He looked so sexy, so … Italian, standing there in his clingy pyjamas with joy shining from his black eyes, that she practically swooned. ‘Yeah, well, don’t thank me yet. Just because I’m moving back, it doesn’t mean we won’t have our teething problems. Seven years of silence, Luca. That’s a long time. I think it’ll take a while to feel natural around each other again.’
Luca nodded. ‘Of course. But I promise to do my best to ease the way. Our baby deserves that commitment. We can make it work for the baby’s sake.’
Rilla swallowed. For the baby. She had to keep her eye on the ball. There was no room to be sentimental. She was reconciling with her estranged husband for definite reasons. It would be dangerous to read any more into it than that.
‘I have to get ready for work,’ Luca said, fighting the urge to go in and sit back on the bed beside her and seal their deal with a kiss.
Rilla nodded slowly. Somehow agreeing to a reconciliation with him standing in the doorway to her bedroom didn’t seem right. It was a huge step and the distance between them made it seem like an even colder-blooded decision. But it did represent their new life together. Married without intimacy. Together for their child only. Separate bedrooms.
‘Sure. I guess I’ll see you tonight?’
Luca smiled. ‘Tonight.’ He liked the sound of that.
Coming home to Rilla.
Again.
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘JINGLE Bell Rock’ played quietly over the audio system as Luca watched Rilla hang tinsel along the curtain tracks of each cubicle. Of course, he was supposed to be taking advantage of the early morning lull to be reviewing some charts but she was laughing with Emily, the ward clerk, and being very distracting. He grunted to himself and returned his attention to the words in front of him.
They’d been living together for six weeks now.
Six. Very. Long. Weeks.
Six weeks of her lotions and potions cluttering the bathroom and her perfume invading every nook and cranny. Six weeks of making her tea and toast before she got out of bed and holding her hair back as she threw up every morning, the curve of her neck tempting him. Six weeks of sleepy morning smiles and her underwear in his washing basket.
She laughed again and he flicked his gaze back up to see that her shirt had ridden up as she threw a string of tinsel over the rail and he could see the soft curve of her waist. He knew that part of her body intimately. She was sensitive there. He remembered how she used to moan when he’d stroked his tongue along that particularly fascinating area.
Luca realised his attention had strayed again and he cursed under his breath. He was going mad. Six weeks of living with her and her … things and he wanted to touch her so badly he could hardly see straight. As if to demonstrate, the words blurred in front of him and he threw his pen down in disgust.
She’d been right. How the hell was he going to get through months of not touching her when only six weeks in, all he could think about was kissing her? Feeling her beneath him. For God’s sake, she walked around in next to nothing at home and slept practically naked in the oppressive summer heat. Was she trying to kill him?
He picked up his pen again and forced his attention back to the charts. His mind wandered almost instantly, though, as he thought about the easy transition they’d made. Apart from the unbearable sexual tension, it had been surprisingly smooth.
If her family had been surprised, they hadn’t said. They’d taken the pregnancy, the reconciliation and Rilla’s move in their stride. John Winters, Rilla’s father, had expressed his concern to Luca over the suddenness of it all but had been reassured by Luca’s assertions that it was no frivolous, half-baked idea but a heart-felt commitment.
Hailey, who had been living at home with her parents since her return from England, had happily moved into Rilla’s apartment. Everything had fallen into place. Now, if he could just banish the growing urge to touch her. To invite her into his bed. He’d seen some of the looks she’d given him from time when she’d thought he hadn’t been paying attention, and he was damn sure she was feeling a little hot and bothered herself.
Not that it mattered. He’d been adamant with her from the beginning about the no-sex thing and he was sure he wasn’t going to back down because Eve and her apple had moved into the room next door. Nothing was going to distract him—not her bras hanging on the line or glimpses of her damn waist—from his ultimate goal. A live, healthy newborn.
The memories from the awful day Rilla had lost the baby returned now with startling vividness. They’d made love in the early hours of the morning, when his resistance had been low. It had been over a month since they’d been intimate, a self-imposed torture, and she had rolled over and her fingers had brushed against him, his regular morning erection almost painful to touch, and whispered, ‘I miss you.’
Still he had been reluctant but she’d stroked him and told him it would be OK and said, ‘Please, make love to me.’ And their prolonged abstinence had caused an eruption of passion and he had pinned her to the bed and thoroughly ravaged her.
Six hours later she had walked into Brisbane General, cramping and bleeding, and even though he’d known that sex during pregnancy didn’t cause miscarriages, his world had been turned upside down.
‘Dr Romano? Phone for you.’
Luca dragged his gaze away from Rilla and the memories, grateful for a real distraction.
Rilla was painfully aware of Luca’s scrutiny as she and Emily decorated the department. Christmas in hospital was hardly anybody’s idea of fun so the least they could do was make the experience a little less clinical. Rilla, a self-confessed Christmas junkie, put herself in charge of the decorations every year and it was hard to believe that the first of December had come around already.
Hard to believe that she and Luca had been cohabiting for six weeks. Sharing evening meals and early morning vomiting sessions. Washing his clothes and seeing their toothbrushes beside each other in the bathroom. It was intimate yet … not.
Luca had been true to his word. He was trying very hard to make things as natural between them as possible. Of an evening, when they were both home, they actually talked. Not about their future and how rosy it was going to be, waking up to each other every day like they had eight years ago, but about themselves. Like they should have done back then. About their likes and dislikes, their fears, their joys, their insecurities.
And things that appeared trivial on the surface but spoke about their tastes and character. What they would grab if the house was burning down. Who they would invite to a dinner party if they could choose from anyone on the planet. What the world’s most useful invention was. Which poet was better—Shelley or Byron. Was the music better in the 1970s than the 1980s?
Things that they should have known about each other already but didn’t. Things they hadn’t had time to talk about last time round, too caught up in lust and their rush to get down the aisle. They argued but mostly agreed and above all else they laughed. They relaxed. They had fun.
And then there was the baby—of course. They talked about the baby a lot. They made plans about the nursery and what school they wanted to enrol it in. They tossed names around and compared parenting ideas, finding themselves remarkably in tune. They even talked about getting out of the flat and buying a house so their child had a big back yard to run around in.
But there was still a reserve they’d probably never shake. She couldn’t speak for him but she knew she was still protecting her heart. The miscarriage and break up had been devastating and, as he had said, they’d be foolish to put their hearts on the line again.
She’d thought his reconciliation idea had been insane to start with, but as each day went by she could see the potential. Two parents whose sole focus would be their baby. No distractions involving each other and how crazy love could make you. Cohabiting,