An Inheritance of Shame(57)

She was afraid. Afraid that now they were actually trying to have a real relationship, sex might ruin it. She might disappoint him. He might walk away afterwards.

‘Stop it,’ she said aloud, her words lost in the shower spray. ‘Stop waiting for the worst to happen.’ She’d lived her life like that for too long already. Now she wanted to hope. To believe.

Trust was a choice.

She wore the strappy black dress Angelo had bought for her earlier, and the silver stilettos. Gazing at her reflection in the mirror, she hardly recognised herself. Her hair tumbled loosely about her shoulders, and her eyes were smoky and dark with anticipation. With passion. As for the dress…it clung to every curve before flaring out about her thighs. The silver stilettos made her legs look endless.

Taking a deep breath, she headed out to the terrace. Angelo was already out there, having showered and changed into a pair of charcoal-grey trousers and a white button-down shirt, open at the throat. His hair curled against his neck and as he turned to her his eyes blazed almost emerald and for a moment Lucia forgot how to breathe.

In, out, lungs filling—she had to tell herself, remind her body of its basic functions because every sense, every cell and neuron, was short-circuited by awareness.

She loved him so much.

‘Bellissima,’ Angelo said softly as he came towards her. ‘Mi cucciola.’ She didn’t mind the endearment then, knew it was part of their history, who they were.

He took her hands in his and drew her to the table. ‘Good enough to eat,’ he said, and Lucia laughed.

‘And I’m starving.’

She didn’t really remember what they talked about that evening, only how easy and relaxed it seemed. How happy she felt, and how happy she knew Angelo felt; the tautness was gone from his body, the shadows from his eyes.

The City of Light had settled into silence for the evening, the sun streaking its last orange rays across the horizon. As the sky deepened into indigo, Angelo reached for her hand and pointed to the Eiffel Tower.

‘Watch.’

The last of the sun’s light sank from the sky and the lights of the Eiffel Tower came on, transforming the tower into a diamond-like jewel in the centre of the city, sparkling with lights against a darkening sky.

‘Oh,’ Lucia breathed as she gazed at the lit tower with wonder. ‘It’s beautiful. I’m so glad I saw it.’

‘I’m glad I saw it with you.’

She turned back to Angelo, and saw he was looking at her with heavy-lidded, languorous intent. She swallowed, then whispered, ‘Make love to me, Angelo.’

He smiled and drew her up by the hand away from the table, and then from the terrace to the sumptuous bedroom with its huge four-poster bed.

He stood her in front of it, his hands cupping her face. ‘You’re trembling.’

‘I’m…nervous.’

He frowned. ‘Why?’

‘Because…this is different, isn’t it? It should be different. The other times—it was rushed.…’

He slid his hands from her face to her shoulders, sliding his fingers through the heavy mass of her hair. ‘I don’t think it was too rushed in the shower,’ he murmured, and she chuckled in acknowledgement, the sound wavering on the still air.

‘Yes, I know, but…it still felt temporary. I still thought it was a one-night—’

‘This is not for just one night,’ Angelo said softly, silencing her words. ‘This is the beginning, Lucia, of for ever.’ And then he kissed her, softly, his lips brushing across hers, a whisper, a greeting, before her lips parted beneath his and he went deep as her mind went blurry, awash with pleasure.

Slowly, reverently, he slipped the straps of her dress from her shoulders and she stepped out of the garment, wearing only her underwear and the silver heels.

‘Ah,’ Angelo said as he gazed down at her, drinking her in. ‘My fantasy. Almost.’ Smiling, he reached forward and undid the clasp of her bra. He slid her panties down her legs and she kicked them off. She was naked, save for the shoes.

And amazingly, she didn’t feel embarrassed or uncertain. She felt powerful. Sexy. And incredibly desired. Smiling, she reached for the buttons on his shirt. ‘And now it’s time for my fantasy.’

Angelo’s eyes were dark as he gazed down at her, his voice a husky murmur. ‘Which is?’

‘You wearing nothing at all.’ She slid the shirt from his shoulders and then, fumbling only a little, went for his belt. She drew it through the loops and heard Angelo’s breath come out in a hiss as she undid the button of his trousers and then slid them down his legs. His boxers followed and now they were both naked.