Not that he could talk. He didn’t call his father or stepmother or half-brothers and only sent a text for birthdays. The only family member he called occasionally was his grandmother, because she was his last link to his mother. But even that relationship was tricky to handle. The shame of having a daughter ‘living in sin’ and having an illegitimate son by her married lover had caused a rift between his grandmother and his mother that had meant Rafe hadn’t met his nonna until after his mother’s death. It was hardly the way to build a close family bond.
Rafe sighed and turned away from the window and rubbed a hand over the back of his tense neck. Maybe there was something fatalistic about the way he and Isla had met in that bar in Rome. Perhaps they had recognised something in each other—a sense of isolation. A sense of not really belonging to anyone. He had noticed her the moment he’d walked into the bar. She’d been sitting in a quiet corner with a sketchpad on her lap, her beautiful features frowning with concentration as she drew a sketch of one of the patrons. The likeness was astonishing and Rafe had struck up a conversation and...well, the rest was smoking-hot history as they say. One drink and forty-two minutes later he had her back at his hotel and in his bed. The sex had been so phenomenal he had—uncharacteristically for him—impulsively asked her to come with him on a business trip to Paris. After Paris, for the next month he took her everywhere with him: Berlin, Zurich, Prague, Vienna, Amsterdam, Athens and Copenhagen.
And then, even more uncharacteristic of him—home to Sicily.
But, if he were honest with himself, it wasn’t just the sex that had made him spirit her away to his private sanctuary. He’d wanted her to himself. The more time he’d spent with her, the more he’d realised she was different from his other casual lovers. He had taken lovers on business trips and holidays before but by the end of the trip he couldn’t wait to end the fling.
But not with Isla.
He had wanted one month with her, then two, and then without notice she’d gone.
Rafe sat back down at his desk, a frown pulling at his brow. Had it been the difference in their backgrounds that had made her bolt as soon as she’d discovered she was pregnant? He clenched his right hand into a fist until his knuckles whitened. Why hadn’t he tried harder to find her? Why had he allowed his pride to get in the way? He had wasted three months of valuable time, and if he hadn’t by chance run into her he might never have found out about his child. And who could blame her for wanting to keep quiet about the pregnancy? He had made it clear their fling was temporary. He had made no promises. He had made no commitment other than to insist their fling was to be exclusive for its duration.
Marriage was the only way to make it up to her. The security of a formal relationship in which to bring up their child was the way forward.
The only way forward.
* * *
Isla woke from a surprisingly refreshing nap and sat up and pushed her tousled hair away from her face. The bright afternoon light had faded to the pastel hues of sunset, giving the room a muted and calming glow. She tossed the sheet covering her to one side and got to her feet, waiting for a moment to make sure she wasn’t feeling faint. Once she was sure she was feeling fine, she went to the luxuriously appointed bathroom and did what she could to freshen up. She toyed with the idea of a shower but didn’t want to chance Rafe coming in on her. Even glancing at the shower recess made something in her belly flutter. The erotic memories of what he had done to her in there flooded her brain and sent a wave of longing through her body.
She came back out to the bedroom and glanced in the direction of the walk-in wardrobe. Had he really kept all of her things? She had only taken the things she had brought with her on her trip abroad. Everything he had bought her she had left behind. She hadn’t wanted any accusations of gold-digging cast her way by either him or his surly housekeeper.
She slid back the pocket doors and entered the wardrobe and something tripped in her stomach. Her clothes were neatly hanging on the opposite side to his. Her shoes arranged in tidy rows, the jewellery he’d bought her in the drawer of the glass-topped cabinet. She trailed her fingers along the row of silk and chiffon and satin articles of clothing. She opened one of the drawers below the jewellery display cabinet and found all the sexy lingerie she had once worn for him—exquisite lace and satin in an array of colours: black, red, midnight blue, hot pink and virginal white.
Isla picked up a dark blue silk and lace-trimmed camisole and matching knickers, running the gorgeous fabric through her fingers, mentally recalling the way Rafe had removed them from her body inch by inch, leaving a blazing trail of searing kisses on her exposed and quivering in anticipation flesh. She shivered and put the camisole and knickers back and shut the drawer with a snap.
But it wasn’t so easy to lock away the memories of his touch.
Isla heard the door of the bedroom opening and she came out of the wardrobe to see Rafe coming into the suite carrying a long tall glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. She suddenly felt embarrassed to be found checking out the left-behind loot, so to speak. ‘I’m not sure any of those things will fit me for too much longer.’
He set the juice down on the bedside table. ‘Then I will buy you things that will.’
‘You don’t have to do that. I can buy my own clothes.’ A remnant of pride sharpened her tone.
Rafe came over to her and took her hands in his. ‘Did you get out of the wrong side of the bed?’
Isla pushed her lips forward in a pout. ‘Not the wrong side—the wrong bed.’
His jaw tightened as if he was grinding his molars. ‘I want you in my bed, Isla. It’s where you belong.’ The unmistakable note of authority in his voice made her all the more determined to defy him. To prove she still had some willpower where he was concerned. Some, not a lot. But some.
Her chin came up to a combative height and a surge of energy coursed through her. ‘You think we can simply pick up where we left off? Get real, Rafe.’
His hands released hers to hold her by the hips instead. Isla knew she should try and get out of his hold but somehow her willpower had completely deserted her. His touch was like fire even through the layers of her clothes.
‘I’ll tell you what’s real. This.’ He brought his mouth down to just a breath away from hers. ‘You can feel it, can’t you?’
Isla couldn’t stop her body from moving closer to his—as though it was programmed like a mobile robot going back to base for a much-needed charge. The hot hard heat of his arousal and the yearning ache of her pelvis coming into contact sent a zapping bolt of electricity through her body. Her mouth was suddenly fused to his but she didn’t know who had closed the final distance. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was the feeling of his lips moving with such masterful expertise on her own, feeling the commanding thrust of his tongue calling hers into sensual play. Feeling the need spiralling through her flesh, lighting up all her erogenous zones into a state of anticipatory awareness.
Isla wound her arms around his neck, her hands grasping handfuls of his hair in case he changed his mind and stepped away. She would die if he stepped away. A desperate moan of approval escaped her lips and she pressed closer, rubbing up against his erection, the urge to have him inside her so intense it was overwhelming.
His mouth continued its bone-melting exploration, his lips soft one minute, hard and insistent the next. His tongue darted and danced with hers in an erotic choreography that made her legs weaken, her spine tingle, her heart race. The slight graze of his stubble on her face as he changed position stirred her senses into overdrive. He took her lower lip between the gentle press of his teeth—a sexy nip and tug that sent a shower of fizzing fireworks to her core.
Isla took his lower lip between her teeth, tugging and releasing and then salving it with a slow sweep of her tongue. He shuddered and made a rough sound at the back of his throat and pulled her hard against him, one of his hands firm on the
base of her spine.
‘You make me crazy for you without even trying.’ Rafe’s voice had a desperate edge and his mouth came back down and covered hers in a searing kiss that made her need for him pummel harder through her body.
One of his hands glided underneath her top to gently cup her breast and she groaned in delight. Her breasts were even more sensitive than three months ago but her flesh recognised his touch and responded with excited fervour. He deftly unclipped her bra and brought his mouth down her naked breast, his tongue like the expert stroke of an artist’s brush across her skin, around her tightly budded nipple, along the underside and back again. It was torture and yet tantalising, every nerve in her breast dancing in frenzied excitement, her inner core liquefying into molten heat.
Isla’s hands went to the waistband of his trousers, fumbling with the fastening in her haste to uncover him. She needed to touch him. To taste him. To torture him the way he was torturing her. But he moved her hand away and walked her backwards to the bed, laying her down and coming down beside her, his hand continuing its frisson-inducing glide over her naked breast.
‘I want you...’ She was shocked at how desperate she sounded but was beyond caring. She didn’t need her pride right now—what she needed was pleasure. Mind-blowing pleasure that only he could deliver. ‘Please, Rafe. Please...’ She writhed as he brought his hand to her mound, cupping her through her clothes with just enough pressure to make her arch her spine.
‘Are you sure you want this?’ His voice was calm and even and yet she could see the naked desire glittering in his gaze.
‘Yes. A thousand times yes. You know I want you. You want me too.’ Isla pulled his head down so he would kiss her again.
He covered her mouth in a long, spine-tingling kiss, his hand going under her elastic-waisted skirt and to her knickers. He peeled them down and she bucked and writhed so she could be rid of them. She wanted no barriers between their bodies. She needed him now. His fingers explored her feminine folds, caressing and teasing her into throbbing excitement. She was so close. So close. So desperately close...
Rafe moved down her body, placing his mouth where his fingers had been caressing, using his tongue to send her over the edge into oblivion. The sensations rippled through her sensitive flesh and Isla was swept up into a cataclysmic orgasm that seemed to involve every muscle and sinew in her body. She arched, she writhed, she bucked under the exquisite ministrations of his tongue. She cried out loud—whimpering, breathless cries as her flesh rippled and ricocheted with intense pleasure.
She came back to her senses with a shuddering sigh, her eyes seeking Rafe’s with sudden shyness. ‘You certainly haven’t lost your touch.’ She reached for his hand and interlaced her fingers with his, but she sensed a guardedness in him. A pulling away even though they were holding hands, his lazy smile at odds with the mask-like expression in his gaze.
‘Nor you,’ he said, leaning forward to press a light kiss to her forehead.
Isla frowned in confusion, doubts creeping in like shadows under a door. Why wasn’t he continuing? Why wasn’t he as desperate for release as she had been just moments ago? Or was he trying to prove a point? She was the one who needed him more than he needed her. ‘Aren’t you going to finish—?’
‘Not right now.’ He moved off the bed with athletic grace, standing beside it to look down at her. If he had constructed a brick wall between them it couldn’t have been any more obvious that he was done here. Done with her. ‘Concetta will have dinner ready shortly. Why don’t you shower and change and I’ll meet you downstairs?’
Isla launched herself off the bed, scrabbling at her clothes to put them in some sort of order. ‘Why don’t you stop telling me what to do?’ she shot back, stung by his rejection. Stung with the pain of being discarded like a plaything that had lost its appeal.
A line of tension rippled along the length of his jaw and turned his eyes to stone. ‘I am merely trying to do the right thing by you, Isla. You’ve had a long and exhausting day.’
‘Is it my pregnancy that’s a turn-off for you? You’re feeling a little squeamish about making love to—’
‘No.’
‘Then what? Five months ago we would have been onto our second orgasm by now.’ Possibly her third or fourth.
Rafe tucked his shirt back into his trousers and then raked his hand through his hair. ‘We rushed into our relationship in the past. I’d like to take things a little more slowly this time around.’
Isla let out an unladylike curse. ‘Why? So you can make me fall in love with you so I won’t be able to say no to your offer of marriage? Not going to happen, buddy. No flipping way.’ She spun away and stalked to the bathroom, furious with him—furious with herself for not resisting him. She slammed the door and leaned back against it. Why had she fallen into his arms like a wanton, desperate woman? She had gone up in flames and he had been in total control, not once being tempted beyond his endurance. What did that say about their relationship? It said it was out of balance. The power dynamic put her at a distinct disadvantage.
But hadn’t it always?
His world. Her world. And never the twain shall meet.
But their worlds had collided with the conception of a child. A baby who could bridge the chasm as nothing else could. Could she settle for such a compromise when all her life she had wanted to be loved for herself?
Rafe knocked on the bathroom door. ‘Isla. Open up.’ His tone contained a warning note.
‘Go away.’ Isla glared at her reflection, ashamed of herself for being so weak. ‘I hate you.’
His mocking laugh made her want to throw every cosmetic jar on the marble bathroom counter at the door. Smash. Smash. Smash. Then she would write a rude word all over the mirror in red lipstick and on the snowy white towels—every single one of them. She clenched her hands into fists, fighting the urge to scream with frustration, but instead a broken sob came from nowhere and she bent her head and clasped her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with the effort of keeping her emotions in check.
The door suddenly clicked open and Rafe stepped inside the bathroom. He took her by the shoulders and turned her into his broad chest, stroking the back of her head and making gentle soothing noises that totally disarmed her.
‘Shh, mio piccolo. I didn’t mean to upset you. There now...’
Isla breathed in the citrus and spice scent of him, her face pressed against the steady thumping of his heart. His other arm was around her waist, holding her as securely as an iron band. ‘Sorry about this...’ Her voice was muffled by her face buried in the front of his shirt.
‘Don’t apologise. I’m the one at fault.’
Isla eased back a little and sniffed, not quite able to meet his gaze. ‘It’s hormones—it must be. I...I never cry normally.’
Rafe reached behind her to pluck a tissue out of the box on the marble counter and, lifting her chin with his finger, gently mopped beneath her streaming eyes, his expression so warm with concern it made her want to cry all over again. ‘A lot has happened in a short time. Your life has been completely overturned. And I hold myself entirely responsible for it. Forgive me for upsetting you, tesoro. It was not my intention.’
He handed her another tissue and Isla blew her nose and, easing out of his hold, turned to look at her reddened complexion in the mirror. ‘Argh. That’s why I never cry. What a mess.’
Rafe met her gaze in the mirror and smiled and stroked his hand down from the back of her neck to the base of her spine. ‘Personally, I don’t think you’ve ever looked more beautiful.’
Isla turned from the counter and faced him, somehow her hands ending up resting on the hard plane of his chest. ‘Would you mind if I gave dinner a miss? I don’t feel like going downstairs tonight...’
He brushed a stray curl away from her face. ‘I’ll bring you something up on a tray. How does that sound?’
; ‘It sounds perfect.’
CHAPTER SIX
RAFE CAME BACK upstairs with a meal on a tray, after giving his housekeeper the rest of the evening off, but when he entered the bedroom Isla was sound asleep. She was curled up on her side, the red-gold cloud of her hair spread out over the pillow, one hand resting on the swell of her belly, the other lying under her cheek. He was in two minds whether to wake her or not. She needed her rest but she needed food too.
And he needed to keep his hands off her.
But he wanted her with an ache that wouldn’t go away. Touching her earlier had stirred his desire into a throbbing beat that barrelled through his body even now. He had called on every bit of willpower he possessed, and then some, to keep his desire in check. He didn’t want to be blinded by lust, so blinded he got caught out a second time.
He was determined to take things slowly this time.
Slowly but surely, that was his plan.
The future was what he was focused on—their future as a family. He had to show her she had a place in his life as his wife and partner and mother of their child.
A permanent place.
Rafe placed the tray on the bedside table with as little noise as possible. He sat on the edge of the bed beside her curled-up legs and pressed his hands hard against his thighs to stop himself from touching her.
Let her sleep. Let her sleep. Let her sleep. He chanted the words in his mind but to no avail. He found himself brushing a corkscrew curl away from her face and her periwinkle blue eyes opened and met his.
She gave a self-conscious smile and pushed herself up into a sitting position. ‘I must have fallen asleep...’ She glanced at the fragrant array of food on the bedside table and a little frown tugged at her forehead. ‘Gosh. That seems a lot of food for one person...’
‘You’re not one person at the moment,’ Rafe said, placing the tray across her lap. ‘You need to feed the baby that’s growing inside you.’
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