He pushed a little deeper and her voice filled the room; deeper still and his joined hers. His hands caught hers, trapping her wrists at her sides, holding her still, and her eyes lifted to his with no ability to move anywhere else, watching him, locked to him as he moved deeper, burying himself in her sweetness, pushing into her and then pulling out, the torment of removal an agony he almost couldn’t bear, and then he was pushing into her again, faster, each movement driving them towards an inevitable, inexorable climax. He watched her as he moved, the movements of her breasts, the thrashing of her head, the parting of her lips with each sweet, tortured breath. He watched her eyes flutter closed as her pleasure began to spiral again, drawing him with it. God, but he wanted this to last forever and yet he needed his own release.
With the greatest willpower imaginable, he held off, bringing himself back from the brink even as her own release exploded around him, her muscles squeezing him tight, her eyes closed, her voice guttural. He watched her climax and drove her there again and again before finally losing himself to the power of what they were doing, tumbling over the cliff-face with her, their bodies melded, pleasure united and fierce, and nothing mattering in that moment more than what they were capable of giving to one another.
* * *
Her eyes were so heavy. She felt more exhausted than she knew possible, but it wasn’t from exertion. At least, not the kind of exertion she could explain. As a med student, she was used to long shifts and physically and mentally demanding work but this was different. Her body had felt the extremes of pleasure, pushing her over the edge and now all she wanted to do was sleep, to let that pleasure wash over her like a wave, filling her heart and dreams with memories.
Even as that temptation drew her in, panic flooded her veins. This was exactly what she’d told herself she couldn’t let happen! What the hell had she been thinking?
You weren’t thinking, her brain reminded her body acerbically. She hadn’t been. She pushed to standing even as exhaustion was making her eyes heavy. She looked towards him on autopilot and something inside of her clicked painfully.
She thought she’d loved him at one point – and for a long time. As a teenager, it had been a crush – Massimo had been so handsome, and so charming, it had been easy to think herself in love with him. As a twenty year old, it had been a delusion. But knowing those feelings weren’t real didn’t change the fact that for years she’d believed they were. And only an automaton would fail to feel something now, in the face of what they were doing – of what they’d just shared.
Those feelings made her react more harshly than was required. She looked around for her clothes, her cheeks heating at the sight of them discarded with his, tangled together as though they’d fused in some way with their removal. She ignored them, reaching for a blanket at the foot of his bed instead, wrapping it around her body like a toga.
What the heck could she say to him? What was the etiquette after what they’d just done? She suspected there was no well-worn path for her to follow.
“I’m…tired.”
“So?” he gestured to the bed, his eyes speculative, his features neutral – she suspected with great effort.
“I’m going to bed.” She stared at him for a second longer before looking away. “My bed.”
He compressed his lips. “If that’s what you want.”
Her heart turned over in her chest. What she wanted? She no longer had any idea what she wanted.
She nodded though, careful to conceal her inner most thoughts. “Yes. Good night.”
So formal! And after what they’d just done! Her cheeks must have glowed pink. She left the room before he could notice.
* * *
Max pulled through the water, each powerful stroke like a lash at his spine. What the hell had he been thinking?
You weren’t thinking. He hadn’t been. He hadn’t been thinking straight since London – probably since before that. And now? Dinner with her had been a terrible idea. When they were married, he’d understood that. He’d known spending time with Alessia would be his downfall. She’d accused him of ignoring her and perhaps it had appeared that way. He’d chosen to not spend time with her, but only because he couldn’t trust himself.
And tonight had shown him he still couldn’t. Dinner had been one long damned foreplay. Every time she’d sipped her drink his eyes had watched her lips part and mould the top of the glass. When she’d lifted her fork to her mouth and her tongue been there, pink and beautiful, he’d wanted to push everything off the table top and kiss her, pulling her towards him…
And then, the bliss of being with her, his body reuniting with hers for the first time in months. He deserved a goddamned medal for being able to make it last as long as it had, when the moment he’d pushed into her beautiful depths he’d wanted to lose himself to his own release.
Their coming together had been written in the stars, but Christo, she’d panicked afterwards. She’d tried to hide it, but her swift departure, obvious remorse, made him feel like the worst kind of bastard. And while there were many things he regretted about their first marriage, not sleeping with her wasn’t one of them. If they’d done this then, he would have found it impossible to leave it at one night, one time.
Would that have been so bad? She’d wanted him. She’d married him. She’d married him believing it would be a real marriage.
Max paused at one end of the indoor pool, staring at the reflective glass on the other side without seeing. Their age gap was big, but not by any means the worst he’d heard of. When they’d married, she was twenty and he was thirty two – but it was more than those twelve years. She’d been sheltered all her life, cossetted and adored by a father who’d lost his wife and become so terrified of anything happening to his daughter that he’d basically shielded her from the outside world.
And yet Alessia was strong, fierce and independent. Max hadn’t understood that about her then – or perhaps he’d seen only the parts of her that needed protecting, rather than the sum of her. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to see what she’d been trying to show him? That Alessia was also an intelligent, independent woman?
The same age gap existed between them now, but her being twenty five made all the difference. It shouldn’t have – she was still innocent and inexperienced, but he no longer felt wrong in wanting her. Or perhaps he just couldn’t fight it any longer?
You have to.
She’d panicked afterwards. She’d wanted him but even as they’d made love hadn’t he known that she might regret it? That she might wish she didn’t want him?
God, why couldn’t he make sense of this?
He needed…space.
He needed to think.
When Alessia was around, nothing made sense, even when strangely, everything did.
Chapter Nine
“GOOD MORNING.” HIS EYES held hers for a fraction of a second before dropping back to his newspaper. He scanned the page for a moment longer then folded it up, his long fingers moving effortlessly in the simple action, drawing her attention, and pulling a frown across her brow.
She wished he wasn’t so handsome. Dressed as he was now in a suit – just as he always was when he was due at the office, she felt as though she wanted to push at the jacket and pop all the buttons from the shirt, to pick up where they’d left off the night before.
“Hi.” Her voice sounded croaky and timid; she hated that. She’d braced for this, knowing he’d be here. She’d dressed in an oversized sweater and her favourite pair of maternity jeans, pulled her hair into a low pony tail and put on some bright red lipstick – life always felt better with lipstick in place.
“There are some pastries in the kitchen. Shall I get you a croissant?”
It was just a fluke – there was no way he could know that croissants were her favourite thing, nor that they were her saving grace on mornings when her stomach was unsettled and nauseous.
“I can get it.”
“Sit down,” he countermanded, gesturing to the se
at opposite him. “Please.”
A frown dug between her brows. He was being so formal, barely meeting her eyes. Uncertainty was familiar to Alessia. She’d felt it often during their first marriage, walking on eggshells because she didn’t know how to make sense of her husband, nor what he wanted for her.
She did as he’d said, taking the seat opposite. When he reappeared, it was with a plate laden with two crispy, golden croissants, each spread generously with butter.
Her stomach groaned with hunger. “Thank you,” she murmured as he placed the plate in front of her.
“Juice? Coffee?”
Her brows drew closer together. “I can get it.”
He compressed his lips, his nostrils flaring impatiently. “Juice?”
“Fine, thanks.”
They were being so testy! She hated this! Butterflies beat their wings inside of her, filling her with nerves. She refused to feel them! She wasn’t twenty now – she was twenty five, a doctor, a woman – mature and confident. She refused to let herself be intimidated by him.
“About last night.” His voice was deep. He took the seat across from her, and now he did look at her properly, his expression business-like, as he’d been the day they’d divorced. She held her breath without meaning to, waiting for him to speak, not sure what he was going to say and not even sure if she wanted to hear.
“It shouldn’t have happened.”
Her breath whooshed out of her in one fell swoop. Even though she’d been thinking the exact same thing, hearing it from him devastated her. She wanted to rail against his words.
“You told me you wanted space, that you would need your own room, that having sex with me would make our marriage difficult for you and yet I used your body’s desire against you. I’m truly sorry.”
It was the very last thing she’d expected. She stared at him, gobsmacked – that he could feel like that making her forget any idea of re-erecting barriers between them today.
“Don’t,” she shook her head. “Please don’t beat yourself up. I wanted you – not just my body but all of me. I wish that I didn’t, but that doesn’t mean I regret what happened. And I sure as hell don’t blame you for last night, Max.”
A muscle jerked in his jaw and his features showed no sign of relaxing. The same tension radiated from him. “You’re far more generous than you should be.”
“Don’t.” Something inside of her snapped. She slammed her hand down on the top of the table, fixing him with an angry glare. “Our first marriage was a nightmare for me. I hated how you kept me at a distance. I hated how easily you pushed me away, treated me as though I were an inanimate object. If you’re going to apologise for anything, apologise for that. Not for being human, not for wanting me just as much as I want you.”
“I’ve told you, it wasn’t easy…”
“But you made it look easy. It felt easy. It felt as though I were nothing to you and at least last night, I felt…”
He stared at her, waiting for her to finish her sentence but she couldn’t. It would give too much away, show too much, even to her own heart. Instead, she reached for the orange juice he’d poured, taking a long drink, the ice cold liquid making its way through her with a refreshing burst of flavour.
But then, her stomach kicked and swooped and she made an involuntary noise of surprise, lowering her hand to the rounded shape and pressing her palm to their baby’s bottom.
“What is it?” Concern edged everything else out of his voice.
“Somersaults,” she said, and despite everything they were saying, she smiled, because the feeling was so wonderful and life affirming that she couldn’t help but glow with happiness.
“Here.” She stood up, circling the table and grabbing his hand, lifting it to her belly and pressing it against her bump. She waited, watching him, and then their baby thumped and rolled and Massimo’s eyes flew to hers, surprise etched into his features as he felt their daughter’s movements for the first time.
“Christo!” he laughed though, a soft sound filled with the same joy that was running through her. “She’s so active.”
“I know,” Alessia put her hand over his, so she could feel the next kick with him. “She’s most active at night, usually.”
A muscle throbbed in his temple, fascinating her, drawing her gaze, and waking her from the spell – reminding her of how close they were standing, of how they were touching, and what they’d been speaking about a moment earlier.
The same transformation took place within Max. He dropped his hand away, standing, his height advantage meaning she had to tilt her head to meet his eyes. “This is why we married. If you want that to be the only thing we share, I promise you I will respect your wishes.”
Long after he left for the day, Alessia stared at the spot he’d been standing, wondering at why she didn’t feel relief at his acquiescence to her wishes. Nothing with them had ever been easy – and right now it felt almost impossible.
* * *
“Affairs are complicated,” Fiero murmured, his eyes scanning Max’s face so he wanted to look away. Max took a sip of the wine then placed the glass on the table. The rest of the family were in the drawing room – yaya busily entertaining her great grandchildren with the piano. Max hadn’t felt like celebrating, despite the fact Christmas was so close at hand.
“What do you mean?”
“You and Alessia. You know we all love her, Max, but it’s understandable that you would still feel resentment towards her for what she did.”
Max grunted in response.
“Or is there another reason you’re imitating Gabe so perfectly?”
As if on cue, their cousin Gabe sauntered in, a look on his face that was half scowl, half grimace. “I can’t hear myself think in there. Your children are beautiful, Fiero, but so goddamned loud.”
“All children are loud,” Fiero laughed, shaking his head. “Come and join us.”
Gabe grabbed the scotch bottle and came to the table, turning a chair backwards and straddling it, so he could rest his arms along its back.
Fiero poured him a measure of scotch and Massimo watched as one of the servants at Villa Fortune cleared the table.
“Are you staying over?”
Massimo shook his head. “I have Raymond waiting,” he referred to his long-time chauffeur.
“Naturalmente he wants to return home. He’s a newly-wed after all,” Fiero reminded Gabe with a wink.
“For the second time.” Gabe’s demeanour shifted slightly, his eyes appraising Massimo. Though he was a cousin to Fiero and Massimo, the six Montebello grandchildren had been raised together, as one family – they were all like siblings and they spoke with the same frankness. Gabe threw back a generous measure of scotch, replacing the glass on the table top a little heavily. “How’s it going?”
“Fine.”
“You don’t seem fine.”
Max laughed. “Coming from you?”
“What does that mean?”
Max ran his hand through his hair, shaking his head a little. “Nothing. Forget it.” He pushed out a sigh. “Things with Alessia are…complicated.”
Gabe’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”
Max looked at him directly, sensing he wasn’t quite done.
“Why did you marry her again if you’re still angry?”
“I’m not angry.”
“You seem it.”
Fiero leaned forward, taking over from the too-direct Gabe. “You don’t seem like yourself,” he supplied instead. “That’s what I was saying – affairs are complicated. It’s okay to love her and still be angry with what she did.”
“I’m not,” Max answered swiftly. “As it turns out, Alessia did nothing wrong.”
Fiero and Gabe exchanged a glance. “We all saw the photographs.”
Massimo tilted is head in a silent concession. “It was a drunken kiss. She didn’t sleep with the guy.”
“The photos looked…”
“They were compromising,” he admitted. “But
that was the extent of it. And I can’t blame her, even for that.”
“For kissing some other guy on your first wedding anniversary?”
Christo, Max had forgotten that salient detail. How must she have felt when he hadn’t returned home? He’d simply forgotten. It was only afterwards that someone else had commented on the importance of the date and he’d realised…
“No, I can’t blame her even for that,” he muttered, shaking his head.
“Alessia is –,” Gabe was uncharacteristically thoughtful, searching for the right words. “Important to all of us.”
Massimo’s chest lifted with a wave of affection and then crushed with a sense of responsibility.
“She was devastated when your marriage ended.”
Both Fiero and Massimo fixed inquiring gazes on Gabe’s face.
“I ran into her in Ondechiara about six months after you split. She was like a shell. Devastated doesn’t come close to describing her. It was like looking at the ocean with all the water sucked out of it.” He shook his head, returning Massimo’s gaze with a hint of accusation simmering in the depths of his own gaze. “I took her back to her villa, stuck around for the afternoon. I can’t say why. I just didn’t feel like she should be alone.”
And despite the kindness of that confession, and the fact Alessia had grown up as a part of all their lives, Massimo felt a wave of blinding jealousy spread through him, bitter and vile. Gabe was, as the press had lovingly termed him, a ‘billionaire bachelor’. He made an art form of sleeping with just about any beautiful woman that moved. The idea of him alone with Alessia sent arrows of panic sailing through Massimo’s blood.
Loving the Enemy Page 9
