Chapter 12 #2
Peyton removed it after the first ten minutes and she was much happier.
McKenzie had come along in leaps and bounds with her language skills over the last few months, and it was a joy to watch her grow and develop now sound and speech were a part of her world.
They were packing up by midday, pushing past the lunch crowd on their way out of the precinct. Peyton was weary from all the walking and couldn’t wait to collapse on her lounge and sloth around for the afternoon.
McKenzie tugged on her sleeve and Peyton looked to where her daughter was pointing. The iconic Wheel of Brisbane, much smaller but similar to the London Eye and others of its ilk, was just up ahead and she groaned internally. Damn it, she’d promised McKenzie a ride.
‘We’ll take her,’ her mother said, her shrewd eyes measuring Peyton’s energy levels as if she was some kind of maternal petrol gauge. ‘Valentino, drive her home. She looks exhausted.’
Torn between the offer of rest and her commitment to her daughter, she glanced at her mum. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course.’ Her father nodded, waving his hand in a shooing motion. ‘Go rest.’
Peyton had never been more grateful for her parents and their close relationship with their granddaughter in her life. Kissing McKenzie, she signed her usual reminder about being good and using her manners before watching her daughter skip off quite happily with her parents.
Then, within half an hour and after the briefest of stops at his favourite deli, Valentino had whisked her home and she was slipping her shoes off and collapsing back into the squishy leather of her three-seater couch.
‘Mmm. That feels good,’ she said on a groan as she stretched out and shut her eyes, appreciating being horizontal and the quiet of her house.
‘This is just as good,’ he announced.
Peyton forced her eyes open, watching him stride towards her with a fat slice of tiramisu on a plate and two forks. The smell of coffee and chocolate reached her from across the room, reviving her somewhat. ‘Mmm, smells delicious.’
He lowered himself onto the end of the coffee table closest to her head and smiled before his gaze drifted to where her hand was resting low on her bump.
From there it travelled slowly north, lingering on the way her regular-sized, non-baggy T-shirt pulled taut across her chest, which had also burgeoned recently.
Peyton’s breath stilled in her throat at his attention. It was surprising given how scrupulously asexual he’d been these past months. Her nipples hardened brazenly at the thought and she ached to press her fingers to them to ease their torment, but that would be far more brazen.
Damn those crazy pregnancy hormones.
Suddenly jerking his gaze back to her face, he said, ‘Tiramisu for two,’ and passed her a fork.
Keeping her legs out front, Peyton levered herself into a sitting position, putting her side-on to Valentino but no less aware of the drift of his gaze. Fortunately, the aroma of the tiramisu could not be ignored as she reached for the plate, loaded up her fork and slipped it into her mouth.
Groaning at the flavour explosion, Peyton shut her eyes and proclaimed, ‘Mrs Agostino is a goddess.’
There had not been one thing yet from the Agostino bakery Peyton had not devoured. In fact, she was pretty sure every pound she’d put on these past months had been Agostini pounds.
Loading up again, she ate another forkful of the airy creation, glancing at Valentino to share her bliss. ‘You’re not joining me?’ she asked, tipping her chin at the fork in his hand.
His gaze was on her mouth now and he didn’t answer. Peyton licked at it in case it was smeared in crumbs and cream and she swore she heard him mutter ‘Dio…’ under his breath. The low accented whisper slid seductively across the space between them and tweaked her still hard nipples.
She stopped chewing and swallowed her mouthful, her lips tingling beneath the intensity of his gaze.
Maybe his resolve to keep her at arm’s length was finally starting to crack?
A surge of female power jettisoned into her bloodstream and before she could stop herself or think better of it, Peyton arched her back a little.
His response was instantaneous, his gaze zeroing in on the hard points of her nipples like he wanted to cover them in coffee-drizzled cream and, God help her, Peyton’s throat dried in anticipation.
How good would his mouth, that stubble, feel on the diamond-hard tips?
‘Valentino?’
It was more throaty squeak than invitation, which completely ruined the moment, his eyes darting back to her face. ‘Sorry. What?’ He shook his head as if to clear it of whatever had been going on in there.
If it was as X-rated as what she’d been thinking, she wished him luck.
Eyeing the plate with the half-eaten tiramisu like it was a gift horse from the gods, he shook his head. ‘Oh, no, I’m fine thanks. You have it.’
Then he shifted off the table, moving to the single chair furthest away.
Sighing, but still with cake to eat, Peyton ignored the presence of him in her peripheral vision as she set about satisfying at least one of her appetites, scraping the last crumbs off the plate a minute later. ‘Mmm, that was amazing,’ she announced as she set the plate on the coffee table.
Which was an understatement. Frankly, if there’d been another piece, she’d have eaten it as well. She had three years of a sparrow-like appetite to make up for and her stomach was accepting the challenge with gusto.
‘Now…’ She glanced down at her poor feet. ‘If only my feet would stop aching, everything would be perfect. Honestly’ – she glanced at Valentino – ‘you’d think a theatre nurse would be used to standing.’
Valentino chuckled. ‘We walked a lot.’
‘We did.’
‘I could… give you a foot massage,’ he offered.
Peyton regarded him for a moment. He looked cool and calm and totally in control again, and she wondered if she’d imagined the weird moment they’d just lived through. The ache in her nipples said no but maybe her hormones were gaslighting her?
Moving across to the end of her three-seater sofa, Valentino slapped his lap. ‘Put them here and pass me the moisturising cream behind you.’
Feet throbbing in anticipation, Peyton hesitated briefly.
Valentino looked like he was back to his physically restrained self – was she, though?
The answer to that was no but she’d been horny for months now and hadn’t pushed him against a wall and kissed him or anything more risqué, so she wasn’t about to pass up a foot rub on the off chance it might become something else.
Grabbing the pump pack of cream, she tossed it to him, worming down in the couch until she was almost completely horizontal, the back of her head propped on the armrest, her feet in his lap.
He looked at her red painted toe nails for several beats but didn’t comment as he lifted one foot, squirted the cream then smoothed it onto her foot.
A tiny whimper escaped from the back of Peyton’s throat at his first touch – not too light, not too heavy, just right – and she sighed deeply. ‘That is so good,’ she murmured, her eyes shutting involuntarily at the exquisite pleasure/pain of it.
He must have hit some acupressure point because the sensation was almost sexual, the urge to arch her back an almost overwhelming need.
God… this was a mistake. She wanted to feel him stroke her entire body just like that.
His fingers halted and Peyton opened her eyes to find his gaze roving over her body like he wanted to stroke it, too. Gah – such a mistake.
She should tell him to stop. Get off this couch. But it felt too damn good to resist so she just wriggled her toes and whispered, ‘Don’t stop.’
Dragging his gaze off her, Valentino returned to his task, his eyes now firmly fixed on her feet. ‘Maybe you should give up work?’ he said as he rubbed.
Drowsy with sensation, Peyton shook her head. ‘Erica seems to think it’s okay to continue. She’ll let me know if she thinks I should pack it in.’
‘I know. I’m just saying you’re exhausted right now—’
‘That’s only today, I’ve been feeling fine.’
‘Yes, but you’re bound to become more fatigued as the pregnancy progresses.’
‘I’m fine,’ she reiterated, her eyes drifting shut as Valentino rubbed her instep and she shivered. ‘Besides, I can’t afford to give up work this early.’
‘I can support you.’
Peyton was too chilled out to be affronted. ‘No.’
‘Peyton—’
Peyton smiled at the wounded Italian male pride she heard in his voice. ‘No. If I need your help, I’ll ask.’ She lifted her head from the arm. ‘Okay?’
He glanced at her briefly before turning back to his ministrations. ‘Fine.’
‘Good.’ She eased her head back as he pressed his thumb into her heel, and she gasped as pleasure darted all the way up her leg.
‘Sorry,’ he said, easing off.
‘No, it was good.’ She laughed. So. Damn. Good. ‘I just won’t be capable of conversation if you keep doing it.’
When he did it again, Peyton figured that was a sign he was done with talking and she gave herself up to the pure magic of his hands, hovering on a blissful plane a few inches off the couch as Valentino’s deep steady strokes soothed all the aches away.
She watched him through half-closed lids, diligently concentrating on the job, his eyes never leaving her feet, the deep press of his fingers sending streaks of sensation from her foot up her instep to her calf, tracking up her inner thighs and burrowing right between them, making her deliciously achy.
Her breathing turned rough as it continued and she melted into a puddle, a boneless mass of longing.
It was wrong on so many levels. She’d told him this wasn’t going to happen. But she wanted him more now than she ever had, squirming to ease the ache inside, pressing her palm to her belly, hoping that would also somehow satisfy the gnaw of her need.
Bloody hell. How was she going to get to the end of this pregnancy keeping him at arm’s length?