Loving the Enemy

by Connelly, Clare

  “I don’t think of him often, no.”

  His hands running over her feet stilled for a moment so she was tempted to open her eyes and look at him; she didn’t.

  “You loved him?”

  Her stomach squeezed. It was the third time he’d asked her that; she still didn’t find it easy to answer. “Why else do you think I agreed to marry him?”

  His expression was shuttered, but his jaw tightened, as though he were grinding his teeth together. Was it possible he actually cared? That he was jealous or something?

  “It doesn’t matter now.”

  Max nodded but he didn’t look convinced.

  “It’s over between us. I haven’t spoken to him since he ended our engagement.”

  “You were shocked.”

  “By the fact he dumped me two weeks out from our wedding? A wedding that had somehow got bigger than Ben Hur with hundreds of guests in an exclusive vineyard and a world-famous videographer? The fact that he’d organised a photoshoot in a magazine that I had to ring around and cancel once it all ended? Yeah. I was shocked, Max.”

  His hands pressed more firmly into the arches of her feet; the feeling was blissful but it was in contrast to the emotions this conversation was evoking.

  “I hadn’t seen him for a week.” She didn’t know why she kept talking. They’d cracked open the door to memory lane and her feet were traversing it without her consent. “I’d been on call night shifts and he’d been travelling for work.”

  Massimo looked away, unable to meet her eyes at that moment. Travelling for work? No, he’d been travelling to see Massimo, the meeting one Massimo had scheduled and demanded with a single purpose – to understand the man Alessia had agreed to spend the rest of her life with.

  “And when he came back, it was as though something fundamental had changed. He looked at me like I was…” She shook her head. “I did love him,” she said quietly. “Not in the sense of passionate, wild, romantic love, but I loved everything he represented for me. I loved that he was a man I could see myself having a happy and calm life with. He was safe, and safest of all because he did love me in an all-consuming, passionate, worship kind of way.” She paused, waiting to see his reaction to that, but he gave none, only continued watching her thoughtfully.

  “I know how that must sound, but marrying someone who basically worships you felt even safer. And having already been married –,” She lifted a hand to her lips, remembering who she was talking to. Massimo was completely different with her now but that didn’t alter the fact – he was still the man she’d been married to five years ago, the man who’d broken her heart.

  “Go on,” he encouraged throatily.

  “Being married to someone who barely realises you’re alive, I was looking forward to having a husband who…adored me.” She flushed, dropping her gaze to her lap. “We spoke about the family we wanted, the number of children we’d have, and so when he dumped me, it hurt. It really hurt. Not because I was losing him but because of everything we’d planned. I felt as though I was standing on a precipice of nothing. I felt so…alone. And so unlovable.” Her lips formed a brittle smile.

  Max was looking at her in a way she couldn’t understand, with an intensity that was like a live wire. She had the strangest sense that he wanted to say something to her, but he was quiet for a very long time.

  “Do you wish things had ben different?”

  “No.”

  He didn’t feel relieved. He knew he’d done the right thing. At least, he could understand why he’d done what he’d done, and at the time, it had felt absolutely right. But spending time with Alessia, understanding her as he did now, he wondered why it had never occurred to him to go to her with what he’d learned. To tell her the man she was about to marry was only after her fortune.

  Because she might have told him to go to hell. She might have married Sam anyway, and Max hadn’t been prepared to risk that. But because of Sam’s unsuitability? Or because Max hadn’t wanted her to be married to anyone but him?

  Heat spread through him, panic blinding him for a moment. Bright lights filled his eyes and he turned away from her to disguise the involuntary response. Massimo Montebello was not a man who questioned himself. He’d done the right thing; it was imperative that he believe that.

  By the end of January, Alessia felt like she’d officially reached the ‘whale’ stage of her pregnancy. She’d long ago given up any hope of fitting into clothes that weren’t designed for pregnancy, and even the stretchy skirts and pants she’d bought felt as though they were a little restrictive now.

  And she didn’t care one bit.

  The sight of her rounded bump, the feel of their daughter flipping inside of her, the knowledge that she was about to give birth to a tiny little human, made her feel a beautiful closeness with their daughter, and also with her mother. Going through what her mother had, feeling the same feelings, knowing what it was to grow life within her body, seemed to forge their hands through time, linking them in a way that was poignant and beautiful.

  “Alessia?”

  She paused, midway through pushing the shirt off. It was too tight – nothing fit.

  She turned towards the door, bewildered, wearing only a bra and a stretchy skirt.

  Max froze just inside the doorframe, staring at her unashamedly.

  “Did you need me?”

  His eyes flashed with heat once more, and he took a step closer then shook his head, angling his body away from hers a little.

  “The housekeeper said you didn’t have dinner. I was just checking if you’d like me to make you something?”

  Her heart did a funny little stitch in her chest. “I had an apple earlier.”

  “An apple?” He turned back to her, his brow lifted, and her heart skipped another beat. She pressed her palm to her bare stomach, drawing his eyes lower without meaning to.

  But his gaze didn’t drop directly to her stomach. It meandered there, slowly, moving over her breasts first, their generous curves highlighted by the lace bra she wore, tracing the lines of each nipple before moving slowly downwards, to her stomach. Her breath was burning in her lungs, making it almost impossible to breathe normally.

  “I’m interrupting you.” His voice was hoarse, the words layered with a thousand and one emotions, each of them in conflict with the other.

  “I –,”

  What? What was she?

  She tried to pull her thoughts into order but they were scattered through her brain, discordant and frustrating.

  “I’ll go.” It sounded like the last thing he wanted to do.

  She should nod softly, gently, turn away from him. She should put the shirt back on. She should do any number of things, she thought with a lifting in her belly, because none of them were what she wanted to do.

  Her tongue traced the line of her lips, moistening them, but it didn’t help the drowning sensation that was swallowing her whole.

  “Nothing fits,” she gestured towards her wardrobe distractedly. “I was just trying to find something. I’m…huge.”

  A muscle jerked in his jaw and she knew she was standing on a precipice – she had only a moment in which to tell him to stop, to go, to lighten the mood between them. A second later, he was walking towards her, his eyes showing intent, his shoulders squared.

  “You are not huge,” he promised darkly, his breathing loud when he came to stand right in front of her.

  “Nothing fits,” she repeated, as though it was some great profound statement of importance instead of an unusual hint of vanity.

  “No?” He reached for the shirt she was still holding in her hands. She hadn’t realised it was there. Their fingertips brushed as he removed it, dropping it to the floor without looking at her.

  She shook her head, but could barely remember what he’d asked her.

  “Then you need new clothes.”

  Her lips lifted in an involuntary half-smile. “I need to have this baby.”

  He ran his hand over her stomach
, and she flinched – but not because his touch was unwelcome, so much as it was a surprise, and the confirmation of all the desires she’d been nursing for so long.

  “It’s too early.”

  “I know.” His hands moved higher, his eyes on hers the whole time, silently seeking her permission, inviting her to stop him, to do anything to put a stop to the inevitably that was drawing them together. “I just meant –,”

  His hands brushed her breasts and the sentence trailed into nothingness.

  “I know what you meant.” His fingertips found her nipples through the lace of her bra, circling them as he moved his body closer, his face only an inch or so from hers.

  She’d denied herself this for so long, telling herself she was being pragmatic and smart, that it made sense to keep a distance from this man given their situation, but standing in her room with the Roman night sky framed perfectly beyond her window, she didn’t want that any longer. She needed things that were beyond her ability to explain.

  “Max?” It was a question, a silent plea. He understood, but his eyes swept shut, as though he were fighting some kind of battle she couldn’t understand.

  “I want to make love to you,” he said firmly, but there was a plea of his own in the words, as though he expected – hoped? – she would stop him.

  She swallowed, lost in a swirling torrent of uncertainty that was eclipsed only by the power of her body’s wants.

  “I know.”

  “I told myself I wouldn’t do this.”

  Her heart shifted gear, pounding against her ribs violently, cracking her with every throb.

  “Why?”

  “You don’t want this.”

  She laughed despite the seriousness drumming around them. “Oh?”

  His own smile was laced with mockery. “You want this, but not really. Not in here.” He pressed his finger to the side of her face, indicating her head.

  She moved it slightly, turning to face him and drawing his finger into her mouth. The groaning noise he made was a sound of torture.

  “Alessia.” He hissed her name from between his lips. “Stop.”

  “I don’t want to stop.”

  He was right. She knew he was right. Common sense was screeching through her, but it felt as though she were looking at it from beyond a veil. On this side of that veil, all she wanted was to obey her body.

  Boundaries, something inside of her called. Remember the boundaries.

  “It’s not as though we haven’t done this before,” she said quietly, rationalising it to herself and him.

  “True.”

  And to reassure him, more than herself, “It doesn’t mean anything, Max. I know that.”

  His eyes swept shut, that same silent battle almost tearing him apart, but a very brief moment later he was slicing her with the intensity of his gaze and a second after that he was kissing her hard, hungrily, desperately, his hands roaming her body with fierce intention now, pushing the bra from her so his hands could cup her naked breasts, his own body hard against hers, against the awkward shape of her rounded belly. He stepped backwards, drawing her with him, pulling her to the bed that she’d sworn would be her sanctuary from this madness. She needed that sanctuary, didn’t she? A space that wasn’t totally dominated by him? A space that was safe from memories of what they could do to each other and how much she desperately wanted him?

  “Your room,” she said urgently, changing their direction without breaking the kiss.

  He did though, wrenching his head up to look down at her, the expression on his face showing disbelief. “Now?”

  She nodded, pushing at his shirt, lifting it over his head while they were separated. “Now.”

  He groaned but did as she said, pulling her with him, traversing the space to his own room with barely concealed impatience. What difference did it make which bed they used? He needed only to know she was his again, even though it was temporary, even though they might both wake to regret it.

  A moment ago, Alessia had been feeling huge and inelegant but being made love to by Max totally destroyed those thoughts. In his bed and in his arms, she was delicate and precious, his large frame, his strength, his power, making her feel safe and cossetted. He kissed her as though she were the only woman on earth he had ever known, he pleasured her body as though it were his sole purpose in life, his lips tasting every square inch of her slowly at first, and then with more hunger, moving his tongue over her feminine core until she was almost weeping with sensual hunger before parting her legs and relieving that desperate ache between her legs, pushing into her hard and fast until she was crying his name out, her body exploding with the pleasure only he could give. Stars flew through her, welcoming her into some kind of cosmic surrealism where her body was no longer a body and her soul no longer a soul; she was simply a collection of solar dust, made possible by Max.

  She didn’t know how long it lasted. Time no longer mattered. She knew only that he held her while her breathing was rushed and then while it slowed, back to normal, and that he held her while her eyes grew heavy and her mind foggy, as a delicious post-orgasm exhaustion claimed her.

  He must have been doing it for a long time before he even realised. He was watching her sleep.

  It made him smile, because it was such a stupid thing to do – something he’d never before done – that he deserved the self-mockery he aimed squarely at himself.

  But he didn’t stop.

  He couldn’t. His eyes were glued to her face in repose – a sight he’d been denied for too long, courtesy of her determination to abide their separate rooms, keeping him at as much of a distance as she was able.

  A seed of doubt embedded itself in his belly. She wouldn’t want this. He should wake her, move her to her room, remind her that she insisted on that delineation.

  She made a little sighing noise in her sleep; he stiffened, holding himself completely still in case she should wake up. His eyes dropped lower to her beautiful nakedness, her body so slight still, with only the rounded belly to indicate she was carrying his baby.

  He should wake her; he wouldn’t. He didn’t. Instead, he reached for the sheet, covered her, then clamped an arm around her waist and held her tight to his body. They stayed that way for the rest of the night.

  Chapter Twelve

  “WHAT HAS HE DONE?” She stared at the woman in total confusion, scanning the bags she held with a look of disbelief.

  “Which room, signora?”

  Alessia gestured to her own room on autopilot, wondering at her momentary hesitation. Had she been tempted to suggest the clothes could be stored in his room?

  She’d fallen asleep in his bed the night before, and when she’d woken the next morning, he’d been gone. It hadn’t been late, and for a moment she had experienced a flashback to their first marriage, to all the ways he managed to disappear when she’d expected to see him.

  But this was different. She couldn’t say how, but gradually her defences had been worn down so she felt more comfortable with him, and more trusting of their marriage. She felt like what they were doing made sense now, not like a random marriage she’d been hurricaned into the middle of.

  She followed behind the woman, watching as item after item was removed from the crisp paper shopping bags, each bag bearing the insignia of a different fashion designer. Tens of thousands of euros worth of clothes was moved into her wardrobe within about a minute and a half, like a whirlwind unfolding. “Sign here, please.”

  Alessia’s fingers felt numb. She had to concentrate as she gripped the pen, adding her signature to the iPad. She barely said goodbye to the woman; she could only stare.

  “What have you done, Max?” She said again, a small smile lifting her lips as she moved into her wardrobe and ran her fingertips over the selection of clothes.

  A huge range of maternity clothes hung on display for her – each a work of art in its own right. Even the simple yoga pants were expertly stitched and designed so she could see how flattering they’d be on
. And most importantly, the waistband was blessedly elasticised, so she knew the comfort they’d offer.

  But it was all too much – way too much. Her fingers kept moving, landing on a stunning evening gown, a vibrant emerald green cut on the bias and made of a silky material. It had a small v at the front and a larger v at the back. It was clearly a maternity dress but the idea of wearing it…it was so sexy, so blatant. She couldn’t help herself. Her fingers unhooked it without thought, and she was pushing out of the loose t-shirt and slacks and pulling on the incredibly stunning dress.

  It fit perfectly. Beyond perfectly. Even now, heavily pregnant, the dress made her look…sexy. She swallowed, staring at her image in the full length mirror. Was this how he saw her? She shook her head, almost unable to believe it except for the way he’d looked at her the night before. She’d felt his internal battle – he’d tried to fight his desire, he’d tried not to touch her, but in the end, he’d been powerless to ignore what they both wanted.

  Her skin, naked except for the wedding ring she wore on one hand, was flawless – a honey gold, and her hair was long and thick, courtesy of the pregnancy hormones. The day before, she’d felt like a whale and today she felt like she’d finally found her way to the ‘glowing’ sentiment people used to describe some expectant mothers.

  She removed the dress, hanging it neatly and changing into another of the outfits he’d selected – a maternity sweater and the oh-so-tempting yoga pants. Bliss.

  Max arrived home just before dinner, and Alessia was waiting for him.

  “Seriously?” She stood with one hip propped against the wall, a brow arched. His expression almost knocked her sideways.