Supporting his weight with his hands on either side of her, he lowered his head to kiss her. They reached towards each other and their mouths met. Their lips and tongues merged and the kiss felt hauntingly familiar—lingering and loving—like a mixture of all their yesterdays.
‘You’re so right, my girl,’ he whispered. ‘I’m all yours. Only yours.’
‘That’s so good to know.’
He kissed her again and this kiss quickly turned feverish—deep and blazing—as full of alluring promise as tomorrow.
And at last, as his hands, trembling with desire, laid claim to her feminine bounty, he caressed her, loving her with the bold assurance of a man who understood completely all the intimate ways his woman longed to be touched.
From beneath half-shut lids, he saw Claire’s cheeks grow more flushed and he heard the soft moan of her excitement. He felt her hips lift and arch and his stomach took off in a high, curving dive.
‘Oh, Adam,’ she whispered. ‘Love me. I need you so badly.’
And faced with that sweet command, Adam let any shadowy doubts roll away.
CHAPTER TWO
‘I’VE lit a candle to St Anthony.’ Claire’s face shone as she joined Adam at the little sidewalk café.
They had spent three weeks in Europe now, first attending a series of conferences and seminars in various centres and then exploring northern Italy. Now they were spending half a day in Padua before catching a train across to Florence.
Adam had been wandering through the grounds of Padua’s famous university while Claire visited yet another church.
‘Any particular reason you chose St Anthony?’ he queried as a waiter served them coffee and pizza.
‘I found a brochure that says many infertile couples pin their hopes on him. They come to his church here in Padua especially.’ She reached forward and gripped Adam by the arm. ‘It claims that St Anthony has performed many amazing miracles. Maybe you should have come with me.’
Adam suppressed an urge to comment and took a deep draft of scalding coffee instead. He feared their holiday wasn’t working out quite as well as he’d hoped. Sure, Claire was enjoying the sights, she was bright and lively company.
But she’s not letting go!
On this trip she was meant to be following their doctor’s advice—relaxing completely—forgetting about the urgent need to prove her fertility.
The doctor had been quite firm. ‘You’ll stand a better chance if you can take things more calmly,’ he’d told them. ‘Some people can try too hard for a baby. Sometimes an intense yearning for a positive result can have the opposite effect.’
But Claire seemed to be more focused on her infertility than ever. If she wasn’t lighting candles in churches, she was buying expensive gifts for her sister-in-law Maria, or her children.
She’d spent hours selecting toys or clothes she would have loved to buy for her own child, if she’d had one.
As far as he could tell, she hadn’t bought anything for herself. In Venice, she’d found an exquisite glass angel and he’d thought she was going to indulge herself.
‘Isn’t this the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?’ she cried and her eyes glowed with joy.
Picturing it on the mantelpiece in Nardoo’s homestead, he agreed.
But as Claire carried it back to their hotel, she said, ‘I’m going to give this angel to Maria. I know she’d love it. And when we stop in Siena, I want to buy her a panettone. I’m sure she’d love an authentic Italian Christmas cake.’
What bothered him most about Claire’s preoccupation with Maria and her children was that he knew what lay behind it. Any day now, their sister-in-law was due to give birth to her fifth baby. Five kids!
It seemed she and Jim hadn’t yet figured out how those little ankle-biters started.
Claire tried to pretend that she wasn’t jealous of Maria—that she was happy for the younger woman. But Adam was quite sure that, beneath the cheery façade, she was growing more depressed and miserable.
And there was too damn little he could do about it.
The train journey to Florence took them through the beautiful hills of Tuscany. As the countryside rushed past them in a late autumn blur of red and gold flashes, Claire relaxed with her head on Adam’s broad shoulder and admired the spectacle through the train’s window.
But her heart set up a fretful pumping when the mobile phone in his coat pocket suddenly beeped. She swung upright, and her fingers dug into her palms as she watched him retrieve the phone. She studied his face carefully while he listened to his caller.
It could be simply a business call, but she fancied she could hear Jim’s voice. Her brother always felt he had to shout when he dialled long distance.
After a long period of listening, Adam said, ‘That’s great. Congratulations, mate. Thanks for letting us know and give our love to Maria.’
Her face flamed as he depressed the button and looked at her with eyes awash with gentle concern. ‘Maria’s had a little girl.’
‘How lovely,’ she whispered. ‘What are they going to call her?’
‘Rosa.’
To her dismay, she burst into tears. ‘Rosa is such a s-sweet name,’ she sobbed. ‘Another little g-girl. Oh, Adam, they have five babies. I don’t think I can bear it.’
Desperately, she tried to stem the flow of tears, but it seemed impossible. How embarrassing! Passengers were staring at her. But she couldn’t stop crying and the view of the beautiful Tuscan countryside was completely obscured.
Adam held her tenderly and she was so grateful for that, especially as she knew he couldn’t really understand how she felt. No one seemed to understand what it was like to be jealous of people who had babies and then to feel guilty about that jealousy.
Adam could never really understand her awful sense of emptiness, as if she had a great gaping void inside her. He didn’t know the way her arms ached to hold a little warm baby.
He’d always been incredibly matter-of-fact and fatalistic about their situation. He’d gone through all the horrible, invasive tests with her, but when they’d been told there was nothing medically wrong with either of them—that there was nothing operable or treatable the doctors could correct—Adam had accepted the news.
For him it was easy to accept that if a pregnancy was meant to happen it would, if not, so be it. But for Claire it was much harder. She was so attuned to her cycles. Her physical and emotional awareness of her own body was so intense that each month, when she knew she’d failed yet again, she felt frozen inside.
She hated that feeling of emptiness. Of failure. She dreaded it. And she was so scared it was going to happen again.
After an age, she was able to lift her damp face from Adam’s shoulder, to wipe her tears and paste a brave smile on her face. But then she was swamped by a fresh wave of remorse. Poor Adam! She was wrecking his holiday with such hysterical carryings on.
By the time they reached Florence, she was determined not to mention Maria’s baby—or anyone’s baby, for that matter. Over the next few days, she riveted her attention on Adam and on the wonderfully rich feast of art in the cathedrals, the piazzas and the galleries.
She and Adam shared happy kisses on the Ponte Vecchio, the romantic