To make arrangements.
Oh, hell no.
* * *
Paolo frowned as he removed his nona’s ring from his safe, determined to give it to Lauren, but briefly wondering if she would accept it. Of course she would. She had agreed to marry him, but the ring had been in the family several generations. It was so old, the diamond’s shape was slightly imperfect because it had been cut by hand long before the precision of modern techniques. Would she see that as quaint or substandard? Perhaps rather than an engagement ring, it should be a wedding present.
Dio! His hand was shaking, his body was so wildly keyed-up with sexual tension.
He was proud of himself though. He’d sworn to marry Lauren before he made love to her again and he would, even though the way she had burst into flames at his touch had nearly taken him apart at the seams. Leaving her when she’d been pliant and aroused had nearly killed him. Only his determination to marry her first had kept him from taking her.
Not that anyone appreciated the level of control he was showing. Everyone he’d just spoken to, right down to his mother and her surprised pause when he’d informed her of the private ceremony he and Lauren would have in the archbishop’s office tomorrow, had suggested he was acting rashly.
They were all wrong. The baby was his. A prompt marriage was imperative.
It was also convenient that rushing the ceremony would allow him to keep his vow without suffering too long. His need for her was acute.
His laptop gave a muted blip signaling one of the emails he’d requested had arrived. He turned to find Lauren standing in the doorway of his office. Her chic dress had been replaced with a pair of baggy pajama pants and a waffle-weave shirt with sleeves chopped off at the elbows. Her face was clean of makeup, her expression strained and stiff.#p#????#e#
Her gaze held his for the barest fraction of a second before averting to a safe place beyond his shoulder while her chin thrust out defensively. Her body language hardened into unreceptive lines.
He had a sudden and disturbing flashback to their Morning After in Charleston. She’d been exactly like this after waking up with blatant mortification beside him. He remembered very clearly the way their naked limbs had been tangled and lax. One or the other had shifted in sleep, stirring both of them. Paolo had unconsciously tightened his arms around her, involuntarily growing hard as awareness of who was next to him and memories of their night had rushed in. They had opened their eyes nose to nose with each other.
Despite the compunction that had slammed through him, waking with her soft skin brushing against his nudity had been wonderful. The horror that had paled her face had quickly dampened his gratification however.
Until now, he had refused to go back to that morning. He’d been filled with self-recrimination that had sprung from abandoning his self-discipline and betraying his friend. He’d sensed, however, that Lauren’s regret ran to something deeper and more profound, as though she had been ashamed to have shared herself with him. Her hurry to push away from him had been almost panicked, her desperate silence suggesting she wanted to wipe out the entire experience.
He had rolled away when she had, numbing the bite of rejection with self-disgust. Reproach had saved him, allowing him to blame her for their transgression. He had labeled the havoc inside him “guilt” and used it to harden himself against her. She had distanced herself physically and emotionally, surrounding herself with gate-keeping mourners while he had attached ulterior motives to her actions so he could form a line of contempt between them.
He hadn’t liked how vulnerable Lauren had made him feel. He still didn’t. He’d managed to control himself this evening, but that balm to his ego didn’t go very far. The baby was his, the marriage in process, but uneasiness loomed like a storm.
Sexual tension, he dismissed. It had been months since their tryst and after this evening, his control was hanging by a thread. If he felt edgy, it was at his ability to continue resisting her. Once they were married and he didn’t have to, this nameless agitation would disappear.
His strain to hold himself tightly-reined showed as he gruffly offered her the ring. “It was my nona’s. She was still alive the first time I married. My ex never wore it. I’d like you to.”
Lauren curled her hands into fists of refusal and tucked them under her arms.
His heart took that like a knife. He set the ring on his desk, masking the sting of having the heirloom snubbed. “Of course, if you’d prefer something more modern—”
“I’d prefer,” she said icily, “if you didn’t treat me like a damned sex toy to be picked up and set aside when it suits you! I’m not like you, you know. Making love means something to me.”