Nat cried out at his decisive invasion, revelling in his thickness, his power. Her pulse throbbed through her entire body as he pulled out and thrust in again to her chant of, ‘More, more, more.’
He gave her more. And more. His breath hot at her neck and, somehow, his hand was between her legs again stroking and stoking and his teeth were nipping along the length of her neck and his fingers were taunting the impossibly hard point of a nipple.
It was all so perfectly perfect.
Her whimpers grew more frantic as he thrust deeper and stroked harder, his grunt exhaling hot on her nape as he snapped his hips for full thrust, sending her into a frenzy until she was trembling and clinging to him, crying out and then coming, shattering around him, her climax surging through her belly and breasts, bucking her against him as it roiled from the tips of her toes to the roots of her hair.
And then he joined her, a muffled cry into her neck as he pulled her tight to him and emptied inside her, calling out, ‘I love you,’ as they shuddered and quaked in unison.
Alessandro’s unexpected declaration floated up around her in the pulsing swirls of her release. Had he actually said it? Or had her post-feverish brain just conjured it up in her strangely inert yet somehow gliding state. She didn’t know, she just let it pass her by, not wanting to interfere with the slow burn of ecstasy fizzing in her blood.
Wanting to hang on to this forever.
It was full daylight when Nat next woke. The clock said six-thirty and her bladder was making itself known, so she gently moved out of Alessandro’s embrace. It was good to feel her legs strong beneath her as she padded to the en suite. Her stomach growled and she actually felt hungry for the first time in two days.
Alessandro’sI love youplayed through her head as she used the toilet and then washed her hands. How could it not? She looked at her rather wan reflection, admitting to herself, now the ecstasy was gone, how wrong it was of him to utter it in the throes of passion.
Were they the words she wanted to hear? Of course. But not if he didn’t mean it. Not if he didn’t feel it. Not if it was a product of orgasm.
She steeled herself to go back out. To face him. To excuse what had happened with a cheery smile and get through the next few days with it firmly plastered on her face. Being ill had sapped her energy. And being angry required more energy than she possessed. She just wanted it to be over now so she could leaveand lick her wounds far away from the man who had inflicted them.
He was sitting on the side of the bed in his boxer briefs, waiting for her when she stepped out of the bathroom and, heaven help her, her gaze ate up his broad shoulders and his long, bare, powerful thighs.
‘We need to talk.’
Nat faltered. Wanting to prolong their nearness, to hear his voice but not wanting it at the same time. ‘It’s okay. You don’t have to explain, Alessandro.’ Her gaze fixed on a point on the mattress. ‘I’m not going to hold you to anything you might have said in a moment of passion.’
Nor was she going to be angry about it. She’d very selfishly sought that moment out for herself – her own gratification. Her own uses.
Maybe his orgasmic declaration was to be her penance for such debauchery.
‘Iwantyou to hold me to it.’
Nat shook her head, rejecting his offer and the note of sincerity in his voice. ‘It was a nice thing for you to say and I understand where it came from but I really wish you hadn’t.’
‘You’re not listening to me,’ he said, exasperation colouring his voice. ‘I. Love. You.’
Nat lifted her gaze to him, steeling herself. His eyes were like polished river stones – black and glassy with emotion – but she refused to be taken in by the sincerity she saw there.
Rob had said he loved her. So had her father. Neither of them had stuck around.
‘No. I just remind you of your wife. I think they call it transference, don’t they?’ She tried to make light of it but it hurt. ‘It’s her you love.’
Swearing in Italian, he pushed off the bed and stalked two paces to the window, yanking back the curtain, placing his fistsagainst the window ledge. He didn’t say anything for several beats and Nat hovered in a moment of indecision. Did he have anything more to say?Wasthere anything more to say when the truth of it was between them?
‘I didn’t love her.’
The words dropped into a silence that stretched and stretched as Nat tried to fathom what he was talking about.
‘Camilla. My wife,’ he continued. ‘I didn’t love her.’ He turned to face her, leaning against the windowsill. ‘I never loved her.’
Nat blinked. ‘What?’ Impossible. The man she’d first met had been deeply mired in grief.
‘You’re right,’ he admitted. ‘You and she are very similar. I was shocked when I first met you. But it took me about two seconds in your company to realise that your physical similarities are where it ends. When I told you that you and she were nothing alike, I meant it.’
Nat wasn’t sure if her brain was still sluggish from her illness but she couldn’t take in what he was saying. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Camilla was my lover. Before we met I was having a fantastic time playing the field. I never planned to marry and I definitelydid notwant kids. You grow up with parents who fight and spend more time apart than together, you don’t really see the point.’
