Chapter Thirty-One
Gina stood before the mirror in her wedding gown, her hands to her cheeks.
Blair came from his dressing room wearing his robe. “Why, what is it, darling?”
“I can’t believe this is me.” She gazed at her reflection. “If only mother and Milo could see me.”
He put his arms around her waist. “Maybe they can, darling. Maybe they can.”
“Oh, I’m so happy.” She leaned back against him. “I feel a little tipsy. I had several glasses of champagne.” She reached up to stroke his cheek. “Are you as happy as I am?”
“Yes, my Gina.” He took her in his arms and waltzed around the room. She laughed, thrilled to have him strong again.
He drew her over to the bed. Breathless, they gazed at one another. “I want so much to please you.” She stood and grasped her skirts with both hands, easing them up a little, planning to perform a provocative dance.
Blair grinned and leapt to his feet. “No, sweetheart.” He held her shoulders, and gazed loving down at her. “What Mabel told you has no place on this day.” He gave a wicked smile. “Tomorrow, or next week, I look forward to enjoying what she taught you.”
Crushing her to him, he kissed her passionately. “Darling,” he murmured. “Let me make love to you.”
*
Blair undid the myriad of tiny buttons down Gina’s back. He’d never felt this tender undressing a woman before. Gina was his soul mate, from the moment he first saw her in that painting, he’d been lost. He meant every vow he’d made before the parson. He would love and protect her for the rest of their lives.
The bustle petticoat and the corset joined her gown over a chair. Gina stood before him in her camisole and bloomers. He removed the tortoiseshell combs from her hair and threaded his fingers through the glossy golden locks as they spilled over her shoulders, lifting a scented curl to his lips.
“These combs were my mother’s gift to me,” she murmured, taking them from him and placing them carefully on the dresser.
“I’m glad you have something to remember her by,” he said huskily. He kissed the pulsing hollow at the base of her throat. Easing down the strap of her chemise, he pressed kisses over the soft skin of her shoulder, then raised his head to caress her lips. Her lovely body had filled his thoughts since the brief glimpse in Mayfair when she was half-dressed in the lurid chemise. He kissed her with slow drugging kisses. His cock hardened with rampant need for her and he cautioned himself, this was Gina’s first experience of lovemaking. He was determined that it would be special.
“I want you to enjoy this, sweetheart.”
She rested a hand on his shoulder as he bent to draw down her blue satin garters over her lovely legs. Stroking the velvety skin of her inner thigh, he rolled down her stockings. He remembered how she’d teased him to distraction on that disastrous night that had sent him hurrying away to Ireland. His instincts had been right not to spoil what they had, for he might have lost her forever, and here she was, his cherished wife.
Gina stood naked before him, all creamy curves, her high, full breasts tipped with shell-pink nipples, a soft vee of fair hair at the apex of her thighs. As lovely as a Degas nude. He couldn’t draw his gaze away from her as he shrugged off his dressing gown.
*
Gina gasped at the sight of him. He was so beautiful. His broad chest tapered to a narrow waist and slim hips. She touched the puckered scar, a symbol of their triumph over adversity. Their life together would hold more adversities to overcome, she was sure, and many victories, joyful ones. Not least the child she hoped to one day hold in her arms.
Blair joined her on the bed. He kissed her taut nipples, rousing a melting sweetness that made her moan and slid her fingers through his thick dark hair. She knew little of love making, but her desire to have him inside her, quickened her pulse and shortened her breath. She grew hot and moist between her legs, and when he stroked that special part of her, exquisite pleasure spread through her body and she cried out.
“Your body is smooth and rough, hard and strong,” she whispered, her fingers tracing over his satiny skin, marveling at his muscled chest with its rough smattering of hair and small brown nipples. His breath scented with wine blended with hers. When his tongue entered her mouth, she gasped. Tasting him set her whole body on fire.
“I love you, Gina.”
“I love you,” she whispered.
“Touch me.” His eyes dark blue with desire, he took her hand and swept it over his stomach and down.
She marveled that he grew hard beneath her fingers, loved that she could make him groan with pleasure. “Hard and soft as velvet.”
“Sweet torture,” he murmured.
He settled his body between her thighs, hipbone to hipbone, and his manhood nudged the folds of her sex. Her body clenched and she opened wider to welcome him, wanting and needing him.
Her heart pounding, Gina drew in a breath as he edged inside her. It stung and she bit her lip trying not to cry out. She arched her back to better accept him and he was inside, filling her.
He paused and stroked her hair. “Am I hurting you?”
She shook her head unable to speak. It did hurt a little, but what bliss to be joined with him in this way. How right it felt.
When he moved inside her, the pain ebbed away. She stroked his back over the straining muscles and down to his rounded, strong buttocks, tensing with each thrust. Her hands on his driving hips, she instinctively moved with him in some primitive rhythm.
With a groan, Blair spilled his seed inside her. Settling beside her he gathered her into his embrace. “Are you sore sweetheart? It will be more enjoyable next time.”
“Mmm.” Gina snuggled against him as a delicious lassitude filled her. She wanted to tell him how beautiful it had been, but she was too sleepy. She could only manage to murmur that she loved him. The thought came to her that she would tell him tomorrow.
She heard the smile in his voice, It’s been a long day. Sleep well, my love.”
* * *
Two days later, her body flushed from early lovemaking, Gina settled in the library, recalling with a sigh how Blair’s expert touch had sent her to even higher levels of ecstasy. After breakfast, he’d kissed her and ridden out to the home farm.
She liked to sit in this room with its smell of leather and old tomes. The family history was here. A painting of Blair’s great-grandfather hung over the fireplace, dressed in riding clothes, he stood beside a magnificent black horse. He had blue eyes and a very determined chin. She would have liked to have known him, and was sure that Blair inherited some of his fine qualities, as well as his good looks. Sitting at the big oak desk, she took a fresh sheet of writing paper from the drawer. She picked up a pen and began to write, grateful to her mother for teaching her to read and write, but painfully aware that her spelling was very bad. In neat script she wrote The Life of Milo Russo, a Great Artist, by his step-daughter, Giovanna.
Hours later, Blair found her there when he arrived home for luncheon, still scribbling away. He crossed the room to hug her and peer over her shoulder. “What are you up to? The maid said you’ve been in here for hours.”
Gina chewed the end of the pen. “How do you spell exquisite?”
Blair told her and she wrote it down.
“English spelling makes little sense at times.”
Satisfied with her efforts, she straightened the sheets of paper and rose to give her husband a proper kiss.
“Am I to be told what this endeavor may be?” he asked with an indulgent smile.
“I’m writing about Milo’s life, his wonderful paintings, how much he loved my mother, and how he was struck down just as he’d begun to be famous.”
“A grand idea. I’ll buy you a journal in which to write it.”
“Would you? I should like that.”
“It can be your diary. Write not just about Milo, but of your life too, my love.” He held out his hand to here. “Come now, it’s time to dine. A
nd I want you to myself.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Present Day
Paris
Philippe had been casting side-long glances at Astrid since they’d left the airport. He’d gone ahead and arranged for friends to dine that evening without consulting her. Astrid was tired and frustrated, aware of his determination to ignore everything unsaid between them and settle back into their routine life together.
“I’ve hired a new chef. I’ve no idea how the last one managed to get such good references,” he said breaking into her thoughts.
It didn’t surprise her. Philippe was a hard man to work for.
“Could you arrange the flowers?” he asked. “You’re good at that. I’ll check the cellar for wine. I’ve ordered your favorite dish to be prepared in celebration of your homecoming.”
“I wish you hadn’t invited friends, tonight,” she said. “We need to talk.”
He shrugged. “We’ll talk tomorrow. I thought we’d take a walk along the Pont d’Alma and look at those chic boutiques on Avenue Montaigne. Perhaps, you’d like to buy some shoes or a new dress?”
Her stomach tightened at the thought of the ensuing battle. Tomorrow. She would tell him tomorrow.
Epilogue
Astrid returned to London and stayed at the Ritz Hotel for the premier of Painted Lady. In her hotel suite, the hairdresser, jeweler and stylist packed up and left her alone with her thoughts. Two months had passed since she’d left England. She hadn’t seen Dylan, although he’d phoned her. She’d resisted inviting him to visit her in Paris. He hadn’t pressed her. He’d been in Ireland making an advertisement for Irish whiskey, and had another movie lined up for next spring. She’d read every script her agent had sent her but none seemed right for her.
Dylan would soon arrive to escort her this evening. She was constantly fidgeting as she stood before the mirror. The black gown supplied by a French designer was back-laced, with a deep neckline decorated with spangles. A sparkling cobweb of diamonds decorated her ears, throat, and wrist, which were on loan from a top London jeweler and insured for a lot of money.
She’d be relieved to give them back. She tweaked a curl and thought about Dylan. He’d had plenty of time to cool down. Would he still feel the same, or was he already dating someone else?
At his knock, she hurried to the door, fiddling with a loose earring with shaky fingers. So much depended on tonight. Her future wasn’t just tied up with the success of the movie.
When she’d finally convinced Philippe that it was over, and he’d stopped bombarding her with emotional blackmail, and all the things his money could buy, she’d moved into a rented loft apartment in Montmartre. Enjoying the hiatus from work, she scoured the Cambo and Dauphine markets in Saint Ouen to furnish her new home with homey touches. She’d bought pots of geraniums and yellow roses for the small terrace. When she’d considered it to be perfect, she’d sat with a glass of wine, gazing over the roof tops and feeling lonely. She should begin dating again. But the trouble was she still missed Dylan. But she’d resisted rushing back into his arms, afraid their combustible relationship would burn out quickly, and after the break with Philippe, she’d felt too vulnerable to face the heartache.
While Dylan continued to ring to inquire how she was, he sounded more remote as the weeks passed, and she wasn’t sure if he protected himself or he really was learning to live without the prospect of her in his life. Had she been a fool to put their love to the test? Should she have grabbed what he offered with both hands as any sane woman would have done?
She was stronger now. Astrid took a deep breath and opened the door at his knock. She’d forgotten how drop-dead gorgeous he was. In his black-tie, Armani dinner suit, he made her knees weak. His intense blue eyes traveled over her, from her silver sandals to her hair arranged in soft waves about her shoulders. He gave a low whistle. “You look gorgeous.” He kissed her cheek. “It’s good to see you.”
“And you.” His familiar aftershave thrust her right where she was when they’d last been together. As if it was yesterday. Disconcerted, it made her awkward and unsure. Was he going to tell her about his new romance? She was determined not to make the first move.
“You would have learned that the advance screenings of the movie have been well received,” he said. “The hit of the season, some say.”
“My agent kept me abreast of it.”
“I’ll fill you in with the rest on the way.” He held out his arm. “Shall we go?”
***
With Astrid on his arm, Dylan walked the red carpet at the Odeon Theatre in Leicester Square. Cameras flashed and people screamed their names. They paused to answer brief questions from the press, keeping on message. It was all about the movie, they’d agreed on the way here in the car. Speculation had died down as they hadn’t been seen together for months, although reporters were always hopeful of a story. Astrid was a little too adept at evading questions about their relationship, for his liking. Did she now consider him a friend? He doubted he could handle that.
He’d tried to prepare himself for this night, but just seeing her again had blown him away. If it had been merely physical, he could have moved on. He was certain now that what they’d had was soul deep. He couldn’t convince her of it and left her alone to sort out her life. But even spending the last few months with his family in Dublin failed to help him distance himself from their brief affair. Almost every day, he’d fought the desire to jump on a plane to Paris. Especially after he read that she and Philippe had ended their relationship. But when he rang her, she didn’t invite him over. Ending a relationship after a spending a long time with someone left you bruised. He knew that from experience. It would have been a mistake to rush her. She needed time alone, and he’d had to respect that, even though it made him fear someone else might enter her life. He was still afraid now, with her so regally beautiful on his arm. So much pressure came from every quarter when you lived in the spotlight. What if she didn’t wish to take things up again? The thought made him feel bleak, despite the exciting evening ahead.
They watched the movie together. The scenes he shared with Astrid affected him profoundly. He took her hand and squeezed it, hoping she felt the same. Their passionate affair was writ large on the screen for all to see, reminding them of how special those weeks had been.
They traveled by stretch limousine to the after party, held at the producer’s home in Hampstead Heath. The elegant stone mansion was set in magnificent gardens, and late in the evening, Dylan considered he’d been remarkably patient when he drew Astrid outside, away from the chatter.
A haloed mist clung to garden lights, and a carpet of fallen leaves covered the paths. Winter wasn’t far away. They sat together on a wooden bench.
She shivered.
“Cold?” Dylan took off his coat and placed it around her shoulders. He searched for a way to express what consumed his heart and mind, fearing more hurt. He’d led with his chin too many times. His pride wouldn’t allow it again. She had at least to meet him halfway this time.
“Was the breakup difficult?”
“Painful yes. At first.”
“But now?”
“Now Philippe has accepted it. We’ve both moved on. He’s dating the Italian actress, Monica Ajello.”
“You are enjoying your freedom?” It was a loaded question. Best get the hurt over with if she had a new man in her life.
“I’ve appreciated my time alone. It gave me time to think.”
He wanted to tell her to stop thinking and act. To respond to her emotions, and not her rational mind. Her calm responses to his questions told him little. He tensed, he couldn’t stand the waiting. “And is there anyone in your life now?”
“No.”
“Are you clearer now about what you want?” His voice sounded strained to his ears.
She looked at him, her face in shadow. “I am.”
“Are you going to tell me?” he demanded, abandoning his intention to make her come to him. Here he
was again wearing his heart on his sleeve.
“You first.”
“Me? It should be you this time Astrid,” he said looking at her intently, “don’t you think?”
She moved forward into the light with a bewitching, teasing smile. “A gentleman such as Blair would get down on one knee.”
Heart beating, Dylan sank to the ground. He winced as the damp leaves chilled his skin and cast a brief despairing thought for his Armani suit. He would give this all that he had, even if she threw it back in his face. But he grew hopeful that this gorgeous woman had at last realized what they had was special.
She laughed. “Do get up, Dylan.”
He returned quickly to the bench, before the damp spread up his thigh. “I’ve never stopped missing you, Astrid. I’m happy to base our lives in Paris if that’s what you want. I’ll never leave you unless you kick me out. But I won’t ever give you a reason to kick me out.”
She laid her head against his shoulder, running her fingers over his chest, causing a trail of warmth wherever she touched him through his thin shirt. “Take back your coat, you must be cold.”
“Damn it, Astrid.” He raised her chin and searched her eyes. “I won’t put up with your teasing any longer. Tell me you want me.”
“Of course I want you, Dylan. I love you.” Her beautiful eyes implored him. “I’ve been afraid that you’d changed your mind. Found someone else.”
He was amazed that such a beautiful woman could feel so insecure. “Marry me, Astrid. I haven’t even looked at another woman.”
She raised her brows. “Of course you’ve looked. It would be most surprising if you did not. I’m a realist, Dylan. I know that in our profession we shall both be tested. But I hope our marriage can be as strong and lasting as Gina and Blair’s. I want that so much.” She sighed. “I want you. Kiss me, Dylan.”
Diary of a Painted Lady Page 21