Tears were precariously close now, but still she bit them back, clenched her eyes closed, raked in some air in an effort to hold on. When she opened them Rico was still there, his eyes not mocking now, infinitely patient as he sat there.
‘You have lost so much, Catherine; there is no shame in tears.’
‘There’s no point either.’ She gave a tired shrug. ‘I learnt that eight years ago, Rico. Tears don’t change anything.’
‘I don’t agree,’ Rico murmured. ‘Sometimes it is better to feel pain than to feel nothing.’
And Catherine wished perhaps more than she had ever wished for anything that she could do it. Could let out some of what she held in. But as the silence lingered on, as her tears stayed firmly away, it was Rico who broke the loaded silence, Rico who summed it all up in four simple words.
‘I will miss him.’
Still she didn’t respond, just lay there staring as Rico softly continued. ‘It hurts when I think of Marco. It is agony to know that he is never coming back…’ His hand was still on her face, and as he spoke this time she did turn her cheek, nestle a little in the warmth of his touch. ‘Marco was born in this country.’ Rico smiled gently. ‘I used to look after him. I didn’t want him to go through what I went through.’
When Catherine’s eyes narrowed, Rico’s smile widened a touch. ‘When I started school I spoke no English. I was the little Sicilian boy with the lunch that smelt. Salami and forty-degree heat is not a good mix. And I suppose Marco looked up to me for a while, came to me if he was in trouble.’ There was a wistful note to his voice, then a tiny swallow before he continued. ‘I only wish he had carried on looking up to me; carried on coming to me for advice instead of going off the rails. But even though I knew he did stupid things, knew he made mistakes, still I loved him. He wasn’t always bad.’
‘Nor was Janey.’ She saw his shoulders stiffen, a denial undoubtedly bobbing on his tongue, but instead he nodded, afforded her the right to remember her sister as she saw fit.
He sat just a breath away, his presence no longer intimidating, but strangely comforting. The lamplight drew dark shadows on his torso, highlighting the magnificence of his shoulders, defining the quiet strength of his muscular body, imparting confidence. A weary five o’clock shadow dusted his jaw now, but there was veracity in each and every tear that glittered in those brooding eyes—not mocking now, not clouded with suspicion, just infinitely understanding, giving the acquiescence she needed to continue.
‘I was thinking about when we were little—how we used to play, how she used to make me laugh. She was always the naughty one…’ a sob caught in her throat, ‘I can’t believe she’s really gone.’
He pulled her towards him then, scooping her in his arms and wrapping them around her, a shield, a rock to cling to. ‘Let it out, Catherine. Now is not the time to hold back.’
Oh, how she wanted to. How badly she wanted to give way to the tears that were threatening. This glimpse of his tenderness was taking her back to their first night together, when emotion had won, when feelings had been followed, and she was grateful to him—grateful to Rico for crossing the room, for taking her in his arms and telling her that he hurt too, for allowing her to glimpse that behind the cool façade beat a mortal heart that hurt too sometimes, that got broken, that mourned.
But she couldn’t quite go there. Couldn’t give in to the tears that threatened to drown her. So instead she held him, held him ever closer. There was something about grief that suspended morals, something about loneliness that broke all the rules—because she didn’t want to be alone tonight and knew that neither did he. She didn’t want the light to go off, to be plunged back into the hell of the twilight zone she had inhabited moments before, and as he held her, caressed her, she was aware, achingly aware, of the shift in tempo. His caress was not so much comforting now, but urgent. His body beneath her fingers was now not so safe and reassuring. There was a tingling awareness of his skin against hers, his lips tracing her cheeks, and it was far easier to drown in his kiss than to face a night alone. Far easier to seek solace in the escape his touch afforded than face cruel reality…
Oh, she might regret it, might see the folly of her ways later, but she craved oblivion now—craved the balmy bliss only Rico could provide. And as his tongue slid inside her parted lips, as his hand cupped her breast through the crisp cotton, she knew Rico craved it too.
Her body arched towards his, long legs coiling around his hips, and he impatiently pulled at the shirt, kicked off his boxers until she could feel his manhood against her, swollen and urgent against her thighs. His lips were hot and urgent over her stomach as she lifted her arms, allowing him to slide the shirt away, and then he pushed her gently down, parted her legs with his hands.
She stared, mesmerized, as he knelt before her, a knot of fear, excitement, anticipation welling as she eyed the velvet steel of his erection. Its sight was more intoxicating than any drink, blurring her senses into one, transfixed on this moment. Her pulse fluttered in a throat that seemed to constrict and she dragged her eyes to his, her whole body on high alert as he lifted the peach of her buttocks slightly from the sheets, held her aching and impatient in his hands and guided her towards him. A stab of pain so delicious she cried out for a moment. Her legs were coiling around him, dragging him deeper, moving against him.
Hot breath burned on her shoulders as he moved inside her, his muscles taut beneath her touch, and she surrendered herself utterly. Focusing only on him—his skin, his smell, the salty, heady taste of him. She could hear her own gasps growing louder, could feel the rise and fall of her breasts as they moulded into him. The flush of her orgasm was whooshing up her cheeks, a dizzy, heady glow, and her thighs trembled convulsively. She could feel him growing more inside her, his breathing uneven, a low groan building inside as he bucked against her, his buttocks taut as she dragged her nails over him, in an animal frenzy as they climaxed together, contracting with an intensity more than merely physical. She could hear him call her name, but it seemed to be from a distance. She called his too, searching for him in the darkness, both calling out as they found the emotional haven they craved, and for a second she knew he needed her—that this release was as necessary as it was wondrous.
And after, as he held her, as he reached over and turned out the light, she no longer feared the darkness. For no dark imaginings could hurt her with Rico by her side.
CHAPTER FOUR
FOR a moment it was all okay.
For one stolen moment between awakening and opening her eyes the world seemed right, but a strange sensation gripped her, a horrible sense of foreboding, and Catherine mentally tried to fathom what was wrong. The truth dawned with a sickening thud as her eyes snapped open.
Janey was dead.
‘Here.’ A cup of coffee was placed on the bedside table and, pulling the sheet around her, Catherine sat up, taking a grateful sip of the liquid as she tried to fathom all that had happened. She’d never had a hangover, but from Janey’s description this must come precariously close, and she eyed the dripping percolator, already planning her second cup. She could see the crumpled shirt lying on the floor, Rico’s dark boxers beside it—evidence if ever it was needed of what had taken place. Under any other circumstances it would have overwhelmed her, but not today. Her grief was too overwhelming to allow much else.
‘My father just called. He and Antonia are at the airport; they’ll be here tomorrow.’
Catherine looked up briefly. She’d only ever seen Rico in a suit, but now he stood unshaven, a towel wrapped around his waist. From the guarded look on his face the intimacies they had shared last night had been eradicated, and he stared back at her coolly.
‘I thought they weren’t coming until the funeral.’
‘They want to be here for Lily. At least that is what my father said.’
Lily!
A wave of guilt washed over her. She hadn’t even given her niece a thought since she had awoken. Catherine turned anguished eyes to his, replacing her cup in the saucer and spilling most of the contents. ‘I should ring—’ ‘I already have,’ Rico broke in. ‘The bruising is more extensive than they first thought, so they would like to keep her under observation for the next few days. She is fine,’ he added, as Catherine opened her mouth to ask. ‘The doctor said there is no need for concern; it is just as a precaution. I also get the impression they are assessing her social situation closely. The newspapers are full of it this morning, and though the doctor didn’t say as much I have a niggling feeling Antonia has rung from the States and let her feelings be known on the subject. As I feared, it would seem the battle for Lily’s future welfare is already gearing up.’