She knew that, could feel the thick energy in the room, could hear his tense breathing as he willed it to pass, for sleep to rescue him. For this hell to be over.
She turned on her side, and as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could see his were closed, could see the muscled outline of his stomach and the sheet that didn’t disguise his need in the slightest.
Her hand reached out, resting on his stomach, and she heard his hiss of frustration as he thought inadvertent contact had been made, knew he assumed her asleep beside him—that, like himself, her body had forgotten the rules.
Well, it hadn’t.
Slowly she traced the line of hair that snaked from his umbilicus, then nervous, tentative but bold she touched him, hearing his moan, running her finger along a thick vein, then tracing the path back, then doing it again.
‘Emma…’
‘Shh…’ She didn’t want questions and she didn’t want answers. She was stroking him more firmly now, and then his hand was over hers.
‘You don’t have to…’
‘I want to.’
‘Why?’
Because she loved him, because she wanted him, because always, always she would—and despite her promises to herself, she could never lie in a bed beside him and not want him.
And because he needed this—in the thick of night, for Emma it really was that simple.
So she kissed him.
Kissed him in a place she’d never once have considered.
Licked his lovely length so slowly it took for ever to get to the top as he moaned again.
The dark made her brave, braver with each kiss, with each stroke of her tongue. She could feel his fingers in her hair now, guiding her, hear his breath quicken, her hair a thick curtain around his centre, shielding her from the world, to a place where she could just be, where it was just them and she could focus only on this. It was an act of pure giving and it came from the heart with no hope of return. She was crying when he climaxed, her salt mingling with his as he shuddered his release.
He pulled her up to his arms, and he held her, he spooned right into her and held her close and then he asked, ‘Why would you do that for me?’
Only Emma didn’t reply. She could feel him unwound and relaxed beside her now, felt his breath even out as he drifted into decent sleep. She knew her answer.
But it wasn’t for Luca to hear.
* * *
She was embarrassed.
He was pretending to be asleep when she awoke, deliberately ignoring her—and Emma lay next to him for a moment, her body one burning blush as she remembered last night and the intimacy she had bestowed on a man who had so clearly told her this was for appearances’ sake only.
Quietly she slipped from the bed and walked to the en suite, closing the door behind her, then sitting on the edge of the bath and resting her burning face in her hands.
She should never have agreed to this, should never have come back to Italy. Even if she had convinced herself that it was for all the right reasons—for Mia, to keep up appearances, for Luca even—in part, a very big part, it had been for her, for some time with him, for that chance to rekindle or reawaken in Luca some of the feelings that had once existed.
Instead, thanks to his silence this morning, she had found out what she had always known.
It was sex he wanted from her—and nothing more.
She showered, wishing the water could wash away her shame, her stupidity. She, Emma Stephenson, had been so sure she could handle it, so sure she would never succumb to his fatal charms. Eventually, like all the rest, she had. Bit by bit, each rule, each guideline had been chipped away—each time she had promised herself that this would be the last…
Till next time.
Turning off the shower, she shivered and reached for a towel that wasn’t there. Walking across the bathroom, she stood naked as he walked in, her hands moving to cover herself as she leant against the sink.
‘Don’t you ever knock?’ She attempted a smile to save face, and hoped the steam and the water from the shower would hide the evidence of her tears.