“I can’t.”
The struggle burned in his eyes. Whatever it was tortured him. I felt it, the uncertainty, and perhaps some excitement.
“No?”
He shook his head. “No, baby. I can’t.”
“All right,” I said, pulling him down, putting my lips achingly close to his. “Can you show me?”
“Posso solo darti.”I can only give you.
I really looked at him, hard and confused. He rose above me, on his knees, and his hands traveled up my legs, pushing the dress above my waist, exposing what lay beneath. I thought his hands would stop at my lace underwear, eager to take them off and stick them in his pocket.
No. I gasped when his hands came to rest on my stomach, over my womb, where I had once showed him where I thought my soul was. Hands splayed, the length of them covered almost my entire stomach. His thumbs stroked softly, causing me to shiver. His skin was hot, almost burning.
I went to sit up, but he shook his head.
“Wait,” he whispered. “Say it. Say the right words for me.”
“You want a baby but you’re unsure.”
He nodded.
I swallowed. Hard. So did he. I thought of the words—all of the words I felt I could read from his thoughts. But I didn’t even need that. I knew him.
I spoke to him in his language. “You can’t say it because your word is your vow. Your word is as good as your blood. You’re unsure if you can go through with it, though you want to.”
“Sì.”
“Was it me with Charles?”
He nodded and touched my cheek. The sadness and ache in him almost made me sob.
I took a deep, deep breath, releasing it slowly. “H-how about we leave it to fate?”
“Fate.” He cocked his head to the side and lifted his eyebrows.
“A deal. Sort of. One month. We try for a month. And then…if it isn’t meant to be, we’ll talk about it another time, whenever we’re both ready. If we ever are.”
“If—” His hands against my stomach trembled. “Dancing. What about that?”
“I can do both.” I ran shaking hands up his chest, to his neck, where the pulse beat there like a hypnotic drum. “You know it all started on a Wednesday? Us? You came back to me on that day.”
“It started long before any days of the week,” he said, those dark eyes staring at me as though he could will me in their depths with sheer determination alone.
He had.
The connection below the surface became the bow against taught strings.
He made a noise deep in his throat that went directly between my thighs, before he came down on me with enough passion that I went limp with the immense pressure of it.
Laughter. Closer. More noises that indicated only one thing. Another of Paolo’s couples had succumbed to his charms. In response I made an angry, frustrated noise.
This time, Brando didn’t stop. He scooped me up and carried me up the steps, whispering in my earla pratica rende perfetti.
Practice makes perfect.
Chapter Three
