"Does that mean I'm free to go? I mean … we don't have to pretend anymore?"
He frowned, and she held her breath at the myriad of emotions flitting across his face.
"When were we pretending? We're married. That's not about to change. You're a Giovanni now, and we don't divorce." His tone was harsh, and his eyes had turned into icy flints. The barely controlled aggression behind those growled words should have frightened her, but it had the opposite effect. Excitement pooled low in her belly. He wouldn't be this angry, if he didn't care, surely?
"Marco divorced." Why she felt the need to goad him, she couldn't say.
"Marco is the exception. I have no intention to put the family through another divorce. You're mine, Jemima. It's the least you can—" He swore and ran a hand through his hair.
"The least I can … what? Say it, Giorgio, please."
He shook his head and wouldn't look at her. A flush spread across his chiseled cheekbones, and he went so still he might as well have been a statue. Her heart bled, seeing him this distant. She had done this to him. Her passionate, living, sexy as sin husband couldn't even look at her. A small part of her rebelled, and screamed at the injustice of it all. She hadn't cheated on him back then, not really, but he still didn't believe her, and no doubt he never would. She blinked the tears away, and ruthlessly squashed the pain of that knowledge away into a box. She was good at creating boxes. She'd lived all her life like this; she could do this, because if she was pregnant, there was no choice to make.
Their baby deserved both parents in their life, and she had taken too much away from Giorgio already. She couldn't take this baby away from him, too, but she couldn't tell him either. Not until she was certain. Not until they'd established some sort of a relationship. Not one forced on them by circumstances, but because they both wanted to make it work.
She kissed his chest, and he jumped. In one fluid move he twisted their bodies until she was lying pinned underneath him. She closed her eyes and reveled in the feel of his big, solid body on top of her, anchoring her in the here and now. With the unmistakable evidence of his arousal a hard ridge against her mound, she wriggled to bring him closer, and his eyes darkened.
He kissed her, not the harsh, angry kiss she was expecting, but a mere flutter of lips on lips that had her bury her hands in his hair, to pull him closer, to deepen the contact.
"Forgive me, cara mia." He whispered the words in between butterfly kisses along her jaw, and she melted. "I never should have said that. I don't know why I did. You bring out the caveman in me, and the thought of anyone touching you drives me insane.”
The possessiveness behind those words soothed her troubled soul, and she scored her fingernails along his biceps. They flexed under her hands as he lifted himself off her slightly to allow her to open her legs and let him settle home between them.
"I'm sorry, I never wanted them to. I—"
"Shh." He interrupted her halting apology, and when he lifted his head briefly, the sincerity in his heated gaze made her gasp. "I know, you didn't. It doesn't matter. No one is ever going to hurt you again. Just let me love you."
He licked a fiery path along her neck and nibbled her earlobe. She could feel his smile when she moaned in response and wriggled her hips in an effort for him to get closer.
"Still like that then, cara? How about this?" He bit her nipple through her clothes, and she arched her spine to bring him closer. He chuckled against her heated flesh and undid the buttons of her dress with infinite slowness. Every new bit of skin another freed button revealed was greeted with a tender kiss, until she was begging him to hurry up.
He stopped and gave her that sinful smile she remembered so well.
"We have all night. What's the hurry? Stop trying to rush me or I will have to tie those pretty wrists to the bed after all." She froze at those words, and he caught her wrists in his hands, and kissed the rapidly beating pulse points in turn, until she unclenched her fists. He put one hand to his face and kissed her palm, licking a path up her inner arm until her muscles turned to liquid and that brief flash of fear dissipated and left just the sweet tingle of arousal in its wake.
He reached above her and showed her the padded wrist cuff. She swallowed and nodded at the unspoken question in his eyes.
"Just one wrist, cara mia. To see how you cope, shall we?" He smiled at her tentative nod, and she took a deep breath when he secured her wrist high above her head. "Hold onto the strap with your free hand. Yes, just like that. You can undo this anytime, okay?"
Tears clouded her vision at the concern in his voice, and he swore and moved to untie her.
"No, I'm fine, really. Leave it. Show me how it should be, please. Help me to forget."
He stared at her for the longest time, one large hand, hot and heavy on her belly, his gaze so intense it took her breath away. When he finally smiled, it lit up his harsh features. She didn't catch the murmured Italian words he mumbled under his breath, but the kiss that followed had her curl her toes into the bed with the effort to not release herself from her bonds and bury her hands in his hair to make him hurry up and fuck her.
He was breathing as heavily as she by the time he released her, and she bit back a moan when he simply ripped the rest of her dress off her. Her bra and knickers followed the fate of her dress, until she lay in front of him naked, wet, and wanting. He ran his knuckles slowly up and down her tummy in ever widening circles, and then reached across to the ice bucket with a slow grin.
"Shut your eyes for me, cara." His voice had dropped an octave, and her stomach dropped right with it, seeing him hold a couple of ice cubes in his fingers. She shook her head and bucked off the bed, when he flicked his hand over her breasts. Ice cold drops of water fell on her skin and trickled between the valley of her breasts. He licked the drops away, his warm tongue taking away the coldness left by the water.
"Shut your eyes, trust me. This will be so much better for you when you can't see what I'm doing." He kissed a path down her quivering tummy, and she blinked back tears at the tender way he caressed her abdomen. He paused to drop a long kiss just above her pubic bone, and his hot breath teased her wet folds. Her clit tingled, and she shut her eyes, as he renewed his request for her to do so. She couldn't see what he was doing, but the bed dipped as he adjusted his weight again. His hot mouth closed over one of her nipples at the same time as the other was subjected to an ice cube being circled around it.
She gasped at the intense sensation, and Giorgio swapped sides. The difference between his warm mouth and tongue and the ice cube sent her body into spasms of need. She writhed under him, and he laughed. Again and again he repeated the process all along her body. A path of ice, followed by the warmth of his tongue as he licked the icy trails away, leaving fiery awareness in its wake. By the time he finally reached her pussy, she was hovering on the brink of orgasm. She whimpered her need when he pushed an ice cube high into her channel and then proceeded to lick around her clit, careful to never touch her when she needed him most. The melting ice cube mixed in with her own juices and trickled slowly out her hole. Her pussy clenched, and she didn't recognize the needy voice pleading with him to please do something.
He blew against her slit and shouldered her legs wider.
"Così bello, e tutto mio." He followed the words with a kiss, and she screamed when he pulled her clit into his mouth and swirled his tongue around it, at the same time as he pushed another ice cube into her empty channel. Her walls closed around the slippery object, and spasmed wildly as the first quivers of her orgasm hit. Giorgio groaned into her core and stepped up his sweet torture on her clit. When he pushed two fingers into her core, and massaged her sweet spot, the intensity of her orgasm hit her with the full force of freight train.
"That's it, tesoro, fly for me." He caught her scream of release in his mouth, and she could taste herself in the passionate kiss he gave her, dimly aware of him withdrawing his fingers and replacing them with his cock. Thick, hard, and so very long he filled her completely as h
e pushed into her swollen core, until he was seated to the hilt. She wrapped her legs around him and dug her feet into his calves to give him better access and to take him as deep as she could. He started thrusting, every move driving him deeper into her, and tumbling her right over the edge again, as her inner muscles contracted around his thick member. Faster and faster he pumped, his harsh breathing in her ear the most erotic sound ever, his hands and lips seemingly everywhere, arousing every little bit of skin he touched until her whole body was a mass of sensation. Again her body climbed toward that peak of sheer joy, and this time Giorgio was with her every step of the ecstatic journey they took together. Her eyes flew open, and she drowned in the rolling depths of emotion she saw reflected in his, as they came together in their explosive release.
When her body finally stopped shaking, she could taste the salt of tears in her mouth. Giorgio kissed them off her face, and he released her from her bonds, and pulled her into his embrace. She had to smile at his grumbled, "If this is pretending, then I hate to see what will happen when we do this for real."
She snuggled into him and simply gave her herself up to the moment.
Chapter Eighteen
Jemima woke up on her own the next morning. Entangled in the sheets, she stretched and moaned. Her skin felt too tight for the body it covered and so sensitive the soft sheets chafed and awoke nerve endings still tingling in remembered pleasure. She smiled and sank deeper into the covers that smelled of sex, champagne, wax, and the unmistakable aroma of Giorgio. He had been like a man possessed last night, determined to try every last toy designed to send her along the rungs of torturous pleasure.
Jemima didn't know it was possible to die that many “petit morts” and still live, and she was supremely grateful that Stella had been the only other person in the house, and that there were no immediate neighbors to have heard her screams of completion. Marco had played her body like a finely tuned instrument, and Jemima had simply ridden the waves of sensation crashing over her. He'd kissed the faint scars left on her body and retraced the steps another candle had forever imprinted on her back, with the low burning candle that had been part of the toys. At his hands the wax had aroused, teased, and burned away the bad memories, replacing them with sighs of completion and wonder. The hold the past had on her body and soul had melted away at the touch of his gentle yet demanding hands.
The sun sat high in the sky, and Jemima blinked in the rays filtering through the gap in the curtains, when she rolled over. The by now familiar waves of sickness were absent this morning, but then again, looking at the high zenith of that ball of fire it had to be midday. She had slept the morning away, it seemed. Jemima giggled at the thought. It wasn't exactly surprising, considering how little last night had to do with sleep.
She gingerly swung her legs over the bed and straightened up slowly. Her stomach rolled, but she didn't feel the need to dash to the bathroom. Instead she made her way across slowly, grateful for the fact that she had the room to herself. After last night she wasn't sure she wouldn't blurt out her feelings to Giorgio the minute she saw him. Despite his tender determination last night she wasn't at all sure he would welcome any declarations of love, and for now the intense physical connection they shared would have to suffice.
She couldn't burden him with her emotions when he was so involved in keeping her safe and stopping Beauchamp from destroying Marco's business endeavors. Her happy mood took a severe dent at the thought of the French vineyard owner. She knew only too well what that man was capable of, and she would do anything to spare Elise and Marco the heartache that man had wrought on Giorgio and her. Regardless of Giorgio's dictate to stay away from the man, Jemima had every intention to seek him out and confront him.
He wouldn't expect that from her, and thus she had an advantage she intended to exploit. Of course it might also be the final nail in the coffin with Giorgio, but she would have to take that risk. Too much was at stake here.
Her mind made up, she ran herself a bath and half an hour later padded down the long, winding staircase in search of Stella.
She found the older woman in the kitchen. The huge space took up the entire length of the back of the house and afforded fantastic views over Hampstead Heath. Like the rest of the house it was decorated in warm earthy tones that made you feel at home. Light, spacious and airy, with a long breakfast bar separating the kitchen area from the dining room, the kitchen was the hub of the house. From here Stella Giovanni reigned supreme. Stella hadn't heard Jemima's barefooted and silent approach and she took a moment to study the other woman.
The years had been kind to Stella. Even though she was in her late fifties by now, her long, straight, jet black hair showed no hint of grey. Normally worn in an elegant up-do, it tumbled half way down Stella's still slender back. Her flawless olive complexion showed very few lines and was slightly flushed. Judging by the casual sweat pants and tank top she wore, Stella had just finished a work out.
Leaning against the breakfast bar, she was surfing the news channel, her full lips pursed in irritation, one slender foot tapping the floor tiles in an impatient staccato. She frowned and threw the remote on the kitchen counter with a muttered Italian curse.
Jemima cleared her throat to announce her presence and immediately wished she hadn't, when Stella's crystal blue gaze swept over her. It pinned her in place under Stella's silent assessment until she smiled and inclined her head. Jemima released the breath she hadn't been aware of holding and grabbed the back of a chair for support.
"Ciao, Jemima, did you sleep well? I checked on you earlier, just after Giorgio left, but I didn't have the heart to disturb you. I reckoned you needed your sleep after last night. I knew that boy would put my little surprises to good use."
She winked at her, and Jemima wanted the ground to swallow her up. She was so not having that conversation with her husband's aunt. It was embarrassing enough knowing that Stella had no doubt heard them last night. They hadn't been quiet, and big as the house was, noise carried. But knowing that it'd been Stella who'd placed those toys in Giorgio's room—well, that took too much information to an entirely different level of awkward.
As though she'd read her mind, Stella laughed, a rich, husky sound that had Jemima's cheeks flame even more.
"Don't look so embarrassed. I figured the two of you hadn't had much fun since you got back together, and nothing takes your mind of one's worries as fast as good sex. The fast, hard, dirty kind, and from what I heard last night, that's exactly what you got, girl."
"Stella, please." Jemima couldn't look at her. May the ground swallow me up right now.
"Really, Jemima, you do surprise me. I wouldn't have thought a girl with your…" Her voice faltered, and she stepped toward Jemima. The comforting hand on her shoulder soothed some of Jemima's unease, as Stella continued. "But never mind that. Let us not speak of that ever again. It's all in the past, and we must look to the future. You're a Giovanni now, and with a bambino on the way—"
"I'm not pregnant!" Jemima almost shouted her denial, but Stella simply smiled.
"Of course you are, and even if you're not, you soon will be. Giorgio needs to settle down and start a family. He will make a brilliant father, make no bones about it, you'll see."
Jemima couldn't really believe what she was hearing.
"Does he not get a say in the matter? What if he doesn't want to start a family, yet, or ever?" Even as she said that, Jemima saw him in her mind's eye with his goddaughter and yesterday with his cousins. Oh he wanted a family all right, but did he want that family with her? And perhaps more importantly could she be the wife and mother he needed her to be? Wishing for something did not make it so.
"Jemima, look at me." Stella's voice held an edge of steel, but she smiled when Jemima looked up. "I have known that boy since he was a mere babe in arms. Giorgio has done plenty of things himself that he has no reason to be proud of. He will not hold your past against you, and besides, that boy is besotted with you. Anyone can see that, so w
hatever silly thoughts are bouncing around in that pretty head of yours, you can forget them now. He will be pleased as punch about the baby. Just make sure you tell him soon, before he figures it out himself, or one of the others points it out to him. Because they will."
"But—" Jemima tried to get her point across, but Stella cut her protest off with a dismissive wave of her hand.
"No, I don't want to hear the ins and outs of it. That's for you two to sort out between yourselves. The only concern I had was the safety of my family, but Giorgio assures me that is all taken care of. He is even now talking to your sister and Marco, to apprise them of the situation. He didn't want Elise to switch on the television and jump to the wrong conclusions."
His thoughtfulness brought tears to Jemima's eyes, and Stella clucked her tongue and handed her a tissue.
"Sit down, Jemima, before you fall down. Hormones are a bitch. You will cry at everything and drive that poor boy to distraction. I know my Sandro had no clue what to do with me every time I was pregnant. Dio santo, half of the time I didn't know myself." Stella smiled to herself. She seemed far away for a few seconds before she shrugged her shoulders. "So, you see, if you're not pregnant, I will eat my hat. I'll book you a doctor's appointment if you like with my gynecologist. He's the best in the business and very discreet. The sooner we confirm that you are, the better we can plan. You're too thin, so you will need to look after yourself. Can't have anything happen to you or the newest Giovanni, now, can we?"
Jemima just shook her head. There was no point in trying to stop the flow of words. Stella was in full matriarchal form, and the small child in Jemima, who'd lost her mother far too early in her life, lapped up the motherly attention as Stella fussed and plotted and told her tales of Giorgio's childish misdemeanors that her laughing so much her sides ached.
She dutifully ate the lunch Stella prepared and drank another one of Giada's “potions”. She wasn't entirely surprised to learn that Stella and Giada were friends, and had been discussing her in great detail on numerous occasions. Somehow, the thought that they cared enough to do so comforted her, and she finally relaxed. That tiny seed of hope that had taken up residence in her heart ever since she'd opened her eyes back in the Italian hospital, and had heard Giorgio call her his wife—that seed that stubbornly clung to life with its tentative shoots wrapping themselves around her heart—that seed unfurled and grew under Stella's unexpected acceptance. Her utter confidence and expectation that their marriage would work was the further balm to her wounded soul that she needed.
Too Devious to Tame (The Giovanni Clan) Page 14
