The question hovered unspoken between them and then as one they answered it. The pins fell from his hands, and he was reaching for her as she stepped towards him.
Their bodies collided, hands gripping and clenching at whatever they could reach, their mouths slotting together just as they had in London. But this was a different kind of kiss. That had been a challenge issued and met. It had been performative and destabilising.
This was a wordless admission of need.
That fine gold thread of hunger between them pulling tight, pulling them closer with powerful, unstoppable magnetic force.
His hand was tight around her waist, the other grasped her head, fingers biting into her scalp. He was kissing her hungrily, hard, hot, open-mouthed kisses that made her grind her hips against his groin.
She moaned. She could feel how hard he was, and she shifted, pushing hard against him, trying to soothe the pulse hammering between her thighs. He made a rough noise in the back of his throat and then he was pushing up her dress, his hands lifting her up and—
‘Wait.’
He had jerked his head back and he was staring at her, breathing raggedly, his eyes unfocused.
Not understanding, thinking he wanted to move more into the darkness, she reached for him,
‘No, Dulcie, stop.’
And then slowly, inexorably, he stepped backwards, and her body swayed a little as he let her go.
‘Ettore?’
He took a deep breath, pressing his hands together as though in prayer.
‘Go back inside.’
She stared at him in confusion. There was a coolness in his voice, and she felt it wind over her skin even as her face burned.
‘What do you mean? Are you serious?’ Her heart banged inside her chest, and she was suddenly conscious of her bare feet and her shaking hands and how the neckline of her dress was lower than her nipples.
‘Intensely.’
A drop of rain splashed on her face. Then another and there was a faint, warning rumble from overhead.
‘Go back inside, Dulcie,’ he repeated and then he turned and walked into the darkness as the rain started to fall, smashing against the leaves with the same force as the hail that had fallen in Paris.
She made it back to her bedroom, and she stood by the window for a long time. But she didn’t see Ettore come back, and after an hour, when her dress was dry, she stripped off and got into bed.
Her body was taut and twitchy with frustration, and her head kept replaying the moment when Ettore had pulled away, so it was impossible to fall asleep. Which was why she heard the click of his door about an hour later.
And as she lay in the darkness, her body rigid, her mouth still trembling from his kisses, she didn’t think she had ever felt more alone. Or more unhappy.
Chapter Seven
‘THANK YOU SOmuch for coming today, Signore, Signora. Everyone is very excited for your visit.’
Giulia Rossi, the manager of the residential care home, beamed at Dulcie and Ettore. ‘And on behalf of all the staff and residents at St Maria, may I offer our congratulations?Auguri! Che la gioia abitarvi ogni giorno e l’amore accompagnarvi per tutta la vita.’
‘Thank you.’ Ettore smiled, and Dulcie felt his hand press lightly around her waist. ‘Signora Rossi is wishing us joy, and love in our life for ever.’
Dulcie smiled. ‘Thank you. That’s very kind of you.’
And optimistic on so many levels, she thought, watching Ettore shake hands with the assembled staff.
Joy and love were not part of their marriage.
And neither was sex.
