‘But not a diamond.’ He smiled. ‘A rare grey pearl, I think.’
‘Mmm... That sounds perfect.’ She moved over him, skin against skin, mouth against mouth
—and ripples of desire shivered over her as she felt his hardness pressing against her. ‘Just not now,’ she whispered indistinctly. ‘The ring can wait. But this can’t.’
EPILOGUE
‘COME AND SIT in the shade,’ Dante said lazily. ‘I don’t want you getting burned.’
Willow pushed her straw hat back and smiled up into her husband’s face. ‘I’m unlikely to burn when you insist on applying factor fifty to my skin at every opportunity, am I?’
‘True. In fact, I think you need another application right now,’ he murmured, rising to his feet and standing over her. ‘Come here.’
‘That sounds like another excuse for you to start rubbing cream into my body.’
‘You really think I need an excuse, Mrs Di Sione?’ he growled, lifting her off the sun lounger and leading her inside to the air-conditioned cool of their beachside house.
Willow bit her lip with sheer pleasure as she felt his lips whisper over her throat, thinking she couldn’t remember ever feeling so happy. Or lucky. So very lucky. For the past month they’d been honeymooning in a Caribbean beach house, while nearby the crystal waters lapped contentedly against sugar-fine sands. They swam in the mornings, napped in the afternoons and took lazy days out on the Di Sione boat, which had been sailed from New York and was now anchored off the island.
They had married quietly in the small church built in the grounds of her parents’ house and the building had been transformed for the occasion, discreetly bankrolled by her future husband. The badly repaired hole in the ceiling had been miraculously fixed and the air was scented with gardenias and jasmine similar to those which had perfumed the Garden Room at the Granchester on the night Dante had asked her to marry him.
‘Did you like our wedding?’ she questioned softly.
‘I loved it. Every second.’
‘You didn’t think it was too quiet?’
‘No. It was perfect. Just like you.’ Dante unclipped her bikini top and began to skate his fingertips over her nipples. He had wanted a quiet wedding. There had still been so much stuff going on about Giovanni’s Lost Mistresses—with his brothers and his sisters all over the place trying to find random pieces of jewellery and other stuff which had once belonged to his grandfather, and nothing completely resolved. The uncertainty about who would be able to attend and who wouldn’t had made Dante decide to have the smallest of weddings, with only his brother Dario in attendance as his best man. He told Willow he planned for them to visit the Long Island estate during the forthcoming holidays, where they would have a big post-wedding party.
But he’d known all along that he didn’t need pomp, or ceremony. If it could have been just him and Willow, he wouldn’t have complained. In the end, he was the one who badly wanted to place a gold ring on her finger and make her his. He’d wanted to marry her more than he could ever remember wanting anything. Because she gave him everything he needed—and more.
And if she’d questioned him over and over about his need for children, he had reassured her with a certainty which went bone-deep. He’d told her that there were lots of possibilities open to them if they couldn’t conceive. Like he’d said, it wasn’t a deal-breaker. Until one day she’d started believing him and never mentioned it again. And if either of them had been able to see into the future, they would have seen Willow Di Sione holding two baby girls—beautiful, blue-eyed twins, just like their daddy.
Dante gave a contented sigh as he remembered back to their wedding day. Without a doubt she had made the most exquisite bride in the history of the world—with a veil which had been worn by her grandmother, held in place with the glittering tiara of white diamonds and emeralds as green as new leaves. Dario had offered her use of the matching earrings, but although Willow had been very grateful, she had declined the offer. ‘A woman can wear too much jewellery, you know,’ she’d whispered to her prospective husband—and Dante had laughed with a feeling of pure pleasure.
Her slender figure had been showcased by a pale, gauzy dress, beneath which she’d sported a garter embroidered with dramatic flames of yellow and red. And when slowly he’d been removing it on their wedding night, his hand had lingered on the raised surface of vibrant hues, which she’d so lovingly stitched.
‘Flames?’ he questioned with a frown.
‘As a kind of homage to an earlier Dante and his famous inferno.’ She smiled. ‘But mainly because my life would be hell without you.’
He smiled back. ‘Interesting. But I thought brides were traditionally supposed to have something blue?’
And that was when her fingertips reached up to trace over his cheeks with the most gentle touch he had ever known. A touch which had made him shiver with pleasure and count his blessings.
‘Your eyes are the bluest thing I’ve ever seen, Dante Di Sione.’ Her voice had been low and trembling. ‘I’ll settle for those.’
* * * * *
If you enjoyed this book, look out for the next instalment of THE BILLIONAIRE’S LEGACY:
A DI SIONE FOR THE GREEK’S PLEASURE by Kate Hewitt.
Coming next month.
Keep reading for an excerpt from THE ITALIAN’S CHRISTMAS CHILD by Lynne Graham.
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