Chapter 16 #2
“Not like I trust you,” Giovanni pulled her close and kissed the top of her head, feeling the most complete he had ever felt in his whole life. Beatrice sighed, nestling close to him, her arms easily slipping around his body to comfort him.
“Have you ever made love like this, on the floor?” Beatrice asked drowsily.
Giovanni smiled into her hair. She was probably close to falling back to sleep. He had made love on floors before, all over Europe.
“No,” he lied softly. Then, because it was the truth, he said, “Never like this.”
“Should we get into the bed?” Beatrice asked.
“Are you uncomfortable?”
“Not uncomfortable...I have slept in far more uncomfortable places than this,” Beatrice grinned, blinking slowly. Then she shivered. “But I am cold.”
“Are you?” Giovanni rubbed her arms to check her temperature. She was chilled to the touch, cooling down quickly now that the fire was dying out. “Climb into the bed. I’ll rebuild the fire a little.”
Beatrice nodded and slipped out of his arms, dragging the coverlet with her as she wrapped it around herself. Giovanni rolled over to stand up, wincing uncomfortably at the damp patch on his trousers.
“Are you all right?” Beatrice asked from the bed.
“Yes, but my breeches need to dry,” he plucked at the damp fabric ineffectually.
“Take them off,” Beatrice suggested. “You’ll be warm enough in the bed, I’m sure.”
Giovanni nodded. It felt strange to be undressing in front of Beatrice, but also easy.
He quickly dipped a towel into the basin of leftover water to clean the fabric, stripped his breeches off, and laid them on the back of one of the chairs beside Beatrice’s wet gown from the day before.
Dawn was coming over the hills, the grey light turning blue outside of the window.
Soon it would be time to leave, but not yet.
He tossed a log on the fire, his feet chilled against the cold stone by the hearth, and when the flames had caught, moved swiftly back to the bed in only his shirt.
“Move over,” he whispered, lifting the duvet as Beatrice shuffled over to one side. The feather mattress was soft and had very little pressure in it. He sank into it, reaching out to pull Beatrice into his arms. “Mmm, you’re nice and warm.”
“Not my toes,” Beatrice whispered, pressing them into his calves so that he winced.
“Jesus, they’re freezing!” He exclaimed, trying to wriggle away, but Beatrice’s feet followed him as she giggled. “How are they this cold?”
“I’ve always had cold toes. I often wear stockings in bed.”
“You need a bed warmer,” Giovanni grumbled, letting her squirm her toes against his warm feet.
“Are you volunteering for the position?” Beatrice joked, smiling up at him.
“You’d be grateful for my Italian blood,” Giovanni tugged her hair affectionately. “I am a hot-blooded creature.”
“That I know,” Beatrice giggled in reply. “I would not need a warming pan with you in my bed for the rest of my life.”
“We would need extra blankets,” Giovanni grumbled. “You naturally steal them all in your sleep.”
“I do not!” Beatrice pouted. “You throw them off because you become too warm.”
“It shall have to be separate beds then,” Giovanni sighed theatrically. “How quickly the bloom of perfection vanishes from a romance.”
“Not if I have any say in it.” Beatrice grasped his face and kissed him surely on the lips. “For if we had separate beds, I should not be able to stay away.”
“You would miss me?” Giovanni murmured, letting his fingers trail over the length of her hip and thigh.
“I should think I would.” Beatrice bit his lips playfully. “Now that I have had a taste of the pleasures possible, I could become quite gluttonous.”
“Oh really?” Giovanni laughed, letting his head fall back into the soft feather pillows. “My my my, what a lost cause!”
“Oh, and I suppose you have no hunger for me?” Beatrice raised her eyebrows in challenge, her hand coming to rest against his naked thigh. She stroked it so that he shivered. “No desire?”
“I have hunger.” Giovanni caught her hand before it went too far, bringing her fingers up to his face so he could kiss them. “I am ravenous for you. If I had you in my bed every night, I should never let you go.”
“Is that so?” The joke had vanished from Beatrice’s eyes. “What if I was with child? Should you not then wish to find some other delight? Perhaps with some of the ladies you have known?”
“Never.” Giovanni’s heart rebelled at the very idea. His stomach also twisted with desire at the idea of Beatrice pregnant. He could picture her, full and rounded, with a child inside her. “I would lie beside you every night and feel the child grow between us.”
“Oh, you would?” Beatrice looked at him appraisingly. “You have quite an idealized view of pregnancy, Gio. Do you not remember how bad-tempered Anna was when she was bearing Caleb? The sore back, the swollen feet?”
“I do remember,” Giovanni grinned at her. “And I should still never leave you, even if you were as rude as a sailor. I would stay, rub your back, and oil your feet until you were sweet again.”
“I do not believe you,” Beatrice grumbled, rolling so that her back was to him and she slotted perfectly inside the circle of his arms. “I believe you would be beastly and constantly recommending Italian remedies for every little ailment.”