Should she tell him that she felt as if she’d lived another life there? She’d behaved like someone she no longer recognised—with her balcony bras and her tiny panties. She’d been nothing but his plaything, his always-up-for-it lover who was supposed to have been expendable before all this happened. How could she possibly reconcile that Darcy with the woman she was now and the mother she was preparing to be? How could she bear to keep reminding herself that he’d never planned for her to become a permanent fixture in his life? ‘It’s not a place for a baby.’
He raised his dark eyebrows. ‘You’re not suggesting we decamp to that tiny cottage you were renting in Norfolk?’
‘Of course not,’ she said stiffly. ‘I think we both know that wouldn’t work. But I would like to bring up the baby away from the city.’ She licked her lips and her tongue came away with the salty flavour of capers. ‘Somewhere with grass and flowers and a park nearby. Somewhere you can work from, so it doesn’t necessarily have to be a long way out of London, just so long as it’s green.’
He nodded and gave a small smile. ‘I think we can manage that.’
‘Thank you.’
Hearing her voice tremble, Renzo frowned. ‘And you need to get to bed. Now. You look washed out.’
‘Yes.’ Awkwardly, she rose to her feet and walked across the room, feeling the soft silk of a Persian rug beneath her bare feet. But despite her initial reservations at having told him more than she’d ever told anyone, Darcy was amazed by how much lighter she felt. And she was grateful to him, too—stupidly relieved he’d managed to keep his shock and disgust to himself because most people weren’t that diplomatic. All she wanted now was to climb into bed and have him put his arms round her and hold her very tight and tell her it was going to be all right. She closed her eyes. Actually, she wanted more than that. Could they be intimate again? Could they? Hadn’t that book on pregnancy explained that sex in the latter stages was perfectly acceptable, just as long as you didn’t try anything too adventurous?
For the first time in a long time, she felt the faint whisper of hope as she brushed her teeth, her hands wavering as she picked up the exquisite silk nightgown she’d worn on her wedding night, feeling the slippery fabric sliding between her fingers. It was beautiful but it made her feel like someone she wasn’t. Or rather, somebody she no longer was. Wouldn’t it be better to be less obvious if she wanted them relaxed enough to get to know one another again? Shouldn’t it be a slow rediscovery rather than a sudden wham-bam, especially given the circumstances in which they found themselves?
Pulling on one of Renzo’s T-shirts, which came to halfway down her thighs, she crept beneath the duvet and waited for him to come to bed.
But he didn’t.
She tried to block the thoughts which were buzzing in her mind like a mosquito in a darkened room, but some thoughts just wouldn’t go away. Because apart from that very public kiss when he’d claimed her as his bride, he hadn’t come near her, had he? And something else occurred to her, something which perhaps she had been too arrogant to take into account. What if he no longer wanted her? If he no longer desired her as a man was supposed to desire a woman.
Tossing and turning in those fine cotton sheets, she watched the hand of the clock slowly moving. Soon her heart rate overtook the rhythmical ticking. Eleven o’clock. Then twelve. Shortly before one she gave in to the exhaustion which was threatening to crush her and Darcy never knew what time Renzo came to bed that night, because she didn’t hear him.
CHAPTER NINE
‘SO... WHAT DO you think? Does it meet with your approval?’ Renzo’s eyes didn’t leave Darcy’s profile as they stood in the grounds of the imposing manor house. A seagull heading for the nearby coast gave a squawk as it flew overhead and he could definitely detect the faint tang of salt in the air. A light breeze was ruffling his wife’s red curls, making them gleam brightly in the sunshine. How beautiful she looked, he thought—and how utterly unapproachable. And how ironic that the woman he’d spent more time with than anyone else should remain the most enigmatic woman of them all. ‘You haven’t changed your mind about living here now that it’s actually yours?’
Slowly she turned her head and returned his gaze, those glittering emerald eyes filled with emotions he couldn’t begin to understand.
‘Ours, you mean?’ she said. ‘Our first marital home.’
He shook his head. ‘No. Not mine. I’ve spoken with my lawyers and the deeds have been made over to you. This is yours, Darcy. Completely yours.’
There was a moment of silence before she frowned and blinked at him. ‘But I don’t understand. We talked about it in Rome and I thought we’d agreed that a house in England was going to be the best thing for us.’ She touched the ever-increasing girth of her belly. ‘All of us.’
Was she being deliberately naïve, he wondered—or just exceptionally clever? Did she know she had him twisted up in knots and he didn’t have a damned clue how to handle her? Because he was starting to realise that, despite his experience with women, he had no idea how to sustain a long-term relationship. He’d never had to try before. In the past he had always just walked away—usually because boredom had set in and he’d found the increasing demands tedious. But with Darcy he couldn’t do that. Furthermore, he didn’t want to. He wanted this baby so badly. It scared him just how badly. For a man who’d spent his life building things for other people—someone who considered himself urbane, sophisticated and cool—he hadn’t reckoned on the fierce and primitive pride he felt at having created the most precious thing of all.
Life.
But Darcy remained a mystery he couldn’t solve. She’d closed herself off to him since that night in Rome. She’d told him more about what he’d already known and the brutal facts had horrified him when he’d thought how tough her childhood must have been. He’d sat up for a long time that night after she’d rushed off to bed, drinking whisky until it had tasted stale in his mouth and gazing into space as he’d wondered how best to deal with the information. But he had dealt with it in the same way he dealt with anything emotional. He’d compartmentalised it. Filed it away, meaning to do something about it sometime but never getting round to it. She’d been asleep by the time he’d slid into bed beside her, her fecund body covered in one of his oversized T-shirts, sending out a silent signal to stay the hell away from her. He remembered waking up to a beautiful Roman morning with the air all clear and blue. They’d gone out for coffee and cornetti and he hadn’t said a word about her revelations and neither had she. She’d closed herself off from him again and he sensed that he could frighten her away if he didn’t let her take this thing at her own pace.
But it hadn’t worked.
Because now she looked at him so warily by day, while at night she still wore those infernal all-enveloping T-shirts and lay there quietly, holding her breath—as if daring him to come near. Had he handled it badly? If it had been any other woman he would have pulled her into his arms and kissed her until she was wet and horny—reaching for him eagerly, the way she used to.
But she was not any other woman. She was his wife. His pregnant wife. How could he possibly ravish her when she was both bulky and yet impossibly fragile? Her skin looked so delicate—the blue tracery of her veins visible beneath its porcelain fragility—as if to even breathe on her might leave some kind of mark. And against her tiny frame, the baby looked huge—as if what her body had achieved was defying both gravity and logic, something which continued to amaze him. He’d even taken to working solely from home these past weeks, cancelling a trip to New York and another to Paris, terrified she was going to go into labour early even though there were still three weeks to go.
‘Let’s get inside,’ he said abruptly. He unlocked their new front door and stood back to let her pass and their footsteps sounded loud in a house which was still largely empty, save for the few pieces of furniture which had already been delivered. But at least it wasn’t cold. Despite the bite of early spring, the estate agent must ha
ve put on the heating—knowing that today was their first visit as official owners. The door swung closed behind them and he realised that she was still looking at him with confusion in her eyes.
‘Why have you put the house in my name, Renzo? I don’t understand.’
‘Because you need to have some kind of insurance policy. Somewhere to call home if—’
‘If the marriage doesn’t work out?’
‘That’s right.’
She nodded as if she understood at last for her face had whitened, her eyes appearing darkly emerald against her pale skin.
‘But you said—’
‘I know what I said,’ he interrupted. ‘But I didn’t factor in that the situation might prove more difficult than I’d anticipated.’
‘You mean, my company?’
‘No, not your company,’ he negated impatiently, and then suddenly the words came bubbling out of nowhere, even though he hadn’t intended to say them. ‘I mean the fact that I want you so damned much and you don’t seem to want me any more. The fact that you’re always just out of reach.’
Shocked, Darcy stared at him. So she hadn’t been imagining it. It had been lust she’d seen in his eyes and sexual hunger which made his body grow tense whenever she walked in the room. So why hadn’t he touched her? Why did he keep coming to bed later and later while keeping their days ultrabusy by whisking her from property to property until at last she’d fallen in love with this East Sussex house which was only eight miles from the sea?
The truth was that he hadn’t come near her since that night in Rome, when she’d told him everything about her mother. She felt her stomach clench. Actually, not quite everything—and hadn’t she been thankful afterwards that she hadn’t blurted out the whole truth? Imagine his reaction if she’d told him that, when he was already repulsed by what he knew, even though he’d done his best to hide it. And it was funny how the distance between a couple could grow almost without you realising. They’d been wary in each other’s company. As the space between them had increased, she’d found the presence of her Italian husband almost...forbidding.
But if she had read it all wrong, then where did that leave her? If he hadn’t been making value judgments about her, then why was she being so passive—always waiting for Renzo to make the first move? Yes, he was an alpha man with an instinctive need to dominate but it wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility that he was simply being cautious around the baby she carried in her belly. He’d never had a pregnant lover before. He had taught her so much—wasn’t this her chance to teach him something?
She walked over to him and, without warning, raised herself up on tiptoe to press her lips against his—feeling him jerk with surprise before sliding his arms around her waist to support her. Their tongues met as he instantly deepened the kiss but although Darcy could feel herself begin to melt, she forced herself to pull away.
‘No,’ she whispered. ‘Not here. Not like this. Let’s go upstairs. I need to lie down.’
‘To bed?’
She took his hand and began to walk towards the stairs. ‘Why not? It just happens to be about the only piece of furniture we have.’
An old-fashioned boat bed had been delivered to the master bedroom, her only instruction to the removal men being that the thick plastic covering the mattress should be taken away and disposed of. The wooden-framed structure dominated an otherwise empty room and on its king-size surface lay the embroidered coverlet she’d found when she and Renzo had been rooting around in one of Rome’s antiques markets. She hadn’t asked for it to be placed there but now it seemed like a sign that this had been meant to happen.
‘Get undressed,’ she whispered as she pulled off her overcoat and dropped it to the ground.
His eyes were fixed on hers as he removed his jacket, his sweater and trousers. Soon their discarded clothes were mingled in a heap beside the bed and at last Darcy stood in front of him. She was naked and heavily pregnant and feeling more than a little awkward, yet the look of desire in his eyes was melting away any last trace of shyness.
‘I feel...bulky,’ she said.
‘Not bulky,’ he corrected, his voice husky. ‘Beautiful. Luscious and rounded—like the ripest of fruits about to fall from the tree.’
She shivered as he spoke and he took her into his arms.
‘You’re cold,’ he observed.
She shook her head, still reeling from his words and the way he’d looked at her as he said them. ‘No, not cold. Excited.’
‘Me, too.’ He gave a low laugh as he unfolded the coverlet and shook it out over the mattress.
‘It almost looks as if we’re planning on a picnic,’ she said, her voice suddenly betraying a hint of uncertainty.
‘That’s exactly what I’m planning. I’m going to feast on you, mia bella.’ But his face suddenly darkened as he pulled her into his arms and their bare flesh met for the first time in so long. ‘I’m out of my depth here, Darcy,’ he groaned. ‘I’ve never made love to a pregnant woman before and I’m scared I’m going to hurt you. Tell me what you want me to do.’
‘Just kiss me,’ she whispered as they sank down onto the mattress. ‘And we’ll make it up as we go along.’
He kissed her for a long time. Tiny, brushing kisses at first and then deeper ones. And for a while, there were hard kisses which felt almost angry—as if he was punishing her for having kept him away for so long. But his anger soon passed and the kisses became exploratory as he licked his way inside her mouth and they began to play a silent and erotic game of tongues.
And then he started to touch her as Darcy had ached for him to touch her night after lonely night, waiting in vain for him to come to bed. At first he simply skated the palms of his hands down over her, as if discovering all the different contours and curves which had grown since last time they’d been intimate. No area of skin escaped the light whisper of his fingertips and she could feel every nerve ending growing acutely sensitised. Slowly, he circled each breast with his thumb, focussing his attention on each peaking nipple and putting his mouth there to lick luxuriously until she was squirming with frustrated longing. She wanted him to hurry yet she wanted him to take all day. But the rhythmical movements of his hand relaxed her completely, so that she was more than ready for his leisurely exploration of her belly when it came.
Their gazes met as his fingers splayed over the tight drum, his black eyes filled with question. ‘This is okay?’ he breathed.
‘This is more than okay,’ she managed, her voice growing unsteady as he slipped his hand down beyond to the silky triangle of hair, fingering her honeyed flesh so that she gasped with pleasure and the scent of her sex filled the air.
She reached for him, her pleasure already so intense that she could barely think straight as she tangled her fingers through his thick black hair, before hungrily reacquainting herself with the hard planes of his body. His shoulders were so broad and powerful; his pecs iron-hard. She loved the smattering of hair which roughened the rocky torso. Her fingertips skated lightly over his chest, feeling the rock-like definition of his abs. She thought his skin felt like oiled silk and she traced a lingering path over the dip of his belly before her fingers curled around the hardness of his erection, but he shook a cautionary head and pulled her hand away.
‘It’s been too long,’ he said unevenly.
‘You’re telling me!’
‘And I need to do it to you right now before I go out of my mind—the only question is, how?’
In answer, Darcy turned onto her side, wiggling her bottom against his groin in blatant invitation. ‘Like this, I think.’
‘But I can’t see you.’
‘Doesn’t matter. And it never used to bother you. Go on.’ She wiggled again and he groaned and she could feel how big he was as his moist tip positioned enticingly against her wet heat. ‘You can feel me now and look at me later.’
He gave a low laugh and said something softly profound in Italian as he eased inside her. But the moan he gave wa
s long and Darcy thought she’d never heard such an exultant sound before.
‘Okay?’ he bit out, holding himself perfectly still.
‘More than okay,’ she gasped.
‘I’m not hurting you?’
‘No, Renzo, but you’re frustrating the hell out of me.’
His laugh sounded edgy but he began to move. In slow motion, he stroked himself in and out of her, his palms cupping her heavy breasts, his lips on her neck—kissing her through the thick curtain of curls. Darcy closed her eyes as she gave into sensation, forgetting that this was the only time they ever seemed truly equal. Forgetting everything except for the pulse points of pleasure throbbing throughout her body and the inexorable building of her orgasm as Renzo made love to her. Insistent heat pushed towards her. She could feel it coming—as inevitable as a train hurtling along the track—and part of her wanted to keep it at bay, to revel in that sweet expectation for as long as possible. But Renzo was close, as well—she could sense that, too. She’d had him come inside her too many times not to realise when he was near the edge. So she let go. Let pleasure wash over her—wave after sweet wave of it—until his movements suddenly quickened. He thrust into her with a deeper sense of urgency until at last he quivered and jerked and she felt the burst of his seed flooding into her.
Afterwards he lay exactly where he was and so did she. His skin was joined to hers, his body, too. It felt warm and sticky and intimate. Darcy just wanted to savour the moment and her deep sense of contentment as she waited for his verdict on that deeply satisfying interlude. Still remembering the dreamy things he’d murmured when they’d started to make love, part of her anticipating just what his next words might be. But when they came, it felt as if someone had ripped through that lazy contentment like a knife ripping through delicate silk.
‘So... Was that my reward, I wonder, cara mia?’ he questioned softly.
She pulled away from him, aware of the sudden pounding of her heart and the general indignity of turning to face a man when any kind of action was proving laborious. Especially when you were completely naked beneath the gaze of a pair of eyes which looked suddenly distant. She told herself not to read unnecessary stuff into his words—not to always imagine the worst. He told you he wanted you and that he’s been lusting after you...so go with that.
Secrets of a Billionaire's Mistress (Mills & Boon Modern) (One Night With Consequences, Book 29) Page 12