An Inheritance of Shame(26)

With a tentative smile she reached for the shower gel, pouring some into her palms before she slid her slippery hands over his shoulders, down his chest, across his hips, revelling in the feel of hot skin and hard muscle. Angelo had closed his eyes and he threw his head back as she slid her hand farther down still and curled her fingers around the heavy, hard length of his arousal.

There was nothing rushed or frantic about this, nothing desperate. Every caress was deliberate, and it filled Lucia with a tremulous wonder. Thirty-two years old and she’d had no idea sex could be like this, slow and exploratory and wonderful. This wasn’t a stolen moment, snatched out of grief or pain; it stretched on, infinite with possibility, with an incredible new intimacy.

But it would end by morning. She had to remember that.

‘Lucia…’ Angelo’s voice was a groan as he curled his hands around her shoulders and she stroked him everywhere, delighting in the glorious feel of him.

‘Dio, I’m not going to last,’ he muttered, and then he hoisted her easily, his hands cradling her bottom so her legs came round his hips as he drove inside her. Lucia buried her head in his shoulder but he pulled back, forced her to meet his own glittering gaze.

‘Look at me,’ he commanded hoarsely as he moved inside her. ‘Look at me as I make love to you.’

Lucia obeyed, her gaze riveted on his as their bodies acting in perfect synchronicity, her hips rising up to meet his as he moved inside her. Every protective layer she’d ever had was stripped away in the intense intimacy of his gaze, his body buried inside hers. She couldn’t hide from it; she’d been laid utterly, gloriously bare and in that moment she revelled in the exposure.

She felt the pressure and pleasure building inside her, spiralling up and up, and she knew Angelo could see it on her face. Knew he would know when she finally fell.

And he did, kissing her lips as she cried out and her body spasmed around his. Seconds later he found his own shuddering climax and she buried her head in the curve of his neck as the water streamed over them.

Lucia didn’t know how long she remained there, cradled against him, her heart pounding hard against his. It could have been a minute or an hour, but eventually Angelo gently righted her, turned off the shower and wrapped her in a towel. She remained still as he dried her tenderly and then led her to the bed.

They didn’t speak, and Lucia was glad. She didn’t want to break this moment that had wrapped around her like a spell of warmth and safety and love. She knew it wasn’t real, knew in the hard light of morning it would all be broken, vanished. But she wasn’t ready to let go of it yet.

One night. One night of feeling safe and treasured and loved. It didn’t seem too much to ask.

Angelo laid her in the bed and then slid in next to her, pulling her towards him so she naturally curved her body into his. She could feel his still-pounding heart against her back, and after a moment Angelo found her hand with his own and laced his fingers with hers, resting their joined hands against her belly as sleep finally claimed her.





CHAPTER SEVEN



LUCIA WOKE TO an empty bed. She rolled over on her back, stared at the ceiling and let the memories wash over her. The pleasure of last night, and more surprisingly and poignantly, the incredible intimacy. She hadn’t expected that. She’d gone into the evening expecting a bargain, an exchange of both power and pleasure. This time she’d be the one to want the one-night stand. And the one to walk away.

The trouble was, she didn’t want to.

She rolled onto her side, tucked her legs up towards her tummy. She was an idiot, of course. An absolute idiot to think she could walk away from Angelo. To think that she could want it. She’d loved him since she was seven years old.

And yet she knew, with a heavy, painful certainty, that walking away was her only choice. Angelo wouldn’t want anything else, and she refused to surrender her dignity yet again. This time she would choose first…if he hadn’t already.

Slowly she swung her legs over the side of the bed, felt aches in all sorts of places. A glance at the clock told her it was after eight, and she was due at the hotel in less than an hour. She pushed her hair out of her face and went in search of her maid’s uniform.

Ten minutes later she was dressed, her hair and teeth brushed thanks to the basket of toiletries in the guest bedroom, and resolutely she went in search of Angelo. She found him in the kitchen, slicing fruit, the tantalising aroma of fresh coffee scenting the air.

Lucia hung back for a moment, watching as he moved around the kitchen. He wore another worn T-shirt, this one in heather grey, and a pair of boxers. His hair was tousled, almost curly in the heat, and he looked comfortable, natural, happy. She’d never seen him look so happy before.