

The event planner didn't forget anything. He brought in food stalls to offer guests everything from cotton candy to croque monsieur and croque madame, hired a half dozen of the best clowns in Europe and even imported a small antique carousel the children could ride amid flashing, swirling lights.

The circus party was a gigantic hit. Gabby stood with Sam and Cristiano in front of the soaring white tent as guests arrived, greeting each of her friends from school with delight. As the chil*dren and their parents followed the red carpet into the tent, through the entrance's black and white striped poles. Gabby could hardly contain herself.
Once the guests had all arrived the circus began with a wel*come from the circus' ringmaster, a short stout gentleman wear*ing a red coat, black pants and boots. He wore a top hat and carried a whip but promised the children he wouldn't use it if they were good, which elicited squeals from the children and then fresh squeals when a white-faced clown with a hat many sizes too small ran out into the ring chasing a small dog. The dog jumped into the ringmaster's startled arms and then jumped out and barking frantically dashed in and out of the stands before disappearing again.

And that was just the beginning.

There were acrobats, trapeze artists, white Austrian horses and Spanish dancers. Clowns chased each other into the stands, tumbled out of miniature cars, sprayed one another with water and tried to get pigs to dance and dogs to talk and by the time the ringmaster reappeared at the end to thank the children for coming, and to invite them into the center ring for cake, Gabby was speechless with awe.

After the cake was cut and eaten, the children and parents began to depart. Within a half hour nearly everyone was gone and the cleanup crew began breaking down the tent. "I loved my circus," Gabby said wistfully, as the canvas tent was peeled off the poles,

"It was a good party," Sam agreed.

Nodding, Gabby yawned and leaned against Sam's leg. Cristiano saw the yawn, too, and he stooped to pick up Gabby. He straightened and turned toward the house, but not before Sam had seen him wince. He was in pain again.

"I can take her," Sam offered and Cristiano shot her a hard glance.

"I have her," he said.

They set off for the villa, Gabby's head on Cristiano's shoul*der, her eyes half-closed. Cristiano wasn't walking slower than usual but he was certainly favoring his right leg a little more but Sam said nothing to him about it knowing it would only irritate him. He never discussed the injury, never talked about pain, ei*ther, but she knew he felt it, lived with it, and there were times she wished she could do something for him—more for him— but Cristiano was proud. There were things, like his accident, he just wouldn't share.

Gabby fell asleep early that night worn-out from the big day, and Sam and Cristiano had dinner in their room, and watched the evening news from their bed.

As the news program moved from world news to local news, and economic and current events to sports and entertainment, the announcer mentioned a tragic loss in the sporting world: thirty-one-year-old Nils Hiukka, two-time Indy 500 winner died in Phoenix, Arizona, that morning after a tire failure during practice run sent him into a concrete wall.

Cristiano reached for the remote control and abruptly turned the television off before tossing the control onto the nightstand.

Sam looked at Cristiano. "You knew him?"

"Yes."

She waited for him to say more, but he didn't- He simply stood, headed for the bathroom where he stripped off his clothes and stepped into the shower-Sam was already in bed with the lights out when Cristiano returned- She heard him flip the covers back on his side, felt the mattress give beneath his weight, and then he was behind her, pulling her toward him.

"You're upset," she murmured.

"He was a former teammate."

Cristiano fell silent, and as the silence stretched, she felt the room grow cold, the bed empty. He was there, but not, and his anus might be around her, but he'd detached, disappeared from her.

"Cristiano," she whispered his name as she turned in his arms to face him. His eyes were open and he was staring at a place past her head. "When were you on the same team?"

"Ten years ago. Before I drove for Italia Motors."

He fell silent again and she bit her lip. Hoping he'd soon talk, tell her more but he didn't. He remained strangely silent and re-served, so unlike the Cristiano she'd come to know.

After several minutes Sam reached up and touched his mouth with her fingertips. He was so beautiful, his nose was long, per*fectly straight, his chin squared, and his mouth with that curve in his upper lip, the lower lip firm, sensual. She loved his face. She'd never get tired of looking at him, "What are you thinking?" she asked gently.

For a moment she didn't think he'd answer, and then he ex*haled slowly. "About my father." Cristiano turned his head, looked at her. "He liked Nils, but he used to say that Nils's en*thusiasm overruled his judgment."

"Nils was reckless?"

"His tactics bordered on reckless, yes,"

"What kind of driver was your dad?"

"Brilliant." There was no hesitation on Cristiano's part. "I re*alize you don't know anything about racing, but my father was one of the greatest drivers of all time. Less than ten years ago he won thirteen Grand Prix in one year—Australia, Malaysia, Bahrain, San Marino, Spain, United States, Monaco—you name it. He won it. Before he died, he won four World Championships—only Juan-Manuel Fangio of Argentina won more, and that was in 1950s."

He was right, she didn't know anything about racing but she was impressed. "Your father sounds remarkable."