Eventually she came to the conclusion that she would have to wake him. It was either that or freeze.
‘Stefano,’ she whispered. When there was no response, she repeated his name, louder. Still no response.
She would have to touch him...
She took a deep breath, then quickly poked him in the back. ‘Wake up. You’ve stolen all the covers.’
It was like arguing with a corpse.
After trying to wake him a few more times with minimal contact, she sat up. Now holding her breath, she put a hand to his shoulder and gave it a quick shake before snatching her hand away.
That did the trick.
He rolled over. ‘What’s the matter? Are you feeling ill?’
‘You’re hogging the bed sheets.’ She lay back down and fixed her gaze to the ceiling, making sure to keep a good distance between them.
‘Sorry.’ He yawned widely then untangled himself and breached the small distance she’d created to pull the covers up to her shoulders. Then he settled himself back down next to her, on his side, facing her. A centimetre closer and he would be pressed against her. ‘We decided long ago that you’re a refrigerator at night and I’m a radiator.’
Going by the heat coming off him now she could believe it.
She swallowed and croaked out a reply that was nowhere near as witty or nonchalant as she wanted. ‘I normally sleep with bed socks on.’
Bed socks were as unsexy as they came and right then she was prepared to grab at anything that didn’t make her think of sex.
He chuckled lightly, as if he knew what she was thinking. He was so close his warm breath whispered against her skin. ‘You don’t need them any more. We both sleep naked. I keep you warm.’
She tried to breathe but suddenly it seemed as if all the air had been sucked from the room. As hard as she tried to resist, her head turned of its own accord to face him.
A flame flickered to life inside her, turning her core to liquid. If she rolled over she would be flush against him.
Help her, she wanted to be flush against him. Her lips tingled to feel his mouth on hers again but this time for her to be coherent enough to savour the moment.
As if he could sense her silent yearning, Stefano breached that last, tiny distance and brushed his lips to hers in the softest of caresses.
And then he pulled away and rolled over so his back was to her again. ‘Go back to sleep, bellissima.’
Anna only just stopped herself from crying out. She clamped her lips together and lay there rigidly, waiting for her heartbeat to return to its normal rhythm and the flames still flickering inside her to subside.
If they weren’t married she would be plotting her escape from this dangerous situation where the biggest peril was herself. Yet somewhere in her past, in the blank space that was her memories, Stefano had worn her defences down. She’d acted on the desire she felt for him.
And now, God help her, she wanted to act on it again.
* * *
Anna managed to fall back into a light sleep, a restless state where her body didn’t know if it was awake or dreaming. Stefano seemingly had no such problems, sleeping deeply while she lay fidgeting, her mind a whirl, questioning everything: her marriage, her sister’s betrayal... When six o’clock finally struck she decided to get up.
Physically, she felt a lot better. Almost normal. Her legs had lost the jelly-like feeling she’d been experiencing every time she stood and the ache in her head was now a dull thud rather than rivalling a pneumatic drill.
Tiptoeing over the thick carpet so as not to wake Stefano, she opened her dressing-room door and closed it quickly behind her so the light wouldn’t disturb him. It was the first time she’d entered this room.
She experienced another in a long list of surreal moments. Floor-to-ceiling fitted white wardrobes lined the walls, while at the far end of the room sat a vanity desk, a full-length mirror and a squishy armchair. And it was all hers.
She opened the nearest door and found a row of trousers and jeans. The next door opened to display a row of tops. As she fingered the expensive material of a silk green and black checked shirt that caught her eye, a memory flickered, a sudden image of herself in this very room looking a
t herself in the mirror wearing this very top.
It was the first concrete memory of her missing year since she’d woken three days ago.