‘We could swim instead,’ he suggested with a sensual look that flopped Skye’s stomach.
‘Maybe a quick swim.’ She nodded.
He reached down and held her hand, pulling her with him towards the stairs. She went willingly until they reached the terrace where they had first made love. The night of their wedding. And suddenly Skye didn’t want to remember that. She didn’t want to remember anything about their first attempt at marriage.
She wanted to write over the memories with new ones. Memories that were
full of who she was now, the truth of their relationship something they both held in the palms of their hands. This was no love story, but there was enough between them to make this work. So long as she didn’t forget. So long as she didn’t lose her heart to him again.
‘Matteo,’ she murmured, and he stopped walking near the edge of the pool, pausing to look down at her. ‘I want...’
She didn’t finish the sentence. There was no need. He understood what his wife needed and wanted; it was the same desire that was heavy in his body. He dropped his mouth to hers, kissing her, holding her; bending her towards the ground and running his hands over her body at the same time, discarding her clothes, teasing her with the lightness of his touch while his mouth was ravaging hers.
He grabbed her hands and lifted them, pulling them behind his neck, and plying her body to his so there was barely even air between them. His dominance of her was almost as complete as hers of him. The moon shone overhead and the night was warm, yet Skye shivered in his arms, her body covered in a fine film of goose-bumps. He ran his hands down her back, finding the curve of her rear and lifting her effortlessly; wrapping her naked legs around his waist and holding her to his hard, confident body.
He turned slowly, kissing her neck, moving her to one of the sun lounges and laying her down with the kind of reverence that could make her forget everything.
Wasn’t that what she’d wanted? To forget their first marriage and enter into this relationship as if it were new and fresh, and they were two different people?
And weren’t they? She’d never again be the innocent, naïve woman who had believed herself swept off her feet.
Matteo didn’t love her.
He never had.
Perhaps there was something smart in seeing their relationship as a transaction. Taking what was good from it and not lamenting what was missing.
There was so much good between them.
But could she ever really forgive him?
Did she want to?
His mouth drove into hers, sending all thoughts from her mind. But Skye was afraid. Afraid of how easily he could make her body sing. Afraid of how much she wanted him. Afraid of how she was going to cope in the years that would follow.
‘This is just sex,’ she whispered as he dragged his mouth to her breasts.
‘Perfect can’t-get-enough sex,’ he agreed, with a smile that said nothing of the emotional torment she was feeling.
Would she never get enough? Was this a life sentence?
Her heart skidded inside her.
And it was joy that made her smile.
She’d never be able to resist him, and maybe that was okay. In that moment, everything was perfect. But it was a perfection that couldn’t and wouldn’t last. If only Skye had known to make the most of it while she could...
* * *
‘Matteo?’
It was the middle of the night. No, it was past that. They’d made love somewhere in the early hours of the morning and then he’d carried Skye to his bed, insisting that she spend the night beside him. He couldn’t have said why it mattered so much to him, only that he liked the way it felt to have her body curled back against his, for his arm to be wrapped around her stomach. To know that their baby was there, safe and loved.
He groaned, smiling as he pressed a kiss into Skye’s warm, smooth shoulder. But it was damp, covered in salty perspiration, and the taste on his lips had him blinking his eyes open.
‘Something’s wrong,’ she said with more urgency, and he focused on her face. She was sweating all over: her hair was wet, and she was pale and shaking.
‘Bella, what is it?’ He pushed out of bed and was reaching for his jeans in one movement. ‘Skye?’