The Valtieri Baby

by Caroline Anderson

  ‘I love that view,’ he said quietly. ‘Utter blackness, with just the faintest glimmer from the villages. It’s never as dark in the city, and I really miss it.’

  ‘I do, too. The view’s the main reason I wanted to renovate this villa. Sometimes I sit here at night and stare at it for hours,’ she said. ‘It seems odd without lights on at the palazzo, though. I can usually see it from all the main rooms. It’s like a beacon.’

  ‘So is that why you look out? To see if I’m there?’ he teased.

  Ouch. Too close to the truth for comfort, she thought, hoping she wasn’t blushing. Once in an evening was enough, but at least it was too dark to see.

  ‘In your dreams,’ she said lightly. And hers, but she wasn’t giving him that bit of ammunition under any circumstances!

  ‘Have you had your painkillers and antibiotics?’ she asked instead, watching him carefully in the dim light from the hall.

  He nodded. ‘Yes. Anita, I’m fine, really, stop fretting.’

  ‘I can’t help it. I can’t believe I didn’t answer your calls—’

  She broke off, not wanting to broach the subject yet again, but he gave a soft huff of laughter.

  ‘Forget it. I’m fine. It was my own stupid fault I was hurt.’

  Anita shuddered. ‘Not entirely. If she hadn’t been there it would never have happened.’

  Even in the darkness, she could see him frown, serious at last. ‘I know. And I’m concerned that she’s still out there. Will you do me a favour? Stay here next to me tonight?’

  ‘What, to protect you?’ she teased, but he gave a wry chuckle.

  ‘Hardly. I was thinking more the other way round.’

  ‘You’re going to protect me?’ Now it was her turn to laugh. ‘Gio, you can hardly move!’

  ‘I can stand between you,’ he said quietly, and she realised he was deadly serious. His macho nonsense touched her, but the irony of it was so ridiculous she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

  ‘Gio, she won’t come here.’

  ‘You don’t know that. If it hadn’t been on the news, I wouldn’t have worried, but as it has...’

  His voice trailed off, and she gave in.

  He wanted to protect her, and for the sake of his peace of mind, she’d let him think he was, but there was no danger from Camilla Ponti that she could see. The only danger to her in this villa was Gio himself, and she wasn’t strong enough to resist him.

  But she knew him well enough to know that she wouldn’t win the argument, so she did the next best thing. She agreed.

  ‘All right. If you insist. I’ll get ready for bed and come back.’

  ‘Don’t forget to lock up.’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘Well, isn’t it just as well I’ve got you here to remind me of something so obvious.’

  It actually suited her to be beside him, because she wanted to keep an eye on him and make sure he was all right. She just had to resist the urge to fall into his arms.

  Not that there’d be much to resist. He was exhausted and injured, and if nothing else the pills would make him sleep.

  And as long as he was this sick and this sore, she’d be safe.

  Ish.

  ‘Give me five minutes,’ she said, and retreated.

  * * *

  It was OK to start with.

  She was wearing pyjamas—not little bits of fluff, but real pyjamas with a long-sleeved top and trousers. She just felt safer that way—safer from herself, but she needn’t have worried, because he stayed firmly on his side, and she stayed firmly on hers.

  Until she woke in the night to hear him muttering and thrashing around, and she reached out her hand and rested in on his chest.

  ‘Gio! Gio, wake up, you’re dreaming!’

  He grunted, and she felt the tension drain out of him with a whoosh.

  ‘Sorry—I didn’t mean to disturb you.’

  ‘It’s fine. Are you OK?’

  ‘I am now. Come here.’

  And he reached out his left arm and scooped her into his good side. She laid her head against his chest, listening to the drumming of his heart, and gradually it slowed to a steady, even beat.

  She rested her hand over it and wondered what he’d been dreaming about. The attack? Probably, she thought, with another stab of guilt for not answering her phone. She tried not to think how different it might have been if the ambulance hadn’t got there in time, if the woman hadn’t called for help.

  Very different.

  She might have been visiting him in the hospital mortuary instead of lying here beside him, and the thought brought with it a wave of emotion that made her catch her breath.

  Losing him because he didn’t want her was one thing. Losing him because he’d been killed in a stupid accident was another altogether. She’d been without him for all of her adult life, except for a few short, blissful weeks, but she’d always known he was still walking around in the world, still out there with that razor-sharp intellect and the tongue to go with it, and just knowing that somehow made it all bearable.

  To lose him to death, never to hear his voice again or see his face, never to be near him again, just didn’t bear thinking about.

  So she snuggled closer, resting her legs against his left one, her toes nudging his foot. Just in contact, nothing more.

  Until the next time she woke, to find she’d shifted, draped her leg over his, so that his firm, hard thigh was between hers, the pressure making her ache for him in a way she’d forgotten.

  No. Not forgotten. Put out of her mind, but not any more. Now, it was right back there in the forefront, and she shifted against him, trying to ease the ache.

  He moved his leg, lifting it slightly towards her, and she made a tiny, needy noise.

  This was crazy! He was injured, there was no way this was going anywhere, and she ought to move out of his arms and—

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘I’m lying on you. I’m afraid I’ll hurt you.’

  ‘You’re not hurting me, you’re fine. Stay there.’ His arm tightened and pulled her closer.

  She slept again, but her body was far from relaxed, and she woke again some time later from a lurid dream to the building, driving sensation of a climax on the brink.

  Still half asleep and in the clutches of the dream, she bit her lip as she felt the sensation explode through her body, the shockwave stealing her breath so she could only gasp his name.

  ‘Anita?’ He turned his head, feeling the tremors running through her, the clench of her thighs against his, and need rocketed through him.

  Her beautiful body was convulsing against him, his name a broken whisper on her lips. He tilted her head, his mouth finding hers and plundering it, swallowing the gasps and sighs still coming from her body as the shockwave died away. Dio, he wanted her. Crazily, improbably, he wanted her, wanted to bury himself deep inside her and drive into her again and again—

  ‘Ahh!’

  He dropped his right leg back to the mattress, letting the tension out of the protesting thigh muscle, feeling the nudge of the pillows against his ankle. Damn.

  She lifted her head. ‘Gio?’

  ‘It’s OK,’ he said, ignoring the pain, running his hand over her back and soothing her. He still wanted her, despite the pain, and his mouth found hers again in the darkness, frustration killing him.

  ‘I can’t,’ he groaned. ‘I need you, I want you so much, but I just can’t.’ He swore softly, rocking against her leg, grunting with pain as his thigh tightened again.

  And then she slid her hand slowly, hesitantly over his chest, down past his ribs, tightening the muscles of his abdomen as she glided over them and under the waistband of his shorts. He thought he’d die as her fingers circled him, her delicate grip torture. Then she tightened her hand, moved it slowly in firm, even strokes, and he felt the pressure mounting relentlessly.

  He dropped his head back, lifted his hips and let out a long, shuddering groan as she took him over the edge and everything
crashed and burned around him.

  And then reality hit, like a bucket of cold water, as the pain penetrated his emerging consciousness and common sense returned.

  What the hell was he doing? With Anita, of all people? He’d ended it five years ago, tried to stay away from her, for her sake, because he couldn’t be relied on, couldn’t be trusted in a relationship, could never seem to give enough to make a woman truly happy. He’d done it so she could move on with her life, find another man, settle down, have the babies she so clearly wanted. And it was working, sort of. She was dating from time to time. She’d get there, if he could only leave her alone.

  But he couldn’t, apparently. And now, here, when he needed her for so many other reasons, he’d gone and blown it by doing this.

  He hadn’t needed her by his side all night. He’d wanted her by his side. It was nothing to do with the Ponti woman, because he truly didn’t think she’d hurt them. It was all to do with wanting Anita.

  It was always to do with wanting Anita.

  ‘Gio? Are you OK?’

  Her voice was soft, her hand stroking his chest now, the touch tender, as if he was a child—or maybe just an injured lover.

  He wasn’t her lover. He couldn’t be her lover.

  ‘Why did you do that?’ he asked harshly, his voice not quite as steady as he would have liked.

  There was a tiny gasp, and she pulled her hand away from his chest as if it was red hot, eased her body away from his, and he felt cold air move in to fill the space where she had been. It made his heart ache.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbled. ‘I thought—’

  ‘Forget it. I need the bathroom.’

  He got out of bed and limped painfully across the hall. Hell, his foot hurt, but there was no way he was asking her to help him. Not after that.

  It had been too darned personal, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted to get a lot, lot more personal, starting right now.

  He stood in front of the bathroom mirror for ages, staring at himself in disgust. He was still hard. He still wanted her. Even after—

  He willed his body to co-operate. It took an age, and when he finally went back to bed she’d gone, her bedroom door firmly closed.

  Probably just as well, he thought guiltily, easing himself back under the covers, but it was cold and lonely without her, and he cursed himself for ruining it, for kissing her, for reaching out for her. He should have just lain there and pretended to be asleep, but he’d wanted her to touch him.

  Well, she had, and now it was going to be thoroughly awkward and difficult between them, and he only had himself to blame.

  * * *

  She didn’t sleep again that night.

  Instead, she lay in her bed, feeling cold and lonely and embarrassed. How could she have been so stupid? So ridiculously uninhibited?

  She gave a tiny howl of frustration and turned her face into the pillow. It was going to be so difficult now between them. It had been hard enough before. Now it would be impossible. It was going to be utterly humiliating facing him in the morning, even though it hadn’t really been her fault. How could she control her body in its sleep?

  But she hadn’t been asleep, she reminded herself bluntly. Not for all of it. Not when she’d touched him. Not when she’d kissed him back, and slid her hand down into his shorts and wrapped the hot, silky length of him in her palm—

  ‘No!’

  She stifled the tiny scream of frustration and humiliation, and pulled the quilt up over her head. Stupid, stupid, stupid. How was she supposed to face him after that? She might not get up again.

  Ever.

  * * *

  His phone rang at seven thirty—not too early under normal circumstances, but after the unscheduled scene in the night he’d only just dropped off to sleep again and for a second he considered not answering it.

  He was glad he did.

  It was the police, to tell him that Camilla Ponti had walked into the police station in Firenze in a distraught state, saying she’d nearly killed him.

  ‘She didn’t hurt me. It was an accident, but I do think she needs to see a doctor, because she wasn’t rational. Do you need me to come and talk to her?’ he asked, but the detective told him it was unnecessary.

  ‘You just concentrate on getting better, and leave her to us. We’ll take care of her.’

  ‘Good. Call me if you need anything.’

  He put the phone down, blew his breath out and lay back on the pillows.

  They’d got her.

  Which meant, of course, that there was less justification for him to stay here hiding out with Anita.

  He waited for the feeling of relief, but it didn’t come. Instead, he just felt a little flat. Ridiculous. He’d go back to Firenze and pick up his life where he’d left off. Maybe even go on holiday with his family after all.

  Except that it was a skiing holiday and anyway, Anita was supposed to be there, too.

  Oh, hell. It was all too complicated, and a more immediate concern was having a shower. How, he had no idea, but the first step was getting to the bathroom.

  He threw back the covers and eased himself to the edge of the bed. He was still sitting there psyching himself up for the walk when there was a tap at the open door and she came in, wrapped in a bath robe with her hair in a towel, obviously fresh from the shower.

  She smelt amazing, and he groaned inwardly as she walked over to him and leant on the end of the bed, her hands fiddling with the belt of her robe.

  ‘Who was that on the phone?’

  ‘The police. They’ve got her. She turned herself in. Apparently she’s in a hell of a state.’

  ‘Oh. Right.’

  She looked down into his face, and he could see just how awkward she felt this morning. Just as awkward as him.

  ‘About last night—’

  They both broke off, and his mouth twitched into a smile and he raised a brow, gesturing with his head for her to continue.

  ‘I’m sorry. I overstepped the mark. I didn’t mean to, I was half asleep and I don’t really know what happened. It won’t happen again.’

  He felt curiously disappointed, and nearly laughed at himself. ‘Forget it. As you say, you were asleep. I kissed you, I pushed it, encouraged you—hell, I begged you, Anita, and I had no right to be so harsh with you. I’m the one who should be sorry.’

  He wasn’t, though, he realised. Not really. And given the choice, he’d do it all over again. So he couldn’t give himself the choice.

  ‘It won’t happen again, anyway, because I’m going back to Firenze,’ he announced bluntly, and she stared at him as if he was mad.

  ‘What? Why? How? How will you manage?’

  ‘What do you mean, how will I manage?’

  She rolled her eyes and stood back, hands on hips. ‘You can’t manage one-handed. You can’t do any one of a number of things with only one hand! You’re going to have to change the dressing on your leg—what are you going to do, ring your neighbour’s doorbell and ask them to do it? Don’t be silly! And how will you cook?’

  ‘The same way I always do. I’ll pick up the phone.’

  ‘And go to the door and let them in. You don’t even have a lift in that building. How will you manage the stairs with that ankle?’

  She was right. Maddeningly, annoyingly right.

  ‘I’ll go and join the rest of the family, then.’

  ‘On a skiing holiday?’ she said, looking pointedly at his foot. ‘Sounds great.’

  ‘Well, I haven’t got a lot of options, have I, really? Carlotta and Roberto are away, so it’s my apartment or the ski chalet.’

  ‘Or you could just stay here.’

  Her words hung in the air between them, fraught with the memory of last night.

  He thought about it. He could stay there, sure, but would it be wise? Probably not. Safe? Unlikely. Appealing?

  Oh, yes.

  ‘On one condition,’ he said, feeling himself surrender.

  ‘Which is?’


  ‘We go out this morning and buy a coffee maker.’

  She stared at him blankly for a second, then she let out a tiny huff of astonished laughter.

  ‘Done. I’m going to get dressed. Do you need any help?’

  ‘No.’

  Probably not true, that, but he’d manage if it killed him.

  She nodded, and walked towards the door. ‘OK. Yell if you need me.’

  Need? He’d never stopped needing her, not for a day in the last twenty years. But he was no good for her, and the sooner she found herself a nice, decent, reliable man to make her happy and give her babies—babies without his attitude—the happier he’d be.

  He frowned, put the babies firmly out of his mind and headed for the bathroom. A shower could wait. In the meantime, he could wash and dress himself, even if it was agony. He had to regain some independence from Anita if he was going to be able to manage this situation.

  He could do this. He could keep his distance, accept her friendship at face value and leave at the end of the fortnight.

  He just needed to toughen up.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THEY skipped breakfast.

  The lure of a rich, dark double espresso was calling him, and Anita knew he’d be grumpy until he had his caffeine shot. Besides, the café they were going to made the most amazing pastries, and she needed comfort food after last night.

  She was still squirming with embarrassment every time she thought about it. Well, not just embarrassment, if she was honest. There was a good chunk of lust flung in there, too, and she was beginning to wonder how she’d cope for two weeks until his family came back and took him off her hands.

  She must have been mad to suggest it. She should have sent him back to Firenze and let him cope. He could have hired a nurse, for heaven’s sake. He had enough money.

  ‘There’s a space.’

  She turned into the parking bay and cut the engine. They were as close as they could get to the café, and there was a shop almost next door that sold decent bean-to-cup coffee makers. She’d never bought one because she didn’t care that much about coffee and they’d always seemed a bit unnecessary, but that was fine. He could have whatever he liked. He was buying.