‘Thank you.’
‘Do I scare you?’ His direct question made her catch her breath.
She wondered whether she ought to admit that the only thing that scared her was the thought of losing him.
She opened her mouth to tell him, but pride trapped the words in her throat before she could utter them. She was sleeping in the spare room, she reminded herself. He hadn’t come after her.
It was the wrong time to be honest about her feelings when she was so unsure about his.
‘No,’ she said finally, her voice quiet. ‘You don’t scare me, but you can be difficult to reach and sometimes I just give up rather than keep trying.’
He muttered something in Spanish and ran a hand over his jaw, a jaw that was already showing signs of stubble. Then he reached out and slid a hand behind her head and pulled her face to within inches of his in a gesture that was both male and possessive. ‘I don’t want a divorce, Christy. Be clear about that.’
She stared up at him, hypnotised by the look in his dark, brooding eyes. They were the words she’d waited to hear for two long months and he’d chosen to say them in Resus under harsh, fluorescent lights with the likelihood that they’d be disturbed at any moment. She wanted to ask why he’d let her go. She wanted to ask about Katya. Suddenly, she wanted to know how he’d spent the last six weeks. ‘And what if I want a divorce?’
She said the words to goad him and remembered too late that goading Alessandro, with his volatile, Latin temperament, was not a good idea.
‘You don’t.’ He slid his other arm and around her and jerked her against him in a decisive gesture that was so much a part of him.
She felt the strength and power of his body and the breath trapped in her throat. ‘Alessandro…’ she couldn’t concentrate on anything when he was this close. Couldn’t think…
‘Need me to prove it to you?’ He breathed the words against her mouth, his tone silky smooth and dangerous, and she gave a whimper, knowing what was coming and willing herself to reject him. ‘Need me to prove that you still want me?’
‘No, I don’t, I—’
His mouth came down on hers with seductive intent and immediately she sank against him because no one kissed like Alessandro and resisting him was impossible. His hand was buried in her hair, the skilful slide of his tongue erotic and demanding as he took her to the edge of sanity with a speed that shocked her.
His kiss was hungry and primitive and she clutched at him, pressing against him, her need so intense that she forgot everything except her desire for him.
Kissing him gave her the reassurance she needed and then he released her and stepped back, his expression cold. ‘The children need both their parents. We’re a family, Christy, and that isn’t going to change.’
The tiny flicker of hope died inside her. ‘Alessandro—’
‘We won’t ever speak of divorce again, Christy. And don’t pretend you don’t want me.’
Oh, she wanted him. How could she pretend otherwise when her nipples were pressing hard against the soft fabric of her scrub suit and her mouth was still swollen from the ravages of his kiss?
She wanted him. But how did she explain that she needed more than the physical when his solution to every problem was sex? He was a red-blooded, Mediterranean male with a high sex drive. She’d known that right from the first. Had loved the fact that he couldn’t get enough of her.
And the fact that he’d made it clear that his thoughts were only for the children caused her intense pain. The kiss hadn’t been about her, she thought miserably. It had been about the children. Alessandro was Spanish, through and through. He believed utterly in the sanctity of the family.
He would stay married to her for the sake of the children.
Could she do the same? Could she stay with him, knowing that he didn’t love her any more?
‘We can’t talk about this here, Alessandro,’ she croaked. ‘Not now.’
His eyes dropped to her mouth and the tension rose between them.
‘When, then?’
‘I don’t know.’ She felt so shaky and miserable that she didn’t feel up to another confrontation. Didn’t feel up to listening to more evidence that he was determined to save their marriage for the sake of the children.
‘Well, it has to be soon.’ He was standing close to her. So close that her heart rate increased alarmingly.
Was it normal? she wondered. Was it normal to be married to someone for twelve years and yet still want to rip their clothes off at every opportunity?
‘I need to go home and prepare dinner,’ she said huskily as she dragged off her gloves and washed her hands, seeking any excuse to turn away from him. ‘Mum’s dropping the children in an hour. Are you joining us?’