The Italian

by Beverly Preston

  The large antique door creaked open. “Look, I don’t want to argue—” he advised, tugging his head through a black Henley T-shirt.

  Thick, dark, chunks of wet hair fell over his forehead. His eyes, glassy and rapt in time, widened in surprise right before they rolled behind his lids. Heat flushed her face catching a whiff of freshly showered scents of warm nutmeg and toasted wood.

  “Hey.”

  “Hope? What are you doing here?” The edge of his voice turned vacant and cold, sending a shiver down her spine.

  “I thought we should talk.”

  Antonio hovered over her. The anger which hung to him earlier all but vanished. The energy surrounding him now seemed pensive and moody.

  “Do you want to come in?”

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  He stepped aside, his long bare feet protruding out from beneath a pair of dark slim-fit pajama pants. Blood rushing through her veins pulsed at her wrists.

  Vulnerability seeped through the cracks of armor guarding her heart. Over the last several weeks she’d spoken with hundreds of people, most of whom were virtual strangers who offered condolences, but Antonio was her friend, not Faith’s. Overwhelmed with the need to be consoled and comforted, Hope could barely keep from crying and struggled to clear the strain of emotion from her throat.

  Standing in the middle of his living room, Antonio remained silent, his well-built arms stretched the edges of his T-shirt as he folded them across his chest. The strained muscles on his neck and collarbone visible behind the opening of his shirt.

  “I should’ve emailed you before I got here. I started to, several times, but I was . . . I am . . . the whole situation is a horrible nightmare.” Her words were rushed and full of nerves. “I planned to tell you in person. I just . . . it’s awkward and embarrassing—”

  “How could you let this happen?” Agitation inundated his chiding voice. He cast an index finger at her. “Hmm? You’re always so fucking careful with me. Did you suddenly change your safe sex standards? Decide to have unprotected sex with someone else? Who is he? Never mind. I don’t even want to fucking know who he is. It doesn’t matter.”

  His short choppy accusations were spiked with anger and an odd sense of protectiveness; a type of jealousy she’d never seen him wear before. Hope’s chin crumpled. She sniffed back the burning sting prickling her nose, threatening to turn to tears.

  “No, no, no. You don’t get to come here, pregnant with another man’s baby, and cry on my shoulder. I would do just about anything for you, Hope, but this—”

  “It’s not another man’s baby,” Hope hastened to respond. Loss of dignity stuck in her throat like a spikey cactus. “This isn’t even my baby.”

  Shock and confusion weaved between his brows in a deep slanted groove.

  Hope took a step closer, her chest heaved with each loaded breath. A single tear rolled into her hairline as she lifted her chin upward to face him. She closed her eyes pushing through the mortification, forcing herself to openly acknowledge the truth of the horrific nightmare she’d been blindly swimming through the last several weeks.

  “This is my sister’s baby. When I left Italy I told you I couldn’t stay because I had a meeting . . . it was with Faith. I expected to go home and hear good news, that she and Riley were finally going to have a baby, but instead they asked me to be their surrogate. It’s no secret that I’ve never wanted children, but that’s all my sister ever wanted. I just . . . didn’t have the heart to tell her no. Now, she’s gone and I’m stuck with it.”

  The entire story flowed from her mouth like a never-ending river. Tears streamed freely as Hope finally allowed herself to release the agony of devastation and loss. Antonio’s frustration and anger quickly dispelled, exchanged with shock and understanding.

  Relief surrounded her like a winters blanket as he pulled her into his secure arms and held her close. His touch now turned affectionate and protective, molding her limp body to his muscular frame. He gently caressed her back and arms, whispering sweet, soothing words into the folds of her hair until her labored breathing evened out.

  “Dio mio. Sono così dispiaciuto,” he murmured an incantation in Italian as he hooked an arm behind her knees and lifted her into his strong arms. Antonio carried her to the dark leather recliner in the corner of the room.

  Easing into the oversized chair, he adjusted her bottom on the edge of his lap so it dipped between his hip and the arm of the chair. Her long legs draped sideways over his. Warm, moist, strikes of his breath fanned across her forehead as he held her in his arms resting his cheek atop her head. Hope snuggled against the hard planes of his chest, simply breathing in and out, absorbing the peace which came with the affection he offered.

  She didn’t know how much time had passed, but she remained wrapped in the manacles of his embrace for several hours talking, crying, and dozing on and off.

  “Bella, my heart, it hurts for you.” He curled his fingers around hers and brought them to his chest.

  “Mine too,” she admitted. “What am I going to do with a baby?”

  He threaded his long fingers through her hair, cupping her jaw. The corner of his lips turned upward, showering her with a small, sexy smile. His composed presence, authentic and kind, unlocked a warmth deep inside.

  “You’re going to take care of it. That’s what you’re going to do.”

  “I don’t know how to take care of a baby. I don’t even know how to change a diaper! Give me a little person or a teenager. I could deal with that, but a baby! What if it doesn’t like me?”

  “All you have to do is love this baby, bella.”

  “What if I’m not capable of loving a baby? What if I’m a horrible . . . mother?” Her stomach churned merely saying the word.

  “You’re going to be a wonderful mother, Hope.”

  “You’re just saying that. You can’t possibly know whether or not I’ll make a good parent. I could be one of those mothers who doesn’t pay attention to their baby, or one who lets their child get by with everything and then it grows up to be a disrespectful twit.”

  “You’re going to love this baby and the rest . . . the rest will come naturally.”

  “It didn’t come naturally for my mother. What if I don’t bond with it? I don’t want to be like my mother.”

  Words, coated with apprehension and self-doubt, blurted from her mouth before she could stop them. Her darkest fears had just crawled out from the deepest corners of her heart, exposing the ugly truth. Hope was terrified she’d turn into her mother.

  The mother who was never there for her.

  The mother who always chose men over her children.

  The mother who ran off to marry her fourth husband, leaving behind her two daughters.

  Hope had never spoken of her mother, only saying that she was gone when Antonio had previously asked about her family. Self-preservation kicked in. She blinked repeatedly refusing to let the building wetness get any further than the corners of her eyes.

  “Just the fact that you’re worried about being a good mother is a good start. You loved your sister. You loved her enough to carry this baby for her when she couldn’t,” he reminded.

  “That was completely different.”

  “No, it’s exactly the same. Love is love. You’re more than capable of loving this baby. You’re just scared.”

  “Hell yes I’m scared. I’m terrified!” Panic-stricken, she placed a palm to his chest, pushed herself from his side. “What if I die during delivery? Or what if I don’t hear it crying at night? What if I accidentally forget it in the car? I don’t even know how to put it in the car seat! Or give it a bath. Or feed it.” She attempted to swallow the upsurge of hysteria spewing from her mouth. “And I’m definitely not sticking my boob in this baby’s mouth.”

  It wasn’t just about the physical aspect of breastfeeding that terrified Hope. She’d read an entire chapter in the purple book about nursing your infant, page after page filled with sappy words like bonding and
connection and attachment and unconditional love. Words of sentiment that weren’t high up in Hope’s vocabulary.

  Antonio rose from the chair bringing both of them to their feet. His arms circled around her holding her secure. His mouth moved along the edge of her hairline, the brush of his lips near her temple brought indescribable reprieve. He placed a trail of soft kisses at the slope of her neck as his hands lingered, then lowered to the curve of her hips.

  Clasping onto her hand dangling at her side, he started for the bedroom. Her subconscious struggled, torn between longing and resistance. The push and pull of need and desire fought against the half-promise she’d made to her sister.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  The question seemed moot, even to her own ears. She knew exactly where he was leading her. They’d spent several lovely weekends together in his home. Long, luscious days she could only describe as heavenly.

  Antonio turned her to face him, bringing her fingers to his full lips. Hope leaned forward, wilting against his frame.

  “Bella,” he spoke against her scalp. “I’m going to take you to bed and make love to you until all this sadness leaves your beautiful blue eyes and then I’m going to make you something to eat and after that you’re going to get some sleep.”

  “We don’t ever make love. You always prefer to fuck me senseless.” The side of her mouth moved against his shirt. She could feel the tremor of laughter in his chest, bringing a small smile to her lips.

  “You prefer me to fuck you senseless, and I always love to comply, but that’s not what you need today, bella. Today, you need to let go. I’m going to take away all the hurt and sorrow.”

  Antonio gently squeezed her biceps. The imprint of his strong fingers inched upward to her shoulders as he manipulated the tension from each muscle strung tight with stress and exhaustion.

  “But—”

  “And I don’t just mean physically. You’re going to let go . . . in here,” he added rotating his thumbs over her temple.

  Antonio had taken her body to undiscovered heights of sheer ecstasy, but she’d never allowed herself to let go of her emotions . . . with any man. Hope refused to relinquish that power to anyone. She desperately wanted to be able to give away all the pain and grief, but what he asked of her was impossible.

  “Antonio, I—”

  He kissed her.

  Antonio cradled the sides of her neck, lifting her chin upward with the pads of his thumbs, his mouth moved over hers. Without hesitation he parted her lips, dipping his tongue inside the heat of her mouth slowly tasting, working her into a steady burn of desire. The intimate act uncoiled a set of waves rippling through her core.

  Easing his tongue deeper, Antonio hunted for her surrender with soft, unhurried kisses that went on forever. A relentless ache gathered force in the pit of her stomach, traveling lower to her inner thighs, igniting a new brand of desire she’d never experienced.

  Erotic sensations swelled inside, flooding her with an urgent need for release. Her center began a methodical pulsing rhythm, constricting around the emptiness inside. If the kiss continued much longer, she might explode.

  “Antonio, wait,” she whimpered breathlessly beneath his lips. Hope could feel a deep blush tinging her cheeks. “I can’t.”

  Hope remained motionless while pangs of humiliation seeped through her pores. Daring to glimpse into his eyes, she was swallowed whole by the lure of carnal sophistication dancing in the clouds of grey.

  The temptation, foreign yet powerful, to release her mental inhibitions twisted her in knots. It was a subject Antonio had attempted to discuss in the past, but over time, accepted that her heart was an impenetrable fortress. Somewhere deep inside, buried beneath years of guardedness, there was a part of her that wanted to open her heart, just a smidgen, to see what waited on the other side. However, she simply couldn’t force herself to open the door.

  Taking two steps back, Hope put some much-needed distance between them. Challenge glimmered in his eyes. Antonio stalked toward her and reached for her hand, hindering her retreat.

  “I know you’re a strong independent woman, and I respect and admire that about you, but right now, you’re hurting. Let me take care of you.”

  “I’m not climbing into your bed right now,” she panted.

  “Why not?”

  “For starters, I’m sure your girlfriend just climbed out of those sheets this morning, and—”

  “They’re freshly laundered and she’s not my girlfriend.”

  Her heart spurred in frantic beats. Hope retrieved her hand and waved her index finger back and forth. “I still can’t and neither can you.”

  “Oh, I definitely can.”

  Dear, God. I need an Italian intervention.

  “I . . . I promised my sister that I’d try not to have sex with anyone while carrying the baby.”

  “I guess it’s a good thing that I’m not just anyone.”

  “Plus, you seem to be forgetting that I’m pregnant?”

  “Pregnant women still have sex.” Energy passed between them, hot and raw, carnal. His gaze drifted over her, bringing sparks of heat to her body with each visual caress. “Your sister asked you to refrain from sex?”

  “As if asking me to be pregnant wasn’t enough.” Hope rolled her eyes. “I promised that I wouldn’t date anyone new, and that I’d try not to have—”

  “You and I are old friends, Hope.” His gorgeous grey eyes narrowed in speculation, coasting over every inch of her face with unreserved slowness. Whatever he recognized in her eyes brought a look of understanding, softening his features. “At least have dinner with me?”

  Pathetically, her stomach grumbled at the mere mention of food, especially the authentic feast of leftovers she suspected rested on the glass shelf just beyond the refrigerator door. Antonio came from a traditional Italian family where everything revolved around two things, food and wine. Even at thirty-six years old, his mother still insisted on keeping him well fed . . . until he found a wife, which Hope was certain that Mrs. Giovanni prayed for multiple times a day.

  “This isn’t fair, Antonio. Baiting me with food, especially now, is cheating. You’re sinking to a whole new level.”

  “I could sink a little lower if you’d like. All you have to do is ask.” His gaze coasted down her body and back up again. He flashed a wicked grin, before adding, “Stay, Hope. Just for dinner.”

  Damn he looked gorgeous. The image of him kneeling before her, Hope’s fingers fisting into his dark hair as he buried his tongue inside her, sent a pleasant shiver cascading through her body.

  It would be hard to refrain from the sensual banter they’d previously engaged in. At this point, the way her hormones were wreaking havoc on her libido, she’d have a difficult time not tackling him to the floor and demanding an orgasm.

  I can do this. I don’t need to have sex with him to enjoy him. She swallowed . . . hard. But I really want to enjoy every inch of him.

  “I’ll stay—” She watched his face, beautiful by any measure, break into a smile. “—but only for dinner.”

  They talked for hours, enjoying a scrumptious meal of fagioli con salsiccia, white beans and sausage. Feeling sedated and relaxed, Antonio led the conversation, acting as if he recognized her need for normal, everyday discussions of wine and work. He showered her with affection, lightly stroking his hand across her shoulder, brushing sweet kisses to her cheeks and temple, and constantly reaching for her hand. Though she welcomed his nearness, the touch of his skin on hers nearly made her come undone.

  “Would you like me to drive you home?” he offered after her third lion-sized yawn.

  “No, I’ll be fine, but thank you.” She paused, her face contorted, holding back the limitless sentiments attached to her gratitude. “Thank you, Antonio, for listening and letting me cry and for dinner. I feel so much better.”

  “You’re welcome.” His hand rested on the small of her back as they strolled to her car. Antonio pulled his cell phone f
rom his pocket. He appeared poised and relaxed, thumbs ready and waiting to enter the digits. “What’s your number?”

  Attempting to resist the tenderness and lethal determination in his tone, she responded mockingly, “Oh, now you want my number?”

  He lifted one firmly arched brow. “Don’t toy with me, Hope. I’ve always wanted your number. You and I both know it just would’ve presented complications. We lived too far apart to even consider a relationship.”

  A couple seconds ticked by. She waited for the word relationship to trigger her body’s fundamental physiologic response to escape, but the primitive need to run seemed to be non-existent. Without reason, her brain switched to auto-pilot and she rattled off her cell number.

  The idea of having a relationship with Antonio was ludicrous. The man was a serial non-committer . . . and so was she. He’d had many relationships, one right after another, including a few engagements. Hope’s only attempt at a long-term affair lasted six months and ended in a catastrophe by her own doings. The instant he began to speak of their future in terms of a united affirmation of forever and always, she bolted.

  Her gaze briefly dropped to the narrow space between them, to the complication that would soon be filling the void. Looking up, his silvery eyes met hers, direct and probing. Feet firmly planted to the ground, she studied him in the moonlight.

  Antonio circled his arms around her, swaying slightly, the moment of comfort seemed to last forever. Feeling hesitant and a bit awkward, she smiled up at him, getting lost in the luxury of fine masculine features. He brought the back of his hand to her jaw, languidly tracing the edges of her face and shell of her ear. Feminine awareness, ripe and full, slipped over her whole body. Her heartbeat pounding in her chest as he pressed his lips to hers, kissing her softly.

  “Buona note, bella,” he said, opening the car door.

  “Good night.”

  Confusion and intense arousal clung to every molecule of her body as she ducked into the car. She had no theory on dating ethics while pregnant, but Hope knew three things for certain: there’d be no casual goodbye at the end of an amazing rendezvous, they officially resided in the same town so it’d be impossible to avoid him, and the idea of seeing another woman clinging to Antonio’s side sent a streak of jealousy down every chink in her spine.