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Sam was only good enough within an environment which suited him. Nothing had changed. The bitterness that scored her shocked her with its intensity. Her emotions were see-sawing all over the place.
What hadn’t helped was the little surprise Rafaele had had lined up when they’d woken that morning. The sleek supercar Rafaele had been using since he’d appeared in their lives had been replaced, probably by some hardworking minion, with a far more sedate family car.
‘What’s this?’ Sam had asked faintly from the front door as Rafaele had deftly strapped Milo into his car seat to take him swimming.
He’d cast her a quick dry glance. ‘It’s a car, Sam. A more practical car, I think you’ll agree, for a child...’
Sam had felt as if she’d just tipped over the edge of a precipice. All she’d been able to think about after they’d left, with an ecstatic Milo in the back, was of how Rafaele—one of the most Alpha male men she’d ever met, if not the most—had segued from playboy with a fast car into man with a child and a safety-conscious car without turning a hair. And somehow that had made Sam more nervous than anything else. She was too scared to look at all the implications and what they might mean...
She heard a noise then and tensed as she sensed Rafaele’s presence behind her in the kitchen. She felt far too vulnerable to face him right now.
‘I want you and Milo to come to Milan with me.’
Sam went very still for a moment, and then proceeded to fold a sheet as if he hadn’t just dropped a bomb from a great height. Irritation with herself, with him, at the sexual frustration clawing at her insides, laced her voice. ‘What are you talking about, Rafaele? We can’t just go to Milan with you.’
Sounding impatient, Rafaele said, ‘Sam, I can’t talk to your back.’ His voice changed and grew rougher. ‘As delectable as it is. And your bottom in those jeans... Dio, do you know how hard it’s been not to touch you all weekend?’
That made Sam whirl around, her blood heating instantaneously and rushing to every erogenous zone she had. She dropped the sheet from nerveless hands.
Despite her own craving need all weekend she hissed, ‘Stop it. You can’t talk to me like that. Not here, with Milo in the house.’
Rafaele was leaning against the doorjamb, far too close. His eyes narrowed on her, taking in her jeans and shirt. Grimly he admitted, ‘I know. That’s precisely why I restrained myself.’
Something gave way inside Sam at hearing him admit that his concern for Milo had been uppermost. It made her feel exposed, vulnerable. Between her legs she throbbed almost painfully.
Sam picked up the sheet and thrust it at Rafaele’s chest. ‘Here’s some fresh linen for your bed.’
Rafaele caught the linen when it would have dropped to the ground again. His mouth had gone flat and tight.
‘Well? Did you hear what I said about Milan? I want you and Milo to come with me this week.’
The thought of going back to the scene of the crime made Sam’s emotions seesaw even more. She turned around again and blurted out, ‘It’s not practical, Rafaele. You can’t just announce—’
‘Dio, Sam.’
Sam let out a small squeak of surprise at Rafaele’s guttural voice and saw the linen she’d just shoved at him sail over her head to land back on the pile haphazardly. Then she felt big hands swing her round until she was looking up in his grim face.
‘Sam, I—’ He stopped. His eyes went to her mouth and then he just said, ‘Dio!’ again, before muttering something else in Italian and then pulling her into him.
His mouth was on hers, branding her, and she was up in flames in an instant, every point of her body straining to be closer to his hard form.
With a moan of helpless need and self-derision Sam submitted to the practised and expert ministrations of Rafaele’s wicked mouth and tongue. Some tiny morsel of self-preservation eventually impinged on the heat and gave Sam the strength
to pull free. She looked up into Rafaele’s face and almost melted there and then at the sight of the feral look in his eyes. She put a hand to his chest, but that was worse when she felt his heart pounding.
‘We can’t. Not here...’
Rafaele smiled, but it was humourless. ‘Maybe we’ll have to book a hotel as you’re partial to that kind of thing.’
That gave Sam the impetus to move, and she scooted out of the small space and rounded on Rafaele, arms crossed over the betraying throb of her breasts. Her voice was low with anger. ‘You have no right to judge me when you were jumping into bed with someone new barely a week after I left Italy.’
Rafaele frowned. He looked volcanic. ‘What the hell are you talking about? I wasn’t with anyone.’
Sam emitted a curt laugh and tried to hide the flare of something pathetic within her. Hope. ‘Well, that’s not what it looked like—you were photographed all over the place with some Italian TV personality.’
Rafaele opened his mouth to speak but Sam put up a hand, stopping him.
Fiercely, she said, ‘I don’t care, Rafaele.’ Liar.
