God, what was wrong with her?
Tugging a deep breath into her lungs, she tipped her chin at his hands. Those soothing, seductive, thorough hands.
Jesus.
‘You’d better start again.’ Then she flapped her arms to dispel the last drips from her elbows and headed for the theatre doors.
That Sunday, Peyton, McKenzie and Valentino hit up the riverside markets before meeting her mum and dad for brunch at South Bank. It had been months since McKenzie had come down with a sniff or a fever and Peyton, at the urging of her parents, had decided to risk an outdoors expedition.
And she was pleased she had. The weather was glorious and McKenzie had been in absolute heaven. She’d worn her external device but with the crowd noise and the stiff river breeze playinghavoc with the sensitive external microphone, she quickly became overwhelmed by all the stimuli.
Peyton removed it after the first ten minutes and she was much happier.
McKenzie had come along in leaps and bounds with her language skills over the last few months, and it was a joy to watch her grow and develop now sound and speech were a part of her world.
They were packing up by midday, pushing past the lunch crowd on their way out of the precinct. Peyton was weary from all the walking and couldn’t wait to collapse on her lounge and sloth around for the afternoon.
McKenzie tugged on her sleeve and Peyton looked to where her daughter was pointing. The iconic Wheel of Brisbane, much smaller but similar to the London Eye and others of its ilk, was just up ahead and she groaned internally. Damn it, she’d promised McKenzie a ride.
‘We’ll take her,’ her mother said, her shrewd eyes measuring Peyton’s energy levels as if she was some kind of maternal petrol gauge. ‘Valentino, drive her home. She looks exhausted.’
Torn between the offer of rest and her commitment to her daughter, she glanced at her mum. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course.’ Her father nodded, waving his hand in a shooing motion. ‘Go rest.’
Peyton had never been more grateful for her parents and their close relationship with their granddaughter in her life. Kissing McKenzie, she signed her usual reminder about being good and using her manners before watching her daughter skip off quite happily with her parents.
Then, within half an hour and after the briefest of stops at his favourite deli, Valentino had whisked her home and she was slipping her shoes off and collapsing back into the squishy leather of her three-seater couch.
‘Mmm. That feels good,’ she said on a groan as she stretched out and shut her eyes, appreciating being horizontal and the quiet of her house.
‘This is just as good,’ he announced.
Peyton forced her eyes open, watching him stride towards her with a fat slice of tiramisu on a plate and two forks. The smell of coffee and chocolate reached her from across the room, reviving her somewhat. ‘Mmm, smells delicious.’
He lowered himself onto the end of the coffee table closest to her head and smiled before his gaze drifted to where her hand was resting low on her bump. From there it travelled slowly north, lingering on the way her regular-sized, non-baggy T-shirt pulled taut across her chest, which had also burgeoned recently.
Peyton’s breath stilled in her throat at his attention. It was surprising given how scrupulouslyasexual he’d been these past months. Her nipples hardened brazenly at the thought and she ached to press her fingers to them to ease their torment, but that would be far more brazen.
Damn those crazy pregnancy hormones.
Suddenly jerking his gaze back to her face, he said, ‘Tiramisu for two,’ and passed her a fork.
Keeping her legs out front, Peyton levered herself into a sitting position, putting her side-on to Valentino but no less aware of the drift of his gaze. Fortunately, the aroma of the tiramisu could not be ignored as she reached for the plate, loaded up her fork and slipped it into her mouth.
Groaning at the flavour explosion, Peyton shut her eyes and proclaimed, ‘Mrs Agostino is a goddess.’
There had not been one thing yet from the Agostino bakery Peyton had not devoured. In fact, she was pretty sure every pound she’d put on these past months had been Agostini pounds.
Loading up again, she ate another forkful of the airy creation, glancing at Valentino to share her bliss. ‘You’re not joining me?’ she asked, tipping her chin at the fork in his hand.
His gaze was on her mouth now and he didn’t answer. Peyton licked at it in case it was smeared in crumbs and cream and she swore she heard him mutter ‘Dio…’under his breath. The low accented whisper slid seductively across the space between them and tweaked her still hard nipples.
She stopped chewing and swallowed her mouthful, her lips tingling beneath the intensity of his gaze. Maybe his resolve to keep her at arm’s length was finally starting to crack? A surge of female power jettisoned into her bloodstream and before she could stop herself or think better of it, Peyton arched her back a little.
His response was instantaneous, his gaze zeroing in on the hard points of her nipples like he wanted to cover them in coffee-drizzled cream and, God help her, Peyton’s throat dried in anticipation.
How good would his mouth, that stubble, feel on the diamond-hard tips?
