With a fierce look of concentration, he began to undress her with hands which were steady—until she too was naked, and then they began to shake as he saw the evidence of how lush she was with his child. Her once-flat belly was now a proud, hard swell, and he felt his throat tighten as he looked at it. Should they be doing this? After her long flight and such a stormy reunion? Was it…was it safe? Instinct fought with desire, but desire conquered him as she lifted her arms up to loop themselves around his neck and pull him down close to her.
He gasped, as her warm, expanded body pressed against his flesh. It was a new and profoundly shattering sensation, and blindly he reached for one of the cashmere blankets which lay at the end of the bed and pushed its soft folds against her skin.
‘Cover yourself!’ he commanded unsteadily.
She could feel him moving away from her, but she gripped his arm tight, forcing their eyes to meet.
‘You don’t want me?’
‘Are you crazy? Of course I want you! But I didn’t realise…’ He swallowed. ‘Signora Dolce, but it is a long time since I saw you naked, Lucy.’
‘Too long.’ One barrier had fallen down to be replaced by another, but she was damned if she was going to allow him to put her on the untouchable pedestal of the Madonna. ‘And too long since we have been together like this.’
‘You want me?’ he demanded unsteadily. ‘You are sure?’
More than anything. But she was too choked with emotion to speak for a moment. She had never seen her Guido look so undecided. ‘Yes,’ she breathed eventually. ‘Oh, yes, I’m sure. Very sure.’ And she watched his doubts dissolve.
Like an explorer discovering uncharted land, he ran the flat of his hand over her hard, pregnant swell. After a while she put her hand between his legs, and he groaned.
It felt strange and wonderful. Both disconnected and real to rediscover his flesh and his firm, hard body, to let him work the magic he always worked, as she did on him. In bed they were still dynamite together, even when she was clumsier than usual with the baby. They locked their legs around each other with the delight of familiarity sharpened by the hunger of abstinence, and their kisses were breathless.
He pulled his head away and looked down into her face, his expression sombre. ‘I am afraid of hurting you, cara.’
She shook her head. ‘Well, you won’t.’ In bed, he never hurt her.
‘Will you show me?’ he whispered.
She could hear the uncertainty in his voice and she reached down to guide him inside her, thinking that he had sounded almost vulnerable. Oh, please stay like that, my darling, she prayed silently. Please.
And afterwards they lay, sucking in greedy breaths of air, Lucy in that state of sleepy satisfaction she had almost forgotten. She turned to look at him, and yawned. ‘Bet you’ve never made love to a pregnant woman before!’
He frowned as he ran his fingertips over her bump again, only this time it was like a doctor checking for broken bones. ‘Do you feel okay?’
‘Guido, I feel fine.’ And then her heart sank in disbelief as he pulled away from her and got up off the bed. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’
He pulled on a towelling wrap and gave her a careless smile.
‘To make you some food.’
‘Guido, I don’t want anything to eat!’ I want you. I want us to make things right between us—and nothing else matters apart from that.
He was running—from what, he didn’t know. And what was more, he didn’t care. ‘You ate…when?’
She sighed. ‘There was food on the plane—’
‘Which you never eat—you told me yourself you hate airline food!’ he declared softly. ‘Now, no protests, please, Lucy—you must look after yourself.’
Pointless to argue, for she recognised the determination in his voice. Some women might just have lain back against the down pillows and rejoiced in being waited on, but all Lucy could feel was a great, aching gap. With that one distancing gesture he had reminded her that she wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for the baby. Yet they had just come together in an act that had been as much about reconciliation as making love, and that was a start. Surely the food could have waited while they talked about it?
But Guido didn’t want to talk about it—and certainly not straight after sex, when his defences were down.
In the distance, she could hear him clattering around in the kitchen, even singing to himself softly in Italian, like a man well pleased with himself. But of course he would be. One fundamental appetite had been satisfied; he was now simply addressing another one.
Or was she being a little hard on him? Perhaps he needed to collect his thoughts after what had happened.
He returned to the bedroom carrying a tray loaded with coffee and sandwiches.
‘You’re doing my old job!’ she joked. ‘You’ll be wearing a stewardess’s uniform next!’