by Paula Roe
But now...
A baby. A family.
“Emotional stuff is scary,” she said to herself now and then paused.
She sat back on the lounge, blinking out over the ocean view. There. She’d said it. It was scary. Opening herself up meant she’d be vulnerable. She’d done it so many times with relationships, and it was getting harder and harder to get over it when they inevitably ended. Most often badly, too.
She’d opened up once before, when she’d revealed to Ben why she didn’t want kids, and he’d asked her for a divorce via text the next day.
Hang on. This is Marco we’re talking about. Marco would never hurt her. He got her as no other guy did. He understood her offbeat pop-culture references, and he sang along to the music she played in her car. He let her choose the movie more often than not, and he discussed, argued and laughed with her.
He was her perfect partner.
She sat up abruptly, alarm tightening her muscles. No. Definitely not. She would not go there, not with him. He was her friend, not a future ex. She was supposed to be thinking about this baby, not romanticizing a one-way attraction.
“Right,” she huffed, shoving her hair off her sweaty neck. “The baby. Think about the baby.”
She paused. Okay, since when had she started thinking about it as an actual baby?
With a soft groan she tipped her head back. “You’re going to keep it, then?”
She let that question hang in the midmorning air, the wind picking up around her, rustling the trees. The parrots squawked, the only sound punctuating the silence, and she placed a hand over her stomach and closed her eyes, cautiously giving her imagination free rein.
A baby. A miniature of her and Marco—a gorgeous child with wild curls, a beautiful mouth and high cheekbones. Marco’s dreamy brown eyes...or maybe hers—sharp blue to contrast with masses of black hair. A fierce, adventurous child with charm and attitude. A combination of both, but also entirely unique, not a black-and-white copy but one that had been enhanced with color and shape and form.
She felt the catch in her throat and was helpless to stop it, until it came out as a gasping sob.
She wanted this baby. She actually wanted it.
Wow.
After all those years of not caring, not wanting. She wanted. It was like an epiphany, a shiny new revelation that actually made perfect sense the more she thought about it.
Marco was right: things would be different with her child. Yes, the prospect of becoming a mother was scary, different and way out of her comfort zone.
She’d never allowed herself the luxury of thinking about a family. She was Katerina Jackson. She’d handled paparazzi, the crème de la crème of society, weird celebrities and total-jerk boyfriends. She’d come through two divorces a stronger person. She was fortunate enough to have money, friends and support. And when the blood tests from the geneticist came back negative, the only obstacle remaining would be gone.
“A mother,” she said softly, skimming a hand over her still-flat belly. “Me. That’s...incredible.”
She had to tell Marco.
Five
Kat swiveled her feet to the tiles and stood, then padded across the courtyard and back into the house.
“Marco?”
Loud in the silence, her voice echoed off the walls. She tilted her head and paused, her brow furrowing in concentration as she listened.
Was that...music? Violin, to be exact.
Her frown deepened. Marco liked a collection of hard rock, Europop and Top 40, but he’d never professed a great love of classical. She slowly followed the thread down the corridor to the closed doors that led to the indoor pool and paused, her hand resting lightly on the sliding door’s handle.
He was obviously in a private moment. The verticals were drawn, door closed, music cranked up.
And yet this had to be done.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she clicked the handle and walked in.
Just like all the times before, this room stole her breath away. The low whitewashed arches, the concrete floor with Grecian tiles leading to a kidney-shaped heated pool, the fully stocked wet bar in the middle. And to the right, an intimate entertaining alcove that always made her think dirty thoughts.
Dirty thoughts that suddenly morphed into reality when she spotted Marco lying shirtless, listening to music.
Oh, God. She sucked in a silent breath, frozen in her tracks. He was facing her, his eyes shut tight, expression creased in concentrated passion and his hand moving through the air as he focused on the piece—a beautiful, haunting piece that made her heart swell and thump, a soft groan sticking in her throat as it echoed off the walls.
She ran her gaze hungrily over his figure, from those jet-black curls, noble nose and defined jaw, to shoulders of corded muscle, broad chest, ridged abdomen and lean waist. By the time she’d reached his firm thighs, encased in pants, she’d become more than a little hot. Who would’ve guessed that watching him as he listened to the music—his expression moving in rhythm, his hand conducting as the notes went through the dips and troughs—would be so arousing?
But damn, it was. It was as if her insides had suddenly been set on slow burn, and coupled with the hot music as an erotic sound track, everything began to slowly melt, making her steadily damp the longer she stood there and stared.
And stare she did. It was as though the music possessed him, commanded him. Touched him. And she couldn’t look away from his expression as it moved and morphed, his hand swaying in time.
She’d never been turned on so much in her life.
Then the song abruptly finished, his eyes springing open on the very last note, and she was caught standing there gawping like some weird, obsessive stalker.
He noticed her almost immediately, so she couldn’t even preserve their dignity by retreating. His dark eyes fixed on her, his expression blank as he stared for long moments, a light sheen of sweat glistening under the soft overhead lights. Slowly, he wiped his brow, shoving his hair off his forehead, and Kat’s mouth went dry.
Marco was her best friend. He infuriated her. He made her laugh, made her yell. He was her rock, her shoulder to cry on. And she was his plus one whenever he needed her, his sometimes clothing consultant, drinking buddy, confidante. Of course she loved him, just as she loved Connor and Luke.
But now, as he sat there and stared right back at her, residual emotion slowly bleeding from his expression, all she could think about was how much she wanted him.
He was glorious. A perfect example of passion and beauty, all wrapped up in dark Botticelli curls and a classic European profile that had women swooning even before he opened his mouth and that dreamy French accent came out.
She twisted her fingers in the ties of her shirt and said faintly, “Since when have you been interested in classical music?”
He slowly stood. “Since last year.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
He shrugged.
Odd. “What was that piece called?” She forged on with a small frown.
“Idylle sur la Paix by Jean-Baptiste Lully.” He absently plucked at the hem of his trouser leg.
“Never heard of him.”
“Seventeenth-century French dancer and musician. He invented baroque music.”
“Oh.” She smiled. “No one important, then.”
His mouth quirked. “He was King Louis XIV’s court composer—a musical genius who also knew how to get what he wanted. Best friends with playwright Molière. A fascinating character, but unfortunately there’s not a lot about him, unlike Mozart or Beethoven.”
“That’s a shame.”
“I’ve got a couple of books and a French movie, but not much else.” He slowly reached for the stereo remote and clicked it off. “You should see the movi
e—you’d like it.” He smiled. “Especially the costumes. Historically inaccurate but still flamboyant.”
“You’d have to translate for me.”
“I could do that.” He dragged a hand across his chin then put both hands on his hips, and Kat couldn’t help but linger on all that casually exposed skin—the taut shoulders, the defined ridges of his abdomen, that tempting Adonis belt disappearing beneath his waistband.
Her heart began to canter and her mouth was dry when she finally met his gaze. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes darkened in an oh-so-familiar way as he leisurely took in her warm face and neck, then farther down to her torso partially exposed by her shirt. He finally finished his perusal at her legs before returning to her face, and her fingers involuntarily clenched hard into fists.
“Kat...”
Her name tripped so deliciously off his tongue in that beautiful accent, and she was gone. He must have realized it, too, because all he had to do was hold out a hand and crook his finger in a “come here” gesture and she leaped to do his bidding.
She walked, slowly and purposefully, around the edge of the pool, her bare feet on the cool tiles a welcome relief compared with the warmth curling in her belly.
When she finally stood before him, her lungs emptied on a shaky breath. Lush: that was the perfect word to describe Marco Corelli. Lush and romantic, especially with those dark curls and perfect lips.
He’d be a hit, of that she was sure.
She held her breath as he slowly reached out and curled a lock of her hair around his finger, tugging gently on it for a moment before pushing it behind her ear.
Then he leaned in, inch by agonizing inch, until his mouth was a whisper away from hers and she could feel his warm breath feather across her skin.
“Kat,” he murmured, his dark hooded eyes dropping to her mouth, then back up to her eyes.
She swayed, every single cell in her body tingling from anticipation, breath rattling low in her throat. “Yes?”
“Kiss me.”
With a soft groan she jerked forward, demolishing the divide between them and bringing her lips to his.
His mouth was warm and tasted faintly of peppermint. As she pressed her lips urgently against his, she heard a moan low in his throat a second before his hands were on her shoulders, dragging her to his chest.
Yes. She felt the excited flush sweep her from head to toe and, with another groan, put her arms around his neck and deepened the kiss.
Breath mingling. Hearts racing. Skin heating. It all happened in an instant, as if her body had been waiting for this exact moment to spark to life. When his tongue expertly parted her mouth, diving inside to tangle with hers, she gasped, legs wobbling, and immediately his arms tightened, taking all of her weight as her insides melted. They stood like that for ages, tasting each other, the room echoing with soft moans and heavy breathing. And finally, after she’d been thoroughly and skillfully aroused just short of the point of frustration, he began backing her up to the daybed.
She went willingly, clinging to him while his mouth continued to make her breathless. He took her bottom lip between his and gently sucked, his hands sliding down her lower back to firmly cup her bottom then press her urgently into him.
She gasped, feeling the hardness of his arousal against her clothes. The sudden urgent desire to be naked, to have him cover her, have him inside her, flamed.
“Marco,” she groaned as her legs hit the edge of the bed.
“Hmm?” His lips were trailing over her jaw, then down her neck, and when they hit her most sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder, she sucked in a gasp.
“Take your pants off.”
She felt his mouth curve on her neck just before his hands went to his waistband, quickly unsnapping his pants and dragging them down, and she barely had time for the reality to sink in—Marco is getting naked!—before he went for her clothes.
Soon she was shirtless, and he was pressed up against her, his mouth returning to hers for a deep, breathless kiss before he slowly made his way down her neck.
She swallowed thickly, the heat from his lips trailing small shudders across her skin. Dimly she was aware of her bra being removed, and then he was pushing her gently down onto the bed, his hand cupping one breast. Her back curved, arching into his touch, and with a soft murmur he obliged, his thumb sweeping over one peaking nipple before he took it in his mouth and sucked.
She shuddered, which was unbelievable considering the amount of control she normally had over every single waking moment of the day. But with Marco it was different. He had suddenly become chaos in her ordered world, and she was experiencing all sorts of things for the first time. As his mouth and tongue worked magic on her skin, coaxing her nipple into an achingly hard peak, she shoved any doubts she had into the back of her mind and just let the moment take her.
Her hands went to his boxers, hooking her thumbs in the waistband then slowly taking them off. And when she reached for him, his soft exclamation in her ear only fueled her desire.
Then he leaned back and her eyes flew open to stare into his dark depths.
“Kat...” he groaned, expression twisting. “Do you want to...? Should I...?”
Her breath came out slowly, heavily, as she cupped his face with one hand, emotion and desire and need roiling in her stomach in one heated mass.
“Yes.” She placed a soft kiss on his mouth. “I need you.” Her teeth gently captured his bottom lip. “Deep.” She sucked on his lip, her breath ragged, matching his. “Slow.” Darting her tongue out, she licked the curve of his mouth. “Please.”
His eyes closed on a thick gasp, and she watched his throat work, swallowing slowly. Then his knee was nudging her thighs apart. When his hand went between her legs, her body jerked.
His long, skillful fingers teased and tempted, his thumb coaxing the swelling nub of her arousal over and over as she trembled with every stroke, rocking her hips into his hand, grinding firmly as she whimpered beneath his mouth. With a low chuckle he continued, sliding first one finger inside, then another, working her with a steady, sensual glide that swiftly reduced her to a quivering mass of need.
“Marco!” She was beyond caring how desperate she sounded, how much she needed him, how damp he made her. Because right now, all that existed was his mouth, his hand...and suddenly, his throbbing manhood as he swiftly positioned himself and pushed inside with one hard thrust.
Oh...! Everything shorted out, until all that was left was thick heat and a hard pounding heartbeat echoing inside every single nerve. And when he slowly shifted his hips and inched deeper, she gasped, eyes flying open to meet his.
His face, that beautiful face, was so close to hers she could smell the arousal rolling off him. Her entire body pulsed from it, hot and breathless. How could she withstand these sensations, this glorious heat, the tightness, the pure friction of taking him deep inside her? Then he moved again and she knew she’d do more than withstand it. She’d revel in it, enjoy the pure moment of claiming him in the most primitive way possible.
She groaned, rocking back to meet his thrusts, the friction of him steadily flaming her arousal. Her thickened heartbeat throbbed wildly in her head, and she pushed back into him, hard, squeezing her eyes shut, groaning. “Marco...”
“Hmm?”
Instead of answering, she grabbed his hand, sliding it to where they were intimately joined. “There. Touch me there.”
He did as she asked, moving his fingers over the hot, sensitive nub of her arousal. “Oh, yes...” She bit down on her lip, her hand still on his, losing herself in the sensation of his fingers, his mouth on her nipple and him hard inside her as he slowly and firmly moved.
They remained that way for excruciating minutes, rocking together, his finger flicking her intimately over and over, until she was sure she’d explode from i
t all. And then he surprised her by suddenly flipping her onto her stomach, looping a hand under her hips and pulling her up onto all fours. Before her brain could register the interruption, his hand swept over her butt. He nudged her legs apart and entered her from behind.
Her breath came out in a harsh gasp, and she had to brace her hands wide on the mattress to accommodate all of him. He paused, a palm gently sweeping over the curve of one butt cheek.
“Kat? Are you okay?”
Was she okay? Hell, no. She was about to die from every single piece of her exploding in joy. Instead, she managed to get out, “Yes...yes.”
“You sure?” His hand stroked her back, her hip, before slowly easing around her waist to cup one breast.
“I won’t be if you don’t keep going.”
His chuckle—partly amused, partly dirty—nearly did her in. Instead she pushed back into him and felt no small satisfaction in hearing his harsh intake before he gripped her hips and began to rock.
She gasped as sensation took over; she felt his mouth as he leaned over and bit gently on her shoulder, his hands firmly cupping her breasts, and the hot, sweet sensation of him deep inside, filling her completely, creating such an arousing, intimate friction that a whimper welled deep in her throat.
Then it hit and she went down to her elbows, unable to hold back as the shuddering release swept her entire body, and she heaved in great gulping breaths, welcoming his weight as everything pulsed in pleasure.
“Marco...” For the third time, his name ripped from her mouth, like a mantra, and she felt the stinging sensation of his teeth grazing her neck, then her name echoed and the room filled with their harsh cries of release.
Dimly, she was aware that she’d collapsed on the bed, and Marco’s body was flush on hers, damp and heavy in the aftermath of passion.
“That was... You are...” She groaned into the mattress, chest heaving.
His hand went to her face, gently turning her to him, his mouth seeking hers. “Kiss me.”
She did, sweetly and softly, and a groan escaped his lips when he finally broke away, lifting his body off hers. “Sorry. I’m way too heavy to be lying on you, especially when...”