‘I have stuff in my…’
‘You are sleeping with me. End of subject. Now, unless you want me to remove your dress and expose the scars you are too frightened to let me see, I suggest you go use the bathroom.’
Something deep inside her withered painfully.
‘I called Aislin,’ he explained into the loaded silence.
‘What?’
He sighed. ‘Go and sort yourself out, Orla. I’ll explain when you’re ready.’
Defeated, afraid she could cry, which she absolutely did not want to do in front of Tonino, she hugged the clothing to her chest and locked herself in his luxury bathroom.
Suddenly desperate to wash the shamed feeling off her skin, she double-checked the door couldn’t be unlocked from the bedroom and shed her dress.
Closing her eyes, she welcomed the rush of hot water that stung her skin and turned her face up to it.
Was this how she’d felt the first time they’d made love? Ashamed of herself?
She’d never dreamed she was capable of such wanton, lusty behaviour. Women like her just did not behave in that way. That was for women like her mother, women who embraced chaos, women who didn’t care who they hurt or what others thought of them.
Orla did care. She cared deeply. Her pregnancy had shamed her more than any walk of shame the evil authorities had made women perform in medieval times. It wasn’t that she’d been unmarried—her grandmother’s old-fashioned views hadn’t soaked into her that much—but that she had given her virginity to a man she’d barely known who she’d then learned she hadn’t known at all. All her life she’d believed she would wait for the mythical perfect man from the realms of fairy tales to appear before giving her heart and her body, not a man she’d known barely two days.
That she still wanted Tonino as much as she had then, that one touch of his hand in her hair made her want to rip his clothes off… It mortified her. It terrified her how easily she lost possession of herself for him.
Only when she feared she was using the whole of Sicily’s water supply did she switch the shower off and reach for a huge, fluffy towel neatly laid on the heated towelling rail.
She found an unused toothbrush exactly where he’d said and brushed her teeth vigorously, as if she could brush away the demons that plagued her as well as any dirt clinging to her teeth.
And then she shook out the white item of clothing Tonino had given her and felt a tear in her heart.
It was one of his shirts.
Before slipping it over her head she buried her nose in it and inhaled the faint trace of his cologne amidst the laundry soap.
When she finally found the courage to leave his bathroom and face him, she took three large breaths and unlocked the door.
He was sitting up in bed, the sheets covering him to his waist. He was not on his phone or watching television or reading. He was simply waiting for her.
‘Better?’ he asked sardonically.
Her heart thudded painfully, and she blinked away the wet burn in the backs of her eyes as she nodded.
He patted the space beside him. It was a command, not an invitation.
Climbing onto the bed gingerly, she sat beside him, making sure not to sit close enough that their bodies accidentally touched.
Tonino, however, was not disposed to have her beside him but apart, and, with a glare, he hooked an arm around her waist and pulled her against him.
‘Stop fighting me,’ he murmured, dropping a kiss onto the top of her head.
‘I’m not,’ she lied even as she wriggled to free herself from his tight hold.
‘Relax, dolcezza. I’m not going to rip the shirt off you.’
His chest hair brushed against her cheek. The musky scent of his skin skipped down her airwaves and filtered into her veins and somehow pushed much of the angst inside her out.
A pang rent through her heart.
Being held in his arms like this…
It felt right. It had always felt right.
With a sigh she placed her hand flat on the plane of his stomach and pressed a kiss to the warm skin even as she screwed her eyes tightly together to stop the gathering tears from escaping.
‘When did you speak to Aislin?’ she asked quietly when she could speak without choking.
‘Earlier, when you were getting ready for dinner.’
‘Why?’
He smoothed her hair with his hand. ‘Because you have been hiding things from me.’
‘I haven’t hidden anything. Not since we met at the wedding and the missing memories came back. I’ve been upfront about Finn—’
‘I’m not talking about Finn. I’m talking about you.’ He brushed a finger down her face and tilted her chin up so she was forced to meet his stare. ‘Getting information about the long-term effects the accident had on you has been like drawing blood from a stone. You seem to operate on a need-to-know basis, and I think I know why—you’re afraid that I will use your injuries as a weapon against you to gain custody of Finn.’
Tonino’s instincts were terrifying in their accuracy.
‘I know you suffered much more than a head injury,’ he continued, his thumb still resting gently under her chin. ‘You were partially paralysed and needed three major operations to help you walk and regain your motor functions. You spent six months in hospital and a further year in a rehabilitation centre. Your muscles are still weak and prone to spasm. You regularly sleep ten hours a night because your brain has to work twice as hard as everyone else’s to perform simple tasks so you lose your energy quickly. You suffer from debilitating headaches. One of the reasons you both waited six months after your father died before Aislin came to Sicily to fight for your share of his estate was because you were too weak to be left in sole charge of Finn. Have I missed anything?’
Tonino deliberately kept his voice light as he relayed the list of damage inflicted on Orla’s beautiful body. He could have continued, could have mentioned the broken ribs and broken arm, but the solitary tear that trickled down her cheek as she shook her head in answer let him know he’d said enough.
He’d called Dante because it had become blindingly obvious that Orla was masking the severity of her own condition. It had been a gradual reckoning until it had reached the point where he noticed it in her every action. Just the way she concentrated when carrying a cup was a big giveaway. He’d had to convince Dante that his intentions in seeking this information were honourable before he’d been put through to Aislin, who’d relayed all the details to him in what had made painful listening.
Orla put a brave face on but she still suffered the effects from it. She might always suffer them.
‘You need to learn to trust me.’ Tonino bent his head and brushed a soft kiss to her trembling lips. ‘I will never take Finn from you. You do not have to hide things from me. I want to help you.’
She blinked rapidly and swallowed before whispering, ‘I find it hard to trust people.’
He shifted his legs forward and lay down, taking Orla with him, then rolled over so he lay on top of her.
Placing his elbows either side of her head, he stared into her eyes. ‘You need to try. I am not your enemy. I am not going to take our son from you because your injuries mean you can be clumsy and that you need more sleep than me. And I’m not going to stop wanting you because of some scars.’
Her throat moved as she bit into her bottom lip.
Placing