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‘Sam...’
CHAPTER NINE
SAM’S SHOULDERS TENSED. Rafaele padded silently towards her on bare feet and she turned around, as if afraid he’d come too close. He saw a tumbler in her hand with a dark golden liquid.
She smiled and it was tight, lifted the glass towards him. ‘Chin-chin.’ And then she took a deep gulp, draining the glass.
He saw her cheeks flush but she made no sound. The evidence of tears was gone but her eyes looked huge, bruised.
‘Sam...’ He spoke through a sudden constriction in his throat. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you...’
‘You didn’t hurt me, Rafaele, I enjoyed it. You’ve obviously developed a kinkier side since I knew you... Was it any mistress in particular? Or is it just a sign of the times—routine sex is too boring?’
Rafaele gritted his jaw. He knew that Sam had been with him all the way because he’d felt the excitement in her body pushing him on...her distress had come afterwards...
‘I’ve never done that with another woman,’ he admitted reluctantly. He’d never felt the need to.
Sam emitted a curt laugh and raised a dark brow. ‘So it’s just me? I should feel flattered that I made you so angry you felt you had to restrain me...?’
Rafaele frowned, losing the thread. ‘Angry?’ Had it been that obvious? His fit of jealousy and vulnerability?
But Sam was continuing. ‘I know you’re angry about Milo, Rafaele, but you can’t take it out on me like this.’
Half without thinking, Rafaele said, ‘But I’m not angry about Milo.’
He realised in that moment that he truly didn’t feel angry about that—not any more. It had faded and been replaced by a much darker anger...stemming from this woman’s unique ability to make him lose his self-control and lose sight of what was important to him. Anger that he felt so vulnerable around her.
But Sam seemed not to have heard him. She came closer to put the empty glass down and Rafaele could see the tantalising curve of her breast through the haphazardly tied shirt. Instantly his lower body was on fire, reacting. He had a momentary revelation: he was never going to get enough of this woman, not even in a lifetime. It would never burn out between them, only grow brighter.
Rafaele was stunned, his head expanding with the terrifying knowledge that he would never be free of this insatiable need. He was barely aware of Sam walking out of the room. His brain was working overtime, trying to take in the knowledge that had come to him earlier, before he’d really been ready to deal with it, that he couldn’t let her go. And now it was the most obvious thing in the world.
* * *
Sam gripped the bannister as she went up the stairs. Rafaele might have just said that he wasn’t angry about Milo...but he was still angry with her. It was as clear as day. Maybe it was because he wanted her and resented himself for it?
Any control she’d clawed back before Rafaele had appeared and during that brief conversation had drained away again, leaving her feeling shaky. Somehow she got to her room, closed the door behind her and sagged against it. Tears pricked her eyes. Again. More tears for the man downstairs whom she would probably never be able to read.
Sam was too drained to deal with buttons. Her body was made weak from pleasure and sensation. She ripped Rafaele’s shirt, making buttons pop and fall silently to the ground, and crawled into bed. In the morning she would shower and wash the scent of sex off her skin, but right now—treacherously—she didn’t want to. In spite of what had happened.
* * *
‘Rafaele said that we’ll be leaving in an hour for Rome.’
Sam looked up with a studied air of nonchalance at Bridie, who had just come into the dining room. ‘Oh?’
Bridie had Milo by the hand and he ran over to Sam, who picked him up and hugged him close, revelling in his sturdy body and sweet baby scent.
Bridie helped herself to some coffee and asked, ‘How was the function last night?’
When Sam had woken that morning and come downstairs Bridie, Milo and Umberto had evidently already eaten, because the detritus of breakfast had been at the table but they had not. To her intense relief it appeared as if Rafaele had eaten also, as his place at the head of the table had already been used.
‘It was...very swish,’ Sam replied, knowing Bridie would love to hear about all the gowns and luxury. She took the cowardly way out and detailed to Bridie all of those things, while trying to ignore the disturbing memories threatening to spill into her mind at any given moment.
* * *
It took less than an hour to get from Milan to Rome and they arrived by lunchtime. Rafaele had arranged for one of his assistants to meet them at the airport with a car, and Bridie was whisked off in it to the Vatican, for the private tour Rafaele had arranged for her—much to her delight.
Another car was waiting for them, and Sam saw that Rafaele was going to drive them himself as he deftly secured Milo into the child’s car seat installed in the back. It made Sam think once again of how seamlessly Rafaele had incorporated Milo into his life and her heart ached to think of what might have happened if she had told Rafaele from the start about her pregnancy.
