CHAPTER TWELVE
SINCELAYLAHAD cuffed Sebastiano to a bed, she’d suffered a cricked neck and virtual whiplash. Now she was close to getting real whiplash such was the speed Sebastiano had moved. One day he’d asked her to trust him to find the right words to convince her mother to move, the next he’d flown to London, returning in time for dinner with a smile of satisfaction.
Whatever he’d said to her mother to convince her to move in with them was being kept secret by them both, but convince her he had. The very next day her mother had arrived in Sicily and chosen a guest house to make herself a home in.
So much had her mother fallen in love with Sicily and the ‘cosy’ garden that came with it, which was three times the size of their London garden, that within weeks of moving in she was happier than Layla could ever remember. Such happiness did she radiate that Layla had felt compelled to gently remind her that it wouldn’t be for ever. Her marriage came with its end already written.
‘It will all work out for the best,’ her mum had said with a smile. ‘You’ll see.’
But best for whom? That was all Layla could wonder. And because it made her heart hurt to wonder too much, she threw herself into her work, using her free time to chase up the wedding guests who’d indicated they would like to make donations to the firm.
The money came through thick and fast and accumulated so quickly that when Sebastiano suggested over a dinner with Laurence and his husband that they should think about increasing their team’s salaries to make themselves more competitive to new recruits, they hadn’t dismissed it with a laugh. They had laughed though, in sheer joyful disbelief, when he offered them the use of a floor of Russo Banca Internazionale’s London skyscraper in the financial district. Layla had laughed too because if she’d gone with the alternative, crying, she might be crying still.
It was the most wonderful gesture from Sebastiano. The floor he gave them was three times the size of the floor they’d occupied for three decades and he was giving it rent free for a guaranteed minimum of twenty years. A week after moving into it, Clayton Community Law had a list of potential recruits wanting to join the firm when they graduated. Enquiries for placements were coming as thick and fast as the money, and now they had the difficult task of sifting the recruits for those genuinely wanting to join a philanthropic law firm rather than those wanting a fat salary and an office with a view. It was a nice but ultimately serious problem to have because the only thing they couldn’t afford was to recruit someone unable to treat their clients with respect.
Layla had problems of her own with the move and all the changes, and they were entirely selfish. The move meant she had no respite from Sebastiano at all. Even when he was away travelling, she now worked from a building he owned. She walked into the lobby and was greeted by his enlarged photo flanked by photos of the heads of divisions and countries. She stepped into the elevator and knew it was an elevator he’d taken. She dined in the staff canteen that was as much a canteen as an orange was a pear. The food served was exquisite, table service given, a wine menu...she’d dined in worse award-winning restaurants and it was all because Sebastiano insisted on it. And insisted on heavily subsidising it.
She couldn’t even settle at her desk without thinking of him because the very chair she sat on had been imported from Japan especially for her, a fancy ergonomic chair designed for pregnant women.
Within three months of their marriage, Sebastiano had infected her entire life and everyone in it, and all she could do was follow the lead of the character of her favourite childhood film and just keep swimming. The alternative, she very much feared, was to drown.
Layla stood in her Sicilian dressing room trying to decide which of the fresh batch of evening dresses made for her that she should wear to the evening’s party. She’d needed to expand her wardrobe to accommodate her expanding belly. Now she was seven months pregnant, her bump was still small but it had grown enough that her clothes had laughed at her when she tried to make them fit.
Just as she’d settled on a floaty red dress, something caught her eye out of the window. Her heart was thrashing even before she recognised the car heading down the long driveway.
Sebastiano was home.
Five nights without him. The longest they’d ever been parted.
Enduring it had been hell.
Gripping tightly to the window sill, she fought the compulsion to go skipping down the stairs to greet him. She needed to compose herself first, couldn’t bear to think of him looking into her eyes and seeing how desperately she’d missed him.
By arranging herself with a book on the chaise longue that ran beneath one of the sash windows, she hoped Sebastiano would find in her a woman enjoying a lazy Saturday afternoon. She hoped, too, that he wouldn’t look too closely at her face or he’d notice the puffiness of her eyes that five nights of insomnia had caused and which gel eye patches followed by expensive concealer had barely reduced.
Sebastiano bounded up the stairs stifling the disappointment at the lack of soft lips and warm body waiting impatiently at the front door to greet his return. The butler had informed him that Layla was resting.
She was seven months pregnant, he reminded himself. Her bump might be smaller than in the average pregnancy but the effects on her body were the same. The emotional effects were the same.
It was something he had to continually remind himself of because on the surface, Sebastiano had a marriage most of the men he knew could only dream about.
Layla didn’t complain about the hours he worked. She didn’t complain if he had to change plans at the last minute due to issues beyond his control. She didn’t ask to accompany him on overnight trips. She didn’t demand a blow-by-blow account of how he spent his time when he was away from her.
He would prefer it if she did. At least it would show she cared.
His footsteps slowed as he trod the mezzanine to their room, a tightness forming in the chest that had been pounding in anticipation of seeing her again.
For the woman who’d flushed with anger at the thought of him taking a mistress, he’d now be surprised if she’d give a damn if he did it.
The temptation was there, to take himself a lover just to see how she’d react. There were two things stopping him. One was the promise he’d made. The other was that he had no interest in anyone else. Even when alone in bed, his fantasies revolved only around Layla.
It had reached the stage where his whole world revolved around her.
Her world did not revolve around him.
On the surface, she performed as perfectly as she ever had. She was still the perfect public wife, the perfect hostess, the perfect daughter-in-law and member of the Russo empire. She was always—always—the perfect bed partner, as unable to keep her hands off him as he was unable to keep his hands off her.
She was perfect in every way and yet...
And yet when they were apart he doubted she spared him a thought. All messages and calls these last five days had been instigated by him.
He could forgive her disinterest if he thought it was the pregnancy and her job consuming her to the point of her blocking everything else out, but Layla’s disinterest ran deeper than that. She’d closed a part of herself off from him and the longer their marriage went on, the more intensely he felt it and the more it ate at him.
He opened the bedroom door.
She was reclining on a chaise longue beneath a window, reading.
The light that ignited in her eyes to see him eased a little of the tightness.
‘You’re back,’ she sang, discarding the book without saving the page and easing herself up. Padding over to him with a grace that not even seven months of pregnancy could diminish, she threw her arms around his neck.
The welcome heat of her passionate kiss overrode the rest of the tightness, and he returned it with all the hunger that had built during those interminably long days apart.
Only when the hunger had been temporarily sated enough did he break away to cup her cheeks and gaze at the face he’d missed so much that at times it had been hard to breathe.
Her cheeks were flushed, the forget-me-nots pulsing their desire.
Whatever else his wife might feel, this was the one area where the closeness between them could not be broken, and he brought his face back to hers. ‘Mi sei mancata tantissimo,’ he murmured before smothering her with another deeply passionate kiss.
Layla’s intention to play it cool had been forgotten the moment Sebastiano walked through the door. The joy that had careered through her had been too powerful to resist.
When, she wondered dimly as she revelled at being back in his arms and having his taste fill her senses, would she reach the point when she could look at Sebastiano and be able to breathe normally? When longing wouldn’t grip her so tightly? When she wouldn’t experience such a dizzying rush just to breathe his cologne?
In moments she was carefully lifted into the air and sat on the edge of the bed.
Between biting kisses, they stripped his polo shirt and her cashmere sweater, her bra swiftly following. And then he gently pushed her on her back to assault her senses, trailing hot kisses down her throat and to her breasts, kissing, licking and nipping while he slipped a hand up her short skirt and cupped her heat. Knickers yanked down her thighs and calves, she kicked them off and spread her thighs as she reached for his chinos. Expertly, she undid the button and lowered the zip, then tugged his chinos and underwear down to his thighs and took him, huge and fully erect in her hand. While his fingers pleasured her between her legs and his mouth and tongue worked their magic on her breasts, she masturbated him, bringing him closer to her heat so that when he moved his hand away from her heat, he could drive straight inside her.
She moaned loudly as he filled her and wrapped her legs tight around his waist.
This was what she missed when he was away from her, she tried desperately to tell herself. His lovemaking. The feeling of complete and utter sensory overload that she could only get from Sebastiano.
Lying back, she closed her eyes and revelled in every thrust and every burning sensation.
His fingers found hers and threaded through them.
She squeezed back.
The tempo increased. The sensory pleasure was almost more than she could endure, burning through every cell, the swell of her orgasm building and building until it exploded in a tidal wave of sensation that had her open her eyes as she cried out and lifted her head for his kiss.
Eyes dark and hooded, he kissed her hard through the grunts of his own pleasure and then, with one long final thrust, he climaxed. The pressure of his groin against hers in that final thrust set off one final wave of bliss through her and as she rode it, their mouths fused, Sebastiano so deep inside her he could be a part of her, a wave of something else, something new, broke free and rippled through her with the strength to make her cry out again, louder than she had ever done.
The wave came from her heart.
It took a long time for the thrills of his orgasm to subside. Even longer for Sebastiano to bring himself to break away from Layla and roll onto his side.
The beats of his heart echoing and pulsing through his skin, he inhaled deeply in an effort to bring himself fully back to earth.
After all this time, how could it just keep getting better and better between them?
Fingers laced with hers, he stared intently into her eyes and wished he could read what she was thinking as she gazed with equal intensity back at him.
There was a wanness to her features that he hadn’t noticed earlier. Faint shadows beneath her eyes.
Had he got it all wrong about her feelings for him? Could it be that she simply respected that when he was away on business, he was working and so didn’t want to bother him with frivolous calls or messages?
Was it possible that Layla really had missed him?
Was it possible, Layla wondered helplessly as she gazed into Sebastiano’s green depths, that he’d missed her even a little bit? Missed her, not just the mind-blowing sex they shared?
‘We should think about getting ready for the party,’ he murmured. ‘Especially if you want to have a bath before we leave.’
‘Probably,’ she whispered. She was in no rush to leave this bed.
No rush to ever leave this bed. To ever leave him...
A wave of emotion rushed through her, strong enough to fill her eyes with tears.
Concern filled his eyes. ‘Cara?’
With a sniff, she blinked the tears away and smiled. ‘Our baby’s kicking.’
‘And that makes you cry?’
No, it’s the thought of having to lose you that hurts my heart so much it makes me want to weep.‘I’m just feeling a bit emotional.’
‘Can I feel?’
Her heart hitched. Sebastiano never asked to feel their baby. ‘Do you want to?’
‘Very much.’ The sincerity in his voice and stare made her heart hitch again.
Covering his hand, she placed it on the part of her belly the kicks were coming.
Sebastiano’s hand rested on her bump so long without anything happening that he thought the baby had gone back to sleep.
And then he felt it. An indentation against his palm.
Awed, he laughed at the sheer strangeness of it.
‘It’s something, isn’t it?’ she said softly, eyes now shining with something very different from the tears that had filled them only minutes ago.
There was another kick against his palm.
The ripples kicked straight into his heart then pulsed through every inch of his being.
That was his baby.
His and Layla’s baby.
The bedroom was empty once Sebastiano had showered, shaved and donned the shirt and trousers of his tuxedo. He caught the scent of steamy cherry blossom and guessed Layla was in the bath.
Knocking on the door first, he poked his head around it and, despite all the emotions still careering through him, grinned to find her submerged in thick, foamy bubbles, her hair piled on top of her head, reading. ‘You’ll get the pages wet.’
She grinned back. ‘Then invent waterproof books for me.’
‘Beyond my skillset. I’m going to fix myself a drink.’ As much as he would like to carry her out of the bath, lay her back on the bed and devour her all over again, Layla’s daily bath was her way of dealing with the pregnancy backache she’d recently started experiencing. ‘Can I get you anything?’
‘I’m good, thanks.’
‘Don’t be too long,’ he warned gently. ‘The helicopter will be here in an hour.’
‘I’ll finish this chapter and then get out. It won’t take me long to get ready.’
Blowing her a kiss, he went downstairs, poured himself a much-needed large Scotch and then headed to his office to check his upcoming schedule.
So many thoughts were crowding him, jostling with all the emotions fighting for space. He, the man who never allowed emotions to dictate his actions, had found himself close to being paralysed with them.
He needed to focus on something tangible, hence his decision to go through his schedule. Because he couldn’t go on like this. He needed to do something about all the travelling that was keeping him apart from Layla, find a way to condense it even more than his assistant had already managed for him.
At one point he’d had the wild idea of suggesting she work remotely from Sicily for a few days each week. His headquarters were in Sicily. It meant they would be able to spend more time together. He’d rejected the idea because he’d known she would reject it.
It was a thought that lowered his buoyant mood a couple of degrees.
Not wanting a repeat of the poison that had started to fill his veins earlier on his walk to their bedroom, he took a drink of his Scotch and firmly reminded himself that he had a great marriage.
Wondering what Layla’s schedule was like for the next few weeks, he crossed the dividing door to her now rarely used office. Giovanna, like Sebastiano’s own assistant, faithfully reproduced Layla’s schedule in an office planner kept on Layla’s desk.
Post had been neatly piled on the desk. From the size of it, she hadn’t been in here since her return from London the day before.
The franking mark on the top envelope caught his eye.
He picked it up to look more closely. Why would Layla be getting post from a London-based conveyancing firm? Any work-related post was sent to her offices in London...
His fingers had ripped the envelope open before he could stop them.
Layla checked her appearance one last time. She really loved this red dress. It was simply cut with her favoured spaghetti straps and just the right side of elegant without constricting her waist. On her feet she wore funky black shoes with a small heel. She was too pregnant for stilettos now, but not too pregnant for her favourite pair of giant hooped gold earrings. Her hair she’d left loose, her makeup a touch of black mascara and a dash of red lipstick to match her dress.
With a spritz of her favourite—and Sebastiano’s favourite—perfume, she left the bedroom and set off to find him.
Strangely, she couldn’t find him in any of the usual rooms. A further search proved all the rooms of the villa were empty of him. None of the staff had seen him.
Trying to quell her unease, she called his mobile. No answer.
A check of the security cameras showed he hadn’t left the villa.
After three calls, four text messages, numerous shouts of his name and fifteen minutes of searching, she heard the sound of rotors. Their helicopter was landing. So where was Sebastiano?
About to go back upstairs and check the bedrooms again, she stopped. There was one room she hadn’t looked in.
Her back now aching after all this searching, she set off again to his office. The door that adjoined her office, the one room she hadn’t checked, was closed.
She opened it and her heart froze.
Sebastiano sat behind her desk, an empty crystal glass in front of him. All her drawers were open. Papers were heaped all over the desk and all over the floor.
He smiled. If a heart could freeze twice, that smile did it. ‘Hello, Layla. Good of you to join me.’
The chill in her chest spreading through her veins at a rate of knots, Layla folded her arms over her stomach and absently rubbed the spot she could feel her baby’s back nestled against it as it slept. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Me?’ His smile widened and suddenly she was thrown back to the day he’d blackmailed her into their marriage.
This was the smile of the big cat before it ate its prey...
‘I’m not doing anything.’ If she closed her eyes she could hear the purred undertone. ‘Unless you consider me going through all the paperwork in my wife’s office as doing something?’
A drum was beating in her ear. She was almost too afraid to blink.
‘Tell me, wife, when were you planning to tell me that you bought the house? You know the house I mean? The one that you agreed was an unsuitable home to raise our child in? The one you have already installed a panic room in.’
The blood in her head drained to her feet so quickly that she sagged back against the door. If it hadn’t been there she would have fallen.
Eyes not leaving her face, he leaned forwards. The big cat showed its teeth. ‘The house, Layla.’