There was a pause. ‘I don’t know much about the condition, tesoro. I can look it up in my books for you, but you really need to talk to a specialist. A haematologist.’
‘That’s why I need your help.’ She paused. ‘I know you have surgery now, so could we meet this evening?’ It was Friday so he’d probably be busy, but she crossed her fingers and said, ‘After dinner? Say, nineish?’
‘Fine. I’ll meet you at your hotel, then we’ll go to a bar or somewhere we can talk.’
‘Thank you.’
Eleanor read through the last few papers online, then headed back to the hotel. It was still hard to take in: the fact that she’d found a family to belong to again, and was going to have it snatched away before she’d even had the chance to get to know Bartolomeo properly.
Even a quick chat with Tamsin didn’t lift her spirits. Despite her best friend’s teasing.
‘So have you found a gorgeous man for your fling yet, then?’ Yes. ‘No.’
‘Ah, I get it—you’re walking around with your eyes closed. Because we both know that Italian men are gorgeous, with a capital G.’
‘Mmm.’
‘Seriously, are you having a good time in Italy?’ ‘Yeah.’
There was a pause. ‘What’s wrong, hon? You said Bartolomeo was nice. Or were you just saying that to stop me worrying about you?’
‘Bartolomeo’s lovely. But …’ Eleanor dragged in a breath, then told Tamsin what she’d discovered.
‘Oh, no. That’s so unfair.’ Sympathy radiated through Tamsin’s voice. ‘Look, do you want me to come over?’
‘They wouldn’t allow you to fly, seeing as you’re in the last trimester of pregnancy—and, no, I don’t want you taking the risk and telling the airline staff you’re just fat. I’ll be fine. But thanks anyway.’
‘You call me whenever you need to talk. Well, I know you know that, but it doesn’t hurt to say so. And, Ellie, just for the record, Bruce and I think of you as family. That’s why we asked you to be godmother to our baby. So you’re not alone. You’ve got us.’
Eleanor had to blink away the tears. ‘Tam, you’re making me cry.’
‘All right, so no airline will take me as a passenger. But flying isn’t the only way to get to Italy. I can get the ferry across to France and drive—’
‘No, Tam. Honestly, I’ll be fine. But thanks for the support. I appreciate it.’
‘And I’ve got a friend who works in Haematology—I’ll give her a ring and see if she can give me some ideas. We’ll talk tomorrow, OK?’
‘Yeah. Thanks, Tam.’
‘Any time. And I mean that.’
At precisely nine o’clock that evening, Orlando walked through the revolving doors into the hotel foyer. Eleanor was just walking down the stairs—his eyes were drawn to her straight away. Wearing a simple black dress and mid-height heels, and carrying the tiniest handbag, she looked stunning. And with her dark hair cut short, she reminded him of a 1950s film star. All she needed was a pair of elbow-length gloves, a chiffon stole and a set of matched pearls. Dio, she was beautiful.
And was it his imagination, or were her dark eyes full of tears?
Her voice had sounded so flat on the phone. Given that she’d recently lost her mother, the news of Bartolomeo’s illness—and its likely prognosis—must be particularly hard for her to take.
He wanted to pull her into his arms, hold her close, comfort her—but here and now wasn’t the place or the time. He held himself in check and simply joined her at the foot of the stairs. ‘Buona sera, Eleanor.’
She didn’t return his smile. ‘Good evening, Orlando.’
He didn’t ask her what was wrong. He already knew. ‘Let’s go somewhere we can talk,’ he said, and shepherded her out of the hotel to a small bar just down the street. It was crowded and noisy—but it was anonymous. Everyone was too busy to look at them or join in their conversation. Just what they needed.
‘May I get you a drink?’
‘Thanks.’
‘What would you like?’
‘Oh …’ She spread her hands, as if thinking about what to drink was too much effort. He could understand that: she’d had a bombshell today, and her mind was probably churning round and round the issues. ‘Anything,’ she said finally, shaking her head as if she really didn’t care.
He played it safe and bought her a glass of pinot grigio; he ordered a double espresso for himself. He had a feeling he was going to need the caffeine hit.
‘Grazie,’ she said when he returned to their table. She took a sip of wine, then turned the stem of the glass round and round between her fingers. ‘I’ve only just found him. And now I’m going to lose him, Orlando. It’s so bloody unfair.’
‘Is he on the list for a bone-marrow donor?’
Her face tightened. ‘You know as well as I do there aren’t enough donors. It’s hard enough to get people to give blood, let alone bone marrow—especially as giving bone marrow or stem cells is a hell of a lot more complicated than giving a pint of blood.’ She dragged in a breath. ‘I can’t bear this. Just when I thought maybe I wasn’t alone in the world after all, I have to …’ She covered her face with her hands. ‘I have to deal with it all over again. Losing the last person in the world who shares my blood.’
Seeing her pain made his own heart feel as if someone had taken it and wrung it out. And he couldn’t stand by and just watch her crying. He scooped her onto his lap and wrapped his arms round her, holding her close to him. ‘Ah, mia bella.’
He rested his cheek against her hair—lord, how soft it was and how sweet she smelled, like spring flowers—and stroked her back comfortingly. ‘It will be all right, piccolo.’ Though he knew he was lying to her. Without a transplant, the outlook for Bartolomeo was bleak. It was just a matter of time. But Orlando needed to reassure her, comfort her, make her feel better.
He shifted to kiss the top of her head. She burrowed closer. And suddenly his senses all went haywire.
Ah, hell. He shouldn’t be so damned selfish. Her heart was breaking and all he could think of was how much he wanted her, how much his body was going up in flames, how much he wanted to carry her to her bed. What kind of man was he?
But then she shifted again so her cheek was against his. He could feel the dampness against his skin—what could he do but kiss her tears away? His mouth brushed against her cheek, moved lower, brushed against hers.
And then she was kissing him back. Just as she had when he’d kissed her for show in the staffroom. A proper kiss. Urgent and hot. The crowded bar just melted away as the kiss deepened. There was just the two of them.
Guilt kicked in sharply and he broke the kiss. ‘I’m sorry, tesoro. I shouldn’t be pressuring you like this. It isn’t fair.’ He should be protecting her, comforting her—not thinking about making love with her and losing himself inside her.
Her hands were shaking as she stroked his cheek. ‘It wasn’t just you. I was there, too.’
Again, the chatter in the bar faded to a distant hum. All he was aware of was Eleanor.
‘Orlando … I don’t want to be alone right now,’ she told him. ‘I’m so sick of being alone.’
Was she asking him to.? Ah, hell. He felt like the worst kind of bastard—right now he was taking advantage of her when she needed comfort. He needed to take a step back. Before it was too late. Before they both regretted it. ‘Eleanor, listen to me. This is a bad idea. I can’t promise you for ever. I don’t believe in l—’
She put her finger over his lips, silencing him. ‘I know,’ she said huskily. ‘And I understand.’
Did she? He wasn’t so sure. She wanted a family to belong to—a family he couldn’t give her.
‘And I’m not asking for for ever.’ She swallowed hard. ‘I don’t do this sort of thing. I don’t … proposition men. But tonight … I need you tonight, Orlando. Stay with me tonight. Make me forget all this.’
His self-control was splintering rapidly by the second. ‘This is a seriously bad idea,’
he said, while he still had the strength to resist the appeal in her dark, dark eyes. ‘You’re upset, and I’m not going to take advantage of you. I’ll see you back safely to the hotel.’ A vision of their bodies tangled together between clean white sheets made his head spin. No, he didn’t dare take her to the door of her room. He didn’t trust himself enough. ‘I’ll escort you to the foyer.’ He was speaking slowly, he knew—very slowly—but every word was an extreme effort: most of his energy was concentrated in trying not to kiss her. ‘And I’ll call you tomorrow morning.’
In answer, she leaned in and kissed him.
‘Eleanor, God help me, I’m trying to do the honourable thing,’ he told her when she broke the kiss. Every word, every breath was a struggle. His body was screaming out to carry her to her bed.
‘What if I don’t want you to be honourable?’
Oh, lord. He couldn’t even try thinking of clinical chemistry and reference intervals to distract his body because his mind had simply stopped functioning.
She wanted him as much as he wanted her.
With a huge effort, he managed to say, ‘So, as you said yesterday, all cats are grey in the dark?’
‘No. I just want you.’ She swallowed hard. ‘I don’t do this sort of thing. But I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since last week. Since you kissed me.’
‘It was meant to be for show.’
‘It didn’t feel like it.’
‘You kissed me back,’ he pointed out.
She dragged in a breath. ‘I don’t even remember much of the rest of the day after that.’
‘Neither do I,’ he admitted. ‘Eleanor, I don’t think I have any blood left in my head. It’s all gone south. But while I can still just about string a sentence together, let me tell you that I don’t sleep around.’
‘Neither do I.’
‘So if we’re going to …’ Heaven help him, there was no ‘if’ about it. They were going to make love. Soon. Very soon.
Not soon enough, because every one of his nerve-endings was on fire.
‘We need to get something?’ she said.
‘Yes.’ With his last bit of self-control, he asked her, ‘Are you sure about this?’
‘Stop talking,’ she said huskily, ‘and kiss me.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
ELEANOR didn’t remember going back to the hotel. She knew they must have called at a late-opening pharmacy or something on the way, because Orlando had mentioned the need for protection—but all she was aware of was his arms holding her close, the hard warmth of his body against hers, his clean masculine scent.
When the lift arrived, to her relief, they were the only ones waiting.
‘Which floor?’ Orlando asked, his voice husky with desire.
‘Third.’ She could barely force the word out. Couldn’t think straight, she wanted him so badly.
He pressed the button; as the doors closed behind them, he rested his hands either side of her on the wall of the lift and bent his head to hers. The walls were mirrored, so she could see their reflections kissing, stretched out in an infinite line.
Right now she didn’t want this to stop. Ever.
The lift glided to a halt and the doors opened again.
He broke the kiss and stared at her, looking dazed. His mouth was reddened and slightly swollen; she knew that hers would be in a similar state. That it would be obvious to anyone who saw them that they’d just been kissing each other stupid.
And she didn’t care. She wanted him to kiss her again. And again. Until she forgot the whole world. ‘Room … uh … number?’
Ha. He couldn’t string a sentence together either, then.
As if he’d guessed her thoughts, he kissed her again, and her mind went blank. ‘Number?’ Ah. Key. It would be on the key. She fumbled with the zip on her tiny handbag and took the cardkey. ‘Three-oh-five.’
To her shock, he scooped her up into his arms and carried her down the corridor; she was forced to slide her arms round his neck for balance. Eleanor was about to protest and ask him to put her down when he stopped outside her door. He brushed his mouth against hers, then let her slide all the way down his body until her feet touched the floor again.
She was aware that they were in a public place—that it was obvious to anyone who saw them exactly what was going to happen, the minute her door closed behind them—but the desire that flooded through her pushed everything else out of its way. And, judging from the hardness of Orlando’s body, it was the same for him, too. Need. Urgency.
Key. Where was the cardkey? Oh, yeah. She was still holding it. She nearly dropped it, then it wouldn’t fit into place and she almost growled with frustration. She didn’t want to wait another second. She needed Orlando right now. Needed to feel his body inside her. Needed him to make her forget the world.
‘Oh, why won’t this bloody key work?’ The words ripped from her in frustration.
‘Relax, piccolo, Orlando whispered against her ear, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver of pure lust down her spine. He took the cardkey from her and pushed it into the slot. And at last, at long last, the door swung open.
‘Dio, I am glad your bed isn’t a single,’ he said as he switched on the overhead light and pushed the door shut behind them. ‘I need space for what I have in mind. And a light that’s a little less harsh than this.’
The curtains were already closed; Orlando worked rapidly through the bank of switches next to the bed until the soft glow of the bedside light came on and the glare of the overhead light disappeared.
‘Better. Much better,’ he whispered, and pulled Eleanor back into his arms. His mouth dipped down to hers, taking tiny nibbles until she was practically whimpering, and then he deepened the kiss, exploring and teasing and inciting.
In the lift, she’d thought her desire was at a peak.
She’d thought wrong.
Orlando’s mouth was stoking her desire higher and higher, and his hands were stroking the curve of her bottom, moulding her against him so she could feel the heat and hardness of his erection against her. It left her in no doubt that this thing between them was driving him just as crazy.
When he broke the kiss, he traced a path of kisses along the curve of her jaw. She tipped her head back, wanting more, and he nibbled his way down her throat to her collar-bones. She gasped as the tip of his tongue pressed against the pulse beating madly in her throat.
‘Orlando. I need … Please …’
‘Shh, bella mia.’ Gently, he laid one finger over her lips. ‘We have time. And I don’t want to rush this.’
Unable to resist, she took the tip of his finger into her mouth and sucked it.
His eyes widened and he shuddered. ‘Porca miseria! Do you have any idea what you do to me, Eleanor?’
‘The same as what you do to me,’ she admitted. ‘I hope.’ ‘Eleanor, I want this to be good for you, too. But you drive me so crazy, I don’t think my self-control is going to last very long.’ He stole another kiss. ‘I want to touch you and taste you and look at you and fill my senses with you.’
Italian charm. She knew that was all it was. But, oh, it worked. More than worked. He blew her mind.
His English was still perfect, but voice was deeper now and his accent had become more Italian. She’d never heard anything so sexy.
Slowly, he unzipped her dress and eased it down over her shoulders to her waist.
‘Dio, your curves,’ he breathed, looking at her with his hands resting on her shoulders. ‘So beautiful.’ His hands skated over her shoulders, sliding her bra straps down her arms. ‘You’re amazing. Soft and sweet and the sexiest woman I’ve ever met.’ His breathing was shallow and his hands were shaking as he touched her. His voice was a ragged whisper as he added, ‘And I want you so badly, tesoro, it actually hurts.’
He traced the edge of the cups of her bra with one finger, making her shiver with need. This wasn’t enough. She needed him to touch her much more intimately. Ease the ache. Tip her over the edge
of fulfilment.
‘I’m going to enjoy every second of this,’ he told her. ‘Every touch and every taste and every whisper of your voice. I want it to last a long, long time—yet at the same time I’m going to go crazy if you don’t rip my clothes off right now and take me to your bed.’
Oh, so tempting. How she wanted to. She even placed her palms flat against his chest, ready to slide her fingers into the edges of his shirt and pull. But the feel of the soft silk shimmering against her skin made her stop. ‘Your beautiful shirt. I can’t treat it like that.’ With shaking hands, she undid the buttons and slid it from his shoulders, the same way he’d pushed her dress down to her waist.
Lord, he was perfect. Broad shoulders, defined musculature, a light sprinkle of hair on his chest that arrowed down towards a very visible erection. Perfect. And all hers, for tonight.
She hung his shirt over the back of the chair; he followed her, slid his arms round her waist and pulled her back against him. His mouth grazed along the sensitive curve between her shoulder and her neck, making her shiver and lean back against him.
He dealt with the catch of her bra and let the garment fall to the floor. Her breasts spilled into his hands; she gasped as his thumb dragged across the tips of her nipples. The friction was good, but it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.
‘Orlando. Please. I need …’ She couldn’t get the words out. Could hardly breathe, she wanted him so much.
His mouth brushed the nape of her neck. ‘Me, too, tesoro.’
She twisted round in his arms and kissed him, sliding her hands into his hair. The dark curls were fine, silky beneath her fingertips. Every inch of her skin felt sensitized, and even though his touch was light, it made her burn.
She wasn’t sure who removed whose clothing, or when, or how. The next thing she knew they were both naked and he was carrying her to the bed. He pushed the cover to one side and laid her down on the cool smooth sheets, then knelt between her thighs.
‘Bella mia,’ he said softly. ‘I ache for you.’
She ached for him, too. He was beautiful—built like an athlete, sturdy and muscular, no hint of fat. Just strong, ardent male.
Latin Lovers: Italian Playboys Page 26