The Baby Gambit

by Anne Mather

  Grace protested. ‘I don’t have a supercilious look,’ she cried, and Matteo’s hands slid possessively to the back of her scalp.

  ‘Yes, you do. And I love it,’ he assured her softly. ‘Just as I love every single thing about you. I want you. I want you so much, cara. I want to kiss you, and hold you, and make love with you—’ He broke off abruptly, resting his forehead against hers as he fought for restraint. ‘But,’ he went on, ‘you haven’t eaten, and Signora Carlucci is expecting us to do justice to her most excellent dinner—’

  ‘I’m not hungry,’ said Grace at once, and Matteo expelled an unsteady breath.

  ‘I am,’ he told her honestly. ‘But only for you.’

  ‘So...’ She trembled.

  ‘So, come with me,’ he said, his voice rough with passion, and she took the hand he held out to her without hesitation.

  She was hardly aware of where he was taking her, only that this was not the way to her apartments. But she would have followed him to the ends of the earth, she thought, quivering a little at how vulnerable that made her.

  When they finally arrived at their destination, she knew that these were Matteo’s rooms. Heavy wooden doors opened into a lamplit sitting room that was essentially masculine in design, with deep armchairs upholstered in glovesoft leather and thick velvet drapes at the long windows. The curtains in the living room weren’t drawn, and through the windows she could see the lights twinkling across the valley.

  Unlike her apartments, which had a door to divide the rooms, here an archway revealed the adjoining apartment where a huge four-poster bed was set squarely on a dais. The curtains were drawn across the windows in the bedroom, creating an intensely intimate atmosphere that she could not ignore.

  Matteo closed the outer door and came to stand beside her as she lingered by the archway. ‘Don’t blame me,’ he said softly, looking at the bed. ‘It’s a family heirloom.’

  Grace took a breath and then, turning towards him, put her hands up to his face. ‘Is it comfortable?’ she asked provocatively, and Matteo pulled her possessively into his arms..

  ‘Do you want to find out?’ he asked, looking deeply into her eyes, and she felt her heart turn over with love for him.

  ‘Please,’ she breathed, her hands dropping to the open neck of his shirt and lingering against his warm skin. ‘But I think I’d better take your mother’s gown off first.’

  ‘Let me,’ he said, his hands moving surely to the buttons at the back of her neck. Then, turning her round, he bent his mouth to the soft flesh he’d exposed. ‘I hoped you’d choose this one,’ he added, his fingers causing a gathering swell of sensation to ripple down her spine. ‘Nonna had a picture of my mother wearing it when she was about your age, and it was always my favourite.’

  Grace swung round as he peeled the outer layer of the dress away. ‘You chose it?’ she exclaimed. ‘But Ceci said—’

  ‘What I told her to say,’ Matteo informed her, with gentle arrogance. ‘Do you mind?’

  Grace glanced down at her breasts, her nipples taut against the fine silk of the undergarment. ‘Is there any point?’ she asked helplessly, and he lifted his hands to cover the rebellious peaks.

  ‘Not really,’ he conceded, his palms driving her mad with the desire to feel them against her naked flesh.

  And, as if he knew exactly how she was feeling, he released the shoulder fastenings then so that the slip pooled about her feet. Her bra—a rather plain eyelet cotton—followed it, and she was left wearing only cotton bikini briefs.

  Matteo gazed at her with obvious hunger for a moment, and then his hands went to the buttons of his own shirt. ‘Help me,’ he said as her eyes followed his hands down to where his erection swelled the front of his black trousers, and, kicking off her sandals, Grace obeyed.

  But when she would have knelt to ease the trousers off his legs Matteo could stand it no longer. ‘Don’t,’ he groaned, flinging off his shirt and balancing on each leg in turn to free himself from the constriction of his trousers. Then, when he had rid himself of his silk boxers as well, he pulled her against him.

  It was the first time she had felt his naked body against hers and the sensation was incredible. He was so hot, his skin coarser than hers, except between his legs where it was as silky soft as it had been in her dream.

  ‘Do you know how much I’ve longed for this moment?’ he said, his voice muffled against the curve of her neck. ‘When I thought I’d lost you, I used to torment myself with images of you with some other man.’

  ‘I dreamed about you,’ confessed Grace, lifting her shoulder to his seeking lips. She spread her palms against his chest. ‘But it wasn’t as good as this.’

  ‘Nothing’s ever been as good as this,’ muttered Matteo, pulling her even closer. His manhood thrust urgently against her stomach. ‘I’ve never wanted any other woman as I’ve wanted you.’

  Her sigh whispered against his throat, her knees sagging as he caressed her breasts. Every sensation he was inspiring seemed to be centred on her stomach and between her legs, tiny darts of excitement that tightened her muscles and moistened her skin.

  His hands moved to grip her upper arms, sliding up and down, up and down, as his mouth finally sought her parted lips. His tongue thrust into her mouth, filling her with its heat and maleness, a hot wet possession that brought her arching helplessly towards him.

  He stroked her back now, his fingers finding all the sensitive pulses of her spine, before his thumbs hooked the waistband of her briefs. With his mouth devouring hers, she could only give a little moan of pleasure as he peeled the briefs away, and then the power of his arousal nudged the silvery crest that hid her sex.

  It was too much; she had to clutch his neck to prevent herself from falling, and, containing his own impatience, Matteo drew her across to the bed. Grace wasn’t sure if she was going to make it, but he swung her up into his arms, and, climbing onto the dais, he lowered her gently onto the soft quilt.

  He knelt beside her then, taking the time to loosen her hair from its braid and spread her hair on the pillows as he’d once promised he would. The silk scarf he fanned across her breasts, before suckling her through its gauzy sheath, and Grace found there was something incredibly erotic in his actions, her breasts twice as sensitised when he drew the gauze away.

  He traced the line of her stomach down to her navel, following his fingers with his tongue, licking away the heated moisture that filmed her skin. He parted her legs, finding the delicate petals that opened to his fingers, stroking the cleft that pulsated between her legs.

  But when Grace would have stroked his erection he gripped her hand around him in instant denial. ‘No, cara,’ he said, ‘my control is far too thin. Let me please you first; let me play with your body a little longer; it responds so sweetly.’ He bent her leg and insinuated a tantalising kiss behind her knee. ‘You see,’ he said, when she jerked automatically against him. ‘I want to taste every inch of you tonight.’

  ‘But, Matteo...’

  Grace sighed, levering herself up on her elbows, and with a lithe shift he stretched his length beside her. ‘What, cara?’ he asked huskily, his thumb teasing the edge of her desire, and when she looked down and groaned he pushed his thumb into her aching flesh.

  It was all that was needed. Her body bucked beneath his hands, and her low moan of surrender seemed to sear his need. ‘Now, cara,’ he said, moving to kneel between her legs as the shock waves of emotions reached a climax. And, sliding his hands beneath her rounded bottom, he lifted her to meet his thrusting shaft.

  Grace hadn’t believed it could get any better, but it did. When Matteo impaled her, the pleasure she was feeling rose in counterpoint to his need. For a few brief moments they rode together to the rim of the volcano, then Matteo’s explosive climax tore the barriers away.

  It was like falling through space. Her mind ceased to react, and her senses took over. Her body throbbed in the aftermath of an almost spiritual fulfilment, the physical tremors she was f
eeling echoing deep inside her soul.

  For the first time she realised the difference between having sex and making love. Matteo had just made love with her, and the weight of his body crushing hers into the mattress was a privilege and not an invasion.

  She was smoothing the damp hair at the nape of his neck when Matteo stirred and rolled immediately onto his side, facing her. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said huskily. ‘I’m afraid I haven’t been very sensible, have I?’

  ‘Sensible?’ Grace frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘I didn’t use any protection,’ replied Matteo roughly, using both hands to comb back his hair. He propped himself up on one elbow, stifling a profanity as he did so. ‘I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen next time.’

  Grace took a breath. ‘So there is going to be a next time, then?’ she murmured carefully, and his eyes darkened with unmistakable impatience.

  ‘What are you saying?’ he demanded. ‘I want you to marry me. My God, you didn’t think I meant anything else?’

  Grace quivered. ‘I didn’t know, did I?’ she protested, her excitement scarcely held in check now. ‘You did say you had no intention of getting married again.’

  ‘A foolish boast,’ he said, his fingers brushing her lips. ‘Particularly as I already couldn’t bear to leave you alone.’

  Grace frowned again. ‘Then why does it matter whether you used any protection or not? If I’m to be your wife...’

  ‘Which is why it matters so much,’ replied Matteo, his voice thickening with emotion. ‘I will not risk losing you, cara, however much I might wish to see my child swelling your stomach.’

  Grace caught her breath. ‘But I’m not Luisa, Matteo!’

  ‘No.’ He conceded the point with a lingering kiss on the silky mound of her breast. ‘No, you’re not. But, God forgive me, you mean more to me than Luisa ever did, and I don’t think I could survive losing you.’

  ‘You’re not going to lose me.’ Grace turned and cupped his face in her hand. ‘Matteo, I’m probably nothing like Luisa—physically, I mean.’ She grimaced. ‘My hips are broad. I’m sure I’d have no trouble having a child.’

  ‘I will not risk it.’ Matteo’s voice was flat. ‘If you love me, you’ll understand how I feel. If not—’

  ‘If not—what?’

  ‘Well, I won’t let you go,’ he declared grimly. ‘I’ll just have to try and persuade you, that’s all.’

  Grace shook her head. ‘You know I love you. That I want to marry you whatever you decide.’

  ‘And you won’t reproach me for denying you your right to be a mother?’

  Grace shook her head. ‘If it’s a choice between you and a baby...’ she smiled wistfully ‘...I guess there’s no competition.’

  EPILOGUE

  One Year and Nine Months Later...

  THE sound of children’s laughter echoed through the open doors of the loggia. Three-year-old Hannah was chasing her sister and her five-year-old cousin around the gardens, and the marchesa turned to give her granddaughter-in-law a rueful smile.

  ‘It’s so good to have children at the villa again,’ she said, reassuring Grace that her nieces’ high spirits weren’t proving too much of a burden. And it was good to be able to invite her sisters and their families for a holiday. They had so much room at the villa that no one needed to step on anyone else’s toes.

  ‘I’ll be sorry to see them go,’ added the marchesa, patting Grace’s arm with an affectionate hand. ‘But I’m lucky that you and Matteo are prepared to put up with an old woman like me. If Matteo had married someone else, I might not have had the choice.’

  Grace reached across to squeeze the marchesa’s fingers. ‘This is your home,’ she said. ‘It always has been. Even when Matteo was married to Luisa.’

  ‘Ah, yes.’ The marchesa nodded. ‘But Matteo married Luisa to please me. When he chose to marry you, it was a different matter altogether.’

  Grace’s cheeks turned pink. ‘Did you mind?’

  ‘Of course not.’ The old lady was impatient that she should even doubt it. ‘I love my grandson, Grace, and I know he’s never been so happy in his life. I have you to thank for that, and that alone would have earned you my undying gratitude. But the bonus of it is that I’ve come to love you, too.’

  Grace didn’t know what to say. ‘I’m glad,’ seemed inadequate, but it evidently pleased her companion.

  ‘And you and Cecilia have become such friends,’ the marchesa continued, gazing at her contentedly. ‘I know when she and Domenico are married she’ll be coming to you for all those important words of motherly advice.’

  Grace grimaced. ‘I don’t know if I’m qualified for that,’ she murmured, although she was delighted that Ceci and Domenico were engaged at last. He was such a nice young man, and he and Matteo had hit it off together. When he’d finished his degree, he was coming to work at the winery, and Matteo was going to teach him about growing grapes.

  ‘Well, I don’t know anyone better,’ declared the old lady firmly, tapping her cane as she always did to make her point. ‘When did you say your mother and the others were getting back from Florence? They must be here for the party. They must watch when Beniamino blows out the candle on his cake.’

  Grace stretched lazily on the lounger. ‘I expect they’ll be here in plenty of time,’ she assured the marchesa, with an indulgent smile. ‘Oh, you know, I feel as if I’ve eaten too much pasta. I’ll have to watch my weight or I’ll be as fat as butter!’

  ‘I don’t think that’s very likely,’ remarked the old lady drily, viewing her granddaughter-in-law’s lissome figure with an indulgent eye. She paused. ‘Have you told Matteo that you’re expecting another baby yet? Be prepared for him to have mixed feelings. He nearly went out of his mind with worry when Beniamino was born.’

  Grace sat up rather abruptly. ‘How did you know?’ she asked, running a protective hand over her flat stomach, and the marchesa sighed.

  ‘Women know these things, my dear,’ she said. ‘Well, old women, anyway. But tell him, Grace. Don’t wait for him to find out for himself.’

  Grace shook her head. It was true, when Matteo had learned that she had conceived that first night they had been together he had cursed his own incompetence. But gradually, over the weeks and months after their wedding, as Grace had grown even more beautiful in pregnancy, he had managed to hide his fears. And when their son was born it had happened so quickly, he hadn’t had time to do anything but be there for her, sponging her forehead during the painful contractions, holding her hand as the baby thrust its way into the world.

  Grace had soon realised that she was a natural mother. She’d fed Beniamino herself until he was six months old, and Matteo had shared every experience with her. There had been something so intensely intimate in Matteo watching his son suckling from her breast, and he’d confessed to feeling jealous until she’d assured him he had nothing to fear.

  But another baby...

  She suspected the marchesa was right—that Matteo would not be pleased that she was pregnant again. Even though having Beniamino had been comparatively easy, he still insisted that once was enough. But accidents happened, even in the best of circles, and Grace was sure her husband was unaware of what he’d done. Which meant she would have to tell him that his methods weren’t always foolproof, after all.

  Matteo appeared at that moment, carrying their baby son, giving a defensive smile when Grace pulled a face at him. ‘He was awake,’ he insisted. ‘And it is his birthday, when all’s said and done. Why shouldn’t he enjoy his party?’ He listened to the sound of the children for a moment. ‘Everyone else seemed to be doing so.’

  Grace held out her arms and Matteo handed the baby to her as the marchesa got to her feet. ‘I think I’ll take a rest, after all,’ she said, giving Grace a speaking look. ‘Let me know when the others get back.’

  ‘We will,’ said Matteo, subsiding into the chair she’d vacated. He tipped his head in Grace’s direction as she fussed with Beniamino,
who was clutching the gold necklace she was wearing. ‘I get the feeling Nonna’s departure was pre-arranged.’

  Grace caught her breath. ‘Why should you think that?’ she exclaimed, her hand sliding over the baby’s silky head. ‘No, you’re not getting down,’ she told the little boy, who was wriggling impatiently. ‘You have to keep clean today. It’s your birthday.’

  ‘Let him get down,’ Matteo advised her lazily. ‘Antonia can change him if he gets into a mess.’ Antonia was Beniamino’s nanny, and Grace conceded that the girl would be only too happy to take charge of him. It was her happy choice that she spent so much time looking after him herself.

  ‘All right.’

  She set Beniamino on his feet, and he toddled away across the tiled floor. Antonia appeared at once, ever vigilant, from her position at the end of the loggia, and Grace relaxed as the nanny took the baby’s hand.

  ‘Now.’ Matteo leant towards her with warm indulgence. ‘Are you going to tell me why my grandmother decided we needed to be alone?’ His eyes searched her face. ‘It couldn’t have anything to do with that box I found in the waste bin in our bathroom, could it?’

  Grace’s face flamed. ‘Since when do you go looking in waste bins?’

  ‘Since I dropped a blade from my razor and it fell into the bin,’ replied her husband, without hesitation. ‘It was a pregnancy testing kit, I believe. Which is why you’ve been avoiding being alone with me, isn’t it?’

  Grace gasped. ‘I haven’t been avoiding being alone with you,’ she protested. ‘We sleep together—alone—every night.’

  Matteo’s brows arched. ‘But you have been significantly non-communicative. You’ve pretended to be asleep every night when I’ve come to bed.’