‘Why not?’
Flora could feel the hard pounding of her heart as Vito took her around the room and started to introduce her to the great and the good, recognising that something had changed. It wasn’t a big deal, but it felt like a significant one.
He was touching her.
It was the lightest and most innocuous touch imaginable, but it was the only thing she was conscious of. As if he had set her cold skin on fire with the molten flame of desire which was never far from the surface. Yet hadn’t he always had that effect on her? In the Laird’s lodge her reaction to him had been instant and overwhelming—she’d never experienced anything like that in her life. And now she had tasted the pleasure he was capable of giving her—didn’t that make her desire for him even more intense?
In a daze, she tried to stay in the moment as Vito introduced her to people. She met the social media star who had been clinging onto the politician, and several members of a football team everyone seemed to assume she would have heard of, but hadn’t—which caused a moment of hilarity among the assembled guests.
Everyone was charming and Flora was surprised to find herself quickly feeling at ease. Maybe that was more to do with the man beside her and the way everyone seemed to regard him, though she noticed the brief bemusement on the faces of the other guests when he introduced her, as if Vito had confounded all their expectations by getting engaged to this unknown Englishwoman. That he was herfiancé.
She found herself saying the word out loud—rolling it around her mouth as though it were a fine wine. Because wasn’t she allowed to pretend for once that this was a normal relationship? With Vito’s light touch never leaving her waist, nor him her side—wasn’t it acceptable to play the part expected of her?
It was almost midnight by the time they got back to the Piazza San Babila and the apartment was completely quiet, save for the ticking of a distant clock. They stood in the entrance hall, where one of the staff must have left two small lamps on, so that the vast space was soft with apricot light and dusky shadows.
‘Thanks for a lovely evening,’ Flora said formally, her fingers digging into the green suede clutch bag which matched her shoes exactly.
‘You enjoyed it, I think,’ he observed, with equal formality.
‘Mmm. I haven’t stayed up this late for ages.’ She yawned, perhaps a little self-consciously, trying to inject a little normality into an unreal situation as she met the gleam of his eyes. Something about the fairy tale quality of the subdued lighting and the memory of his touch was making her unwilling to move. But she wasn’t going to be needy, or open herself up to unnecessary hurt by letting him know that. He was the one who had set all these silent rules in place, wasn’t he? A light touch to the small of her back was hardly an indication that he was now filled with a raw and unstoppable passion! ‘Goodnight, Vito.’
His gaze bored into hers. ‘I wish it didn’t have to end,’ he said suddenly.
‘Do you?’ she taunted softly. But she didn’t move, just continued to stare at him. She was aware that this had become a silent battle of wills—or should that be willpower?—and she knew the precise moment of his capitulation. She could sense it in the almost imperceptible change in his big body. The way his muscles tensed and he sucked in an unsteady breath.
But still Flora waited. Even though she was desperate to touch him, she neededhimto make the first move. Because something told her that was important. That this wasn’t just about sex, it was about power. And so far Vito had nearly all the power in their relationship—if you could call it a relationship. Couldn’t she taste some of it for once—by silently inviting him to do something she knew he wanted just as much as she did?
She tilted her chin upwards and heard the silken whisper of her hair as it brushed against her shoulders and suddenly the man who was all about cool composure cracked, like a sheet of thin ice beneath the hard stamp of a foot. With a low growl he moved forward to take her in his arms, pulling her close to the beat of his thudding heart as he bent his head to crush his lips to hers.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
‘FLORA…’VITO’S VOICEwas unsteady as he halted his urgent examination of Flora’s silk-covered breasts—closing his eyes as another spear of lust arrowed through him, temporarily rendering him incapable of coherent speech.
Somehow they’d made it to his bedroom after some very hot and hungry kissing in the hallway, which had made him feel about seventeen again. He’d heard Flora urging him on with slurred and broken entreaties as her thighs had parted, which had made him realise that if he wasn’t going to push her up against the wall and take her right there and then, then they needed to change the location. Because, even though they were alone in the house he didn’t want this to be fast and furious, with her panties on the floor and his trousers around his ankles. He wanted to take it slow. To revel in the delectable body which had been sending his blood-pressure soaring for days now.
Yet for the first time in his life, he felt at a disadvantage as he stared down into her upturned face. ‘None of the usual rules apply, do they?’ he husked unsteadily. ‘You’re pregnant and…’
‘And what?’ she interrupted, her voice as shaky as his. ‘Pregnancy isn’t an illness, Vito. I’m healthy and fit and young. The doctor I saw in England told me that it’s perfectly okay to have sex.’
‘You were toldthat?’ he questioned, a little outraged.
‘Of course. Don’t be such a prude.’
‘I have never been accused of that before,’ he objected.
‘There’s a first time for everything.’ She giggled as she stood on tiptoe and he could feel the warmth of her breath on his jaw. ‘I just want you to treat me normally, Vito,’ she whispered. ‘Please, don’t make allowances.’
But what was normal? Vito wondered dazedly—counselling himself against tearing off her dress, and instead sliding the zip down so that she stepped from within the concertinaed circle of green fabric and stood before him in her lingerie.
For a moment he just drank her in.
The soft curves and luscious flesh, fractionally more abundant than last time he’d seen her like this.
He removed her shoes and stockings and carried her over to bed and he thought he heard her purr with satisfaction, as if she were enjoying this macho display of masculine domination as much as he was. She lay there watching him—her legs indolently splayed and her arms pillowing her head to showcase her pert breasts to their best advantage, as if she had just been reading a manual on how best to turn a man on without touching him.
‘I want you,’ he growled, as he kicked a shoe across the bedroom and tore off a silk sock.
‘I sort of gathered that,’ came her demure reply.
