Her Last Night of Innocence

by India Grey

  Throwing the log down again, he headed for the stairs.

  ‘That smells good.’

  Startled out of her indolent trance, Kate glanced up and felt herself blush—partly at being so deeply lost in thought that she hadn’t heard him come in, and partly because standing there in the doorway, with his hands dirty and his hair clinging to his forehead with sweat, he looked so outrageously sexy. She looked away again, turning her attention very pointedly to the saucepan.

  ‘So it should, with a store cupboard like this to cook from,’ she muttered shyly, stirring hard. ‘Where I come from “essentials” means a tin of baked beans and a packet of cheap chocolate digestives—not organic beef and a complete A-Z collection of freeze-dried herbs. Are you sure it’s OK to use all this stuff?’

  ‘I’ll replace it all.’

  Something about his voice made her look up again, and her heart gave a little skip of foreboding as she noticed the dangerous blankness of his expression. There was a muscle jumping above his jaw.

  ‘Cristiano? Is everything all right?’

  He detached himself from the doorway and came towards her, bringing with him a blast of ice-cold fresh air and pine resin. His eyes were the hard, opaque black of marble.

  ‘I just remembered something.’

  Kate gave a little hiss of breath.

  Cristiano smiled: a hollow, bitter smile. ‘Unfortunately I don’t mean that I’ve suddenly undergone a miraculous recovery. Just that I realised—’ He pushed a hand through his hair, and for a moment the cold, impassive mask slipped a little. ‘The first time we slept together…I wasn’t thinking straight. I didn’t use protection.’

  The room darkened. Heat roared behind her eyes. Kate struggled to keep her breathing normal as Alexander’s face swam in front of her eyes. Oh, God, I must try ringing Lizzie again, she thought irrationally as a wave of protective love for her son almost knocked her sideways. Leaning against the kitchen worktop, Cristiano’s voice reached her from a long way away.

  ‘It might be a good idea if we contacted a doctor for some emergency contraception.’

  Kate bit back a burst of hysterical laughter, and was just about to point out that it was a bit late to think about that now when realisation dawned. He wasn’t talking about the night four years ago when Alexander had been conceived—what she thought of as the first time they had slept together—but last night. The first of the three or four times they’d made love in the last twenty-four hours.

  Weak with relief, she picked up a teatowel that had been draped over the bar of the range door and pretended to wipe her hands on it, simply just to have something to occupy them while she composed herself enough to speak normally.

  ‘There’s no need. It’s fine.’ She gave a slightly shaky laugh, ‘As long as you’re not trying to tell me you’ve got some terrifying disease.’

  ‘Of course not. I just wanted to know if there’s a risk you could be pregnant.’

  Risk. The word jumped out at Kate as if it had been written in ten-foot-high fluorescent letters and hung with flashing lights. She was the most risk-averse person she knew, while Cristiano Maresca was someone who courted it, flirted with it. In every area except this one, apparently. He was quite happy taking his chances with death, she thought sadly. But not life.

  She shook her head. ‘I’m on the pill. I would have said something if I wasn’t.’ Her hands were twisting the teatowel round and round, tighter and tighter, but she made another attempt at a laugh, trying to make it sound as if the whole subject was a matter of little consequence to her. ‘Especially since one of the questions I asked you in the interview we did in Monaco was whether you wanted a son to carry on the Maresca name and reputation. Your answer was a resounding no, so unless anything’s changed…’

  As she spoke he turned his back and walked across the kitchen, away from her. The clock ticked, marking out the seconds as her fate hung in the balance. Now! a little voice in her head cried. Tell him now! But words loomed and faded in her head, and none of them seemed to connect up to make the right sentence.

  ‘It hasn’t.’

  And with those terse, ice-edged words the tentative hope she had carried in the deepest, most secret recesses of her heart was snuffed out. She blinked, trying to swallow the boulder that seemed to have lodged in her throat, glad of the solid wood she was leaning against.

  ‘Look, I’ve been thinking…I really must get back to Monaco tomorrow.’ Her voice sounded a little hesitant, but otherwise astonishingly normal. ‘I was wondering if there’s a train or something I can get?’

  Opening the fridge, Cristiano took out a bottle of champagne. She watched him tearing off the foil with ruthless expert fingers.

  ‘I’ll drive you.’

  Kate licked her dry lips and looked away. ‘Oh, no, really—there’s no need for that. You came here to ski.’

  He twisted the cork out of the bottle. His eyes met hers over the top of it and he gave a bland smile.

  ‘I didn’t, actually. And I need to get back too. Pre-season testing starts soon, and I have to put in a lot of hours on the track before then.’

  A shadow passed over his face and he turned away abruptly, opening a cupboard behind him and taking down two crystal flutes. Kate watched him, the constant low-level desire she felt whenever she looked at him now spiked with an unbearable sadness.

  ‘How can you want to do it again? After what happened?’

  ‘It’s not a choice,’ he said coldly. ‘It’s just what I do.’

  ‘It doesn’t have to be.’ Her voice was so quiet that even in the silent kitchen it was almost inaudible.

  ‘Yes, it does.’ His face was expressionless again as he came towards her. Leaning past her, he turned off the heat on the stove and took hold of her wrist.

  ‘Come with me.’

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘I want to show you something.’

  And that was all it took—the low rasp of his voice and the warmth of his touch—to unleash that hot, liquid rush inside her.

  Letting him lead her up the stairs, Kate felt bruised and brimful of emotion—so fragile that the slightest touch might make her dissolve. But somewhere she also felt freed. All this time she had been carrying the burden of her knowledge, wondering how to share it with him. By telling her that he still didn’t want to be a father he had released her from that responsibility.

  For now. The time would come when he would have to know, and she would be able to tell him without emotion or agenda or pressure. But that time wasn’t now. Now was for something altogether different.

  Shadows sloped across the floor as he led her into the bedroom. She was quivering with want, with need for his touch, but he didn’t stop by the bed. Kate felt a stab of disappointment as he let go of her hand and pushed open the doors onto the balcony.

  ‘Close your eyes.’

  After the warmth of the house, the frozen air made her gasp. She tensed, trying to hold herself steady against the trembling that gripped her, which was only partly to do with the cold. She heard the clink of glass as he put down the champagne, and then jumped as she felt his fingers—cool from the chilled bottle—close around hers again and draw her forward.

  The wooden balcony was icy beneath her bare feet. The bitter air made her cheeks tingle and the inside of her nose sting as she breathed in a great lungful of it. As the darkness swirled behind her closed eyelids every inch of her skin seemed suddenly exquisitely sensitive, brought alive by the sharp cold, the anticipation of his touch.

  ‘OK, you can look now.’

  Cristiano’s voice beside her was throaty and hushed. Goosebumps rose on her arms. For a moment she squeezed her eyes shut tighter, wanting to stretch out the magic, make it last for ever.

  But nothing lasts for ever, she thought with a barb of sorrow, and opened her eyes.

  In the rays of the dying sun the mountains looked like fire opals, as if they weren’t simply reflecting the light but had absorbed it and were glowing
from within. The sky was a livid slash of orange, overlaid with swollen clouds of purple, black and yellow, like a bruise. It felt as if they were the only people left in the world.

  ‘It’s…incredible,’ she breathed, turning to look at him.

  And then she noticed the square wood-panelled pool built into the balcony just beyond the doors to the bedroom. Steam was rising and swirling in the frozen air from the surface of its azure water. She gasped, bringing her hand up to her mouth as her eyes widened in surprise and delight.

  ‘A hot tub?’

  ‘Yes.’ He followed her over to it and wrapped an arm around her waist, pressing his lips to her neck and murmuring, ‘Do you want to get undressed before you get in this time? Or would you like me to take you in fully clothed again?’

  A huge, shuddering ache of desire went through her, making her slump helplessly against his hard chest. She gave a low moan, tilting her head sideways to expose her neck to the caress of his lips, almost fainting with longing as his hand slipped beneath her loose top and came to rest on her bare midriff.

  ‘We can’t undress out here…’ she protested weakly. ‘We’ll freeze…’

  His low, sexy laugh sent another tide of slippery lust gushing through her.

  ‘Not if we do it quickly. And I promise you won’t feel the cold at all in a minute.’

  She gave a high shriek as he took hold of the hem of her top and pulled it swiftly over her head. The cold rushed over her body, stealing her breath, making her breasts throb and her nipples harden and tingle.

  Or was that nothing to do with the cold and everything to do with the fact that already Cristiano had undone her jeans and was pulling them down over her hips?

  His hands were warm on her thighs, and she could feel the heat from his body radiating against her back. Stepping impatiently out of her jeans, she twisted round in his arms, suddenly desperate to feel his naked skin against hers. Finding his mouth with hers, she pushed up his T-shirt with one hand whilst feeling for the button of his trousers with the other.

  The biting cold and the urgency of her need made her clumsy, but he was there, finishing what she’d started, yanking off his own clothes. If her mouth hadn’t been locked on his Kate would have shouted with triumph as he stooped and swept her up into his arms. Every inch of her was crying out for him, and as he lowered her down into the silken steaming water she couldn’t suppress a violent shiver of bliss.

  There was a seat around the edge of the pool, beneath the water. As Cristiano sat on it Kate detached her lips from his and shifted her position, so that she was facing him, straddling his legs, feeling his erection against the softness of her inner thigh.

  ‘Kate…’

  She stilled, her breath catching. Behind him the sunset was as gaudy and improbable as a painted ceiling in some baroque temple, and its fiery glow burnished his dark hair and made his beautiful torso look as if it had been cast in beaten copper. His face was in shadow, but his eyes gleamed—dark and liquid with want.

  Wanting her. Now.

  The knowledge was powerful enough, erotic enough, to make her insides tighten with the beginnings of one of the wrenching, devouring orgasms he gave her. She was torn between wanting to impale herself on him, screaming out her joy and need, and wanting to take it slowly, savouring every moment.

  There weren’t many left, and she would have to feed on them for a lifetime.

  Water cascaded from her body as she hitched herself up on her knees, leaning into him, opening up to him. Cristiano’s eyelids flickered for a second as beneath the water she took hold of his throbbing erection and held it for a quivering moment, before lowering herself onto him, inch by inch.

  Their gazes were locked, mesmerised. Steam curled around them, enclosing them in a hazy, enchanted place that was quite separate from the rest of the alpine landscape with its sharp, clear air. Quite separate from anywhere Cristiano had ever known. His hands held her bottom as her hips moved and her softness enclosed him—hot and tight, her body as wet on the inside as it was on the outside. Her blue gaze closed around him, as warm and silky as the water, sucking him in.

  Her fingers dug into his shoulders and her lips parted as he felt the first spasms of her orgasm. It almost undid him, rocking the control that was the foundation of everything he did to its very core. Her eyes slid out of focus and he held her tighter, gathering her closer to him as her head tipped backwards and she gave a shivering gasp.

  The convulsive spasms of her orgasm ricocheted through him, pushing him to the edge of a vortex, and the next moment he felt as if he was plummeting downwards, blackness enfolding him, as he spilled into her with a low, fierce moan.

  The surface of the water grew gradually flat and glassy again, and the fire in the mountains died and they receded into the night—shadowy icebergs against a starry sky. Cradling her in his arms, Cristiano felt a curious peace. As if he never had to prove anything again. As if he had come home and was the man he’d always wanted to be.

  Chapter Seven

  SOMEWHERE a phone was ringing.

  Kate’s eyes flew open and she sat up, disentangling herself from Cristiano’s embrace as she looked around dazedly. It was early—the dirty yellowish light of a sunless dawn filled the room like fog, and beyond the window the mountains were barely distinguishable against the colourless sky.

  The phone rang again—a synthesised burst of electronic noise that was made to sound like the ring of an old fashioned telephone. Adrenaline burst through Kate’s bloodstream, and her heart was battering against her ribs as she got out of bed, picking up a towel from the floor and wrapping it around her. It was cold and damp.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  From the bed, Cristiano’s voice was gravelly with sleep.

  ‘My phone,’ Kate muttered, rummaging through the clothes in her bag, her trembling fingers tangling in cool blue satin as she searched for it. ‘I can’t find it.’

  The ringing continued, exasperatingly distant.

  Getting out of bed in one lithe, liquid movement, Cristiano loped to the doors onto the balcony and pulled them open, letting in a blast of snow and bitter air. For a split second some abstract part of Kate’s brain registered the aesthetic perfection of the snapshot image—his warm butterscotch coloured skin standing out against the stark monochrome of the landscape, his sculpted frame every bit as powerful and magnificent as the mountains. And as distant.

  He picked up her jeans from the floor, where she had stepped out of them last night. Immediately the electronic noise got louder. Slipping the phone from the pocket, he glanced at the screen before holding it out to her. His eyes were hooded and opaque.

  ‘Someone called Dominic.’

  ‘Oh, God.’

  The blood drained downwards, leaving her feel hollowed-out and dizzy with dread. Her hand was shaking so much that it took three attempts to hit the button to accept the call. Muttering vague pleas under her breath, she pressed it to her ear, vaguely aware of Cristiano pulling on jeans and walking past her to the door, but too dazed with alarm to register the careful blankness of his expression.

  ‘Dominic! Is everything—’ Her throat was full of sand, and she had to swallow awkwardly before continuing. ‘Is everything all right?’

  ‘Kate, sweetheart—now, please don’t panic.’

  The words were reassuring enough, but the tone in which he spoke them was anything but. There was no trace of its usual ironic, bantering note, and in its place was a gentle gravity that made the ground tilt beneath her feet.

  ‘What is it?’ she whispered hoarsely. ‘It’s Alexander, isn’t it? Is he ill?’

  ‘It’s probably nothing,’ Dominic replied quickly. ‘But he’s a bit off-colour. He had a bit of a temperature yesterday, and was complaining of a headache, and then he was sick in the night.’

  ‘Oh…’ It was an exhalation of relief. She felt like the damsel tied to the railway tracks in the old black-and-white movies, when the train driver had put the brakes on just in
time. ‘He’ll probably be lots better this morning. Sometimes these stomach bugs are really horrible, but they only last a few—’

  Very gently, Dominic cut her off. ‘Kate, honey, it doesn’t look like it’s a stomach bug. We’ve brought him into hospital just in case.’

  ‘Hospital?’ She bit her lip against a whimper of distress. ‘Oh, God, Dominic, what for? Please—just tell me what’s happening.’

  ‘They’re doing some tests…just to be on the safe side…to rule out anything serious.’

  ‘Serious?’ Kate echoed numbly. The train was gathering speed again, bearing down on her. ‘What kind of serious?’

  There was a pause. Wrapped in the damp towel, Kate suddenly realised she was shaking violently.

  ‘Meningitis.’

  The room went black. A whooshing sound filled her head. The train hit. She swayed, groping blindly behind her for the edge of the bed.

  ‘Oh, God,’ she breathed hoarsely. ‘Oh, God.’

  ‘Sweetheart, please—don’t panic,’ Dominic begged. ‘He’s completely stable at the moment, and he’s in absolutely the right place. Honestly—the doctors are totally in control. It’s just a question of finding out exactly what it is so they can start him on the right antibiotics.’

  Kate stood up again, staggering forward and starting to stuff the clothes that were spilling out of her bag back in. ‘I should be there,’ she whispered. ‘I have to be with him.’

  ‘Of course. I knew you’d want to be. I’ve managed to book you on a flight from Nice this morning at nine. That means you’re going to have to get a move on, darling. Can you do that?’

  ‘Yes.’ The jeans that had been left out on the balcony all night were soaking wet. She bundled them up and shoved them into the bag anyway. ‘Nice. Nine a.m. I just have to…’ She straightened up, pressing her hand to her head as she remembered the long drive northwards the other night. ‘Oh, God, I don’t know…’

  ‘Kate, it’s going to be fine,’ Dominic said firmly, as if he was talking to a child. ‘You are absolutely not to do your usual “worst-case scenario” on this—do you hear me? Telling you on the phone makes it all sound much worse than it is—you’ll see when you get here. Alexander’s feeling a bit rough, and he wants his mummy, but he’s going to be all right so please, please don’t worry.’