Chapter Ten #2
‘You’re as light as a feather,’ he contested as he lay her down on the bed.
‘Despite the fact that you carry my child inside you.’ But the reminder of that made his fingers halt in the trembling process of unbuttoning her dress—despite the desire which burned inside him.
He thought of the tiny life inside her and he swallowed down the hot cocktail of lust which was heating his blood.
‘In fact, maybe this is not such a good idea after all,’ he said unsteadily. ‘I don’t want to hurt you.’
Ironically, his momentary wavering killed her own uncertainty and she shook her head, her fingers clamping around his stilled hand.
‘You won’t. There’s nothing in the rule-book which says that pregnant women can’t have sex,’ she whispered, moving him back in the direction of her aching nipples and closing her eyes with pleasure as he began to touch them.
‘Isn’t there?’ he questioned unevenly. He bared her creamy breasts—fuller than he remembered them, and showcased perfectly in a filmy lace brassiere.
Unsteadily, his fingers trailed over the outline of a tight, rosy nub and felt it pucker up beneath them, like a crushed petal. ‘Are you sure about that?’
‘Qu-quite sure.’
He peeled away her dress and slid off her stockings, bra and panties and then took off his own clothes—for he did not trust himself to wait while her trembling fingers tried to accomplish the task.
And then, pulling her into his arms at long last, he groaned as their naked bodies made contact.
She was all soft and giving flesh and he ran his fingers keenly over her skin, feeling the urgent jerk of his body in response.
‘You feel amazing.’
‘So do you.’
‘It’s been too long since I have felt your exquisite body in my arms,’ he asserted hungrily.
‘And I had forgotten just how good you feel.’ Momentarily, he let his hand linger on the still-flat plane of her stomach before letting it drift down over the curving swell of her hips.
And then down still further, so that she moaned softly into his ear as his fingers skated over the silk of her inner thigh.
‘Our first time as man and wife,’ she whispered.
Yet momentarily the thought of that disturbed her, even as his hands began to work their magic—his fingers sliding between her thighs and finding her honeyed heat.
Helplessly, she bucked beneath their questing touch, her lips brushing against his neck.
She wanted to ask him why he had not touched her before tonight and what had provoked this sudden storm of passion. ‘Giancarlo.’
‘It’s good?’
‘It’s…’ But her question remained unasked. There was no need for words—nor any time for them—for Giancarlo was parting her thighs with the urgency of a man who could wait no longer. And she didn’t want him to wait—she wanted him to heal her frayed nerves with the power of his body.
It was easy to urge him on with the helpless thrust of her hips—the silent plea for him to take her.
Wordlessly, he interpreted her invitation and accepted it, entering her with one masterly stroke, and she gasped out loud as he filled her with his hard, hot heat. ‘Oh, Giancarlo!’ she cried. ‘It’s…’
‘It’s what, cara?’
It was pleasure so perfect that it dissolved all her fears as he moved inside her.
It felt like a discovery—or a rediscovery—as if she had forgotten just how incredible it could be with each slow, high thrust. Wrapping her legs around his warm back, she tipped her head back to give him greater access to her eager flesh.
His tongue rasped greedily over each breast and, with trembling fingers, she could feel the powerful tension in his buttocks as he spurred her on.
She thought that he had never been quite so passionate with her before—as if he could barely contain himself, saying things to her in fervent and breathless Italian.
What did those words mean? she wondered fleetingly.
But then it was too late to wonder anything—for the waves began with a sweet inevitability as her body began to shudder helplessly around him.
For a moment he stilled and just watched her—saw the uninhibited arching of her back and heard the little gasps which were torn from between her parted lips.
And as the first flowering flush began to appear above her breast he drove into her once more—felt the heated welcome of her still-quivering body.
His own orgasm came upon him with unexpected intensity—it seemed to empty him of more than just his seed.
And afterwards, he cradled her in his arms—felt the sheen of sweat on her soft skin and his finger found the pulse which skittered so frenetically at her temple.
Her heart was beating so fast—and suddenly reality hit him with a cold fist.
Protectively, his hand splayed over her belly. ‘I haven’t hurt you?’
With a sinking heart, Cassie heard the concern in his voice as she realised that his bedside manner was back again—and the insecurities which making love had suppressed came flooding back with a vengeance.
Had he hurt her? Yes, many times—but never physically.
The powerful thrusting of his body did not bring the pain that his emotional distance did.
Through the muted light of the room, she stared into the dark gleam of his eyes. Was it simply coincidence that he had chosen tonight to make love to her for the first time since their wedding? And why had he spoken to her in that unaccustomed Italian in the middle of it all?
Was he imagining that it was Gabriella in his arms? Gabriella he was thrusting into? Was that what had inspired such a show of passion tonight of all nights—when he hadn’t touched her since they’d said their goodbyes before Christmas?
Drawing in a deep breath, she looked at the shadowed perfection of his face, forcing herself to ask the question—because weren’t married couples supposed to be able to communicate with each other? ‘Do you ever wonder what your life would have been like if you’d married Gabriella?’
The subject of his sister-in-law shattered his warm contentment like a bucket of ice-water and, silently, Giancarlo cursed his wife for bringing it up.
For a moment he didn’t answer, even though a thousand responses leapt to his tongue.
But he could see from the sudden trembling of her lips that she was determined to have an answer.
‘But what would be the point of that?’ he said slowly.
‘Conjecture is a pointless exercise, Cassandra—I learnt that a long time ago.’
Cassie’s gaze didn’t waver. Was that about the same time he learned never to trust women? ‘You should have been a politician,’ she said lightly, even though her heart was thudding painfully in her chest. ‘I’ve never heard such an evasive answer.’
‘Is that a criticism?’
‘Just an observation.’
His face darkened. ‘And why the hell are you bringing up a subject like that at a time like this?’
Because she needed to know—and how could she possibly know if he never told her anything, if he kept everything so buttoned-up and close to his chest?
She thought of Gabriella’s bitterness about marrying the wrong man—which could have been provoked by regret and jealousy.
But her sister-in-law had said something else, too…
something which had also hurt. Something which could easily be proved.
Have you met any of his other friends? No? Well, I can assure you that I am only voicing what they will all be thinking.
Was Gabriella right? Hadn’t Giancarlo deliberately kept her away from his friends before the wedding—and then neglected to ask a single one to the ceremony itself?
As his mistress she hadn’t been good enough to meet them—and it seemed that even as his wife she did not qualify either.
Maybe he didn’t intend for her to get to know them at all.
Perhaps that was to be the way of it—with her increasingly being marginalised.
The unsuitable bride who needed to be kept away from his powerful peers.
‘You know, I still haven’t met any of your friends, Giancarlo.’
‘And?’
Fractionally, Cassie moved away from the distraction of his naked body and the warmth of his embrace, which did not match the sudden cold gleam in his black eyes. She drew a deep breath. ‘And I’d like us to throw a dinner party when we get back to London.’
His eyes narrowed and then he shrugged before moving away from her. ‘So do it.’
But just before he turned over—as if to halt any further conversation on the subject—Cassie saw the unmistakable tautening of his face.