His mother’s voice, cracking with pain and despair, reverberated inside his head, and he flinched at the sound.
‘What is it?’
He stared down at Dulcie, his pulse lurching. There was an indent in her forehead, just above her nose, and her eyes were a soft blue that washed over him like a gentle wave. She was worried about him. And the fact that she cared made him lose his bearings momentarily.
Made him momentarily consider telling her the truth. That his father merely tolerated him. Much as he would tolerate an efficient maître d’ who would get him the best table in a restaurant. That his mother had not just blamed him for his brother’s death, she would have preferred him to die instead.
‘Ettore?’
‘It’s nothing. I was just wondering whether or not to tell you where we’re going?’
‘You’ve chosen where we’re going?’
‘I have. But it’s a surprise.’
‘I like surprises.’ She shifted her weight, sliding her leg across his lap to straddle him, and he stared at her naked body, his brain a perfect blank slate, his cock hardening with such speed and intensity that he was glad he was sitting down.
‘I hope it’s not too long a flight.’ She leaned into him, her mouth brushing against his, and his hands moved automatically to cup her breasts, and he felt her breath snatch in her throat as his thumbs made contact with her nipples. They were already swollen and quivering slightly and now it was his breath that snatched audibly.
‘Any particular reason?’ Heat slid over his skin as her mouth curved up into a sweet, head-spinning smile.
‘Just that I get restless on long flights.’ He felt her hand close around the pulsing head of his cock and her unfaltering touch made him twitch with impatience, his muscles, his breath, his blood swelling and reaching towards her.
‘Really, relentlessly restless.’
Thes’s curled over his skin.
‘That’s okay. We’re taking the jet,’ he said hoarsely, his hands sliding down over her body to cradle her bottom. ‘There’s a bedroom on board. You can be as restless as you need.’
Dulcie was in the window seat, but as he heard the clunk of the landing gear, Ettore leaned forward, his gaze tracking over the large urban sprawl as the jet made its descent. They had been in the air for only two hours. But despite the shortness of the flight, they had both been restless and almost as soon as the steward had told them that they could unfasten their seat belts, they had retreated to the bedroom.
‘How are you feeling?’ He leaned in to press a kiss on her throat and she closed the guidebook he’d given her on the flight, and turned towards him, her lips parting into that smile, the sweet, curling smile that felt like sunlight on his skin.
‘Tired. Happy.’ She kissed him softly on the mouth. They were kissing a lot. Touching a lot since yesterday.
‘Excited. Happy.’ She kissed him on the mouth again. ‘Hungry. Happy.’ Her gaze shifted to the window then back to his face. ‘I can’t believe we’re going to Paris.’
There was no shortage of honeymoon destinations around the globe. And he had briefly considered some of them, but his mind had kept circling back to Paris. Not just because it was a beautiful, romantic city. It was their city. The place where they met. The place where they were just Ettore and Dulcie. On their first visit two years ago, all they had wanted and needed was each other and a king-size bed.
Maybe that was all they needed now to make this work.
Liar.
Coward.
What they needed—what Dulcie needed—was for him to tell her the truth. As she had told him her truth. Silently, he formed sentences inside his head, testing them out, comparing them as if he were actually going to say them out loud.
Liar.
Coward.
How could he tell her the truth? She had loved him once, then hated him, and then hated him some more when he’d turned up in her life and twisted their marriage into something to fit his agenda. But she had never pitied him. And he couldn’t stomach that. He could picture her face, how she would avoid his eyes when hers was always the most challenging gaze.
Nothing could change the past, not even the truth. But he could make amends. And that was what this trip to Paris was about. Not unburdening himself to a woman who had shouldered enough burdens in her life.
Let her have Paris. Let her have some unalloyed days without having to worry about yet another dysfunctional man.
‘So, you’re pleased.’ He knew she was, but he just wanted to hear her say it.
