Married By Christmas Bundle: Anthology

by Carol Marinelli

  ‘It has!’ Ainslie could hear his pain, feel it from across the table.

  ‘I went to ring her earlier.’ He looked up, strong features now hopeless. ‘I went to dial this number—to ask her what flowers she liked…That is crazy…’

  ‘It’s not crazy…’ She couldn’t just sit and watch him sink. On reflex she went over to him, stood where he sat, rested her hands on his strained shoulders. ‘You’re not crazy—it’s normal, I’m sure.’

  ‘I want to ask her what I should do…’ His anguish was there in each word, beneath her fingers his shoulders were rigid in her hands. ‘I want to know what she would want.’

  She could see her own fingers, pale against his black jumper, digging in and massaging the knots of tension, could see them moving against her will, as if they belonged to someone else. Instinctively her hands moved, working each taut bundle of tension till she felt the release.

  ‘She already told you what she wanted.’

  He nodded, taking solace in her words, taking solace in her touch—only for both of them it wasn’t over. She was aware now that she was touching him. Some bizarre out-of-body experience had seen her cross the room, only now her mind was back, registering the change of surrounds and her fingers that had worked his flesh so easily were moving clumsily now…she jerked away when Enid came in the room.

  ‘Ainslie…?’ The question in Elijah’s voice faded as he saw they had company.

  ‘Don’t mind me!’ The housekeeper smiled, taking the plates as, awkward, blushing, Ainslie stepped back.

  But later, lying in the bath, staring at the still water as she lay motionless, Ainslie knew her blushes, her awkwardness, had had nothing to do with Enid entering. It had been the contact that had her reeling—her own boldness, her own knowing, which had propelled her like iron ore to a magnet. And it wasn’t a question of pleasing, Ainslie realised as still she lay. It wasn’t a question of being good enough. It was knowing that you were.

  That with him, kissing him, touching him, it wasn’t about Elijah’s skill or experience, or any of the stuff she’d read about as she’d muddled through the maze of dating.

  It all came down to her and how he made her feel—the woman he brought out in her.

  And now they had to share a bed.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ‘OH, PLEASE no!’ Pulling acres of purple satin out of tissue paper, Ainslie stared at him aghast as she held up the offending garments. ‘Do men actually like this stuff?’

  ‘Tell me what I should have said!’ Elijah snapped from his vantage point on the bed, a wad of pillows dividing the battlefield. ‘Should I have told the assistant who was selecting your wardrobe that this particular billionaire’s fiancée actually prefers flannelette pyjamas that are covered in monkeys?’

  ‘I’m not wearing this!’

  ‘Fine!’ Elijah snapped. ‘I’m sure Enid has seen naked ladies in the hallway at midnight; she probably won’t turn a hair. I am telling you—you are not wearing those pyjamas.’

  ‘I am!’

  ‘Actually, you can’t!’ Elijah sniped as she unzipped her backpack. ‘Because I threw out all your tat!’

  He had!

  ‘Don’t you ever go through my things again!’

  ‘That’s a fine thing to say—given your current circumstances!’

  He did feel a twinge of unfamiliar guilt as she flounced out. Today had been hard for her too, and he had seen the flash of tears in eyes as she’d raced for the door—but, hell, what did she expect? Elijah consoled himself. If they were going to pass her off as his fiancée she could hardly walk around in high street clothes and fake handbags!

  She was a funny little thing, though. Despite his hell, Elijah found himself smiling inside when she returned from the bathroom, her skin clashing violently with the satin and her whole body one burning blush. Despite the fact that this man actually didn’t like that sort of stuff, he felt a stirring beneath the sheet that said otherwise. He couldn’t help but notice the unfamiliar sight of a round bottom and the curve of a stomach the nightdress clung to—such a contrast to the reed-thin women he was used to bedding—and he couldn’t help but notice a glimpse of pink areola as she leant to pull back the covers. What she lacked in sophistication she repaid tenfold in femininity. She slipped into bed beside him, then slid halfway down the sheets—a waft of toothpaste the only scent to greet him. Never had spearmint been more refreshing…Or, Elijah thought, hands bunched into fists above the sheet, never had the scent of spearmint been more sexy!

  He could feel her twitching with nerves beside him, feel her vulnerability, and it moved him—he knew she was expecting him to pounce. But that would only complicate things. He’d assured her there would be no repeats.

  ‘Goodnight!’ he barked, flicking off the light, willing himself to sleep. But every time he closed his eyes all he could see was her. Not the image of her tonight, or even today. Instead the image of her last night was the one that danced before his eyes, the feel her in his arms, the soft balmy escape of her lips.

  No repeats.

  Blowing out his breath, he willed sleep to come, but knew it would evade him. He resigned himself instead to a long, sleepless night.

  Ainslie wasn’t faring much better. Staring into the sudden darkness, she felt her throat so constricted, her body so rigid, that she couldn’t attempt to answer his brusque goodnight.

  In the sexiest lingerie, next to the sexiest man, all she felt was stupid. The whole day had been one awful lesson in humiliation. And, lest she forget, she recalled him at the department store, holding up her hair as if it were a rag, replayed over and over in her mind every sarcastic barb he had uttered. The fact that he was lying utterly unmoved beside her reinforced that she was nowhere near the type of woman Elijah Vanaldi dated.

  So why had he kissed her?

  Her blush was back. She stared unseeing at the ceiling as she felt him restless beside her, his uneven breathing telling her that he wasn’t asleep.

  And thank God for the pillows between them—because just at the memory of his kiss she wanted to curl towards him. Her whole body seemed to be leaping like a salmon in an autumn river—defying her wishes to settle and heading upstream as Elijah blew out a breath beside her.

  He had kissed her because he could, Ainslie decided. Because his sister had just died and she had been there.

  She could feel her hands on his shoulders again, feel the velvet of his skin as she’d stroked his neck, the bit of flesh at the nape of his neck she’d wanted to lower her head to and kiss…

  She breathed out into the darkness. The air was so thick, so warm, it was an effort to drag a breath back in. Her skin was too warm from the bath, the covers a heavy weight as Elijah lay restless beside her.

  ‘I’m sorry—I need to go to the loo!’ Her voice was a croak as, with an almost weary sigh, Elijah reached over and switched the light back on. ‘It’s static…’ A slightly hysterical giggle wobbled in her throat as she slid off the sheet and peeled the nightdress from her body. Her hair crackled as it left the pillow ‘It’s ruining my hair!’

  He didn’t even deign to smile.

  God, she looked a sight.

  Staring in the mirror at her hair sticking up everywhere, and her flesh spilling out, Ainslie was about to tuck one wayward bosom back safely into her nightdress when Elijah came in behind her. Such was the blaze in his eyes, so heavy was her want, she didn’t even pretend to scold him for not knocking.

  ‘I would never have chosen this for you to wear.’

  His hand caught hers, cupping her breast, and she watched in the mirror as he lowered his noble head to her neck, as he kissed her there deeply. Her own hand slipped, leaving his, and she watched with morbid fascination as her nipple lengthened, a whimper of regret escaping as he released her. All Ainslie knew was that she couldn’t even try to fight it any more. The attraction, the intent, the presence that was there between them was just so overwhelming, so intense, it was as impossible to fathom as it was to ign
ore. She couldn’t breathe—or rather, she could—but they were rapid shallow breaths that made her dizzy.

  Standing frozen, watching in the mirror as he turned on the shower, she closed her eyes with giddy excitement as he returned a second later and led her, thousand-dollar nightdress and all, under the jets. The bliss of the water as it hit her stiff lacquered hair made her shiver. Wet satin clung to her as he poured shampoo and massaged it into her scalp, as his tongue stroked hers and his hands pulled at the fabric, pushing it down over her body, pressing her with his own body against the cold glass.

  He was naked now too—and though she’d seen most of him, she hadn’t seen this bit of him, and her equanimity was dimmed for ever as he revealed the splendid, terrifying sight of himself in full arousal. Whether from reflex or awe her knees went weak. She sank to the floor of the shower, kissing him intimately, tasting the soapy, wet maleness of him as the water kissed her eyes, as his fingers knotted in her hair—till he stopped her, till he held her face in the palm of his hands and forced her head up.

  ‘This is how I want you…’ Bedraggled, soaked, her eyes glittering with desire, face flushed despite the cool water, and utterly, utterly drunk on lust, he took in her every feature, then dragged her to her feet before he spoke again. ‘This is how you come to me at night.’

  Impatient fingers were parting her thighs now, and his mouth was hungry at her breast, sucking, bruising, biting. It was delicious—as delicious as the hot pulse between her legs, beating for his fierce erection. Like a locating device he sought her. She could see him, full to bursting, wondered if he’d make it, if she’d make it, and was grateful his haste matched hers when he slipped inside her. Her orgasm was so deep, so intense, it made her sob with its power. Everything dimmed as they centred, as for a minute she was lost to everything but him. Then came a dim awareness of her surrounds, and the cool water brought her round to a world that was different. Sensations were sharper somehow, the water too cool on her body, too loud in her ears. It must have been for him too, because Elijah turned off the taps, wrapped her in a towel and, placing another one around his hips, led her back to bed.

  It was like getting up the first time after the flu—her legs weak, her body shivering, drained from the exertion, thrilled to be up but ready to slip back into bed.

  But not till he’d dried her—and not just her skin, but her hair too. Then he pulled back the covers, and she lay there.

  ‘Can we get rid of the safety barrier now?’ He pulled the pillows away, but she couldn’t smile, couldn’t look at him—trying to make sense of a world that was the same only different from the one she’d left for a little while. She turned away from him.

  ‘Don’t run away from me as well.’

  ‘I’m not.’ His fingers traced the length of her spine, then over her bottom, tracing her contours, soothing her body as she struggled with her mind. ‘I didn’t.’

  And she hadn’t been running away, coming to London. She hadn’t been walking out on her life. But she had been searching. Not for him, but for the bit of her that was missing—the something she had never been able to define but that she’d glimpsed tonight.

  The wantonness he’d unleashed, this passion that had been untapped—it wasn’t just sex. For her, at least…

  ‘Look at me, then.’ So easily he turned her over, and so hard was it to look at him.

  ‘Have you any idea what you’ve done for me? Without you here I would be in hell—and instead…’

  She could look at him now, could see the certainty in his eyes that chased away her doubts. This was as good and as right and as necessary as it had felt. In his arms she could feel the thick rope of connection that ran between them, that told her it was so much more than sex that had led her to his bed, that made her dizzy lying in his arms. His beauty astonished her—mesmerised her now that she could face him—and his words told her it was all okay, that she was safe to be the woman she was with him.

  He confirmed it with a kiss. It was supremely tender, a long, languorous kiss now that the urgency was gone—a kiss to taste him, to explore him, and he let her take her time to relish in it. The need that had gripped them before was replaced now by a deeper want—a want to touch him, to allow her fingers, her mouth, to grow familiar with him, tracing his image with her senses, taking in details, like the swirl of hair around his areolae, the soapy taste of his flat hard nipple in her mouth, his moans as she licked it.

  He explored her too, curves that he had once felt too generous entirely in proportion now as he revelled in her body. His pleasure was rising in her hands as he suckled her. A knot of legs as he entered her, and side on they faced each other. For the first time she didn’t close her eyes, and neither did he, and she could have stayed like that for ever. Elijah was in no rush. His length was inside her and his eyes adored her. Rocking together, just locked in an unhurried pleasure. Relishing the slide of skin on skin and the delicious friction they created—hardly moving on the outside, but long, slow strokes stirred her deep within. Each touch, each caress answered an unvoiced plea. She’d found her soul mate, like some glorious dance in the mirror, he echoed her thoughts and answered her wants.

  It was a dance that couldn’t go on for ever because the tip to transition had her crying, had him calling out her name as he filled her with his gift.

  ‘Don’t leave me.’

  He groaned it out as he spilled inside her, and she dragged him in deeper in answer, so sure at that moment, so utterly and completely sure, that she never would.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ‘GUIDO, ritornato qui!’

  But not even Elijah’s stern order for Guido to come back could halt him. Giggling, running along the landing, Ainslie was awoken to the missile of a cheeky pre-dawn toddler, wide awake and ready to play, launching himself onto the bed as his exasperated uncle ran behind, just as he had the last few mornings. A strange glow of a routine, that was theirs, was forming out of the chaos.

  ‘He escaped again!’ Elijah explained, taking two kicking legs and trying to assert some authority and put on a nappy. But Guido, slippery with nappy cream, wriggled out of his strong hands, laughing and coughing and running across the bed to a grinning Ainslie.

  ‘Here,’ Ainslie offered, taking the nappy and tickling Guido on the tummy, making him laugh by blowing raspberries on his feet and managing to get his fat slippery body into the nappy as Elijah stretched out on the bed beside them, exhausted from his morning exercise with Guido.

  ‘How can one person who is so small create so much chaos?’

  ‘Very easily,’ Ainslie grinned. ‘They can smell fear too, you know.’

  For a second he was about to refute her—Ainslie actually felt his body stiffen beside her, just as it had when she had first offered help—but then he laughed. This closed, guarded, stern man, who had so much on his mind, actually threw his head back and laughed. ‘He terrifies me!’

  And when Elijah laughed Guido did too, absolutely sensing weakness and crawling over the bed to his uncle, sitting on his chest and pressing fat hands into his face.

  ‘You are trouble…’ Elijah scowled to his delighted audience. ‘Should we keep you?’

  It sounded like the worst thing to say—so utterly open to misinterpretation that even Ainslie was jolted for a second—but lying there beside him, with Guido bouncing up and down, it was the nicest thing he could possibly have said.

  Normal, almost.

  Just the sort of thing one might say with absolute confidence because the answer wasn’t in question—the sort of thing a parent might say to a child in all the certainty it was loved.

  And he was.

  ‘Always I tell Maria she is not strict enough with him.’ He was holding Guido’s hands now, and pulling him up to stand on his chest. ‘She had no routine. I would come from the airport sometimes at ten at night and he would be still up playing—she couldn’t say no to him…I tell her: that boy will be trouble…’ He gave a wry smile. ‘Had I known she was leaving the t
rouble for me, I would have insisted she was stricter.’

  All of it he said with mirth, not a trace of pity, as Guido played trampoline on his chest. But Elijah’s words were so bittersweet they brought the sting of tears to Ainslie’s eyes, as she watched this man who knew nothing about babies doing so very, very well—saw the genuine affection between uncle and nephew, the humour and history that bound families as the two of them became one. The ties that loosely bound them were tightening as she watched on—only it wasn’t duty or obligation that was pulling the strings. There in the bed, sharing the dawn, Guido and his uncle were starting to become a family.

  And—even if by default—Ainslie was a part of it too. She was scarcely able to comprehend that their chance encounter had been more than a meeting of minds, but bodies and souls too—that the passion that still taunted her with its recklessness, when she had a moment alone to dwell, made absolute sense when it was just the two of them…or three.

  She’d worked with children since she was eighteen—had had her favourites too—but never had one captured her heart like Guido. It wasn’t just his plight—the children in her care had had their traumas too—it was Guido’s spirit that melted her. His eyes once as blue and as mistrusting as his uncle’s that suddenly adored her when they smiled.

  He was smiling at her now. Tired of being naughty, Guido had slid down his uncle’s chest as the grown-ups planned his day, his thick lashes getting heavier by the minute as he lay between them, thumb in mouth, smiling lazily.

  ‘He is still coughing.’ Elijah frowned down in concern as Guido gave a croupy bark.

  ‘Not as much…’ Ainslie stroked the little dark curls. ‘And croup can last for ages—he seems much better.’

  ‘Still, maybe he should stay here today—it is the funeral tomorrow…’ Guido was supposed to be going to the Castellas for the afternoon. Ms Anderson had made it quite clear that regular contact was to be maintained with the Castellas while the Social Services department made its decision. Ainslie had pointed out on numerous occasions that it could only help Elijah’s case if he showed willing, yet still he resisted. ‘I will ring Ms Anderson—explain to her that—’