The Valtieri Baby Page 8

  ‘It’s fine,’ he said, but his voice was a little impatient and she sighed inwardly. He really, really wasn’t enjoying being cooped up with her like this—probably not any more than she was. And neither of them had needed her waking in the night from that hideous dream—

  She cut off her line of thought abruptly. Don’t go there. You won’t be able to sleep again if you think about it.

  ‘I’m sorry I woke you.’

  He turned his head and met her eyes searchingly. ‘I wasn’t asleep.’

  ‘Was the pain keeping you awake?’

  He shook his head. ‘No. I never sleep well in a strange bed for the first few nights.’

  But he had, last night. Until she’d—

  Stop it! Don’t even slightly think about it!

  ‘Well, unless I’m with you,’ he added, and there it was, out in the open again, where neither of them wanted it.

  ‘Well, I’m going to solve that for you tomorrow,’ she said lightly, her voice slightly strained, ‘because, after seeing your place today, I think you’re probably OK to go back to Firenze. You’ve got the pizza place just round the corner, and you can order whatever else you need over the internet and buzz the door open. I’m sure you’ll be fine.’

  She glanced back at his face and his eyes locked with hers, unreadable. And then he looked away again, and nodded.

  ‘Yes. I’m sure I will. Good idea.’

  He picked up his hot chocolate, drained it even though it was still hot and stood up, yanking the belt on his robe tighter. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’

  And without another word, he limped out of the room and disappeared down the hall to his bedroom.

  * * *

  She couldn’t sleep.

  Every time she closed her eyes, she was back in his room with him, lying there beside him, with her hand on his chest, feeling the steady thud of his heart under her palm...

  She picked up her book, but it couldn’t hold her attention. She read the same paragraph she had earlier another six times, and threw it down. She was never going to get through this book as long as he was there under her roof reminding her of how much she’d missed him for the last five years.

  She threw the book down in disgust and looked around.

  She’d go and watch television. There probably wasn’t anything decent on, and it was cold in the sitting room. February in Tuscany was not a good time to be up all night without the heating on, and she didn’t want to run it unnecessarily, but it beat lying here thinking about him all night. She’d go crazy.

  She got up and pulled the cardi on again, and crept out into the hall. She had to pass his room to get to the sitting room, and she hesitated at the open door.

  There was a chair in his room. A comfortable, squashy armchair. She could creep in there and curl up on it and watch him. Just for a little while. He was going tomorrow, and she was going to miss him so much.

  It wouldn’t hurt, would it? He wouldn’t even know, he’d be asleep by now, surely?

  His door was wide open, the dim light from the lamp she’d left on in the hallway spilling in across the foot of the bed. She could see the lump in the bed where she’d put the cushions in it to protect his foot, and an angled lump on this side of it—his other leg, bent at the knee and turned out?

  He was motionless, and she crept across the room to the chair and stopped. He’d put his clothes on it. Well, of course he had. That was one of the reasons it was in there.

  So she lifted them, holding her breath so she didn’t disturb him, and put them carefully down on the floor.

  Something clinked against the tiles—his belt buckle? She didn’t know, but she froze for a second, listening.

  Nothing.

  He can’t have heard her, she thought, and she sat quietly down, wriggling back and tucking her feet up under her to keep them warm. And then she felt the draught from the window, and shivered and pulled the cardi higher round her neck. She wished she’d brought a throw to wrap round her shoulders, but at least the cold would keep her awake—

  ‘Anita, what are you doing?’

  His quiet, patient voice startled her, and she gasped softly. He hadn’t been meant to know she was there, and she’d been so sure that he was asleep. Obviously not, or not any more.

  She looked across at the bed, just as he levered himself up on one elbow and stared back at her, his features indistinguishable in the darkness. Hers, on the other hand, were clearly visible in the stream of light from the hall, and embarrassment must be written all over them.

  ‘I’m sorry. I couldn’t sleep and there was nothing on the television.’ She got stiffly to her feet, the circulation cut off by her cramped position. ‘I’m sorry, I’ll go, I don’t know what I was thinking—’

  ‘No.’ For a second he said nothing more, then he spoke again, his voice resigned. ‘No. Come here, Anita. Get into bed. You must be freezing.’

  She was, but still she hesitated, and then he flung back the covers on the empty side of the bed and waited.

  ‘Well, come on. I don’t bite.’

  No. He didn’t bite—well, not five years ago. He’d nibbled, and sucked, and trailed his tongue all over her, blowing lightly to chill the skin and then warming it again with those hot, sensuous, erotic lips—

  ‘Is that a good idea?’

  ‘Yes. You’re cold, we’re both wide awake. Just get into bed, Anita. Come on. And then maybe we’ll both get some sleep.’

  She closed her eyes briefly, then gave in. She knew what would happen. It was inevitable, no matter what their intentions, but somehow it didn’t seem to matter any more, because the worst thing that could happen was she’d fall in love with him and she’d done that years ago.

  So she peeled off the cardi and slid into bed beside him, and he turned her away from him and hooked her back into the curve of his warm, hard body, and covered her with the goose-down quilt she’d never been able to bear to sleep under alone because of all the memories the feel of it brought back.

  ‘Heavens, you’re freezing, woman,’ he said with a shudder as she wriggled her bottom closer. He wrapped his top arm firmly round her, his damaged hand resting across her ribs, his thumb just brushing the underside of a breast.

  He tried not to think about it, tried not to think about the times she’d snuggled up to him like this and he’d woken her up to make love to her.

  He wasn’t going to make love to her. He wasn’t. Whatever his body thought to the contrary. She shifted, and he stifled a groan and moved his injured foot out of reach.

  ‘Mind my leg,’ he said, and she stiffened.

  ‘Sorry, did I hurt you?’

  ‘No.’ Not in the way she meant, but to hold her and know he couldn’t have her, that he mustn’t let himself do this—it was going to kill him. ‘Just remember not to kick me.’

  ‘I don’t kick.’

  He snorted softly, shifted his head so her hair wasn’t in his face and tried to zone out a little, to go somewhere that wasn’t either making love to Anita or rehashing all the reasons why this was such a lousy idea—

  ‘Gio? What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing. It’s OK. I just—hell, I’ve missed you, Nita.’

  ‘Oh, Gio...’

  Her voice was soft, and she turned in his arms, her hand settling lightly on his cheek, her fingers cradling his jaw. ‘I’ve missed you, too. We were so good together. What went wrong?’

  He didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Not truthfully, and he’d rather not speak than lie.

  ‘I’m no good for you,’ he said gruffly. ‘You need someone sensible who knows how to have a relationship. I’m a disaster, bella. I didn’t want to hurt you, you have to believe that. And if I did, I’m sorry.’

  He was. Sorry he’d hurt her, sorry she’d come to him, sorry that in the warm, soft cocoon of the bedding, there were no barriers between them that had a hope of working.

  ‘Anita...’

  It was scarcely a whisper, but the soft huff of his breath ov
er her face, the light touch of his hand on her cheek, the gentle and inevitable brush of his lips on hers took away the last trace of her feeble resistance.

  She moaned softly, and his fingers threaded through her hair, steadying her as he increased the pressure slightly. She gave in and parted her lips, welcoming the hot, velvet sweep of his tongue as he probed the secret recesses of her mouth.

  ‘Gio,’ she breathed, and he anchored her head with his hand and deepened the kiss, turning her to fire with every searching thrust of his tongue. She arched against him, her hands on his body urging them together, closing the gap until they were in contact from lips to knees.

  It nearly finished him.

  The feel of her body, soft, yielding, the flesh still cool and yet somehow on fire, drove him crazy, and he shoved the pyjama top out of the way and found her breasts.

  So sweet, so firm and yet so soft, so real. Her breasts were perfect. So perfect, just fitting the palm of his injured hand, soothing it. He bent his head, touching his lips to her nipple, blowing lightly on it then stroking it with his tongue, and she cried out softly, her body shuddering.

  So responsive to him, just as he was responsive to her. He’d never felt so much, so intensely, with anyone else, and he feared he never would.

  ‘Don’t stop,’ she begged as he paused. ‘Please, don’t stop...’

  He laughed softly in the darkness. How could he stop? There wasn’t a thing in the world that could stop him now, except Anita. He touched his hand to her face, found her mouth again with his and kissed her until she sobbed with need.

  ‘You’ll have to help me,’ he said at last, lifting his head and staring down at her, brushing the hair gently back from her face with his trembling fingers. ‘I can’t undress you with this stupid hand.’

  She reached up and kissed him, her lips brushing lightly over his, their warmth filling him. And then she sat up and peeled off her top, wriggled out of the bottoms and reached for his shorts.

  ‘Condom,’ he said gruffly, checking her as she started to move over him. ‘In my wallet, on the bedside table.’

  She rolled away, picked it up and took it to the doorway, and he watched her hungrily as she stood naked in the stream of light and searched through it.

  She hesitated at the photograph of her, momentarily distracted that he carried one, then frowned. Where would a man keep a condom?

  In another pocket, zipped in. There. Several, she saw with relief, wondering why it hadn’t even occurred to her to think of it. Thank God for someone with some common sense.

  She threw the wallet back on the bedside table, tore off the foil and slipped under the covers and reached for him, her fingers shaking as the tension coiled tighter inside her.

  ‘Easy,’ he murmured raggedly, and then she was moving over his body, lowering herself slowly down onto him, and it felt as if she’d come home...

  * * *

  Had he known this was going to happen?

  He’d been so determined it wouldn’t, and yet yesterday, when they’d been at the apartment, he’d gone to the bathroom and stashed a few condoms in his wallet.

  Just in case.

  And now he was wishing he’d brought more. A lot more.

  He turned his head and looked at her. She was sleeping like a baby, flat on her back, one hand up by her face, her head tilted slightly towards him, lips parted softly.

  He could see a stubble rash around her top lip, and he rubbed a hand against his jaw and frowned. It might have been better if he’d shaved last night, but by the time he’d finished the shower he’d had enough.

  He’d have to be careful how he kissed her next time.

  Because there would be a next time. Now they’d done this, broken down their resistance and surrendered to it, he knew there would be no going back, not until their families came home and life intruded again.

  But until then—until then, they could indulge themselves, because the damage was already done.

  Her eyes flickered open, and she smiled.

  ‘Ciao, gorgeous,’ she said, and he chuckled.

  ‘Ciao, gorgeous, yourself. Sleep well?’

  ‘Mmm. You?’

  ‘Not really. I’ve been waiting for you to wake up.’

  ‘Oh.’ Her eyes widened, and she reached out her hand and cradled his jaw. ‘Mmm. Stubble. Yummy.’

  ‘Yeah. It’s given you stubble rash on your lip.’

  She felt it with her fingertips, and wrinkled her nose. ‘Oh. That’ll look good if we go out.’

  ‘Are we going out?’

  She searched his face in the dim light of dawn, and smiled slowly.

  ‘Possibly not,’ she murmured, and reached up, drawing him down to her. ‘Kiss me.’

  ‘I’ll hurt you.’

  ‘I’ll live.’

  So he kissed her—but not on her mouth. He kissed her neck, her shoulders, down the warm, pale slope of her breasts. He drew her nipples into his mouth one by one, sharing his attention equally so he wasn’t accused of favouritism, then he moved lower, tracing a circle around the hollow of her belly button before blowing a raspberry on the soft, smooth skin just below it.

  It made her gasp, and then laugh, and she could feel him smiling against her skin, feel his shoulders shift as he chuckled, the warm, damp air of his breath huffing softly across her body as he turned his head and moved downwards.

  ‘Gio—’

  ‘Shh.’

  She bit her lips, sobbing with need, and then he moved on again, lifting her leg up so he could stroke his tongue over the back of her knee.

  She shuddered and clutched at him, and he slid his hand up her thigh and stroked her with a fingertip, his head lifted now, their eyes locked.

  Black, burning coals. She’d never seen such ferocious need in his eyes, and she shifted against his hand, sobbing as he teased her with the lightest touch. Then he moved up her, the rougher texture of his body trailing fire over her skin. She was shaking all over, beyond reason, needing him, needing him so much—

  ‘Gio, please...’

  He leant over her and grabbed his wallet, and seconds later he was there, entering her with one long, slow thrust, and she wrapped her arms around him and sobbed with relief.

  ‘Anita,’ he growled, his mouth against her throat, his body taut as a bowstring as he drove into her again and again. He could feel her body tighten around him, feel the shudder of her breath, feel the deep convulsions wrap around him and take him blindly over the edge into a place he’d never been before, and as he soared and fell he knew that in that moment something, somehow, had irrevocably changed...

  * * *

  They didn’t get up that day.

  Not really. They made the odd foray to the kitchen for food, and she wrapped his foot up in a bag and they showered—or at least, that was the idea. She found a garden chair and brought it in and washed it, and they put it in the shower so he could sit on it, and then they made love on the chair under the pounding stream of hot water.

  Except as they came down to earth again the water was almost cold, so they turned it off and rubbed each other dry and went back to bed to warm up again until the water was hot and they could shower properly.

  And then in the evening his family rang for the daily catch-up, and when he finally put the phone down he was starving.

  ‘Let’s go out for dinner.’

  ‘What? Really? With stubble rash?’

  He laughed. ‘It doesn’t show. I’ve been very careful. And anyway, we’ve run out of condoms.’

  ‘Oh. Right. I’ll get dressed, then,’ she said sassily, but there was a hint of shyness in her smile, and a tinge of colour in her cheeks.

  He laughed softly. How could she still be shy, after everything they’d done that day? There wasn’t a square inch of either of them that hadn’t been kissed or stroked or touched, and apart from a few concessions for his injuries, it had been just as it had before.

  Well, almost as it had. There was something deeper, some new element t
o their lovemaking that he didn’t want to think about too much.

  ‘So, are you going to get dressed?’ she asked, standing in the doorway in her jeans and boots and jumper. Her hair was loose, curling around her shoulders, and she’d put a little makeup on to cover the ravages of their lovemaking.

  And he was still sitting there on the sofa staring into space and wondering what the hell was going on and what it was that was different.

  ‘Sure.’ He got up and limped back to the bedroom, pulled on his clothes with a little help from Anita at the foot end, and they headed out of the door for what felt remarkably like a date.

  It was a cold, wet night, and en route to the restaurant they called in at the supermarket. The list was short. Bread. Milk. Wicked things for breakfast. And condoms. Lots of them.

  They got through the checkout straight-faced, and headed back to the car laughing like naughty children. Except they didn’t feel like children, and after the first two courses in the cosy and intimate little restaurant they cut short their dinner and went home to have their very adult dessert in private.

  * * *

  Something was different.

  She didn’t know what it was, quite, but there was a change in him. He seemed—not remote, exactly, but as if he was keeping something of himself back, something she’d never been allowed to see and until now maybe hadn’t even been aware of.

  It was almost as if he’d just discovered he had a softer side, and he was in denial. As well he might be, because if he had such a side, she’d certainly never seen it.

  And yet, maybe, she had, with his nieces and nephews. His sister Carla rarely visited her family, because she lived in Umbria with her artist husband and their children, but Luca lived in the grounds of the family estate with his wife Isabelle and their two children, and Massimo, who ran the estate, lived in the palazzo with his three children and his new wife, Lydia. She was just a few weeks off having their first baby together, and Anita was sure Gio would be as involved with that baby as he had been with all the others.

  And he was involved, for all he might deny it. They climbed all over him, sat on him and demanded stories, made him get down on the floor on his hands and knees and give them pony rides, and he did it all without protest.