Octavia took him and sat to nurse so he turned away, catching his wife watching him from the water. “I might have gone home with him. Isn’t that something to imagine?”
And he wouldn’t have known. He would be married to Diega, living in the city. Working nonstop to keep his mind off the turn his life had taken.
As opposed to now? When work was something he resented a little because it took him away from his family? When had that happened?
Did his wife realize how much of himself he did give her?
Sandro came back at that moment and said they’d have to head back to the hotel soon, so he could take care of some work details while Lorenzo had his siesta, but he invited them for dinner. They ended the night with promises to visit the Ferrantes in Italy at the first opportunity.
* * *
“That was such a nice day,” Sorcha said after returning from dinner, pleasantly relaxed as she readied for bed. She loved her sisters, but was beginning to feel like she had a fourth one in Octavia. “Thank you for being so gracious with them.”
“They’re easy to be around,” Cesar said, pulling off his tie and unbuttoning his shirt. “But you told them I didn’t know about your pregnancy, didn’t you? That’s not like you.”
Her conscience pinched and she finished removing her earrings before she answered. “I told Octavia when we were still in hospital. It was a stressful time, waiting for the results so they would believe us. You were so angry. She was my only friend. I honestly didn’t look at it as talking about you. I was confiding something about myself.”
He eyed her in a way that made her heart sink.
“You’re angry.”
“No,” he said firmly. “I would prefer you didn’t share our private business with others in future, but no. I’m angry that I can’t remember that day, Sorcha. My entire life took a hard right and I will never fully understand why.”
She went to him, half expecting rejection because he was not a man who appreciated compassion, but she was a woman who offered it freely when she could.
His expression remained remote as she threaded her arms around him, but he rested his arm across her shoulders, holding her loosely while that distracted frown stayed on his face. Then he looked down at her.
“Tell me again what happened.”
She did, stumbling slightly when she got to the part about him claiming not to subscribe to love, thinking about the moment yesterday over the necklace. Then she repeated his reasons for feeling duty-bound to marry Diega and blushed as she got to the bit where they had bantered about whether he would cancel his engagement if she withdrew her notice.
If you let me have you, I might.
“And then?” he prompted.
“And then we made love,” she told him.
“How?”
“What do you mean, ‘how’?” She started to draw back. “The normal way.”
His arm hardened, keeping her right where she was. “Missionary? Clothes pushed aside or completely naked? I can’t believe I leaped on you. I’d been thinking about it a lot. I must have taken my time? Start with the kiss and tell me exactly what happened.”
“No. Cesar,” she chided, shoving at his hard, flat stomach, but he only shifted her so they were face-to-face, hips-to-hips. He was becoming aroused.
So was she, not that she wanted to admit it, but she couldn’t talk about making love with him without thinking about how it felt and that just made her want to do it.
“I’m serious,” he said. “I kissed you and then what? Where in the office were we?”
“The sofa.”
He backed them to the bed and sat her next to him.
“How did I kiss you? Show me.”
“We’re not doing this,” she said, face so hot it hurt.
“We are,” he assured her, leaning forward to brush his mouth against hers. “Show me.”
She was just annoyed enough to do it. She came up on a knee so she was taller than he was, put her hand behind his head the way he’d held hers and kissed him with firm purpose.
A jolt went through him at her aggression, but he wasn’t the type to submit. He adjusted their position and took control of the kiss, as commanding as he’d been that day, consuming her as if it hadn’t been just this morning when they’d last made love.
When she was pliant and leaning into him, he lifted his head. “Then what?”
“You pulled me into your lap and we kept kissing.”
He did, hand stroking her bare thigh where the skirt of her cocktail dress dropped away in loose pleats. “What were you wearing?”
“Pants. We’d been on the bridge that morning and it was windy. I didn’t want to risk a skirt.”