by Amy Andrews
And even though it was true that Paige would never be entirely relaxed, both she and Valentino had confidence in Erica, who specialised in high-risk pregnancies and were happy with her care and her treatment plan. And each week as their little boy grew and did all the right things and there were no signs of trouble, they were more and more encouraged.
The day she turned twenty-two weeks Paige was joined by Valentino in the scrub room as she was nearing the end of her three-minute hand wash. It was their first case of the day.
‘So,’ Valentino said, wetting his arms and applying the liquid surgical scrub, ‘twenty-two weeks today.’
Paige could see the smile in his eyes and knew his dimples would be dazzling beneath his mask. Still, they’d agreed not to talk about it at work. ‘Not here,’ she murmured.
Valentino chuckled. ‘I’m just making conversation.’
Paige rolled her eyes at him. ‘It’s a nice day is conversation. We need more rain is conversation.’
‘Ah.’ Valentino shrugged, his arms soaped to his elbows. ‘Blame it on my command of the English language. Subtleties are harder to pick up on.’
Paige laughed. Valentino spoke perfect English. He certainly understood subtleties and nuance just fine. ‘Poor Valentino.’
As she ran her hands under the water for one last rinse the baby kicked her hard and high as if he objected to Paige teasing his father. She gasped, the motion of her hands freezing as her breath was momentarily stolen by the strength and suddenness of it. She leaned over a little, her hands still elevated above the sink.
Valentino frowned, his hands also ceasing their activity. ‘Paige? Are you all right?’
Paige nodded as the baby continued to tap-dance in her womb. ‘I think this baby’s going to play soccer for Italy.’
Valentino grinned. ‘It kicked?’
‘Oh, yeah. I think he’s awake and ready to party.’
It took Valentino all of two seconds to decide his next course of action. He abandoned his scrub and reached for her belly, soaped arms and all.
‘Valentino!’ Paige gasped as his hands made wet imprints on her blue scrubs. She looked over her shoulder. ‘They’re expecting us inside.’
He ignored her. ‘Where?’ he asked, shifting his hands around, waiting for the tell-tale movement beneath his palm, desperate to be part of this moment with her. He would never tire of feeling his son move. Her scrubs were an annoying barrier and he ran his hands under the hem until his soapy fingers touched bare belly.
Paige gasped again, quieter this time, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip as she concentrated on keeping her arms sterile and remaining upright while his asexual touch spread sticky tentacles to places lower. Much lower.
He’d felt her belly before. But never skin to skin, always through her clothes. His warm, slippery hands were completely methodical and thorough as he slid them all over her small bump, searching for movement. It was crazy. There was nothing intimate about it at all and yet her nipples hardened and rubbed painfully against the fabric of her bra.
‘Valentino…’ Even to her own ears it sounded husky and aching. Not that he seemed to be listening, intent on awaiting the baby’s next move.
She was about to give him the whole this-is-entirely-inappropriate spiel but then the baby kicked again, another hard jab, right where Valentino’s hand was, and he laughed, looking up at her with joy in his eyes, and she forgot about what was appropriate. He turned a few more loops for Valentino’s benefit and Paige watched his downcast head, his dark hair visible beneath the semi-transparent fabric of his theatre hat.
‘This is just the best feeling in the world, isn’t it?’ Valentino asked, looking up at her.
Paige smiled and nodded. It was hard not to be infected by his enthusiasm. Even though she could only see his eyes, his joy and excitement were plain to see. He held on for another minute, rubbing his hands around the rise of her abdomen.
Paige, her arms having practically drip-dried by now, shifted slightly. ‘I think the show’s over.’
Valentino’s gaze returned to hers. Her grey eyes had gone all smoky and he became very aware that he was touching her quite intimately. Still, the ripe swell of her felt good beneath his hands. Sexy. Right. He hadn’t touched her bare stomach since the night they’d conceived his son and he suddenly realised he missed touching her.
He’d spent so much time trying to distance himself from Paige as a woman that he’d forgotten how good her skin felt. He withdrew his hands as if he was back in fifth grade, being rapped over the knuckles by the nuns.
‘Sorry.’
Paige wobbled as his hands left her belly and she ground her clogged feet into the floor to stop herself from pitching forward. She tugged a deep breath into her lungs and nodded at his hands. ‘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 Valentino accompanied McKenzie and Paige to the riverside markets and then they met Adele and Don for brunch at South Bank. It had been months since McKenzie had come down with a sniff or a fever and Paige, 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, unused to crowds, the background chatter combined with the cool river breeze played havoc with the sensitive external microphone and overwhelmed her quickly. Paige 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.
It was midday as they got up to leave, passing the lunch crowd on their way out. Paige was feeling quite weary from all the walking around and couldn’t wait to collapse on her lounge and veg out for the afternoon.
McKenzie tugged on her sleeve and Paige looked down. Her daughter was pointing at the large, white modern Ferris wheel that was a smaller version of the London Eye and could be seen from all over South Bank. Paige groaned. She’d forgotten she’d promised McKenzie a ride.
‘We’ll take her,’ Adele said, giving her daughter’s arms a squeeze. ‘Valentino, drive her home. She looks exhausted.’
Paige felt torn. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course,’ Don assured her.
Paige reluctantly agreed and watched her daughter skip off quite happily with her parents. Then Valentino whisked her away and had her ensconced on her lounge within twenty minutes, including a quick stop at his favourite deli.
‘Mmm, that feels good,’ Paige groaned as she slipped her shoes off and lay down on the squishy leather.
Valentino smiled at the pleasure in her voice, which he could hear all the way from the kitchen. He arranged a fat slice of tiramisu on a plate and picked it up, along with two forks.
‘This is just as good,’ he announced as he carried it into the lounge.
He lowered himself onto the edge of the coffee table closest to her head, immediately noticing the way her hand rested low on her belly, emphasising her bump. His baby was just there and he was surprised by the urge to link his hand through hers.
His gaze drifted higher and was drawn to the way her shirt pulled taut across her chest. Her belly wasn’t the only thing that was burgeoning—her breasts seemed determined to keep pace.
He swallowed. Up until he’d laid his hands on her belly the other day he’d been doing just fine with keeping his distance. Treating Paige as the pregnant mother of his child. Affording her the right amount of reverence and respect. But that smoky look in her eyes had stayed with him and ever since his thoughts had been less than…reverent.
‘Tiramisu for two,’ he said, dragging his gaze back to her face.
Paige could smell the coffee and chocolate before he even sat down, reviving her somewhat. ‘Mmm, smells delicious.’
Valentino passed her a fork and watched
as she struggled into a semi-upright position. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her to stay put, that he’d feed her, but the images that rose to his mind were far from respectful and he feigned interest in the dessert as things shifted and moved interestingly.
He held the plate forward and watched as she attacked the cake with gusto, loading up her fork and stuffing it into her mouth. Her pink tongue lapped at excess cream on her lips and her sigh of bliss went straight to his groin.
‘Mrs Agostino is a goddess,’ Paige groaned.
Mrs Agostino wasn’t alone there. Paige had put on weight and there was a healthy glow to her fuller cheeks. Watching her eat was a divine experience.
She loaded up again and slipped the airy creation into her mouth. She looked at Valentino to share her bliss and noticed he wasn’t eating. ‘You’re not joining me?’ she asked, around a mouthful of cake.
Valentino’s gaze fell to her mouth decorated in crumbs and cream. Dio! Was she trying to kill him?
Paige stilled her chewing and swallowed her mouthful as the direction of his gaze registered. Her lips tingled beneath the intensity of it. Maybe he wasn’t as immune to her as a woman as she’d thought? She felt a surge of feminine hormones power into her bloodstream and arched her back a little. The corresponding rounding of his eyes made the move worth it.
‘Valentino?’
Val dragged his gaze away from her breasts. ‘Sorry. What? Oh, no, thanks. Here.’ He thrust the plate at her. ‘You have it.’
Then he shifted off the table and went and sat in the single lounge chair furthest away. It was still a sin to watch her eat but at least he’d removed himself from the temptation of leaning forward and using his tongue as a serviette.
‘Mmm, that was amazing,’ Paige said a minute later, scraping the last crumbs off the plate before placing it on the coffee table. She should be full but nothing seemed to fill her up these days. She had three years of sparrow appetite to make up for and her stomach was accepting the challenge with gusto.
‘Now, if only my feet didn’t ache so much, everything would be perfect. Honestly…’ she looked at Valentino ‘…you’d think a theatre nurse would be used to standing.’
Valentino chuckled. ‘We walked a lot.’ Now she’d stopped eating he felt on a more even keel. He moved across to the end of her lounge. ‘Here,’ he said, slapping his lap. ‘Pass me that moisturising cream. I’ll give you a foot massage.’
Paige regarded him for a moment. He looked cool and calm and totally in control again and she wondered if she’d imagined that mad moment when he’d looked at her like she was on the menu. Maybe her hormones were also playing havoc with her eyesight?
Anyway, she wasn’t about to pass up a foot rub when her feet were throbbing so she grabbed the cream and handed it to him then shuffled down the lounge till she was almost completely horizontal, her head resting on the arm, and placed her feet in his lap.
Valentino soon discovered there was no such thing as an even keel with her as her heels and her painted red toenails created instantaneous mayhem in his trousers. Praying for strength, he lifted one into his hands and shifted the other to the relative safety of his thigh.
Desperate for something to do other than look at her, he got right on the job, squeezing some cream onto his palms and then smoothing it onto her foot.
‘Oh, my God.’ Paige’s head lolled back against the arm. ‘That is so-o-o good,’ she groaned as aching muscles responded to his light touch.
Valentino’s fingers temporarily forgot their job as her breathy appreciation caused paralysis of everything but the activity in his pants.
‘Don’t stop,’ she groaned, wiggling her toes.
Reaching for sanity, he willed his fingers to continue.
‘Maybe you should give up work?’ Valentino suggested in a bid to give himself something else to think about other than inching his hand higher up her leg.
Paige lifted her drowsy head. ‘Erica seems to think it’s okay to continue. She’ll let me know if she thinks I should pack it in.’
‘I know. I’m just saying you’re exhausted and you’re only going to get more tired as the pregnancy progresses.’
‘I’m fine,’ Paige murmured, her eyes drifting shut as Valentino rubbed her instep and her head lolled back. ‘Besides, I can’t afford to give up work this early.’
He kept his gaze firmly on her toes with the red nail polish. ‘I can support you.’
Paige was too chilled out to be affronted. ‘No.’
‘Paige—’
Paige smiled at the wounded Italian male pride she heard in his voice. ‘No. If I need your help, I’ll ask.’ She lifted her head from the arm. ‘Okay?’
Valentino didn’t dare look at her. Her voice was all light and husky—he didn’t need to see her looking all loose and relaxed and blissed out. ‘Fine.’
‘Good,’ she murmured, dropping her head back. ‘Now, please just keep doing what you’re doing.’
So he did. The job would have been a lot easier, however, had Paige remained silent. But every time his fingers strayed to a new part of her foot she gave an appreciative moan and it shot his concentration to pieces. He continued through sheer grit alone and steadfastly refusing to look at anything but her feet and what his fingers were doing.
And not thinking about what they’d like to be doing.
Paige hovered on a blissful plane a few inches off the lounge as Valentino’s deep steady strokes soothed all the aches away. She watched him through half-closed lids, diligently concentrating on the job. He hadn’t taken his eyes off her feet once. Not even when he’d offered to make her his kept woman.
Anyone would think he was a professional masseur, for crying out loud.
Just looking at his bronzed hands on her pale skin was building a fire deep down low. The deep press of his fingers sent streaks of sensation from her foot up her instep to her inner leg and on to her entire body. She was melting into a puddle of desire, a boneless mass of longing.
It was wrong on so many levels. She’d told him this wasn’t going to happen. But she wanted him more at this moment than she ever had.
And he was being Mr Professional.
Paige squirmed her body to ease the ache inside and pressed her palm to her belly for some outside fortification. How was she going to get through the next weeks without jumping his bones?
The squirm was his limit. He’d been fine till she’d moved but things jiggled in his peripheral vision and he couldn’t stop himself from turning his head and looking his fill.
Her hand rested on her belly in a pose he’d seen more and more often these last few weeks since her tummy had popped out. Her habit of wearing baggy clothes and her baggy scrubs had allowed her to hide it from others, but he knew. He’d felt it.
He knew.
She was wearing a skirt that was too big, its folds hiding her legs all morning, but lying horizontal the folds fell away and the skirt very neatly outlined thighs that had filled out beautifully over weeks of feeding her the most tempting food he could find.
Paige popped her head up. ‘Hey,’ she protested quietly. ‘You stopped.’
Valentino looked down at his stilled hands, surprised. ‘I’m sorry.’ His gaze returned to her hand splayed down low on her stomach. He wanted to see it. He wanted to gaze on his child growing inside her. ‘Can I…can I look?’
Paige’s breath stuck in her throat at his intense gaze. He looked so unsure. Valentino, who always looked so sure of himself. She could have no more refused him than have got her boneless body up off the couch. She locked her gaze with his and slowly inched the fabric of her shirt up her abdomen until she was exposed to his view.
Valentino sucked in a breath at the sight of her small round belly. His child grew there. ‘You’re beautiful,’ he murmured. ‘May I?’
Paige nodded and watched as his hands left her feet, slid up the sides of her legs, over hips that were less angular these days and onto her stomach. Her muscles contracted beneath his
hands as he pushed the waistband of her skirt down slightly and they moved to cradle his child.
Valentino leaned forward and Paige widened her legs to allow him better access, and when he dropped a string of kisses across the swell of her belly her eyes blurred with tears and her fingers speared into his hair.
His tongue found her skin, laving her belly, and she felt the erotic scrape of his three-day growth deep down inside. When he dipped into her belly button she cried out.
Valentino looked up from his ministrations, his chin resting against the rise of her stomach. Her lips were parted and her smoky eyes glazed. Not taking his eyes off her, his hands moved slowly up, pushing her shirt as they went. When they found the lace-enclosed mounds of her breasts she shut her eyes and arched her back and Valentino swiped his thumbs over the taut peaks of her nipples.
Her whimper was soul-deep satisfying and he wanted to kiss her mouth so badly he was moving before he knew it, rising on his knees, looming over her, dropping his head closer and closer to her moist parted lips.
And when she raised her head to shorten the gap there was no holding back. Her mouth was sweeter than he remembered and the moan deep in her throat as she parted her lips widely, inviting him in, mingled with his.
He couldn’t get enough of her mouth. Or the curve of her neck or the sweet spot behind her ear. His hands pushed aside her bra cups and she arched her back, pushing herself harder into his palms.
He dropped his head to suck a taut bud into his mouth and her swift indrawn breath was harsh in the silent room. He released it and looked down into her flushed face, her lips moist and ravaged from his ministrations.
Paige’s breath sawed in and out of her lungs as she burnt up beneath his incendiary stare. She wanted him in her so badly she could almost feel him.
But.
‘We can’t…’ Actually, technically, they could. Erica hadn’t forbidden it at all. But Paige didn’t want to risk anything.
‘I know.’ He nuzzled her neck. ‘Move over,’ he whispered. ‘Lie on your side.’