The Riccioni Pregnancy

by Daphne Clair

  Roxane blazed at him, taking a couple of steps forward. ‘You’re making me sound like some stupid adolescent, sulking because I didn’t have everything I wanted!’

  ‘Is it so far from the truth?’

  ‘Yes!’

  She was shouting. With difficulty she regulated her tone, afraid that she sounded exactly like a rebellious teenager after all. ‘You never gave me credit for being grown up. The only place you treated me like an equal was in bed!’

  ‘Bed?’ he repeated, a brief, wolfish grin showing his even, white teeth. ‘We were a bit more imaginative than that, as I recall.’

  ‘You know what I mean! Even now you’re incapable of taking me seriously.’

  ‘As seriously as you took our marriage?’ he challenged.

  ‘I did take it seriously! But in the end, it was too much…’

  ‘Do you think running away was a grown-up method of dealing with your problems?’

  ‘It was better than your way,’ Roxane told him. ‘Your only solution was to take me to—to make love to me.’

  He’d always done that beautifully, using a lethally effective combination of tenderness and laughter and supreme male confidence to reduce her to a quivering mass of physical craving for him. And in the afterglow she would find her worries had receded into the recesses of her mind, for the time being quite unimportant, even if she’d been capable of summoning the energy and the clarity of thought to express them.

  Zito noticed her hasty amendment and the smile reappeared, exacerbating her frustration. ‘It seemed a pretty good solution to me,’ he said. ‘If that was all it took, whatever bothered you couldn’t have been so terrible.’

  A speculative, calculating look came into his eyes and he started strolling toward her, silent and focused and implacable, like a predator.

  Reading his mind, Roxane inwardly exploded into a bewildering combination of sheer fury, outrageous desire, and atavistic fear. Her eyes widened as he neared her, and she clenched her fists, made an inarticulate sound and childishly stamped a foot, almost simultaneously stepping back and turning from him as if she could escape.

  The next thing she knew she had lost her balance and her shoe. A blinding pain wrenched at her ankle. She gasped, fell, then her head seemed to explode and everything disappeared among whirling black spots that filled her vision before a total nothingness descended.

  Distantly, she heard Zito’s voice calling her name, and she was lifted and then laid down on something soft.

  As reality returned, strong fingers gently probed into her hair, and something near her temple hurt enough to make her utter a small moan.

  ‘Roxane!’ Zito’s voice again.

  The dead weight of her limp, cold limbs started to alter and she sluggishly moved an arm. She guessed she was lying on the sofa. Zito picked up her cold hand and began massaging it. Gradually the dizzying black mist receded, and she opened her eyes to find him looking gaunt and almost pale, kneeling beside her. Somehow that pose was funny, unnatural for him.

  He must have seen her lips move in an attempt at laughter, and he said hoarsely, ‘Thank God. Stay right there while I phone an ambulance.’

  ‘No,’ she managed to say. ‘Not necessary.’

  ‘You knocked yourself unconscious,’ he said, taking a mobile phone from a pocket and almost dropping it. She realised his fingers weren’t steady. ‘Your head hit the corner of the coffee table.’

  ‘I was only out for a minute,’ she said. ‘Zito, don’t!’

  He had already begun dialling but she feebly grabbed his wrist and stopped him. ‘Zito—it’s not a real emergency.’

  He frowned at her, shaking off her hand. ‘You could have concussion. I won’t take any risks.’

  Roxane gathered her strength. ‘Damn it, Zito, just this once, will you listen to me!’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  HIS finger poised on the emergency number, Zito said impatiently, ‘This is not the time to assert yourself, Roxane.’

  She reached out and snatched the phone from him, struggling up. ‘I’ve already done that, and I’m not letting you take over my life again. Leave me alone!’

  The effort of sitting up made her dizzy again, and to her deep chagrin she had to sink back against the cushion he’d put behind her, and close her eyes once more.

  Zito unwound her fingers from the phone. She felt his hand briefly on her forehead. ‘I can’t leave you alone,’ he said. ‘Not like this. It would be criminally negligent. Roxane…can you hear me?’

  ‘Yes.’ She opened her eyes. He looked stressed, his eyes worried and his facial muscles tight.

  ‘You need medical attention.’

  He was probably right. She ought to have her head checked after blacking out, and her ankle throbbed unpleasantly. Squinting, she saw it had swollen badly.

  Zito followed her gaze and swore.

  ‘You can call me a cab,’ she compromised grudgingly, ‘to take me to an emergency medical centre.’

  ‘I’ll drive you,’ he said, ‘if you have a car?’

  Roxane shook her head, and immediately regretted it, feeling as though someone had hit her again. ‘I don’t need a car, living right in the city.’

  ‘Do you have a taxi company number?’

  She gave him the number of her regular company, and after he’d dialled it he picked up her shoe from the rug. The heel was askew.

  ‘I caught it on the step outside,’ she remembered. ‘It must have loosened then and I didn’t notice.’ Slowly this time, she sat up and pulled herself back on the cushions.

  Zito dropped the shoe on the floor. ‘You might as well take the other one off.’ Without waiting for her consent he eased it from her stockinged foot. ‘We should put a cold pack on that,’ he said, frowning at the injured ankle.

  ‘There’s a packet of frozen peas in the freezer compartment of the fridge. That’s supposed to be a good emergency compress.’

  He nodded and went out, arriving back in minutes with the packet, and a hand towel.

  She watched his bent head, trying to ignore the gentle touch of his hands as he lifted her ankle to secure the makeshift icepack with the towel. Dark hair fell over his forehead. She could see the line of his high cheekbone, the compression of his lips, the hard curve of his chin.

  He looked up, catching her eyes on him, and a long moment passed before he shifted his gaze and lowered her ankle. ‘Are you warm enough?’ he queried roughly.

  ‘Yes.’ Surely he could see the warmth that flooded her body and scorched her cheeks? She looked away from him. ‘Could you fetch a flat pair of shoes for me from my bedroom?’

  ‘Why? You’re not going to be able to walk, and I don’t see you getting a shoe on that foot.’

  He was right…again. Roxane moved restlessly, and a jab of pain from her ankle made her feel sick. A wave of self-pity mixed with annoyance engulfed her. Within a metaphorical five minutes of sweeping back into her life, Zito had reduced her to a state of helpless dependence.

  She let fly a word that Zito had never heard from her before, and saw that she’d startled him.

  ‘Is it that painful?’ His brows drew together.

  About to tell him that of course it was bloody painful but that wasn’t what was driving her mad, Roxane paused when a toot from outside announced the arrival of the taxi.

  ‘I’ll open the door first,’ Zito said, ‘and come back for you.’

  As soon as he left the room she started struggling to her feet. When he came striding back again and found her gingerly poised on one foot he said, ‘What the hell are you doing?’ And lifted her into his arms, so that automatically she hooked one of hers about his neck.

  ‘Wait,’ she said as they reached the hallway. ‘My bag.’

  Zito paused for her to collect it. ‘Your key?’

  He indicated it lying by the telephone, where she must have put it while she answered Leon’s call. She picked it up too before he carried her out and down the steps.

  He instructed the d
river to wait while he closed the house up, brushing aside Roxane’s attempt to tell him there was no need to come with her, and when he’d joined her on the back seat she sat in seething silence until they arrived at the all-night clinic.

  He even insisted on carrying her into the examining room, taking it for granted that he would stay. By then she was in too much pain to argue.

  ‘Keep off the ankle for forty-eight hours,’ the doctor told her after an examination and x-ray, followed by proper strapping of her foot. ‘Cold packs for fifteen minutes every couple of hours, don’t strap it too tightly in between, and remove the bandage at night. Rest up with the foot raised to the height of your heart. The nurse will give you an exercise sheet to strengthen the ankle when it feels better.’

  He shifted his attention to her head. ‘Someone needs to check on you through the night. We don’t want you lapsing into unconsciousness.’ He glanced at Zito. ‘You can do that?’

  Roxane said feebly, ‘I’m sure I’m okay.’

  Zito’s voice overrode hers. ‘Tell me what to watch for.’

  ‘Zito,’ she protested, ‘you can’t—’

  ‘It’s either that or you spend the night in hospital,’ he said.

  She knew that implacable look on his face. A hospital was probably the lesser of two evils, but she couldn’t face the necessary preliminaries. She was too tired, too sore, too stressed, and didn’t feel a bit well. Defeated, she admitted, ‘I just want to go home to bed.’

  Zito lost no time in getting her there.

  Inside the cottage, he carried her up the narrow staircase, a feat not only of strength but of dexterity, and she directed him into her room where he lowered her to the queen-size bed. He even pulled down the cover while she shifted from one side to the other.

  ‘Can I get you a nightgown?’ he asked her.

  ‘It’s under the pillow. I need the bathroom, though. You can fetch me those crutches they gave me.’

  ‘I’ll take you to the bathroom first and then get them.’

  When he brought her back to the bedroom afterwards, the crutches were leaning on the night table where she could easily reach them.

  Zito had poured her a glass of water, taken two of the prescribed pills out of their foil packet, and had even laid out a flimsy slip-like black satin nightgown. He probably remembered giving it to her. After leaving their home she hadn’t been able to afford a whole new wardrobe and nightwear was the least important.

  When she sat on the bed he said, ‘I’ll help you.’

  His hands went to her jacket, but she shook them off. ‘I’ll manage,’ she said sharply, ‘if you just leave me.’

  Zito stepped back. ‘I’ve watched you undress hundreds of times,’ he said, ‘and done it for you more often than I can remember.’

  ‘Well, you’re not watching me now! Go away.’ Objectively it was irrational, but she couldn’t bring herself to remove her clothes in front of him. His reminder had caused a flood of erotic memories, and she took a silent, careful breath to stop herself flushing.

  Zito’s smile was both amused and incredulous. Then he shrugged. ‘I’ll be right outside.’

  He gave her five minutes before tapping on the door. She was sliding under the covers when he opened it.

  ‘Does that hurt your foot?’ he asked, as she winced.

  ‘The sheet,’ she said. ‘Could you just loosen it at the foot of the bed?’ The duvet on top was light enough, but the sheet was constricting.

  He did it for her. ‘Want me to rig you a cage of some kind?’

  She shook her head. ‘It’s fine now.’

  ‘Good. I see you have a spare room next door. I’ll be in there if you need me. In a couple of hours I’ll waken you and take off that strapping for the rest of the night.’

  She ought to thank him, but the words stuck in her throat. She felt weak and humiliated and furious with herself for needing his help, and with him for being the root cause. If he’d never turned up here this wouldn’t have happened. ‘All right,’ she said grudgingly. ‘There are clean sheets on the bed in there.’

  After a while the throbbing in her head and ankle gradually subsided and she slipped into sleep.

  Zito’s hand on her shoulder roused her, his quiet voice saying her name.

  She turned, her cheek brushing his hand. It was a dream, of course. As the warm pressure of his lips on her temple was a dream. Ever since she’d left him dreams had haunted her sleep, and surely this was no different.

  Reluctantly she opened her eyes. It was dark, but a shaft of light from the hallway showed her Zito’s broad shoulders, the shadowed outline of his face. He had lifted the covers over her foot and was gently removing the elastic bandaging, hardly hurting her at all.

  ‘Zito.’

  ‘You’re awake,’ he said, and carefully covered her bare feet again. ‘Do you know where you are? Remember what happened?’

  The doctor had told him to check her recall in case of concussion. ‘I’m at home in my cottage. You came…I hit my head. I’m awake, it’s all right.’

  ‘Your address?’

  She gave it to him.

  ‘Good.’ He replaced the blanket and kissed her forehead. ‘Go back to sleep now.’

  She did, muzzily comforted by the knowledge that he was there in the next room.

  He roused her twice more, the second time interrupting an erotic dream that featured him in living colour. She was glad the light was too dim for him to see her face clearly.

  When he left again she lapsed back into the dream world, a world where she’d never left him, and where she was as happy as she had been on their honeymoon.

  They were lying on a beach in the tropical sun and there was no one else there, no sound but the faint clacking of palm trees overhead and the shush of the sea as it licked the sand. Zito touched her bare arm, smiled his dazzling smile at her, and kissed her shoulder. A delicious sensation that started at the spot where his lips lingered spread through her limbs, her entire body. She gave a murmur of delight.

  Her toes, her feet, were cold, and she saw that a wave had reached them, the clear salty water cooling her skin. The little wave receded and Zito laughed and held her feet with his big hands and warmed them. He took one of her toes into his mouth, his eyes gleaming at her as she laughed back at him.

  He let go her feet and drizzled warm sand onto both of them, then moved up beside her, smiled at her and kissed her mouth, his lips sure and firm. But the kiss ended too soon, and she muttered a protest and lifted her arms to bring him back to her. They felt heavy, and he captured one of her hands in his and brought it to his lips.

  ‘Roxane?’

  Her eyelids opened slowly, and she looked into Zito’s dark gaze. But there was no beach, only her small room and the sunlight spying on them through the window.

  Zito was sitting on the bed, holding her hand. Roxane snatched it away. Had he really kissed it or was that only in her dream? And had he kissed her mouth? She touched her tongue to her lips, but there was no way she could be sure…

  ‘How do you feel?’ he asked. ‘Your feet were cold—you’d pulled the coverings off them.’

  ‘They’re warm now,’ she said. ‘I’m all right.’

  ‘Not all right,’ he contradicted her. ‘But comfortable, I hope?’

  Roxane nodded. ‘I’ll get up.’

  She used the crutches, spurning his help, but he followed her to the bathroom and insisted she didn’t lock the door while he waited.

  When she’d got back into bed he said, ‘What would you like for breakfast?’

  ‘Juice, toast, coffee. Please.’

  He frowned. ‘That’s not a decent breakfast.’

  ‘It’s a perfectly healthy one.’

  ‘I’ll bring it up to you.’

  Roxane didn’t argue. The prospect of breakfast in bed was tempting, and maybe she should save her energy for a battle that really mattered.

  While he was downstairs she left the bed again and hastily donned undies an
d a T-shirt before slipping back under the covers. Later she’d find a pair of loose pants or perhaps a skirt, that wouldn’t constrict her ankle.

  Zito was back in less than fifteen minutes. Besides what she’d asked for, there was also a plate of French toast and a bottle of maple syrup on the tray. ‘It’s for me,’ he said blandly when Roxane protested.

  He sat on the bed again and poured syrup onto a slice of perfect, golden-brown French toast.

  She tried to ignore the delicious smell, and the sight of Zito enjoying his breakfast, but he caught her looking enviously at him.

  He smiled, cut a piece and held it to her lips. ‘Here.’

  Roxane opened her mouth and took the morsel from him, promising herself just one bite. He cut another and she couldn’t resist. They ended up sharing, as no doubt he’d intended.

  As soon as he’d left with the tray she gingerly hobbled to her wardrobe, aided by the crutches.

  By the time she had wriggled into a flared skirt and was back sitting on the bed, he was at the doorway again.

  ‘Should you be getting up?’ he demanded.

  ‘I’m not going to stay in bed all day. You could pass me my hairbrush.’

  He fetched it from the dressing table and handed it to her. ‘You’ll need something for your feet. Socks?’

  Roxane consented to one sock, and he found a soft, loose one and fitted it over her damaged ankle with care, then put a slipper on the other foot.

  Her eyes glazed as she looked down at his bent head. His hair was still thick and glossy, worn a little longer than he used to have it, and she remembered the surprisingly silky texture of it under her fingers.

  Stifling an urge to find out if it was still the same, she gave him a muffled thanks and pulled her gaze away.

  She made it on the crutches to the top of the stairs, where she paused. Behind her Zito gave a soft laugh, then he whisked the crutches away and his arms lifted her.