The Italian Count's Command

by Sara Wood

On impulse, Miranda hugged her damp son’s body to her, her eyes closing in silent thanks that she could see and touch and love him again. This was worth a million arguments, hours of cold hostility. Whatever Dante felt about her, whatever happened, she would withstand it because of these precious moments.

  When she lifted her blurred eyes, blinking her spiky wet lashes, she met the full force of Dante’s intense gaze. And she felt her limbs become watery.

  Seeing her weakness, he gently turned Carlo around.

  ‘I’ll do your pyjamas for you,’ he said softly, reaching for a pair decorated with trains.

  Miranda watched as he slowly eased them on her son’s little arms and legs, which were limp with fatigue now, the constant battering of chatter abruptly silenced.

  ‘Up we go.’

  Dante stood up and swung Carlo into his arms. Walking into his bedroom with Miranda following in a dream, he tenderly deposited their son in the great vastness of his bed and snuggled up beside him with a book.

  ‘Mummy come too.’

  Sleepily, Carlo lifted an arm and beckoned Miranda by repeatedly holding his palm flat and then curling his fingers up, a gesture that had always touched her heart.

  This was what they had used to do, when Dante was home. ‘A Carlo sandwich,’ she recalled and Dante smiled. Obediently she scrambled up the other side of Carlo with a sensuous whisper of silk.

  ‘Lovery Mummy,’ Carlo murmured, stroking the material.

  Lovely Mummy! It was wonderful to hear those words again. She kissed her son’s soft cheek, awash with love, and he burrowed contentedly between them. She lay there while Dante read the story and Carlo stopped fidgeting and grew steadily limper.

  The bed had a lingering fragrance. She inhaled it and the essence of Dante’s male body permeated every part of her being. His arm, slung protectively around Carlo, was touching her. Wanting to maintain that contact, she leaned into it, her cheek sliding against his skin.

  Her hand curved around Carlo’s head in a tender caress. She could feel elation rising inside her and risked a glance up at Dante as he read the story. After a moment he met her gaze and faltered, his voice tailing away into a throaty whisper.

  ‘We would be fools,’ she whispered softly, seeing that Carlo was asleep, ‘to throw all of this away by sticking to a cold-blooded business arrangement.’

  He put down the book and in silence he studied Carlo’s small face. Miranda held her breath, knowing he was considering her suggestion. For them both, this child of theirs was so important that they would do anything to make him happy.

  Carlo. Adoringly she gazed at him. Twin black fringes lay heavily on the sweet, olive-skinned face. The cupid’s bow mouth was no longer laughing but soft and crumpled in sleep. The energetic bomb of a body had become floppy and heavy. Her heart filled with love.

  Slowly Dante eased away and stood up. Without looking at her he said quietly,

  ‘Time to talk.’

  Nerves jangling, she nodded and slid from the bed, following Dante to the door. Then a few feet along the landing he turned, muttering, ‘Baby monitor…’ and as she sidestepped out of the way, so did he. They collided. The rest was a blur.

  But she found herself somehow in his arms and his mouth was hard on hers, driving hard as if violent passions were being released.

  Fire roared through her body as if she’d been ignited. Everything would be all right! she thought exultantly as his hands pulled her hard to him, echoing her desperate need to feel every inch of him, to be so close that not a hair’s breadth lay between them.

  ‘Miranda, Miranda!’ he breathed into her eager mouth.

  She felt she was soaring to the sky. Her hands locked around his beautiful head and she could feel the clean silk of his hair and smell his familiar smell of subtle vanilla and man.

  Her straps were being eased down. His mouth wandered hotly over her naked shoulders, skimming over her skin in tense, passionate kisses. She felt delicate fingers slipping into her lacy bra, his lips exploring the deep V of her cleavage.

  She let out a gasp and then a little whimper of pleasure when he lightly touched a straining nipple. Forcing his head up, she kissed him deeply, luxuriating in his expert touch, the fierce stabs of desire, and the hard promise of his body.

  At some time she must have torn open his shirt because her hands could now move unhindered over his muscular chest, every inch of which had become familiar to her. And her fingers lingered over his heavily beating heart because it was a miraculous confirmation that he, too, must be experiencing a wild and unstoppable arousal.

  Her conscious mind no longer operated. It was as if she was intoxicated by the drug of love. He could make her forget everything when he made love to her. She had no will of her own, only a pagan drive to become part of him.

  Fiercely demanding, she pushed him against the wall and pressed herself harder against the contours of his body, moving in the sinuous way that always made him lose control.

  Almost immediately he bucked and groaned, lifting her skirts and curving his hands beneath her taut buttocks to lift her up.

  Wantonly she tucked her naked legs around his waist and pulled off her top. As she did so, Dante buried his mouth in her breasts, his fingers busy with the fastening of her bra.

  She took his face between her hands and kissed him with slow and tender passion, shuddering when the lace barrier had been removed and they were skin to skin.

  Her senses were filled with him, her heart hammering loudly in her ears.

  ‘I love you! I love you!’ she breathed.

  And then he froze. Jerked back, a stunned expression on his face.

  She shouldn’t have said that! She’d scared him away! Wide-eyed, she stared at him as he slowly lowered her to the ground, his eyes black and fathomless.

  Her skirts fell back into place with a sensual whisper but it was lost on Dante. He was going to reject her and call her a sex-crazed harlot, she thought hysterically. And felt a feral wail of misery and frustration rise up within her.

  CHAPTER NINE

  ‘DANTE! Dante!’

  She blinked. Someone was calling from downstairs.

  ‘It’s Guido!’ Dante grated, looking angry.

  Though whether he was annoyed with himself for succumbing to her, or with Guido for choosing that moment to arrive, she didn’t know.

  ‘What…?’ She swallowed, to lubricate her throat, and then frantically snatched up her bra. ‘What’s he doing here?’

  Hastily dealing with the buttons of his shirt, he shot her an unreadable look.

  ‘I expect he’s brought your things from England. You’d better tidy yourself up,’ he rasped, smoothing down his ruffled hair and avoiding eye contact. He pushed open a door, to reveal a bedroom. ‘It would look odd if you didn’t come down to thank him.’

  Biting her lip, she scooped up her top and pulled it on, following him into the bedroom as he checked his appearance in the dressing-table mirror. His eyes were black and liquid, his lips parted to allow his shortened breath to escape.

  ‘Dante?’ she said uncertainly.

  ‘Please,’ he muttered, closing his eyes. ‘I have to come back to earth.’

  Miranda felt a sudden stab of elation. Maybe, she thought with rising hope, he had pulled away from her because he’d heard his brother calling—and not for any other reason.

  ‘We are married,’ she pointed out.

  Still avoiding her eyes, he said softly, ‘Yes. But we have a guest.’

  ‘You look terribly flushed,’ she observed in amusement.

  ‘We’ve been playing with Carlo. That would flush anyone!’ With a shaky grin he swept past her. ‘Come down as quickly as you can.’

  ‘Hmm. You’ll need to wipe the lipstick from your neck first,’ she murmured.

  He whirled, frowning at the mirror, as Guido’s voice echoed through the hall.

  ‘Damn!’ Dante muttered. ‘I didn’t notice—!’

  ‘Come here.’

  Miranda dr
ew a small handkerchief from her pocket. He hesitated, then strode over to her. Reaching up on tiptoe, she gently rubbed at the offending mark. Then kissed him on the mouth.

  He groaned and his lips softened beneath hers. ‘I’ve got to go!’ he whispered. Then called, ‘Guido! I’m coming!’ and hurried from the room.

  Light-hearted, humming a little tune, Miranda ran into her quarters as if treading on air. She refreshed her lipstick and brushed her hair and smiled at her reflection, thinking how different she looked with her eyes sparkling and her skin glowing from a new, inner radiance.

  Still humming under her breath, she flew down the stairs and headed for the sound of voices.

  ‘Guido!’ she cried, managing to smile at Dante’s much-loved younger brother.

  Curly-haired, shorter than Dante and stockier, he came towards her, his arms open wide in greeting.

  ‘Miranda! You look sensational!’ he purred.

  And something odd happened. She looked into his eyes and felt a spurt of fear travel right through her. It took all her will-power not to take a step back.

  ‘Thank you!’ she said breathily and found herself wrapped in Guido’s bear hug. Panic screamed through her. She began to breathe harshly as he kissed her enthusiastically on her hot cheeks, his body too intimate with hers. ‘Hey! Put me down!’ she cried, choking back the nausea and pretending to be amused. But his mocking eyes told her that he knew she wasn’t comfortable. ‘What will my husband say?’

  ‘I’m family!’ Guido protested, but he did let her go.

  Miranda had to get away before she was sick right there. ‘Was that Carlo?’ she fudged, her head on one side as though she’d heard a cry. ‘I’d better go up. Shan’t be long.’

  In her bathroom, after a rather undignified scuttle up the stairs on incredibly shaky legs, she cooled her face with cold water and stood with her eyes shut, mastering her nausea.

  What an odd reaction! She’d never felt like this before! She’d eaten nothing strange to make her sick…

  She froze. Her eyes snapped open in shock. No. She couldn’t be! Not…pregnant? Would that explain the odd feelings?

  Her period was overdue. And she had always been regular. But there had only been that one occasion—at least a month ago—when she and Dante had made love, she calculated. He had been away so much. It seemed unlikely that she’d become pregnant then, but it was possible, of course. It only took the once.

  Pale and dizzy, she clutched at the basin, not sure whether to be delighted or horrified. The last thing she wanted was for Dante to come back to her just because she was carrying his child. She needed him to choose her, not because she was producing another addition to the Severini dynasty—the heir and a spare.

  Her hand strayed to her flat, hard stomach and she found herself smiling blissfully to think that Dante’s child might be already growing inside her. It would be lovely, she thought dreamily. And prayed that she was pregnant. However, if she was, then she would keep it a secret until she knew for sure that Dante really cared for her.

  But where, she wondered, could she go to get a pregnancy test, without half of Italy knowing? She giggled, excited and happy again.

  High on adrenaline and glowing with delight, she descended the stairs and drifted into the salon. The two men stopped talking as if they’d been discussing her but their admiring expressions told her that she looked strikingly different from a few moments ago.

  Yet it only took a leer from Guido to throw her off balance and unnerve her again. He seemed to be getting under her skin though she didn’t know why.

  Deliberately she chose to sit as far away from him as possible, settling herself on a Renaissance chaise longue beneath a wall displaying portraits of medieval Severini cardinals.

  Dante brought her a drink. ‘You look wonderful,’ he murmured.

  Her starry eyes flicked up to his and she couldn’t stop the radiant smile from lighting up her whole face.

  ‘Thank you,’ she whispered back.

  Then, as he gazed into her eyes, a slight frown formed, drawing his black brows together as if he was puzzled. Could he tell? she wondered, absently taking a gulp of the champagne. And then she wished she hadn’t in case she really was pregnant. She put the glass down on the gilt table and concentrated on appearing normal.

  ‘What bright eyes you have!’ Guido drawled. ‘You look like an advert for eye drops. Or something.’

  Eye drops? She blinked. And understood the cause of Dante’s frown. ‘I am happy,’ she said calmly. ‘I don’t need artificial substances.’

  ‘I should hope not!’ Guido declared in rather overdone horror. ‘I’ve been to too many parties where people disappeared into bathrooms for a snort of cocaine and came back with suspiciously bright eyes.’

  ‘Miranda wouldn’t dream of using drugs here.’ Dante spoke with firmness and she smiled at him gratefully.

  ‘No. I wouldn’t,’ she said softly. ‘It would destroy our relationship and that’s too precious to risk.’

  Dante visibly relaxed and she realised how tense he’d been. It worried her that Guido was sowing seeds of doubt in Dante’s mind. And she couldn’t fathom why.

  ‘Guido has brought some of your possessions from England,’ Dante said, adroitly changing the subject.

  ‘I gather you were the special messenger, Guido. Thank you,’ she managed to say to him. ‘I appreciate your efforts.’

  ‘No problem,’ he said airily. ‘I had some help from Lizzie. Some pad, eh?’

  He leaned back in his deep armchair. His narrowed eyes scanned the richly decorated room, the carved ceiling, marble fireplace and elegant furniture with greedy approval.

  ‘You know Lizzie?’ she said, surprised.

  Guido grinned rather nastily and gave a suggestive little chuckle that made her flinch and shrink into the depths of the upholstery.

  ‘As well as I know you,’ he said with a smirk.

  Not well, then, she thought with relief. Although Dante doted on his brother, she’d never quite taken to him. There was something sly and self-seeking about the guy. The last thing she wanted was for the impressionable Lizzie to get involved with him.

  She looked at his stubby hands and inexplicably found herself shuddering. The pleasure of her possible pregnancy had been completely overshadowed by her irrational dislike of Guido.

  ‘I asked Lizzie to sort out a few must-have items for you,’ Dante explained to her, ‘and to contact Guido so that he could bring them over. The rest will come overland. I hope that’s all right?’

  ‘Yes. Fine,’ she said brightly. And forced herself to address Guido. ‘How long will you be staying?’

  Lazily the dark eyes lingered on her with such boldness that it felt as if he were ripping off her clothes. Stupid, she told herself. He was young, good-looking and virile, and probably gave all women the glad eye.

  ‘A few days or so,’ Guido drawled, his lips wet and seemingly bloody from the red wine he was drinking. ‘If that’s acceptable.’

  ‘Of course.’

  She tried to sound enthusiastic for Dante’s sake but her instincts were to recoil from him as if he were a venomous snake.

  Maybe she had become super-sensitive—a downside of pregnancy, perhaps? Guido hadn’t affected her like this in all the time she’d known him at the London office. She knew his reputation with women from office gossip and that he had a rather cavalier attitude of ‘love ’em and leave ’em’. Although she’d never liked him, these feelings of extreme revulsion were entirely new.

  ‘The weather’s vile in England,’ he confided. ‘I look forward to swimming and sunbathing by the pool with you both.’

  The thought of exposing her body to Guido’s lecherous stare almost made her throw up. Hastily she took a sip of her drink and put it down again guiltily as Dante threw his brother an indulgent look.

  ‘We’ll catch up on business, Guido, then we can all have a lazy day chilling out.’ He turned to Miranda. ‘You haven’t christened that new bikin
i yet, have you?’

  Vowing to plead a headache—or at least to wear the boring one-piece—she stretched her lips in the shape of a smile.

  ‘That’s for your eyes only,’ she said shakily.

  Guido’s eyebrow shot up. ‘Sounds interesting! Bit revealing, is it?’

  She gagged and covered that up with a series of coughs while Dante playfully punched his brother’s shoulder.

  They began to discuss their plans for the next day. Either it was her imagination, or Guido was watching her like a hawk. She shivered as his gaze wandered to her cleavage and it seemed that something vile was crawling over her skin. She couldn’t stand any more of this.

  ‘Look,’ she said, standing up suddenly and prompting the men to leap from their seats again. ‘I hope you don’t think this is rude, and I know you’ve only just arrived, Guido, but I’m very tired. I think I’ll go to bed or I won’t be able to cope with Carlo in the morning.’ She flashed a smile at both of them, though only with Dante did her eyes warm as well. ‘Goodnight, darling.’

  Deliberately she walked over, put her arms around Dante’s neck and kissed him tenderly on the mouth. His arms closed around her, his mouth hardened its pressure for a brief moment as if he wanted to deepen the kiss and then he released her.

  ‘Goodnight, Miranda,’ he said softly.

  She smiled. Inviting him with her eyes. ‘Don’t stay up late,’ she whispered, her hand lingering on his chest.

  ‘No,’ he promised. ‘I won’t.’

  She sensed that Guido was tense and disapproving and forced herself to walk quickly past him in case he expected a goodnight kiss too.

  ‘’Night,’ she said to him with a casual wave, and headed a little unsteadily for the door.

  ‘I’ll just nip out and tell you what I’ve brought, in case you want some of it upstairs now,’ Guido said, shooting after her.

  Her stomach somersaulted and she hurried into the hall.

  ‘Don’t bother. I can manage with what I have,’ she said sharply.

  But he was right behind her and she had to increase her pace even more to avoid his cloying aftershave and the little prickles of fear that attacked her whenever he was close. She was part way up the stairs when he spoke, calling up from the hallway.