Fiona Hood-Stewart – At Her Latin Lover's Command: The Italian Count's Command / The French Count's Mistress / At the Spanish Duke's Command (страница 22)
Miranda raised her eyes to the ceiling. ‘I hope the shops weren’t cleaned out! Lizzie’s never been given her head before.’
‘She was very happy,
‘I’m sure she was! Well thank you for looking after her—’
‘Yes, Luca,’ interrupted Dante. ‘We’re grateful.’ And to Miranda’s surprise, he continued after a slight hesitation, ‘Like you, Lizzie lost her father when she was small, and her mother died when she was twelve. Miranda had her work cut out. But now we will all be Lizzie’s parents, yes?’
The man’s intelligent eyes were thoughtful as they rested on Miranda and she felt he understood what she had endured as the elder child.
‘I understand,’ he said gently, his face wreathed in smiles. ‘Yes. We will watch over the young lady when she is here. Goodnight,
When Luca had slipped quietly away, Miranda put a hand on Dante’s arm. ‘That was nice of you. I hadn’t realised you understood how tough it was for Lizzie.’
‘And for you. I’m not blind, Miranda,’ he answered, adding a little more warm water. He smiled at her. ‘You’ll have to live your childhood through Carlo, since you must have missed so much of your own.’
Their gazes locked and her pulses skittered about crazily. He swallowed, scooped up some suds and blew them at Carlo, then did the same to her. In the ensuing uproar her mind was in turmoil like her blood, which was pumping erratically around her taut body. And Dante’s hands were shaking like hers.
‘Like old times, isn’t it?’ she whispered unfairly.
‘Uh.’
Frowning, he pushed back a lock of hair that had fallen onto his forehead, leaving it wet and frothy from the bubbles. In a tender, wifely gesture, Miranda reached up and flicked the froth away, her face close to his.
For a breathless moment she thought he might kiss her but then he sucked in a sharp rasp of air and busied himself with the soap and Carlo’s grubby knees again.
To contain her urge to fling her arms around Dante and declare her love again, she picked up another bar of soap and attacked Carlo’s neck and back. With every stroke she was chanting feverishly to herself,
‘Dante loves me. He loves me not. Loves me, loves me not…’
‘’Ook, Mummy!’
‘I’m looking, darling!’ she whispered lovingly as Carlo intently soaped his father’s arm.
Small, plump fingers then undid Dante’s dress shirt. Miranda watched in silence, absorbing her son’s touching concentration and Dante’s laughing surrender to Carlo’s solemn attentions.
‘I’m very wet!’ Dante protested to Carlo.
‘I wet too!’ he replied in glee.
‘Well, I think it’s time we both got dry again. I have a new story for you,’ Dante said, hastily mopping up the water that had dripped to his navel.
Miranda tore her gaze away and lifted Carlo out, clean and sparkling. They both dried him, their eyes meeting over his sopping curls as he chattered happily.
On impulse, Miranda hugged her damp son’s body to her, her eyes closing in silent thanks that she could see and touch and love him again. This was worth a million arguments, hours of cold hostility. Whatever Dante felt about her, whatever happened, she would withstand it because of these precious moments.
When she lifted her blurred eyes, blinking her spiky wet lashes, she met the full force of Dante’s intense gaze. And she felt her limbs become watery.
Seeing her weakness, he gently turned Carlo around.
‘I’ll do your pyjamas for you,’ he said softly, reaching for a pair decorated with trains.
Miranda watched as he slowly eased them on her son’s little arms and legs, which were limp with fatigue now, the constant battering of chatter abruptly silenced.
‘Up we go.’
Dante stood up and swung Carlo into his arms. Walking into his bedroom with Miranda following in a dream, he tenderly deposited their son in the great vastness of his bed and snuggled up beside him with a book.
‘Mummy come too.’
Sleepily, Carlo lifted an arm and beckoned Miranda by repeatedly holding his palm flat and then curling his fingers up, a gesture that had always touched her heart.
This was what they had used to do, when Dante was home. ‘A Carlo sandwich,’ she recalled and Dante smiled. Obediently she scrambled up the other side of Carlo with a sensuous whisper of silk.
‘Lovery Mummy,’ Carlo murmured, stroking the material.
Lovely Mummy! It was wonderful to hear those words again. She kissed her son’s soft cheek, awash with love, and he burrowed contentedly between them. She lay there while Dante read the story and Carlo stopped fidgeting and grew steadily limper.
The bed had a lingering fragrance. She inhaled it and the essence of Dante’s male body permeated every part of her being. His arm, slung protectively around Carlo, was touching her. Wanting to maintain that contact, she leaned into it, her cheek sliding against his skin.
Her hand curved around Carlo’s head in a tender caress. She could feel elation rising inside her and risked a glance up at Dante as he read the story. After a moment he met her gaze and faltered, his voice tailing away into a throaty whisper.
‘We would be fools,’ she whispered softly, seeing that Carlo was asleep, ‘to throw all of this away by sticking to a cold-blooded business arrangement.’
He put down the book and in silence he studied Carlo’s small face. Miranda held her breath, knowing he was considering her suggestion. For them both, this child of theirs was so important that they would do anything to make him happy.
Carlo. Adoringly she gazed at him. Twin black fringes lay heavily on the sweet, olive-skinned face. The cupid’s bow mouth was no longer laughing but soft and crumpled in sleep. The energetic bomb of a body had become floppy and heavy. Her heart filled with love.
Slowly Dante eased away and stood up. Without looking at her he said quietly,
‘Time to talk.’
Nerves jangling, she nodded and slid from the bed, following Dante to the door. Then a few feet along the landing he turned, muttering, ‘Baby monitor…’ and as she sidestepped out of the way, so did he. They collided. The rest was a blur.
But she found herself somehow in his arms and his mouth was hard on hers, driving hard as if violent passions were being released.
Fire roared through her body as if she’d been ignited. Everything would be all right! she thought exultantly as his hands pulled her hard to him, echoing her desperate need to feel every inch of him, to be so close that not a hair’s breadth lay between them.
‘Miranda, Miranda!’ he breathed into her eager mouth.
She felt she was soaring to the sky. Her hands locked around his beautiful head and she could feel the clean silk of his hair and smell his familiar smell of subtle vanilla and man.
Her straps were being eased down. His mouth wandered hotly over her naked shoulders, skimming over her skin in tense, passionate kisses. She felt delicate fingers slipping into her lacy bra, his lips exploring the deep V of her cleavage.
She let out a gasp and then a little whimper of pleasure when he lightly touched a straining nipple. Forcing his head up, she kissed him deeply, luxuriating in his expert touch, the fierce stabs of desire, and the hard promise of his body.
At some time she must have torn open his shirt because her hands could now move unhindered over his muscular chest, every inch of which had become familiar to her. And her fingers lingered over his heavily beating heart because it was a miraculous confirmation that he, too, must be experiencing a wild and unstoppable arousal.
Her conscious mind no longer operated. It was as if she was intoxicated by the drug of love. He could make her forget everything when he made love to her. She had no will of her own, only a pagan drive to become part of him.
Fiercely demanding, she pushed him against the wall and pressed herself harder against the contours of his body, moving in the sinuous way that always made him lose control.
Almost immediately he bucked and groaned, lifting her skirts and curving his hands beneath her taut buttocks to lift her up.
Wantonly she tucked her naked legs around his waist and pulled off her top. As she did so, Dante buried his mouth in her breasts, his fingers busy with the fastening of her bra.
She took his face between her hands and kissed him with slow and tender passion, shuddering when the lace barrier had been removed and they were skin to skin.
Her senses were filled with him, her heart hammering loudly in her ears.
‘I love you! I love you!’ she breathed.
And then he froze. Jerked back, a stunned expression on his face.
She shouldn’t have said that! She’d scared him away! Wide-eyed, she stared at him as he slowly lowered her to the ground, his eyes black and fathomless.
Her skirts fell back into place with a sensual whisper but it was lost on Dante. He was going to reject her and call her a sex-crazed harlot, she thought hysterically. And felt a feral wail of misery and frustration rise up within her.
CHAPTER NINE
‘DANTE! Dante!’
She blinked. Someone was calling from downstairs.
‘It’s Guido!’ Dante grated, looking angry.
Though whether he was annoyed with himself for succumbing to her, or with Guido for choosing that moment to arrive, she didn’t know.