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Antonio had known exactly how long she’d been hiding her eating disorder from them. At sixteen she’d weighed less than she had at thirteen, when Michael had changed their lives for ever.
And he’d not known. He’d not seen it.
His mother had been as truly shocked as he, and together they’d spent the next two weeks not leaving her side. The sounds of his sister’s sobs had cut him deeply. He just hadn’t been able to comprehend the negative sense of self coming from his once fun-loving, happy sister.
She had taken all the hurt and all the pain of her father’s rejection, of being cut off from her friends and the life she had once known, and turned it in on herself. And he’d felt...angry and furious. He had known exactly who was to blame and had vowed to have his revenge.
Antonio hadn’t realised that he’d been speaking—saying the words of his mind out loud to Emma in the suite—until he felt the rawness in his throat, saw the gathering tears framing her eyes.
She crossed the distance between them in quick strides and wrapped her arms around him. Her body gave warmth and life to his that had turned so cold. She pressed kisses to his neck, pulling his mouth to hers, and he greedily consumed what she had to offer.
This kiss was so different from those that had passed between them before. Not one borne of a selfish need for satisfaction, of the infernal heat of their desires, but one of warmth, of comfort, of support and the one thing he could not bring himself to name.
He sought out the areas of her skin not concealed by the lace fabric of the dress. He needed to feel her beneath him, to take every comfort she was offering and more. In their kiss he tasted the salty sweetness of her tears, evidence of her grief for him and perhaps even of his own.
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered against his lips. ‘So sorry that you and Cici had to go through that.’
And he felt it down in the darkest part of his heart—her words beginning to shine a soft light on a place he’d thought unreachable. The place he’d thought irrevocably damaged by his father, by shock and fear for his sister.
* * *
Emma’s heart had wrenched open at the sight of Antonio in such pain. He was on a precipice—one foot on land and one hovering above an abyss. Her only thought at that very moment was to comfort, to lov
e the man she knew he could be—the man torn apart by a sense of injustice, the man who was devastated by the consequences of the careless actions of his father.
Her hands traced the lines of his strong jaw. His skin was cold to her touch, as if his memories had leached the warmth from his body. She imbued her kisses with every emotion she felt for him, desperate to show him that love had the power to heal. Not with words. Antonio wasn’t ready for words. But with actions, deeds.
For just a moment he seemed simply unable to accept what she had to offer, and she wondered if she might not be able to reach him. Then, on a deep shudder, as if a barrier had fallen down and crumbled through his body, she felt his hands on her body. Touching, caressing, pulling her towards him.
Soft warmth turned to molten heat and threatened to consume them both whole.
Pulling him gently within her embrace, she walked them backwards towards her room, sidestepping the bags she’d placed there only an hour before. She drew him further, feeding him with need and desire and the love she felt for him.
Her hand went to her hair, releasing the pins that held it in place, allowing it to tumble down around her shoulders and arms. She found the discreet zip hidden at her side and pulled it down, peeling the lacy fabric from her skin.
His gaze seared her as she stood before him but she bore it, stood tall and proud beneath it. Wearing only panties and her heels, she felt no sense of the self-consciousness she had experienced the first time they had come together. There wasn’t even a thought to her breasts or her femininity. There was only her need for him, her love for him, and it felt more powerful than anything she had experienced before. She revelled in the way his gaze ravaged her body—not just one part, not just that part, but all of her. As if he were seeing her for the very first time.
But he seemed struck still by the storm of emotion she read in his eyes. Not unsure, but unmoving. So she crossed to him, her hands going to the buttons of his shirt, undoing them so that she could feel the warmth and heat of his powerful chest. She marvelled at the light but rough dusting of hair beneath her fingers, at the way his heart raged beneath her hand. She followed the hollowed dips to the waistband of his trousers and unbuckled their fastening.
Throughout all of it he had yet to move, as if he were simply incapable of it. But tension and energy pulsed beneath his skin, begging for release, demanding it.
She left the trousers open and returned to his chest, pushing the shirt from his body, relishing the way he shivered beneath her touch, warmed beneath her kisses. But still he held himself back from her in a vice-like grip of control.
He was so glorious. Standing shirtless in her room. Her fingers traced the span of his upper arms, the defined muscles of his torso, the tense muscle offering such power and protection. She wanted to feel his arms about her, wanted to be in his embrace.
And suddenly, as if he’d heard her need, her desire, Antonio swept his arms around her, holding her to him as his open-mouthed kisses plunged the hollows of her neck. Electric currents matched only by the lightning crashing outside the windows licked up her spine and across her exposed skin.
In the space of a heartbeat he had taken control—or lost it. Emma couldn’t really be sure. He devoured her with his touch, fed on her as a starving man would his first meal. He walked her back to the bed and came down on it with her, not once breaking the contact of his lips.
His hands and mouth worshipped her body, exploring every inch of her. She kicked off her shoes, leaving only the small thong covering her modesty. His hands gently pressed her thighs apart and he pressed hot wet kisses against the material. Her own answering wetness was no longer an embarrassment, simply a declaration of her desires and needs. He teased her through the fabric, making her desperate to remove this last barrier between them.
She groaned—or he did. Their united need was no longer distinguishable. Her hips bucked off the mattress, her body making its own demands while her mind and heart simply loved.
With swift movements he removed his clothing and shoes and leaned over her, his arms coming to rest either side of her face, holding her, cherishing her there. He pressed the length of his body over hers, the weight comforting, enticing, and elicited a restlessness from her body that was almost fevered.
His erection pressed against her abdomen and she sneaked a hand between them, taking hold of the length of him, exploring him with her fingers. His skin was smooth and hot, his arousal powerful, as she stroked teasing shudders of pleasure from him.
His gaze found hers in the darkness of the room and no words were necessary. He removed her thong—not quickly, or urgently, but slowly, pulling the lace slowly down each thigh, his hands sweeping it further, over her ankles, taking his time. Not to allow her fears to be allayed, but her desires to be inflamed.
