He pointed to an open door through which she could see an antique cot on which sat a battered-looking teddy bear.
‘Nico’s going to go in there. Obviously.’ He smiled. ‘Would you like to see where we’ll be sleeping?’
At first Justina pretended she had misheard him. But her heart started to race as he pushed open an adjoining door, where a large room was dominated by one enormous bed.
‘We’re sharing a room?’ She gave a light laugh. ‘Are you serious?’
‘Totally serious.’ The shrug of his shoulders was unapologetic. ‘My mother is making an effort to be modern, and she has put us in together because she thinks we’re a couple now.’
‘And you haven’t bothered to enlighten her that we’re not?’
‘I haven’t told her that we find ourselves here as a result of a one-night stand, if that’s what you mean.’
His assessment was brutal—was that deliberate?—and it hurt. ‘How ironic that when we were here as a couple we were at opposite ends of the house,’ she observed, swallowing down the sudden lump in her throat. ‘Meaning that you had to come creeping into my room at the dead of night.’
‘I don’t remember you objecting too much at the time, tesoro. As I recall, the subterfuge rather turned you on.’
Justina bit back the objection which had sprung to her lips, because it hadn’t been the subterfuge which had turned her on—it had been him. Dante had only used to look at her and she would be melting with desire. She met the mockery in his eyes and the sudden flip in her stomach made her realise that nothing very much had changed. He could still turn her on with just a look—and wasn’t that dangerous, given this new proximity? On one level she was honest enough to admit to herself that she was desperate to have sex with him again, but on another she knew that it would be complete madness.
Nico stirred and she held out her arms for him, relieved to be able to press her burning cheek onto his downy little head. ‘I’d better feed him,’ she said.
Dante nodded. He had seen the look of confusion which had clouded her amber eyes and he wondered how hard she was going to fight him. And fight herself. ‘Why not go over there?’ he said, indicating an old rocking chair which sat in front of one of the windows. ‘While I unpack.’
Justina carried Nico over to the window, crooning a little as she did so, before unbuttoning her silk shirt and latching him on to her breast. She’d never sat in a rocking chair before, and the creaking rhythm was oddly soothing. It made her feel timeless—and safe. Dreamily, she stroked the baby’s head as he fed, and in the background she could hear the sounds of Dante pulling open drawers and shutting wardrobes.
By the time she was finishing he had returned and was standing watching her. His eyes were as soft and dark as molten jet and suddenly she felt almost shy. But how could she possibly feel shy in view of everything that had happened between them?
She tried for flippant instead. ‘What do you think you’re looking at?’
‘At you. You look unbelievable. Like a Madonna. A Madonna in skinny jeans.’
‘Will you stop it?’ She could feel her cheeks getting hotter by the second. ‘I’m busy feeding your son.’
‘And you do it so well.’
‘It’s a biological function, Dante,’ she said drily. ‘Every woman does it.’
But every woman did not do it. Dante knew that. And once again Justina had surprised him. Hadn’t he thought that she would be itching to wean Nico and leave him in the care of a nanny, so that she could concentrate on her songwriting? But she hadn’t. She had embraced motherhood with an enthusiasm he could never have envisaged. And wasn’t that what made this whole scenario seem almost miraculous? Justina sitting in a rocking chair at the D’Arezzo palazzo, feeding their baby. She looked light years away from the black-eyed temptress who had once strutted the stage to the appreciative roars of thousands of fans.
He continued to watch as she settled Nico down, but he sensed a certain restraint about her as she moved away from the cot—as if she’d also moved away from her comfort zone. And he didn’t want her uptight. He wanted her soft and giving—the way he’d been fantasising about for too long now.
‘The bathroom’s through there,’ he said. ‘You might want to go and freshen up.’
Glad to escape from his unsettling scrutiny, Justina went into the bathroom, where she stripped off and stood beneath the warm torrents of water and tried to put Dante out of her mind—easier said than done when desire kept straying into her mind with dark and dangerous thoughts. And she couldn’t hide in the shower all day.
She wandered back into the bedroom, clad only in a towel and found Dante standing there, his expression unfathomable as he watched her walk in. She supposed she should say something on the lines of I didn’t know you’d be here—except that would have been a lie. Where else would he be when they were supposed to be sharing a bedroom?
‘Is Nico okay?’ she questioned awkwardly.
For a moment he didn’t move, and when eventually he nodded Justina could see that his powerful body looked as tense as she felt.
‘Fast asleep. Want to see?’
Nodding, she followed him into the adjoining bedroom, where their son lay sleeping in the antique cot, the wood very dark against the pristine whiteness of the bedclothes. For a moment she just stood and watched the steady rise and fall of his little chest, marvelling at the thought of the tiny heart which beat within it and the fact that she and Dante had created this living miracle between them. Out of one reckless act of passion this beautiful little child had been born.
And what of Nico’s life? she wondered suddenly. Would he suffer as she had suffered because a man and a woman had come together as she and Dante had done? Not thinking about the consequences of their actions, thinking of nothing but the heat of the moment and the overwhelming lure of desire? Growing up, she had hated her own illegitimacy, and yet now she had bequeathed that same pain to her child.
With a strangled little sound she turned and walked back into the bedroom, scarcely aware that Dante was close behind her. At least not until his hand had reached out to her bare shoulder and was turning her round.
‘Justina? What’s wrong?’
She shook her head. How could she admit to the great cauldron of insecurity which was bubbling away inside her when all she could think about was the burn of his fingers on her bare flesh?
‘This is wrong—this whole farce of us coming here with our baby and being put in this room together as if we’re all some kind of happy family,’ she said desperately, shaking his hand away. ‘We’re wrong!’
‘No!’
His voice was fierce as he pulled her into his arms, his voice unsteady as he pressed his face close to hers. So close that she could feel the heat of his breath fanning over her skin.
‘We have never been wrong. How can it possibly be wrong when it feels like this whenever I touch you?’
‘Dante—’
‘Kiss me,’ he growled. ‘And then tell me again that we’re wrong. Do that and I’ll never lay another finger on you.’
She opened her mouth to say that was cheating. That she didn’t want to kiss him. But that would have been a lie. Because hadn’t she wanted this all along? Deep down hadn’t she been yearning for this—the hard pressure of his kiss and her own urgent response to it? Hungrily, her lips sought his, and he tugged at the towel and let it slither to the floor, so that she was completely naked.
For a moment he pulled away
so that he could look at her, sucking in a breath as his gaze burned over her, and she was so lost in the moment and the way he was making her feel that she did nothing. She could feel her nipples springing to life beneath his hungry scrutiny, and the melting desire which was pooling insistently at the fork of her thighs.
‘Dante,’ she breathed. ‘This is...’
‘Inevitable,’ he bit out, as he began to tug at his belt. ‘It’s been inevitable for a long time now. Because you are beautiful. The most beautiful woman I have ever seen. And I am aching for you. I am crazy for you, tesoro.’
No, this was crazy, she thought. Dante was talking with an emotion she hadn’t heard in a long time and stripping off his clothes with ruthless efficiency, while she just stood there and watched him! She bit her lip as she saw his erection springing free, and a rush of desire flooded over her as he splayed his hands over her bare hips and pulled her down onto the bed.
‘Dante,’ she whispered, ‘we can’t do this.’
‘Want to bet?’
‘But your family,’ she said desperately.
‘Dinner isn’t for hours.’
‘But—’
‘No more buts, Justina. Especially when we both know you don’t really mean them. Don’t you realise this is siesta time and you’re in Italy now?’
His lips were trailing fire as they brushed over her neck and her eyes closed as her head fell back against the pillow. ‘Oh,’ she said indistinctly.
‘I want to kiss every inch of you,’ he breathed. ‘I want to touch every part of your body. Do you know that?’
Now his finger was stroking its way over her breast, teasing over the aching mound until it alighted with teasing precision on the nipple. ‘I... Oh...’
‘Your breasts are bigger than they used to be.’
‘And do you...do you approve?’
He smiled against her lips. ‘Mmm. One hundred percent.’
His finger had moved down over her belly and quickly she sucked it in. ‘Dante!’
‘Relax. Why are you holding your breath like that?’
‘Because my breasts aren’t the only things which are bigger. My stomach is huge!’
He laid the flat of his hand over the slight cushioning of her flesh. ‘Your stomach is perfect. Just as you are perfect.’
‘No, I’m not.’
‘Will you shut up and come here?’
He bent his head to kiss her and Justina could feel herself almost drowning in the sweetness of that kiss and the things he had just said to her. He thought she was perfect! She clung to him as his fingers drifted to her bare knee and then made an almost careless journey up her thigh. He skated teasing little circles there until she was gasping, and then his finger flicked against her sticky heat and she gasped some more. And suddenly his possession became more important than immediate pleasure. She wanted to feel him. She wanted him deep inside her again.
‘Dante...’ she whispered.
‘What?’ he whispered back.
‘Please.’
‘Can’t wait any longer?’
‘N-no.’
‘Me neither, tesoro. Me neither.’
She held her breath as he moved over her, and the world seemed to stand still as he entered her with one deep and possessive thrust. She felt a great warmth suffuse her, and the breath she’d been holding escaped. She thought she felt him smile against her lips before starting to kiss her again. And Justina let go. Suddenly it was easy to let go. To forget about what had brought them here and concentrate instead on the way he was making her feel.
‘Oh,’ she breathed again.
Through the dark mists of his own pleasure he managed to get words out. ‘Does that hurt?’
‘God, no. It feels...incredible.’
‘I know it does. For me, too.’ He closed his eyes as he lost himself in the rhythm. He’d thought that the sex would be different, and it was—just not in the way he’d imagined. Justina was as tight and delectable as she’d ever been, but it felt... Dante groaned. It felt more than sex had ever felt before. Something which went deeper than physical pleasure. Was that because this body had given birth to his baby—because part of him had grown deep inside her?
He felt her thighs wrap themselves around his back and her fingers digging into his shoulders. He could feel her climax building, and even though he could have come in an instant he held back. He held back even though it nearly killed him—and only when she started to come did he let go and he thought his orgasm was never going to end.
For a while the room was silent, save for the shuddering sounds of air being gulped back into their starved lungs, like two people who had just been saved from drowning. And when their breathing was steady he kissed her for a long time—until the need to yawn became unbearable.
‘Charming,’ she said, stroking a fingertip over the rasp of growth at his jaw as he opened his eyes and looked at her.
‘I do my best,’ he murmured.
She could hear the sleepiness in his voice and for a moment Justina lay in the warm circle of his arms and let sensation ripple over her skin. His lips were pressed against her neck, and in that moment she felt utterly protected. She wanted to tell him that nobody else had ever made her feel this way. She wanted to blurt out the secrets she’d held hidden in her heart for so many years.
But Dante had hurt her. He had hurt her badly. Why would she risk that happening all over again? Why jeopardise everything with an emotional outburst when it was far better to play safe? She needed to protect herself against the threat of heartbreak—as much for Nico’s sake as for her own. Because a heartbroken mother did not make a good mother. She of all people knew that.
So sleep, she told herself. Take this opportunity to rest. You’re tired, you’re a new mother and you’ve got a family dinner to get through tonight.
Dante heard the slowing of her breathing as she snuggled against him and he stared down at the ebony hair which spread like treacle over the pillow. He studied the dark curve of her eyelashes and the paper-pale skin against which they brushed. She was pressed so close that he could feel the beating of her heart, and something like certainty crept over him.
He thought about the baby who lay sleeping in the next room. He thought about the harsh and unequivocal words of his lawyer as he acknowledged one fundamental truth. That he wanted this...this family. Just like she’d said, he wanted it all. Nico. Her. All of them together.
And Justina was going to have to start seeing things his way.
CHAPTER NINE
JUSTINA WOKE ALONE from a restless sleep, where images of green mountains were interwoven with the intimate caress of a man’s strong body and a silence where there should have been a baby’s cry. Startled, she sat bolt upright in bed.
A baby’s cry!
Momentarily disorientated, she looked around, trying to get her bearings, blinking back her faint feeling of disbelief. She was in Dante’s family villa. More accurately, she was in Dante’s bed. She stared down at the empty space beside her. Only he’d gone. Where...?
She jumped out of bed, grabbing at one of the rumpled sheets to wrap it around her naked body before stumbling into the adjoining room to find Nico’s cot empty.
A whimper erupted from her throat as she fought to control a rising feeling of panic. Where was her baby? She rushed back into the bedroom and threw on jeans and a sweater, before slipping her feet into a pair of flip-flops as she ran from the room to look for him.
But the palazzo was vast, and although
she called out Dante and Nico’s names in an increasingly concerned voice her calls were met with a resounding silence.
She ran outside, her eyes skating over the horizon, over the distant mountains and the sunlight which was gilding the leaves of the olive trees. Only then did she see him, down among the neat rows of the vines. A tall, dark man pushing a buggy, silhouetted against the classic Tuscan backdrop. Her heart lurched with relief, but she felt the shimmering of something else as she began to run towards them. Something which felt uncomfortably like fear.
‘Dante!’
She saw him stop. Saw him lean down as if he was saying something to the inhabitant of the buggy. And then he straightened up and stood, perfectly still, watching her run towards him until she finally reached them, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
‘What are you doing?’ she demanded, her eyes raking over the cot. Her anxiety was only allayed when she saw that Nico was lying there, sleeping peacefully.
Dante heard the breathless accusation in her voice and something inside him hardened. ‘What does it look like?’ he demanded. ‘I brought Nico out for a walk in the fresh air.’
Her fears—which had seemed so real—now began to evaporate. ‘I thought...’
‘What did you think, Justina?’ he questioned acidly. ‘That I’d kidnapped our son?’
In the beauty of the Tuscan afternoon her response now seemed faintly ridiculous. ‘I woke up alone.’
‘I thought you could use the sleep.’
‘I’ve...’ She struggled to explain, wanting to wipe that cold, hard look from his face. ‘It’s all been a bit of an adjustment. Not just coming here, but getting used to having a baby around. This is the first time since he’s been born that he hasn’t been...’ She sucked in a deep breath. ‘That he hasn’t been there when I’ve woken.’
Slowly Dante nodded as he acknowledged what lay behind her behaviour, but he also knew that her actions were motivated by something that went much deeper than maternal anxiety. He had never wanted nor asked for the judgement of a woman until now, but for the first time in his life he could see that he needed to give voice to the one question which had remained unspoken.
A Scandal, a Secret, a BabyMarriage Scandal, Showbiz Baby! Page 10
