by Heidi Rice
The fatigue was joined by a wave of love—for both the guys in her life—which crested as her heart beat a strong, steady tattoo against her ribs.
Seriously, was there anything more wonderful than watching this man become the father he was always meant to be? How could Maxim ever have believed he wasn’t capable of loving her, or their child?
Her husband climbed out of the bed and carried their baby in strong arms to the bassinet, then laid him down gently on his back. She forced herself to stay awake so she could watch the familiar ritual.
She couldn’t help noticing the muscles in his backside flexing beneath the pyjama bottoms he had started wearing a few weeks ago—when she’d been so huge that sex had become impossible. She felt the familiar flutter of appreciation. It would be quite a while yet before she’d want to act on it—hello, ten hours of labour!—but she could still enjoy the show as Maxim concentrated on stroking his son’s cheek to lull him into a deeper sleep.
She gave another jaw-breaking yawn and noticed the glow of the summer dawn through the large bedroom’s shutters. She should probably go to sleep too. In two hours, three at the most, their insatiable son would want another feed.
Instead she blinked furiously to keep her tired eyes open, as she waited for Maxim to return to the bed. She had something important she wanted to ask him.
At last, satisfied that their son had finally fallen into a deep enough sleep, Maxim padded back to the bed. Climbing in beside her, he dropped a quick kiss onto her nose. ‘Go to sleep, Madame Durand.’
‘I will...but, Maxim, I’ve got another name for you first.’
They’d spoken—or rather argued—about what to call their son on and off for over three months now. Which had basically consisted of her coming up with names and Maxim vetoing them all. She loved that he was so determined to get it right, but seriously, their son would be in university before they came up with one they could agree on if they didn’t get a move on.
‘And this cannot wait until morning?’ he sighed, yawning himself, and then wrapped his arm around her shoulders to pull her against his side.
‘No.’ She snuggled into his embrace, the scent of sandalwood soap and baby’s milk that clung to his skin making the flutter of appreciation become a definite hum—and the warmth in her heart spread.
‘Okay,’ he sighed. ‘What is your latest terrible suggestion?’ he said.
‘Stop it.’ She gave him a playful slap. ‘My suggestions are not terrible.’
‘Hugo? Eugene? Mortimer?’ he teased.
‘Mortimer was a joke.’
‘And the other two?’ he said, pressing his lips into her hair in one of the many absent gestures of affection he always showed her, that she had come to adore. ‘For them there is no excuse.’
‘How about Pascal?’ she blurted out.
He stilled, the easy smile dropping from his lips in the half-light. She could hear his heart thumping against her ear. And feel hers beating in time.
He frowned down at her. ‘What made you think of this name?’ he said, his tone gruff. But she could tell, from the emotion in his voice, which he never hid from her any more, that he had already guessed the connection.
‘You said once that your mother’s surname was Pascale.’
He stared at her and her heart thundered.
‘You remembered this?’ he asked, his voice raw with surprise but also rough with love.
She nodded, peering up at him. ‘Do you like it?’
He brushed a hand over her hair, then leant down to cover her lips with his, the intensity of the kiss all the answer she needed.
When he drew back his face was a picture of raw emotion. ‘Pascal Evans Durand,’ he murmured softly, his voice rich with love as he tried out the name. ‘J’adore,’ he said. ‘But not as much as I adore him... And you, Cara.’
Coming next month
ITALY’S MOST SCANDALOUS VIRGIN
Carol Marinelli
Dante’s want for her was perpetual, a lit fuse he was constantly stamping out, but it was getting harder and harder to keep it up. His breathing was ragged; there was a shift in the air and he desperately fought to throw petrol on the row, for his resistance was fast fading. ‘What did you think, Mia, that we were going to walk into the church together? A family united? Don’t make me laugh…’
No one was laughing.
‘Take your tea and go to bed.’ Dante dismissed her with an angry wave of his hand, but even as he did so he halted, for it was not his place to send her to bed. ‘I didn’t mean that. Do what you will. I will leave.’
‘It’s fine. I’m going up.’ She retrieved the tray.
‘We leave tomorrow at eleven,’ he said again as they headed through to the entrance.
‘Yes.’
She turned then and gave him a tight smile, and saw his black eyes meet hers, and there was that look again between them, the one they had shared at the dining table. It was a look that she dared not decipher.
His lips, which were usually plump and red, the only splash of colour in his black and white features, were for once pale. There was a muscle leaping in his cheek, and she was almost sure it was pure contempt, except her body was misreading it as something else.
She had always been aware of his potent sexuality, but now Mia was suddenly aware of her own.
Conscious that she was naked beneath the gown, her breasts felt full and heavy, aware of the lust that danced inappropriately in the air between them. The prison gates were parting further and she was terrified to step out. ‘Goodnight,’ she croaked, and climbed the stairs, almost tipping the tray and only able to breathe when she heard the door slam.
Tea forgotten, she lay on the bed, frantic and unsettled. So much for the Ice Queen! She was burning for him in a way she had never known until she’d met Dante.
Mia had thought for a long time that there was something wrong with her, something missing in her make-up, for she’d had little to no interest in sex. Even back at school she would listen in on her peers, quietly bemused by their obsessive talking about boys and the things they did that to Mia sounded filthy. Her mother’s awkward talk about the facts of life had left Mia revolted. The fact of Mia’s life: it was something she didn’t want! There was no reason she could find. There had been no trauma, nothing she could pin it to. Just for her, those feelings simply did not exist. Mia had tried to ignite the absent fire and had been on a couple of dates, but had found she couldn’t even tolerate kisses, and tongues positively revolted her. She couldn’t bear to consider anything else.
And while this marriage had given her a unique chance to heal from the appalling disaster that had befallen her family, the deeper truth was that it had given her a chance to hide from something she perhaps ought to address.
A no-sex marriage had felt like a blessing when she and Rafael had agreed to it.
Yet the ink had barely dried on the contract when she had found out that though those feelings might be buried deep, they were there after all.
Mia had been just a few days into the pretend position of Rafael’s PA, and the carefully engineered rumours had just started to fly, when Dante Romano had walked in. A mere moment with him had helped her understand all she had been missing, for with just a look she found herself reacting in a way she never had before.
His dark eyes had transfixed her, the deep growl of his voice had elicited a shiver low in her stomach, and even his scent, as it reached her, went straight to form a perfect memory. When Dante had asked who she was, his voice and his presence had alerted, startled and awoken her. So much so that she had half expected him to snap his fingers like a genie right before her scalding face.
Three wishes?
You.
You.
You.
Continue reading
ITALY’S MOST SCANDALOUS VIRGIN
Carol Marinelli
Available next month
Copyright ©2
020 by Carol Marinelli
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