by Abby Green
The vet walked in and looked at them both before saying, ‘Well, he is a she and it’s lucky you found her when you did. She wouldn’t have survived much longer. She’s about five months old and as far as we can tell she hasn’t been microchipped. She’s probably from a stray litter or got dumped.’
Lara said, ‘Is she okay?’
The vet nodded. ‘She’ll be fine—thanks to you for bringing her in. She’s obviously been in a scrap, but it’s just cuts and bruises. Nothing too serious. She needs some TLC and some food. We can microchip her and keep her in overnight to clean her up, then you can take her home tomorrow, if you like?’ He must have seen something on their faces because then he said, ‘I’m sorry, I just assumed you’d want to keep her, but I can see I shouldn’t have.’
Lara didn’t want to look at Ciro, but all of a sudden it seemed of paramount importance that she got to keep the dog. As if something hinged on this very decision.
Without looking at Ciro, she said, ‘I’d like to keep her.’
The vet looked at Ciro, who must have nodded or something, because he said, ‘That’s good. Thank you.’ The vet was just turning to leave and then he said, ‘You should probably think of a name.’
Lara sneaked a look at Ciro, who was expressionless. But she could see his tight jaw.
‘We’ll let you know,’ he said.
The vet left and Lara said, ‘If you don’t want to keep her I’ll look after her and take her with me when I leave. You won’t even know she’s there.’
She. Her.
As if they were discussing a person.
Ciro wasn’t sure why, but he had an almost visceral urge not to take this puppy. A puppy smacked of domesticity. Longevity. Attachment.
‘It’s fine. You can keep her.’
Ciro told himself that Lara would soon tire of the dog and then he would arrange for it to go to a new home. A home with a family who would appreciate it.
But even as he thought that he felt some resistance inside him. He was losing it. Seeing how Lara had been with the dog had made him feel as if he was standing on shifting sands.
‘Thank you.’
‘Let’s go.’
Lara walked out ahead of Ciro, his jacket dwarfing her slender shoulders. She should have looked ridiculous. Her hair was all over the place and she was smeared in dubious-smelling substances. Not to mention the blood. Yet she seemed oblivious to it.
When they were in the back of the car Lara said, ‘Sorry—I know I stink.’
Ciro looked at her in the dim light. Even as dishevelled as she was, she was stunning. More so, if possible. As if this act of humanity had added some quality to her beauty.
‘I wouldn’t have had you down as a dog-lover.’
Her mouth curved into a small smile. ‘My parents got a rescue Labrador puppy when I was just a toddler. We called her Poppy, we were inseparable.’
‘What happened to her?’
The smile faded. ‘After my parents and brother died my uncle had her put down. She was old... She probably only had another year at the most.’
Ciro absorbed that nugget of information. He could hear the emotion she was trying to hide in her voice.
‘Have you thought of a name for this one?’
She turned to look at him and he could see the gratitude in her eyes. He really didn’t want it to affect him, but it did. He couldn’t imagine another woman looking so pleased about taking on a mongrel of dubious parentage.
‘Maybe Hero? I’ve always liked that name. After the Greek myth.’
The fact that Hero had been a virgin priestess wasn’t lost on Ciro, but he only said, ‘Fine. Whatever you want. She’s your dog.’
When they arrived back at the house Lara made a face and gestured to her clothes. ‘I should clean myself up.’
She handed Ciro his jacket. He took it, and there was something vulnerable about the way Lara looked. He had a memory flash of having her ripped out of his arms by the kidnappers and thrown from the van to the side of the road. She’d been dishevelled then too. And the look of terror on her face had matched the terror he’d felt but had been desperate not to show.
‘Of course,’ he said tersely. ‘Go to bed, Lara, it’s been a long night.’
Ciro went into the reception room and dropped his jacket on a chair, loosening his bow tie. Except he knew it wasn’t the fault of his tie that he felt constricted. It was something far more complicated.
He poured himself a whisky and downed the shot in one go, hoping to burn away the questions buzzing in his head. Along with the unwelcome memories.
He forced his mind away from the past and the image of Lara’s terror-stricken face to think of her as she was now—standing under a shower, naked. With rivulets of water streaming down over her curves, her nipples hard and pebbled. The soft curls between her legs would be wet, as wet as she always was when he touched her there—
Dio! He had a wife, willing and hot for him, one floor above his head, and he was down here, torturing himself, when he could be burying himself inside her and forgetting about everything except the release she offered.
Ciro slammed down the glass and went upstairs, taking two stairs at a time. When he got to Lara’s bedroom door he stopped, his sense of urgency suddenly diminishing when he thought of how vulnerable she’d looked. What she’d told him about her family dog. Her uncle had had her put down. Just after her family had been taken from her.
Ciro had had his hand lifted, as if to knock on her door, but he curled it into a fist now, and walked away.
CHAPTER EIGHT
IT SEEMED TO take an age for Lara to fall asleep. She could have sworn she heard Ciro outside her bedroom, and even as she’d longed for him to come in she’d known that if he did she wasn’t sure she’d be able to maintain the façade that she was as cool and impervious to their intimacy as he was.
So when he didn’t appear in her doorway she couldn’t help a tiny dart of relief.
She slept fitfully, and when she woke at some point in the night she wasn’t sure if she’d been asleep for hours, or had only just fallen asleep.
And then she heard it—the sound that must have woken her. A shout. A guttural shout drawn from the very depths of someone’s soul.
Ciro.
The tiny hairs stood up all over Lara’s body as he shouted again—something indeterminate. Half English, half Italian. She realised she was getting out of bed before she’d even decided to do so, and she went to the adjoining door to Ciro’s room.
And then he unleashed a cry that she did understand.
‘No—stop!’
Lara didn’t hesitate. She opened the door and flew into Ciro’s room, where he was thrashing in the bed. Naked. A sheet was tangled around his hips and legs, and his hands were balled into fists at his sides. His skin was sheened with sweat. His hair was damp.
Lara went into the bathroom and soaked a cloth with cold water. She brought it back and sat beside Ciro on the bed, pressing the damp cloth to his forehead. She desperately wanted to ease his pain without waking him, if she could help it. She knew he wouldn’t thank her for seeing him in such a vulnerable state.
But then one of his hands caught her wrist and suddenly she was looking down into wide open dark eyes. She held her breath. He was breathing as if he’d run a marathon.
‘Ciro...?’ Lara whispered. ‘You were dreaming...’
With a sudden move Ciro had Lara flat on her back and was looming over her, both her wrists caught in his hands. Now she was breathing as if she’d been running. She didn’t know if he was asleep or awake and he looked crazed. Yet she wasn’t scared. She knew he wouldn’t hurt her. Even like this.
Ciro was still reeling from the nightmare. So vivid he could still taste it on his tongue. Acrid. He wasn’t even sure where he was. All he could see were Lara’s huge blue eyes. Soft and full of
the same emotion she’d had in them earlier when she’d held the dog. Pity... No, not pity. Compassion.
It impacted Ciro deep inside, and he felt a desperate need to transmute the effects of the nightmare into something much more tangible. He could feel her body against his, all lithe and soft like silk. The press of her breasts...the cradle of her hips.
He was so hard it hurt. Hard and aching. And not just in his body. In his chest, where he felt tight.
He took his hands off her wrists and put them either side of her head. ‘I need you, Lara. Right here, right now, and I can’t promise to be gentle. So if you want to go, go now.’
I need this. I need you.
He didn’t say the words but they beat so heavily in his brain he wondered if he had said them out loud.
Lara reached up and wound her arms around his neck, bringing her body into close contact with his. ‘Take me,’ she said, ‘I’m yours.’
And in that moment, Lara knew she was done for. She felt Ciro’s need as clearly as if it was hers. And all she wanted to do was assuage his pain. She loved him. She still loved him. Had always loved him. Would always love him.
Ciro waited a beat, as if making sure that Lara knew what she was doing, and then with studied deliberation he put his hand to her silky nightgown and ripped it from top to bottom. It fell apart, baring her to his gaze, and Lara found herself revelling in it. She felt the ferocity Ciro felt—it thrummed through her in waves of need, building and building.
Ciro’s dark gaze devoured her body and his hands moulded her every curve. His tongue laved her and with big hands he spread her legs so he could taste her there, making her cry out loud when he found and sucked on that little ball of nerves at the centre of her body.
She lifted her head, hardly able to see straight. She was sheened with sweat now too. ‘Ciro, I can’t wait...please.’
He reached for something and she saw him roll protection onto his length. For the first time Lara wished there could be nothing between them—but this marriage wasn’t about that. Procreation. It was just about...this... She hissed out as Ciro joined their bodies with one cataclysmic thrust.
He was remorseless, using every skill he had to prolong and delay the pinnacle. At one point he withdrew from Lara, and she let out a pitiful-sounding mewl, but he rolled onto his back and urged her to sit astride him, saying roughly, ‘I want to see you.’
Lara put her thighs either side of his hips and came up on her knees. She felt Ciro take himself in his hand, and then he guided her down onto his stiff length. She came down slowly, experimentally, savouring the exquisite sensation of Ciro feeding his length into her, and then he put his hands on her hips. ‘Take me, cara mia...all of me.’
Lara soon found her rhythm, her slick body moving up and down on his, excitement building at her core, making her move faster. The pinnacle was still elusive, though, and she was almost crying with frustration as Ciro clamped his hands on her hips and held her still so that he could pump up into her body.
He pulled her down, finding her breast and sucking her nipple into his mouth as the first wave of the crescendo broke Lara into a million pieces. It went on and on, like waves endlessly crashing against the shore, until she was limp and spent and hollowed out.
In the seconds afterwards it was as if an explosion had just occurred. Her ears were ringing and she wasn’t sure if she was still in one piece.
Her body and Ciro’s were still intimately joined. She lay on him, exhausted but satisfied, her mouth resting on the hectic pulse-point at the bottom of his neck, and that was all she remembered before she fell into a blissful dark oblivion.
* * *
When Lara woke she realised she was still in Ciro’s bed. Dawn was breaking outside. He lay beside her on his back, one arm flung over his head, the other on his chest. Her gaze drifted down over hard pecs to the dark curls where his masculinity was still gloriously impressive, even in sleep.
She knew she should leave because he would soon return her to her room. She wondered with a pang if he’d ever let a woman spend the whole night in his bed.
She was sitting up when Ciro’s hand caught her arm. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’
Lara’s heart thumped. ‘Back to my own bed.’
‘Don’t. Stay here.’
Lara looked at Ciro. His eyes were still closed. Maybe he wasn’t even awake, so wasn’t aware of what he was saying. She lay down carefully and he rolled towards her, trapping her with a leg over hers. She felt him stir against her. He opened his eyes.
A bubble of emotion rose up in her as she took in Ciro’s stubbled face and messy hair. Without thinking she reached out and touched his scar gently, running her finger down the ridged length.
‘Does it hurt?’
‘Only sometimes... It doesn’t hurt... It feels tight.’
‘You were never tempted to get it removed? Like the people you help with your charity?’
His mouth firmed. ‘No. I think it’s important for people to see it—to know that if they want to live with their scars, it’s okay. And it’s a reminder.’
Lara was touched by his sentiment. Then she frowned. ‘A reminder of the kidnapping...? Why would you want that?’
‘Not that, specifically, but it’s a reminder that I’m not as infallible as I once believed. And it’s a reminder not to trust anyone.’
Including me, Lara thought.
Facing him like this in the half-light, with no sounds coming from outside, made her feel otherworldly. As if they were in some sort of cocoon.
‘The dream you were having last night...’
Ciro rolled onto his back again. ‘It was a nightmare.’
Hesitantly Lara asked, ‘About the kidnapping?’
He nodded, clearly uncomfortable. He probably saw it as a sign of weakness.
‘I had them too,’ Lara said.
Ciro looked at her.
‘For months afterwards. The same one, over and over again... The hoods being put over our heads, then taken off. Realising we were in that van with those men. Being ripped out of your arms...left at the side of the road—’ She stopped, shivering at the memory.
Ciro reached for her and hauled her into his arms. He said, ‘I would never let that happen again—do you hear me?’
Lara looked at him, saw the determination on his face. She nodded. ‘I believe you.’
There was something incredibly fragile about the moment. And then Ciro hauled her even closer and kissed her. Their bodies moved together in the dawn as they reached for each other and their breath quickened. This was nothing like the ferocity of last night—it was slow and sensuous, and so tender that Lara had to keep her eyes closed for fear that Ciro would see how close to tears she was.
* * *
‘Working from home again?’
Ciro looked at Lara and raised a brow, but there was no edginess to his expression. ‘Do I need to ask permission?’ he said.
Lara shook her head and helped herself to some of the salad which had been laid out on the terrace at the back of the house by the housekeeper. Ciro had been joining her for lunch the past few days. It had been a week since that tumultuous night, and since then Ciro hadn’t taken her back to her own bedroom once. They woke up together, and usually made love again in the morning.
But Lara knew it was dangerous territory to believe anything was changing.
Ciro sat down and helped himself to some salad and bread. The housekeeper came out and poured them some wine.
There was a mewling cry from down below and Lara looked down to see Hero, looking up at her with huge liquid brown eyes. It turned out that she was been a cross between a whippet and something else. Cleaned up, and getting fatter by the day, she wasn’t a pretty dog by any means—but she was adorable, mainly white with brown patches. The vet had said that he figured she was crossed with a Jack Russell.
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A couple of times Lara had gone searching for her, only to find her curled up at Ciro’s feet in his study. He’d pretended not to have noticed her, and when Lara had carried her out she’d whispered into her fur, ‘I don’t blame you, sweetheart. I know how it feels.’
Hero would lick her face, as if in commiseration for the fact that they were both in thrall to Ciro Sant’Angelo.
Lara absently stroked Hero and she lay down at her feet, curling up trustingly. She said to Ciro, ‘Thank you for letting me keep her.’
Ciro shrugged, and then he looked at his watch. ‘You wanted to visit the Guggenheim Museum, didn’t you?’
Lara nodded, surprised he’d remembered her saying that the other night at a function.
‘I can take the afternoon off—we’ll go after lunch.’
Lara felt a dangerous fluttering in her belly and said, ‘Oh, it’s okay...you don’t have to. I can go by myself—’
‘Don’t you want me to come with you?’
Lara could feel her face grow hot. This teasing, relaxed Ciro was so reminiscent of how he’d been before that it was painful. ‘Of course I’d love to see it with you.’
Ciro stood up. ‘Va bene. I’ve a few calls to make—we’ll leave in an hour.’
Lara watched him leave, striding off the terrace back into the house. She took a deep breath—anything to try and get oxygen to her brain and keep herself from imagining impossible things.
Like the fact that Ciro might actually be learning to like her again...
* * *
The following day Ciro watched Lara play on the lawn with the puppy from the window in his study. She was wearing shorts and her long slim legs had taken on a light golden glow. She wore a silk cropped top and he could see tantalising slivers of her belly when it rode up as she moved.
He might have cursed her for trying to tempt him, but he knew she wasn’t even aware that he’d come home early. Home early. Since when had he started to come home early? Or work from home? Or take afternoons off to go to a museum? The only person who’d ever had that effect on him was on her back, laughing as the puppy climbed all over her, yapping excitedly.
