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He gazed up at her and opened the box to reveal a beautiful solitaire diamond ring set in a wide band of smaller diamonds.
‘Orla Kate Kennedy … will you please marry me?’
Too shocked and stunned and overcome to cry, Orla just nodded stupidly … finally managing to say huskily, ‘Yes, Antonio Marco Chatsfield, I’ll marry you.’
Antonio pushed the ring onto Orla’s finger, where it glittered brilliantly, but she was too intent on getting Antonio back where she wanted him to inspect it. She pulled him up and pressed her mouth to his, revelling in his hands moving over her, divesting her of her clothes, and his, until they were both naked and fell in a tangle of bronzed and pale limbs, onto the bed.
Orla thought of something and speared her fingers in Antonio’s hair, dragging his head back up from her breast. They were both breathless. ‘Do you mind if I don’t change my name?’
Antonio frowned. ‘Why would I mind if you didn’t change your name?’
Orla smiled. ‘I like the sound of Kennedy-Chatsfield.’
Antonio smiled too. ‘Maybe I’ll change my name.’
Orla rolled her eyes. ‘Just the thing to welcome your family back into your life.’
Sounding a little hoarse, Antonio said, ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
Orla’s hands cupped his face. ‘It means that I’m here for you no matter what. And sooner or later you’re going to get in touch with your brothers and sisters and let them know you’re back.’
Orla could see the emotion in his eyes. How much it meant to him to hear her say that. He pressed a kiss to her mouth, soft, lingering. And then Orla moved over him so that she lay sprawled over his body, her thighs either side of his hips, the heart of her body almost touching the head of his erection.
Antonio felt emotion obliterating the last vestiges of darkness inside him.
This was the last bastion, the image he’d never really allowed himself to even envisage, believing himself to be too dark and twisted inside.
He pushed some vibrant red hair over her pale shoulder and pressed a kiss there before gazing deep into those sapphire eyes. His chest expanded and before he could say anything Orla put a finger to his lips, and with her eyes shining suspiciously bright, she said, ‘Yes, at least two. A boy and a girl, but I don’t really care about that as long as they’re healthy and look like you….’
They shared a look of such communion and intensity Antonio felt as if he’d come just from looking at her, but before he did, he joined their bodies and showed her without words all of the emotion in his heart, for her.
EPILOGUE
Three years later
‘DA-DA-DA-DA-DA-DA!’
Orla gave up trying to keep a hold of her wriggling eighteen-month-old daughter, Ashling, when she reacted with predictable glee to seeing her favourite person in the world.
She smiled wryly at the padded bottom waddling in her cute romper suit as the sturdy body fell headlong into the safe hands of her adoring father.
For a second Orla’s breath caught when she saw the two identically dark-haired heads together, and then Ashling broke away from sloppily kissing her father’s big grin to look at her mother with huge innocent dark blue eyes as if to apologise for being so blatantly disloyal.
Orla stood up from where she’d been playing with Ashling on the lawn outside the villa and strolled towards her husband, her blood heating as it always did when his eyes seemed to devour her even after only a short absence. In this case, a pathetic couple of hours.
He bent and pressed a lingering kiss to her mouth, ignoring Ashling’s shameless attempts to gain his attention by clapping her chubby hands in front of his face.
Luckily Marie-Ange appeared then from the side of the house with Lily, and Ashling’s attention was diverted and she wriggled to be put down to chase after her second-favourite person. She hero-worshipped Lily.
Antonio obliged and watched her toddle off, only turning back when he knew she was safe.
Orla took advantage of the undoubtedly brief moment of peace to snake her arms around Antonio’s waist. She revelled in his equally possessive hold and pressed close to his body.
He looked down at her and arched a brow, mock-chagrin on his face at her wry expression. ‘What? I can’t help it if my daughter finds me as irresistible as her mother does.’
Orla grumbled good-naturedly, ‘Just wait till we have a son. Then you’ll know all about favourites.
‘Marie-Ange has been cooking up a storm all day. And I’ve been helping but I’m afraid she’s told me to leave the kitchen in case I set it on fire again with my enthusiastic flambéing. “Baby steps,” she keeps saying.’
