by Kim Lawrence
His bark of laughter brought her angry eyes to his face.
‘Have I said something funny?’
‘Hilarious … you are nothing like the women I date or sleep with.’
‘Is that good or bad?’
‘Confusing,’ he admitted.
Taking some comfort, as much from his driven tone as his cryptic comment, Miranda studied his lean dark face, struggling to read his expression.
CHAPTER TEN
‘MIRANDA, I’m going to go back to London in the morning.’
Miranda froze, her composure splintering into a million pieces.
They would never lay bare skin to bare skin again … Her sense of loss was profound; it had felt so right!
She retained enough functioning self-preservation instincts to bring her lashes down in a concealing curtain as she rocked back on her heels as though she had been caught by a sudden vicious gust of wind. She exhaled and lifted her gaze, a carefully and hopefully neutral expression pasted on her pale face.
Her body language probably wasn’t saying casual interest, but if it wasn’t screaming ‘I’ve just received a body blow from which I may never recover’, it was good, she told herself.
‘You should try and leave early to miss the traffic. A light breakfast for Liam and, I think, take the ginger cookies. Ginger is excellent for nausea. The radio said there are still traffic works on the—’
Gianni, who had listened to the flow of information, suddenly cut across her. ‘If you’d like I could come back for the odd night …?’
Miranda blinked at the abrupt offer and shook her head, her expression wary. ‘What are you saying, Gianni, exactly?’
‘I’m saying this doesn’t have to end …’
Miranda pushed past the flare of relief and took a moment to respond calmly, reminding herself this was a reprieve, nothing more. This was still casual sex he was offering.
And she would take it because she couldn’t not. Like an addict, she couldn’t pass up any opportunity to be with him even though the constant battle to hide her own feelings was exhausting, especially when her hopelessly optimistic heart refused to accept that he wouldn’t at some point see that.
‘This? The fighting, you mean?’ she suggested, adopting an expression of mock confusion.
‘The sex,’ he inserted, feeling and looking irritated that she had made him spell it out. ‘It’s good …’ His lips curved upwards as he gave a small, hard laugh. ‘No, it’s incredible.’ Why not let it run its course? Why deprive himself of the best sex he had ever known … The situation—Gianni was reluctant to term it ‘relationship’ even in the privacy of his own thoughts—just needed … some fine tuning.
There was no question of him rewriting the rule book. On the important things he would not compromise; he would still be removing Miranda from Liam’s life. The … situation needed some boundaries and he would put them in place.
Real life did not consist of lazy afternoon sessions in bed and late night strolls in a moonlit garden that was the stuff of holiday romance.
And holiday romance seemed an appropriate analogy for what he had been enjoying, Gianni realised.
It was self-evident to him, or it would have been had he ever thought about it, that the reason holiday romances didn’t work when the holiday ended was that the couple involved were not prepared to adapt to the changed circumstances. They wanted it to carry on being sunshine and sex. His life was no holiday and sex had to fit in with his life; it had to be convenient.
Miranda took a deep breath and came to a decision—as if it had ever been in doubt—and lifted her chin. ‘Yes, it is,’ she agreed. Meeting his eyes, she wondered if the flare of emotion she glimpsed was pleasure, relief, a touch of indigestion, or none of the above.
God, if you want to know, Mirrie, ask the man. Or are you just afraid of what the reply will be? She didn’t because deep down she knew that the moment she revealed her feelings would be the moment he walked out of her life for good.
‘What did you have in mind?’ Without waiting to hear his reply she added quickly, ‘I have a few provisos.’
Gianni’s eyes narrowed in shock—she had a few provisos. This was not the way the scene had played in his head. He regarded her with utter incredulity, the frustration burning in his belly the only thing that made him swallow the scathing retort on the tip of his tongue. There was no harm hearing her out.
‘I can accept casual.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Casual sex, you know that, but I can’t accept …’ She paused, embarrassed but not apologetic as she completed in a rush, ‘While it lasts I want this to be exclusive.’
‘You think I have enough spare time to fit in—’ He saw her expression and stopped. ‘Exclusivity no problem.’
‘And no lies …’ She was pleased she sounded so calm and dispassionate about it all; her eyes swept his face and she found it hard to gauge his reaction. She cleared her throat and, adopting a matter-of-fact attitude that she was proud of, explained, ‘This may be meaningless sex, very good meaningless sex,’ she added, because this time he had reacted, though the anger she had seen move across his hard-boned face remained inexplicable to her.
‘But I need it to be honest,’ she admitted, thinking of Tam and the on-off relationship with the slimy photographer that had ruled her twin’s life for years. It was small wonder really that she had seen her salvation in Oliver, a man who was the complete opposite of her previous lover.
Admittedly they were not talking years here, more weeks, but the principle remained the same. ‘I mean it, Gianni. As far as I’m concerned it’s a deal breaker. You lie to me again, and I’m including lies of omission, and no more—’
‘Sex … sorry, meaningless sex.’ Again she saw the momentary flicker of annoyance. ‘Is there more?’
Agreeing to something he had intended anyway required no compromises, so why not? he reasoned with himself.
Miranda shook her head. ‘No, that’s it.’
He nodded and she watched, not sure what was happening as he walked across to the fridge until he pulled out a chilled bottle of champagne.
Turning back with it in his hand, he tilted his head and said, ‘Shall we toast our arrangement?’
‘Lovely,’ she murmured, looking at his mouth. ‘But it would taste much better after you’ve taken me to bed.’
Gianni blinked.
It wasn’t until she saw his expression that Miranda realised she had voiced her inner dialogue.
Gianni watched with a mixture of amusement and tenderness as the mortified colour flew to her cheeks and her eyes went as round as saucers.
‘Sorry,’ she groaned, covering her face with her fingers. ‘I was just thinking out loud.’
He grinned and put down the bottle. ‘Miranda Easton.’
She watched through her fingers, her heart leaping at the sight of the tall, dynamic figure striding across the room towards her.
Gianni unpeeled her fingers from her face, kissing the tip of each one before he pressed her palms together and sealed them between his large, capable hands.
The image seemed symbolic in Miranda’s mind of his physical superiority and strength, a strength that she had never imagined could be so sexually arousing. The differences—soft, hard, fair, dark—between them were a constant source of fascination to her.
‘I find myself liking the way your mind works very much. Think out loud as much as you like, cara.’
Miranda let out a shriek of laughing protest when without warning he swooped and lifted her up high into his arms. It was a token protest. She gave no resistance, just looped her arms around his neck and, heart pounding with anticipation, she allowed herself to be carried upstairs.
‘What are you doing?’
Miranda slid her feet to the floor. ‘I thought you were asleep.’ She had moved his arm, heavy and warm, from across her stomach and he had continued to breathe deeply.
He didn’t sound asleep now.
‘It’s eleven and I haven’t bolted t
he back door and the dogs—’
‘Why are you whispering?’ he asked, sounding amused.
‘I was being considerate—ouch!’ Her hand shot out to steady the half-empty bottle of champagne on the bedside table, but not before some had slopped on the sheet.
‘The dogs will bark the place down if anyone tries to get in, so come back to bed, cara.’
The sinfully seductive purr made it a hard invitation to resist; the hand that grasped her arm and pulled her back upgraded it to impossible to resist.
Miranda landed in a tangle of limbs on top of him.
‘What are you doing?’ she demanded, trying to sound cross as she slid her knees to either side of his iron-hard thighs and settled herself astride his body like some ancient goddess, her hair streaming in flaming strands down her narrow back.
‘I think I should be asking you that, Miss Easton. You seem to be taking liberties,’ he observed, staring up at the twin globes of her breasts glowing pale in the darkness, the outline of her nipples suggested by a faint dark blur. He felt the inevitable lustful hardening of his body as he looked at her. Where this redhead was concerned he had never, on present evidence, had enough.
Gianni was contemplating sitting up and pulling one highly sensitive puckered peak into his mouth when she wriggled her hips and leaned forward low enough for the rosy tips to brush his chest.
A deep shudder ran through his body as she slid her hands, palms flat, down the damp skin of his hair-roughened belly until she found what she was looking for.
‘And you seem to be enjoying it, Mr Fitzgerald,’ she returned, mimicking his formal tone.
Miranda smiled in the darkness and tightened her fingers around the hard smooth column of his arousal and heard Gianni gasp. Her throaty little chuckle turned into a shriek when after a few moments of her ministrations he grabbed her by the waist and smoothly reversed their positions.
‘Not fair!’ she protested breathlessly.
She saw him grin in the darkness and bend forward, then again he acted without warning, his speed taking her unawares.
She squirmed a little in token protest but in moments she was lying there with her wrists loosely held in one of his hands pinioned above her head. With his free hand he reached out to his right and pressed the button on a control that lay on the bedside table.
The curtains majestically parted, bathing the shadowed room with moonlight. ‘Our Lucy, she does love her high-tech and gadgets, and, you know,’ he drawled, ‘for the first time I’m starting to think she maybe has a point.’
His heavy-lidded eyes moved in a caressing sweep over her body, her pale skin shining with an opalescent sheen in the silvered light.
Miranda, shivering, stared up at him. He made her think of some sort of Olympian bronzed statue come to life. He was so incredibly beautiful that looking at him made her dizzy.
Desire kicked low in her belly and she went bonelessly fluid as he fitted his mouth to her parted lips and kissed her slow and deep.
When he finally broke contact they were both breathing hard. ‘You could have just turned on the light,’ she whispered against his mouth.
He tugged at her full under-lip with his teeth, nuzzling the pink cushiony softness of her skin as his hands curved possessively over her breasts. She shivered and gave a moan as his thumbs found the hardening centres.
‘I’m a romantic.’
He was incredible. Through half-closed eyes she watched the teasing glow fade from his eyes, leaving a dark, feverish heat that made the muscles low in her belly quiver in an anticipatory response.
He speared his fingers into her glorious hair and sucked in a breath. ‘Dio, but you are beautiful,’ he breathed, his expression almost reverent as he reached out to touch the side of her face, drawing a line over the soft down on her cheek.
Her breath by this point coming in a series of short, shallow bursts, Miranda turned her face into his hand, pressing an open-mouthed kiss into his palm. ‘I don’t know how you make me feel this way,’ she whispered thickly.
‘What way?’ he asked.
‘This way,’ she said, guiding his hand down her body to the hot moist core of her femininity.
‘Dio!’ he groaned, parting her legs with his hand as he kissed her. ‘But I love it that you are always ready for me.’
The feel of his hot body pressing down on her drew a mewling cry of pleasure from deep in her throat. ‘I want you so much it’s scary, Gianni.’ Scarier still was the thought of how it would feel when he was gone, when the casual sex began to bore him.
Clenching her teeth, she struggled to push the thought from her head. Then he was sliding deep into her, filling her with his delicious hardness, and she didn’t have to try. All she was conscious of was Gianni as they moved together in total synchronicity.
The next morning Miranda woke, her nostrils twitching to the unmistakable smell of coffee. Smiling, she gave a lazy yawn and turned her head. The bed was empty but there was a coffee cup on the table beside it.
Gianni made very fine coffee, but then Gianni did a lot of things very well, she thought, stretching like a cat and very nearly purring with smug contentment as the night came rushing back.
Great coffee or not, she would have preferred to see him lying in the bed beside her. She flipped over, punched a couple of pillows and sat upright. She took a swallow of coffee before pushing the wild tangle of hair from her face.
She had drained the cup when Gianni appeared. Unable to stop herself, she pulled the sheet up to cover her breasts. She bit her lip. The man could hardly know her body any better, so what was she doing? Perhaps it was because she had something to hide, something that she was desperately afraid he would discover.
She half expected him to comment on the ludicrousness of her action, but he barely seemed to notice. As he moved towards the bed she thought, Something seems different …? There was a lapse of a few seconds before she realised what form the difference in question had taken—he was dressed in a white shirt open at the neck and a pair of tailored dark trousers.
‘You look …’ She paused. Gorgeous, obviously, but she struggled for a moment to put a name to the expression on his face: not cold, not warm, but … distant. Unease fluttered in her stomach. ‘Why didn’t you wake me?’
‘I needed an early start. There was no need for you to lose your sleep, too.’
‘I’ll make you some breakfast. Is Liam—?’
He put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Liam is already in the car.’
Her eyes widened in shock, the shock quickly replaced by hurt he pretended not to see as he added, ‘We’ve had breakfast.’
Miranda swallowed. ‘You’re leaving—now …?’
He nodded.
Forgetting about modesty, Miranda swung her legs over the side of the bed and released the sheet, which slithered down to her waist. ‘I must come and say goodbye,’ she said, looking around for her robe. ‘Where have I put—?’
‘No.’ Gianni damped the beads of sweat along the rim of his upper lip with an impatient stroke of his hand. Seeing her sitting there, her lovely tight little breasts. Dio, a woman’s body had never pleased him more, nor given him so much agony.
He had the control of an adolescent in the grip of a hormone rush around her, and why did she have to look at him with such trusting confusion? He was trying to make this easier.
Miranda looked up, her brow furrowed in consternation. ‘I don’t understand …’
‘I think it’s better you didn’t say goodbye.’
‘Not …? But … I …’
‘You do understand that our arrangement does not include Liam, don’t you, Miranda?’
The penny finally dropped. ‘You don’t want me to see Liam?’
He directed his gaze away from her swimming eyes only to find himself staring at her quivering lower lip. ‘I think that is best,’ he said bluntly, resenting like hell the fact he had to explain. She was an intelligent woman; she should understand. ‘It wouldn’t be fair to allo
w him to become fond of someone and then to have that person vanish … He needs continuity.’
All of which was true, so why did he feel such a bastard? He was looking after the interests of his son. That’s my job, he told himself, and carried on feeling a bastard.
Miranda lowered her gaze and pulled her legs back into the bed. ‘I understand,’ she said quietly.
Her quiet dignity as she accepted his decision made him feel ten times worse, and ten times worse than bloody awful was bad.
‘I hope you have a better journey.’
‘I hope so, too.’ Gianni hardened his heart and fought the quite crazy urge to retract his edict, if this was to work he had to keep the various sections of his life compartmentalised. ‘I’m hoping to make it up on Friday night …?’ A week without sex had never seemed longer. He had never missed the sound of a woman’s voice and he was not about to start now.
Miranda looked at him as the realisation hit her that she was now a mistress. She lifted her chin. ‘Perhaps you should ring first.’
He looked taken aback by the suggestion and by the queen-like dignity she had wrapped herself in. ‘Why?’
‘Well, I don’t know when Lucy will be back. I might not be here and I wouldn’t want you to have a wasted journey.’ But he could spend the rest of his life kicking himself because he let the woman who loved him more than anyone else possibly could slip away … Yes, she would quite like that, she thought, pasting on a serene smile to cover her vicious thoughts.
Only it wouldn’t happen. Natural justice was a cruel fiction, she thought dully. Instead he would forget her name.
‘But surely Lucy won’t be back yet!’ Gianni protested, struggling to subdue a stab of something he refused to recognise as panic.
Miranda shrugged and fought her way clear of the fog of self-pity in her head. ‘I don’t know when she’ll be back, Gianni. I’ve already told you that. So maybe Friday …?’
He nodded curtly and left without a word. She sat there listening to the sounds of him leaving: the footsteps on the stairs and the door slamming and the engine starting up, then silence.