The feel of him inside her, the wonders of her own body, rising to greet him as he entered and then resisting each withdrawal—her hips moving to meet his. There was this pull in her stomach, little licks of heat in her thighs. She couldn’t keep her eyes open, she was lost in the dark with him and she felt as if she’d been found.
He was moving harder now, and yet she could feel him hold back, only he didn’t need to now. Her fingers ran down the length of his back, holding his buttocks and pressing him into her, and Luca had never been closer to anyone, had never been closer to himself, than he was at this moment. She was crying and he was kissing her, demanding, seeking and taking her all. He licked her tears and felt the coil of her legs tighten around him as she gave her urgent consent. He drove in, feeling her in a way he had never felt a woman, the delicious slippery grip of her, the first flickers of her orgasm beating like the first heavy raindrops of a gathering storm. He could feel her mouth on his chest, muffling the pleasure she felt, and he felt her moans vibrate through his heart. Suddenly she was climaxing and so now could he, spilling inside her as she swelled in rhythmic spasms tighter and tighter, dragging him deeper inside her.
He wanted them in this place for ever, could feel his body winding down from the giddy rush, hear his own ragged breathing that heralded the end. Then he did something else he never had before—sated, replete and utterly spent, he looked down at where she lay beneath him and he lowered his head and kissed her.
CHAPTER NINE
EMMA didn’t know how she felt when she awoke alone in his bed early the next morning.
The house was already awake, she could hear several voices and the sound of activity as the day before the wedding dawned. In a little while she would join them, would shower and go down and play the part of Luca’s girlfriend and help with the preparations in any way that she could, but not just yet.
Now she lay, naked under the sheet, her body tender from last night and her mind surprisingly calm—remembering from a calm distance almost, accepting now what she had always known.
That there could be no going back.
That having made love with Luca, the countdown to the end had started.
She had seen it so many times—with her father, with her brothers, and with Luca himself.
The thrill of the chase, the high on capture, the intense passion of a new relationship—and then, always then, the retreat.
She knew this, had accepted this, had factored it in coolly when she had delivered her demands, but there was one thing she hadn’t counted on. As he walked into the bedroom, carrying a laden tray and smiling into her eyes, there was an emotion almost like fear in the eyes that smiled back at him, because she had never anticipated the full effect of him—the dazzling beam of Luca when the full power of his smile, his mind, his body was aimed in her direction.
He’d be hell to miss.
He was dressed in jeans and nothing else. Barefoot and bare chested, he walked across the bedroom towards her, and it was a Luca she had never seen.
Usually suited, clean shaven—even the times she had seen him dressed rather more casually, still there had been a formal air to him. But it was a different Luca in front of her now.
Unshaven, his hair damp from the shower, it flopped forward as he bent over her. Then he took the coffee pot from the tray and put it on the bedside table before placing a tray on her lap. He looked younger somehow, less austere perhaps, and for Emma terribly, dangerously, devastatingly beautiful.
‘It is chaos out there.’ His thumb gestured to the bedroom door. ‘So we will hide in here for a couple of hours.’
‘Shouldn’t I be out there, helping?’ Emma asked, reaching for the pot of coffee, but Luca got there first.
‘I’ll pour,’ Luca said, then answered her question. ‘No, as I just said to my mother, we would only get in the way.’
Only she wasn’t really listening—instead, she stared at the cup he filled. It had been a seemingly innocuous gesture, yet for Emma it was huge.
He’d brought her breakfast in bed.
Oh, she’d had staff knock on the door of her hotel room at six a.m. when she was travelling with Luca and bring her in her order, but never, not once in her life, had someone who wasn’t being paid prepared breakfast for her, brought it to her and expected her to just sit as they poured. Always she got up, always it was her…
And this morning it was him.
It was scary how nice it felt to be looked after, even in this small way.
‘These are pizelles. Like waffles…’ He smeared one with honey and handed it to her—and then lay on his side, propped up on one arm, his coffee in the other hand, watching her intently, scanning her features for remorse.
‘How are you?’ he finally asked outright.
‘Good,’ Emma said through a mouthful of pizelle.
‘Any regrets?’ he asked.
‘None,’ she shook her head. ‘You?’
‘None—so long as you’re okay?’ he pressed.
‘The first time’s supposed to be awful,’ she murmured a little wickedly.
‘Says who?’ he asked, outraged.
‘I read it in a magazine.’
Luca rolled his eyes.
‘If that was awful…’ Emma giggled ‘…I can’t wait for bad!’
‘Throw away the magazines, baby…’ He took her coffee cup and her pizelle away and straddled her on the bed. ‘I’ll teach you everything I know.’
It was such a different Luca, as if she’d been looking at him through the wrong end of a telescope. His energy was lighter, funnier, sexier even, if that were possible. They shared breakfast and then each other, and then they left the chaotic household and had a picnic on the beach.
This time she didn’t slip away when it was time to ring her father, she just sat on the blanket and laughed and listened to him reminiscing, and it was so much easier with Luca lying there beside her.
‘I’ll sort out the back fees for the home,’ Luca said as she clicked off the phone. She turned to him, appalled.
‘How did you know?’
‘I read the letter the nursing home gave you,’ he admitted shamelessly.
‘That’s reprehensible!’ She was furious, embarrassed… And then he kissed her.
‘Sorted,’ Luca said, and he caught her eyes, ‘You’ve helped me—now I can help you. I absolutely insist on it.’
And it was probably no big deal to him, except for Emma it was.
She felt the lightness as six months of worry slipped away, felt the elation as they ran down to the beach and enjoyed the late afternoon, felt the joy of being a couple, having someone to lean on, helping each other out.
And then Emma did a stupid thing.
As he kissed her in the salty sea, as she felt the waves rush round them and the chase of his tongue in her mouth, she started to wonder.
Started to hope.
Their day at the beach had brought a glow to her skin and on the morning of the wedding Emma massaged in body oil, glad of the peace in their bedroom and the chance, for once, to take her time getting ready, without Luca snapping his fingers and telling her she looked fine as she was.
Most of the house had been commandeered by the bride and her entourage. The whir of the hairdryer had been continual from eight a.m. and there was a constant stream of flowers, including the traditional