He cocked a dark eyebrow. “What other things?”
She looked away. “Never mind.”
“We can go and see the catacombs later, if you like. They’re south of here.”
“Where the early Christians were buried?” She shuddered. “Oh, no, I don’t think so. It’s kind of an invasion of privacy. I’m sure I wouldn’t want someone walking through my grave.”
“I suppose it depends on your point of view,” he conceded. “Well, we’ll drive up to the Colosseum then.”
“What was the other thing you mentioned, the Ninfeo di Nerone?”
He looked down at her with dark, indulgent eyes. “The Sanctuary of the Nymphs. You’d have fit right in, with your long, dark hair and mysterious eyes.”
“I wouldn’t have liked the debauchery,” she said with certainty, her green eyes flashing. “The morals in Rome in Nero’s time were decadent.”
“A lot of terrible things happened here in the early days. But if you think about it, honey, terrible things are still happening. Like Martina’s kidnapping.”
“The world hasn’t really changed very much, has it?” she asked sadly, watching the disturbance in his features at the thought of Martina and what she might be going through. She reached out and touched his arm gently. “They won’t hurt her, Jacob,” she said quietly. “Not until they get the money. Will they?”
“I don’t know.” He caught her arms and jerked her against his hard body, holding her there and staring intently into her eyes. “Frightened?” he asked on a husky note.
“No,” she lied.
His dark eyes held hers. “We’re supposed to be lovers on a holiday,” he reminded her. “Just in case anyone is watching us…”
His head started to bend, and she caught her breath. Her eyes dropped to his chiseled mouth and she suddenly became breathless.
“Haven’t you ever wondered?” he asked tautly, hesitating when he saw the shock on her young face.
Her eyes fluttered up to his fierce ones and back down again. “How it would be to…to kiss you?” she whispered.
“Yes.”
Her lips parted on a rush of breath. She felt her breasts pressed softly against his shirtfront and was aware of the hardness of warm muscles against their hardening tips. She felt trembly all over just at the touch of his body.
His hands slid up her arms, over her shoulders and up her throat to cup her face and look at it with searching eyes.
“For the record,” he murmured quietly, “is it a distasteful thought?”
That did shock her. She couldn’t imagine any woman finding him distasteful.
“It’s not that at all,” she said. Her fingers flattened against his shirtfront, feeling the warm strength of his body. “I’m afraid that you’ll be disappointed.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Why?”
She moved restlessly. “I haven’t kissed a lot of people. Well, you keep me too busy,” she added defensively when his eyes twinkled.
“So your education has been neglected?” He laughed softly. “I’ll teach you how to kiss, Gabby. It isn’t hard at all. Just close your eyes and I’ll do the rest.”
She did, and the first contact with that hard, persuasive mouth made her breath catch. He lifted his head, studying her.
“What was that wild little gasp about?” he asked gently.
Her wide eyes searched his. “You’re my boss….”
That seemed to anger him. “For today, I’m a man.” His thumbs under her chin coaxed her face up still farther. His head bent, his mouth hovering just above hers. “Relax, will you?” he whispered. “I can hear your bones straining.”
She laughed nervously. “I’m trying. You make me feel…stiff. I’m sorry, I’m kind of new at this.”
“Stiff how?” He pounced on that, his expression giving nothing away, his eyes narrow and unblinking.
Her lips parted. Her fingers contracted on his shirtfront, her nails biting unconsciously into his chest, and he stiffened. “Now you’re doing it, too,” she whispered.
His face relaxed, and there was a wild kind of relief in his dark eyes. He brushed his mouth over her forehead, her closed eyes. His hands slid behind her head and into the thick hair at her nape, cradling it.
“Gabby,” he murmured as he tasted the softness of her cheeks, her forehead, “that stiffness…have you felt it before with anyone?”
It was a casual-sounding question, nothing to alarm her. “No,” she murmured. She liked the soft, slow kisses he was pressing against her face.
“Would you like me to make it worse?”
She opened her dazed eyes to ask what he meant, and his open mouth crushed down on her lips. She gasped softly, letting her eyes close again. His mouth felt odd; it was warm and smoky tasting and very, very expert. Her fingers clung to the fabric of his shirt, twisting it into wrinkles. She stood quite still, her body tense with hunger, feeling the slow persuasion of his mouth grow rougher.
He lifted his mouth away from hers, his face so close that she couldn’t see anything but his lips. “Who taught you that it was impolite to open your mouth when a man kissed it?” he whispered softly.
Her eyes went dazedly up to his dark ones. “Is it?” she whispered back, her voice sounding high-pitched and shaky.
“No,” he breathed. His thumb gently tugged on her lower lip, coaxing her mouth open. “I want to taste you, Gabby. I want to touch you…inside…”
She started to tremble at the sensuality of the words and of his touch. His mouth eased hers open and slowly increased its hungry pressure. She felt the tiny bristle of a half day’s growth of beard around his mouth and felt the hardness of his tongue slowly, delicately, penetrating her lips.
A tiny moan trembled in her throat.
“Don’t be afraid,” he whispered, his own voice oddly strained. “It won’t hurt.”
She did moan then, as the implied intimacy and the penetration all washed over her at once, and she drowned in the sensation of being possessed by him. Her nails dug into his shoulders. She pressed her body into the hard curve of his and heard him groan.
“No,” he said suddenly, pushing her away. He turned, walked off and lit a cigarette.
Gabby clutched her purse to her and stood staring helplessly after him, trembling all over. She’d never dreamed that it would feel like that!
Around them, a group of tourists was just entering the end of the Forum, which they’d had momentarily to themselves. Gabby got a glimpse of colorful clothing and heard murmuring voices as J.D. smoked his cigarette for several long moments before he turned and rejoined her.
“I shouldn’t have done that,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry.”
She was struggling for composure, and it was hard-won. “It’s all right,” she said. “I know you’re worried about Martina…”
“Was I looking for comfort, Gabby?” He laughed mirthlessly. His dark eyes swept up and down her slender body.
“I’d rather it was that,” she murmured, “than you needing a woman and having me get in the way.”
“It wasn’t that impersonal, I’m afraid,” he said, falling into step beside her. He towered over her.