He didn’t say anything. Playing it cool wasn’t going to work. Nor was reminding her that he had no intention of abandoning his child to an uncertain future and sporadic visits while she got on with trying to find the right guy.
He strolled slowly towards her and Bethany felt the fine hairs at the back of her neck begin to prickle in alarmed response.
‘What…what are you doing?’
‘Not fighting with you.’ She might make a big deal of denying what she felt, but he could sense the desire throbbing in her, coming at him in waves. He braced himself against the back of the shed, leaning on the flats of his hands so that he was staring down at her. His anorak, unzipped at the front, hung open like two heavy curtains around her slight frame.
Bethany feverishly wondered how he could manage to make her feel so jittery and racked with nerves when he wasn’t fighting with her. She drew in a ragged lungful of air.
‘So you agree that we…we can…discuss this…um…like adults…? Now that there’s no need to pretend that we’re going to live out the…um…happy ever after fairy tale to my parents…?’ She barely recognised her own voice.
‘Sure we can…if you want.’
The clean, masculine outdoor scent of him filled her nostrils and she closed her eyes for a few seconds, breathing him in until she felt her head swimming.
His eyes were slumberous, veiled behind his thick dark eyelashes. He had a way of screening his gaze that had used to give her goosebumps because there was something outrageously erotic about it and he was looking at her like that now. Her body responded on cue. Her breasts felt heavy and the memory of how her sensitised nipples had felt the night before when he had touched them, sucked them, instantly heated her from the inside out, despite the cold weather. She wanted to back away but there was no place to back up to.
‘Of course I…want to discuss it…you know…’ She could hear herself gabbling and took a few deep breaths, which did absolutely nothing to steady her wildly beating pulse.
‘Okay.’
‘So…when you decide to return to London…’
‘With this snow falling, it’s a little hard for me to think about that just yet.’ He rubbed the back of his neck and stood back. ‘Tell me when exactly you want me to leave,’ he said conversationally.
Faced with that direct remark, Bethany blushed and stared down at her feet. He was done fighting for the baby. She had got what she had wanted all along. He was airbrushing himself out of the picture.
‘You must be keen to be on your way,’ she hedged and he looked away for a few seconds with a crooked half smile.
‘You haven’t answered my question.’
‘Well…it’d be lunacy to try and go now. The snow…when it snows here…it’s difficult to predict how long it’ll last…’ She was horrified to find that, having engineered his disappearance, she was now thrown into a panicky tailspin at the thought of him leaving for good. Sure, he’d return now and again, definitely to start with, and he would be brilliant with maintenance, that she knew for sure, but…
‘You do want me to leave, don’t you…?’As she hesitated on the brink of asserting her control, Cristiano placed his hands on her waist. He ignored her sharp intake of breath. He had tried being Mr Nice Guy, had chosen to give her time to come round and he was done trying now. If she wasn’t going to admit to how she felt about him, then he would just have to remind her. But, this time around, he wasn’t going to give her any bolt-holes. No way was she going to get the chance to erect any more barriers against him.
‘Yes…you know I do…’
‘Then you can creep back into your tidy little world here…’ As he spoke, his hands eased under her jumper, under her shirt, found the thin stretchy fabric of her thermals. How many layers did she have on? he wondered.
Bethany emitted a noise that was halfway between a sigh and a moan. Just so long as he was standing well away from her, she could keep him at bay with reason and logic and good common sense, but the minute he touched her she went up in flames like tinder and he was touching her now. He had managed to work his way under all her protective layers and his fingers against her skin were warm and insistent, stroking her ribcage and under her breasts. She wasn’t wearing a bra—her old ones were now slightly too small and she hadn’t bothered to buy replacement ones.
‘We’re supposed…to…to be friends…’ she gasped as his thumbs found the tight, firm buds of her nipples and began rubbing them in little circling movements.
‘I’m finding that the friendship card doesn’t work for me. I start thinking about being friends but I can’t get the thought of you, naked and aroused, out of my head. I burn for you…’ To emphasise his point, he pushed up the offending layers of clothes and cupped her swollen breasts in his hands, still rubbing her nipples and sending her into a frenzy of passion and longing.
‘Stop…’ Bethany pleaded shakily. ‘You’re not being fair…’
‘I know…’ Cristiano pressed her back and began kissing her neck as she arched up to meet his urgent mouth. ‘That’s something else that hasn’t been working very well for me recently.’
Bethany whimpered softly and searched out his mouth with her eyes closed, collapsing back as he began really kissing her, his tongue moving sinuously against hers. He barely gave her time to surface and she didn’t want to. She could barely keep still and her hands were tangled in his hair, pulling him down to her.
He was whispering stuff to her, snatched Italian words that were unbearably sexy, even though his voice was so lowpitched and rough that she could barely make them out.
When he paused in his hungry ministrations, a voice which she hardly recognised as her own pleaded for him to carry on.
Just this one last time, she was thinking, but even as the thought entered her head it was reduced to splinters by the bitter realisation that she would succumb over and over again. He drained her of her strength and her willpower. He, clearly, could separate lust from emotion, just as he could separate emotion from duty, but for her everything was too entwined and she hated herself for not being able to stay away from his dangerous appeal, even though she knew that it was bad for her.
‘What was that?’ Cristiano asked. His mouth curved into the smile of the all conquering hero.
‘I don’t want you to stop and I hate you for…making me say that…’
‘You don’t hate me. I challenge you and you feel that you need to fight against the challenge but you don’t. If it’s any consolation,’ he continued roughly, ‘you challenge me too and I’ve discovered that trying to fight it is no good. Why don’t we stop trying to deny what we want?’
‘You don’t know what I want,’ Bethany protested weakly.
‘I know exactly what you want. Trust me.’ He pulled off her woolly hat and buried his face in the abundance of her luxuriant copper hair. She always smelled of flowers, fresh and clean and somehow innocent, and he could happily lose himself just in the aroma of her.
With one hand behind her head, he set about the delicious task of plundering her mouth and with his other hand he reacquainted himself with the soft feminine curves of her body, reaching under her skirt to smooth her thighs and then to push down beneath her thick tights so that he could slip his fingers into her.
He couldn’t understand what power she had over him but, from the very first time they had made love, she had made him feel like a starved man suddenly confronted with a banquet. Touching her felt right.
‘Cristiano…no…please…’ Bethany quivered as his fingers delved into the very core of her, stroking and rubbing and sending all sorts of wonderful sensations racing round her body. She had her eyes closed and her head flung back and her mouth slightly open. ‘Don’t stop…’
In one fluid movement, he was on his knees, her supplicant. Bethany stared slumberously at him, curled her fingers into his hair and then groaned in anticipation of what he was going to do. She felt him pull down her tights and panties and then raise her skirt. She parted
her legs to accommodate him and then shuddered compulsively as his tongue replaced his deft, exploring fingers.
Her breathing sounded laboured and she wanted to cry out but couldn’t. Instead, she gave little grunts of encouragement and satisfaction and twisted feverishly against his mouth as he continued to tease her with a stop/start rhythm that took her so close to the edge only to pull her back down to earth at the very last minute.
She gave a groan of utter frustration when he stood up and pressed himself against her, all the better for her to feel his hardness but, just in case she was in any doubt whatsoever, he pushed her hand against his trousers and had to clench his teeth as she felt the shape of his erection and squeezed it.
‘I need all of you,’ he growled, stilling her as she clumsily attempted to undo the zip of the trousers. ‘And not here. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve never been the sort of guy who’s averse to a little kinkiness, but taking you in a shed is going a little too far…’
‘We can’t go in…!’ An unseemly giggle threatened to emerge. ‘Mum and Dad are in there and I…we…’
‘I don’t think we have much choice, my darling. We can’t strip down to our birthday suits in here and I, for one, need this…need you…’ He didn’t give her time to start getting her thoughts in order. Instead, he laid it on heavy by reminding her of what he wanted and needed—what they both wanted and needed—by closing one big hand over her breast and feathering his finger over her nipple.
He knew that he was resorting to slightly underhand tactics but he didn’t really care. Nor did he stop to question the astounding fact that he was having to resort to tactics, underhand or not.
‘We can go through the back door…I don’t even know why…we’re not supposed to be doing this…’ Her hands were shaking as she straightened herself up and there was a thread of excitement uncoiling inside her. Like a teenager making use of the parents’ house while they were out, she wanted to tear inside and hotfoot it to the nearest empty room. She wanted to rip his clothes off…She felt faint just thinking about it and even fainter at the thought that this was the last thing they should be doing. She had regaled her mother with a long speech about reconsidering the whole marriage deal, she had lectured him about the idiocy of sacrificing themselves for the sake of a baby, she had positively waxed lyrical about the fact that the best they could aim for was friendship. Since when did friends make out like a couple of sex-starved adolescents?
None of this stopped her from leaving her hand in his as they scuttled back out into the driving snow and tiptoed back into the house via the utility room door, which was always kept unlocked for easy and quick access to the log shed in the depths of winter.
In fact, the feel of his fingers curling around hers felt amazing.
They could hear the distant sound of voices emerging from the sitting room and, having removed their boots at the door, they were soundless as they hurried up the stairs, barely making it to the bedroom and shutting the door before they were on each other. Clothes, tights, underwear—everything hit the floor and was trampled underfoot as they found the bed.
‘Don’t go under the covers,’ he growled before she could take refuge under the duvet.
‘I’m fat!’
‘You’re beautiful.’ She was. She moved him. Lying there, with her pale arms outstretched and her hair trailing across the pillow. He took his time looking at her, told her to look at him. Her stomach was decidedly rounder, her breasts fuller, her nipples bigger and darker. He could appreciate it so much better when she lay like this. It was the most erotic experience of his life. When he thought about the baby growing inside her he felt giddy. How could a man who had never given a moment’s passing thought to fathering a child feel giddy at the thought of his baby inside her?
‘So are you,’ Bethany admitted unsteadily.
‘A compliment…’ He shot her a sexy half smile that made her toes curl. ‘I like it. A lot.’
‘That’s because you have an ego the size of a house.’ Her eyes widened, her breathing thickened as she watched him cross the shadowy room towards the bed.
‘Now,’ he drawled, sinking onto the bed, ‘remind me where we were…Oh, yes…How could I forget…?’ He parted her legs, positioned himself between them, hoisted them over his shoulders so that he was surrounded by her and, when he breathed, he breathed in the honeyed sweetness of her femininity. The way she gasped softly, as if she couldn’t help the little noises emanating from her, as if she had no control over them, was a massive turn-on for him. How could she try and push him away when they both knew that this was what they both craved?
He tasted her thoroughly and then, temporarily sated, he made his way up her body until she couldn’t stand it any longer and pushed his head to her breasts, which were heavy and aching.
She had to stuff her dainty little bed cushion over her mouth to stop herself from crying out as he drew one tender nipple into his mouth and began suckling on it, tugging it tenderly, then resuming his suckling. When she reached out to touch her other nipple, he pushed her hand away so that he could switch breasts. Gazing down with hot, drowsy eyes, she could see the glistening trail his mouth left across her breasts and she closed her eyes again, luxuriating wantonly as he devoted his undivided attention to her other swollen nipple while teasing the dampness between her legs with his fingers.
‘Feel good?’ He looked up and his smouldering eyes locked on hers. Bethany nodded like a puppet obeying its master’s controlling hand. Worse, she had no qualms of conscience about what she was doing.
She just wanted him on her, in her and with her.
He pulled her up to him when his body could no longer be restrained and then she was on top of him. Cristiano, relinquishing control, grunted as she began moving restlessly on his erection. Her breasts swayed as she moved faster and harder, driving down on him until he could bear it no longer and he groaned with a long shuddering release. He could feel her body stiffening and arching as the waves of her orgasm carried her away. Looking at her during her moment of release, the way the colour flooded her face and her eyes fluttered tightly, was enough to have him stir again in her and she sagged onto him, smiling.
‘Aren’t you ever satisfied?’ she asked, stroking his chest with one finger.
‘When it comes to you, it would appear not. Do you feel the same way?’ His voice was lazy but his eyes were sharp as he looked down at her face against his chest.
When she nodded his satisfaction was like a shot of adrenalin.
‘Good. I’m glad because this is the way it should be. Once you stop fighting me, you can start enjoying the fact that I’m going to be a permanent fixture in your life. If you don’t want to marry me, then I’ll respect that but know that we are still going to be together.’
‘Your pregnant mistress?’ There was a lump in her throat which she swallowed down.
‘I prefer not to use labels when it comes to relationships,’ Cristiano said, kissing her unruly hair. ‘Especially when the label is friend. That’s the one label I think you’ll agree is now totally irrelevant…’
Chapter Eight
CRISTIANO had never, personally, involved himself in the tedious pastime of buying presents for women. Firstly, he didn’t have time to waste dithering in shops, peering at items of jewellery and asking sales assistants for help. Secondly, he could think of nothing more soul-destroying than trying to rack his brains and come up with a suitable present for any woman. No, this was where his faithful PA had always come into her own. A woman buying for another woman. Made sense.
For the past six weeks, however, he had ditched the PA in favour of the personal touch and had found the exercise a lot less arduous than he had expected. In fact…he had discovered that there was a great deal of enjoyment to be had browsing in the shops for things that would put a smile on Bethany’s face. She had quirky tastes. Having made the initial mistake of buying her jewellery, which all women presumably loved, incredibly expensive jewellery with superwatt diamonds, o
nly to find his present politely accepted and then equally politely returned, he had revised his ideas. She didn’t care for jewellery, she said, especially expensive jewellery.
‘I just bet this is the sort of stuff you’re accustomed to giving your girlfriends,’ she had shrewdly remarked, and then had given a snort of disgust when he had defended himself on the grounds that he had never had anything returned to sender.
‘Why is it,’ she had asked, ‘that rich men never feel the need to be imaginative?’
Cristiano, who had never failed to rise to a challenge, had become imaginative.
He had taken her to weird plays in fringe theatres, had bought her a first edition book by an Italian author which was over five hundred pages long, although he had asserted himself sufficiently to tell her that there was no way he was going to be reading it, even if he did speak Italian fluently, because if he couldn’t get to sleep then he’d rather try his luck with a sleeping pill. But she had loved it and it had thrilled him to watch her face warm with pleasure.
He had given in to her ridiculous infatuation with a stuffed dog the size of a sofa which she had seen in Harrods and hadn’t been offended when she had laughed at his scepticism and told him that he was a grumpy old man.
It seemed that there was very little she could do that offended him except for one little thing. That one tiny bump in the satisfactory progress of their relationship, namely the fact that she refused point-blank to marry him. Indeed, she had refused to move in with him, even though he had enumerated all the reasons, yet again, why it made sense, throwing into the mix the fact that they were now sleeping together; at least there was no more talk of just being friends. Cristiano couldn’t understand it. If he was prepared to make the sacrifice, then why couldn’t she? The more he had argued, the more she had dug her dainty little heels in but he had not given up. He simply resolved to get what he wanted via a more circuitous route.
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