by Heidi Rice
‘Where is your cousin?’ he asked.
So he’d noticed Jessie’s absence too. He had to know how much more volatile the situation between us would become without her here.
‘She...she left a note,’ I babbled, the burning sensation becoming overwhelming as his head lowered to mine.
‘What does it say?’ he coaxed, before his warm lips settled on my neck, licking and nibbling the pulse point.
I gasped, sobbed, as he rubbed his mouth against my collar bone in an erotic rhythm that blurred my already dazed senses.
‘She’s...she decided to go to Paris for a while,’ I managed to choke out around the lump of need and desire throbbing in my throat.
His head lifted, his gaze fixing on mine. He framed my face in his hands, his fingers threading into my hair.
‘Good,’ he rasped, before covering my mouth with his.
The kiss was harsh, searing, demanding, leaving me breathless and limp when he reared back. He gripped me under my arms and lifted me against him.
‘Wrap your legs around my waist,’ he commanded. I did as he told me, unable to deny the need surging through me like a tsunami.
It still scared me, still shocked me, how quickly, how undeniable, the need was with him. How it seemed to daze all my senses and destroy all my objections. But as he marched through the living room and down the corridor, to the stairs leading to the bedrooms on the floor above, I could do nothing but cling to him and let the riot of sensations surge through me.
‘Which door is yours?’ he asked, his voice hoarse with need as we reached the first-floor balcony.
I signalled to my bedroom, my voice having deserted me, the need so strong I knew nothing on earth would stop me from feeling that thick length inside me again.
He shouldered open the door and kicked it shut, then placed me on my feet.
My breath shuddered out as he dragged my T-shirt over my head, unhooked my bra and pulled it off. He filled his hands with my breasts, the tender flesh aching as he caressed me, then leaned down to capture one swollen peak with his lips.
I cried out, the sound echoing round the ornate furnishings and into the night through the open terrace doors.
I heard the zip on my shorts releasing, the sound loud in the quiet room, almost as loud as our laboured breathing.
He dragged off my shorts, and I heard the rip of fabric as he tore away my panties.
‘I can’t wait. I need to be inside you,’ he said. For the first time I heard the tremble of uncertainty, the note of desperation in his voice.
It was like a spur to my already overwrought senses. ‘I need you too,’ I whispered.
He clasped my hips in large hands then turned me, bending me over the bed. I could hear fumbling, several curse words in Italian as he stripped off his own clothing, then his wallet landed on the bed beside my head. The rip of foil told me he was sheathing himself.
His large hands returned to my hips to steady me. My legs quivered, my senses so attuned to his I could feel the staggered rasps of his breathing beating in my sex.
His fingers slid through the slick folds, testing my readiness. I bucked, sobbed, as his touch glided over my swollen clitoris, tightening the coil in my abdomen, the pleasure already beginning to ripple and pulse.
‘Grazie Dio,’ he murmured against my neck, his perfect English deserting him, his tone as tortured as I felt.
He covered my aching breasts with his hands, caressing the nipples, making sensation arrow down to my already molten sex. Then he held me steady as the huge head of his erection notched at my entrance and slid deep in one relentless thrust. My slick folds adjusted to take the full measure of him, the muscles clamping down as the pleasure surged anew.
‘No,’ he demanded, withdrawing sharply. My breath shuddered out as the pleasure dimmed and the torture increased.
‘Don’t come, bella,’ he rasped. ‘Wait for me.’
‘I can’t,’ I sobbed, the pleasure on a knife edge, so close and yet so far away as I yearned to feel him deep inside me again.
‘Yes, you can,’ he said, tweaking my nipples, making them throb and ache.
I tried to focus as he slowly thrust back in, filling me up to the hilt again. I struggled to hold back the inexorable wave, my whole body shuddering, shaking with the effort as he began to move—out and back, thrusting deeper and deeper—forcing me to take every hard, thick inch.
My mind reeled, my senses sparking along every nerve ending, throbbing in every pulse point, but I clung to that high ledge as his thrusts became harder, faster, slicing through more of my control.
Sweat slicked my skin, my sex pounding in time with the punishing, relentless thrusts, until all I could focus on was the heavy weight possessing me, overwhelming me. Then he shifted, nudging that spot deep inside only he knew was there. The merciless stroke ignited the inferno and I could cling on no more, flying over as the coil released in a rush, the blast of heat incinerating me as the pleasure exploded.
My sobs turned to keening cries as the waves engulfed me. I heard his shout as the orgasm shattering me powered through him, destroying everything in its path. He grew even larger, harder, as the devastation gripped us both.
He collapsed on top of me eventually, rolling so as not to crush me. His palms caressed my tender breasts as his arms tightened around me.
We lay like that for an eternity, cocooned together, the sweat drying on our skin, his heartbeat punching my back, the musky scent of sex filling the air, his breath harsh against the damp tendrils on my nape. My own heart pummelled my ribs so hard I was surprised it didn’t burst out of my chest. The tears of emotion I had hoped to control stung my eyes.
The sob seemed to come from nowhere as he held me in the darkness. I dug my teeth into my bottom lip to hold it back, tasting blood. I mustn’t fall apart. Mustn’t make this mean more than it did. I didn’t want him to know how weak I was, how needy.
His lips nuzzled my nape and his arms tightened, making the ache in my throat worse.
‘Non piangere, bella,’ he whispered.
Don’t weep.
I blinked rapidly, glad he couldn’t see my face and the struggle to hold the overwhelming emotions at bay.
‘I’m not crying,’ I said, willing it to be true.
‘Bene,’ he murmured, then he gave me one last squeeze and let me go.
Lifting off the bed, he dragged the quilt up to cover my naked body.
I gathered the quilt around me to stave off the sudden chill as he headed for the en suite bathroom.
I fixated on the glorious sight of his naked buttocks, limned by moonlight, to stop the emotions overwhelming me.
And tried to tell myself the instinct to make love to Alexi wasn’t an emotional one, it was purely physical. A basic, animalistic urge I had never been able to control.
He returned a few moments later but, instead of picking up his clothing and getting dressed, he climbed into the bed beside me. He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and tucked me against his side.
The tears threatened again, so I swallowed them down. What was the matter with me? Why was I falling apart at the smallest show of affection?
Just because I’d expected him to leave, just because he’d never held me like this before.
I shifted, peering up at him in the darkness. His gaze was fixed on the horizon but his expression was impossible to read. I wondered what he was thinking. Then tried not to. Why did it matter? Despite his relationship to Cai, he had made no promises to me. And I didn’t need him to.
‘It’s probably better if you don’t stay,’ I murmured before I could get too comfortable having him with me. His gaze shifted to mine.
His thumb stroked my cheek. ‘Why?’
I breathed. There were so many answers I could give him.
That I hadn’t agreed to become his lover.
But I knew he’d see through those excuses to the truth beneath—that I was terrified I’d become too dependent on his care and support.
I had surrendered again, as he had known I would. All I could do now was learn how to manage the hunger, and not entertain any unrealistic hopes, until the chemistry between us died. As it inevitably would for him, if not for me.
Alexi had never had a long-term relationship to my knowledge. Our chemistry probably wasn’t anything out of the ordinary for him, the way it was for me. He’d had lots of sex with lots of women, according to the gossip columns and blogs I’d scoured over the last five years while pretending not to.
I had to make sure I didn’t become dependent on the sex or, worse, the attention. Which meant not reading too much into a simple post-coital hug. So I kept my voice even when I replied.
‘Cai usually runs in to wake me up at the crack of dawn every morning. It could get awkward if he finds you here tomorrow.’
He let out a gruff chuckle. ‘So our son is an early riser,’ he murmured, hooking a tendril of hair behind my ear. ‘Why does that not surprise me?’
I smiled, even though my heart swelled against my ribs, making it hard for me to draw a breath. Why did he have to look so much more breathtaking when he talked about our son?
I knew it was dangerous to enjoy this moment too much while my sex was still humming from that titanic orgasm. But as his thumb stroked my cheek, his gaze both protective and possessive, I couldn’t seem to stop myself from basking in his approval. Just a little bit.
He pressed a kiss to my forehead. ‘Go to sleep, bella notte. I’ll make sure I leave before he wakes up in the morning, but I want to hold you tonight.’
‘Why?’ I rasped, then wanted to snatch the question back. Did it sound as needy and hopeful to him as it did to me?
His lips spread in a sensual smile. ‘Because you gave me a beautiful son, Belle, and it’s way past time I thanked you for him.’
I blushed at the sincerity in his voice and the fierce gratitude in his eyes.
I tucked my head under his chin, hiding my face as I blinked rapidly to hold back the tears.
‘It was my pleasure,’ I murmured, toying with the dark curls of hair on his chest. ‘Cai is the best thing to ever happen to me, so I should probably thank you too,’ I added, my voice breaking.
He pressed his palm over my hand to stop my fidgeting, then tucked a knuckle under my chin. He lifted my face until I was staring into those pure blue eyes, filled with so much heat, I shivered.
‘I will leave before the boy wakes this time, but I wish to spend more nights in your bed and I see no reason to keep it a secret from him. As you say, he is a bright child and adaptable and I will always be a part of his life. Plus, we have a rare chemistry, which we would be foolish not to indulge while it lasts.’
While it lasts...
My heart stumbled over the end of his statement—Alexi was already putting an end date on this affair, something I needed to do too. But still it made me feel unbearably sad.
‘Do you not agree?’ he asked gently in his usual confident, pragmatic tone.
He was asking me to sanction our affair, to welcome him into my bed and my life—for a limited time only—as well as my son’s life. The fear clawed at my throat for a moment. Could I really do this—jump into a relationship with him, knowing it would not last? Knowing that, when he tired of me, I would be discarded and replaced like all the other women? Knowing I would have to spend the rest of my life as we brought up our son together, seeing him and no longer being able to touch him, to taste him, to feel him inside me as I could still feel the imprint of him now?
But as he waited patiently for my answer, his thumb stroking my upper arm while he held me, I could see the determination in his eyes, how much he wanted me to say yes, and the fear clawing at my throat loosened its grip a fraction, and then a fraction more. The raw ache of desire flooded in to replace it.
He was the only man I had ever loved, the only man I’d ever wanted, the only man to whom I’d ever made love. He was the father of my son and the brother of my best friend, whom I still missed.
I had lost Alexi once and survived, and I was so much stronger now than I had been then.
Perhaps there was still a chance for us. Who knew? But one thing I did know was that I wanted him in my bed, and I wanted the chance to become an intimate part of his life, to get to know the man I had never really known before. If for no other reason than he would always be a part of my life now, and Cai’s, whether we were sleeping together or not.
So I threaded my fingers back into the hair on his chest and said, ‘Yes, I want that too.’
His quick grin dazzled me, the low chuckle of relief, as if he had been unsure of my answer, a sop to my ego as he lowered his mouth to mine and kissed me.
He drew back first, the sensual smile spreading across his lips. ‘Mille grazie, bella notte,’ he said, the rough, sexy tone scraping across my nerve-endings.
I settled into his embrace and waited for the flush of pleasure to subside as I listened to his heart thud steadily beneath my ear.
As long as I didn’t make the mistake of becoming infatuated with this man again, everything would be absolutely fine, I assured myself as I drifted into a deep, blissful and exceptionally erotic sleep.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Alexi
‘THE BOY IS your son, Alexi, is this not so?’
I turned to my friend, Dante Allegri, and frowned, annoyed by the perceptive question, even though I had expected as much as soon as I had arrived at the Allegris’ annual summer barbeque at Villa Paradis with Belle and Cai.
‘You are an observant man, Dante,’ I murmured as the knot in my gut tightened.
To distract myself and him, I smiled at his toddler daughter Celeste, who was perched on his hip and was staring at me with wide tawny-green eyes.
The child reminded me so much of her mother, Edie Trouvé—or, rather, Edie Allegri, as she had become two summers ago at my friend’s lavish wedding. The knot in my gut took a new twist, a twist that felt suspiciously like envy.
An envy I did not understand.
It was true, once upon a time I had wanted Dante’s wife for myself. In fact, I had flirted mercilessly with her three years ago at the high stakes poker game in Dante’s casino in Monaco when both Dante and I had met Edie for the first time. When she had rejected my attempts to seduce her at that game, having had eyes only for my friend, I had got over it quickly—so quickly, I had taken another woman home to my bed that night. A woman whose name—and face—I couldn’t even remember three years later.
My gaze tracked to Belle, who stood beside Dante’s wife on the Villa Paradis lawn. She had Cai’s hand gripped firmly in hers as he showed another boy his age the toy car I had given him that morning.
I forced my gaze off Belle, and back to Edie, trying to understand the stab of envy. Dante’s wife looked beautiful in an elegant blue dress, even more beautiful than she had looked the night I had first met her—and wanted her. Today she looked composed, graceful, happy, carrying the baby bump of her second pregnancy—which Dante had announced earlier—with all the poise of a woman who had somehow managed to have it all.
But I didn’t want Edie any more. If I ever really had. She, like so many of the women I had dated, had been nothing more than a passing fancy. Unlike the woman who stood beside her. My gaze returned to Belle, and the heat surged as it always did when I looked at her.
After three weeks of sex whenever we could fit it in around our commitments as Cai’s parents, why hadn’t the hunger for her dimmed, at all?
I devoured the sight of her slender curves in the fitted designer dress, emblazoned with poppies to match her vibrant hair, t
he way I had when I had picked Cai and her up for the drive to Monaco an hour ago.
This was our last outing together before Belle started work and I would have to travel to England for the Primo Grande race—and I was already feeling agitated at the thought.
Unlike Edie’s, Belle’s stomach was flat. I remembered kissing it the night before when we had retired to her bedroom after tucking Cai into bed together. Remembered exploring the soft flesh around her belly button with my tongue, then drifting lower to capture the sweet taste of her arousal, which I had become addicted to. The heat rushed through me all over again as I recalled her broken sobs as she’d bucked and cried out against my hold.
I shook my head, trying to dismiss the memory. Dio! What was wrong with me? Why would this need not die? And why did it feel like so much more than just a physical hunger?
‘If the child is your son, why have you not claimed him?’ I registered Dante’s question, tinged with incredulity and no small amount of judgement.
The accusatory look on my friend’s face said it all. I bristled, but couldn’t ignore the tinge of guilt. Dante was right. It had been several months now since I had discovered the boy was mine. And my relationship with Cai was going well.
I enjoyed spending time with him. I had taken him swimming and go-karting and tended to live at their villa when I was not forced to return to mine to catch up on work. The boy never stopped talking but I found his conversation fascinating. He still reminded me a great deal of Remy, but Cai was an individual too, his quirks and passions, his cheeky smile and sweet manner very much his own.
It was way past time I told him who I really was. I knew Belle would not object. In fact, I suspected she was becoming impatient for me to do so.
But, where once I had been keen to claim Cai as my son, now I hesitated. And I knew it had nothing to do with the child and everything to do with his mother.
‘It’s not as simple as that,’ I said in answer to Dante’s question. My friend frowned, not looking convinced. But then Dante had always been far too intuitive—it was one of the qualities that made him impossible to beat at the poker table.
