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Her breathing changed and he knew she was waking up.
CHAPTER TEN
HOPE swirled to consciousness, unsure whether she was awake or still dreaming.
Luciano was kissing her, touching her.
She’d dreamed about it so much that she was sure at first it was just another realistic flight of her subconscious and she did not want to wake up to the reality of her marriage and Luciano’s absence. She fought her return to consciousness, but it was if his voice was whispering in her ear, telling her he wanted her.
Then his hand made a path between her legs, penetrating moist folds with intimate caresses and she realized she was awake; Luciano was with her; and they were making love.
“You’re home,” she whispered, her vocal cords thick with sleep.
“Si. I am here, cara.”
Had he said cara? Or was that part of the dream that had meshed with reality?
His mouth trailed down her neck, nibbling her skin and making her shiver.
She whispered his name, clutching at his shoulders. “I’m glad you’re home.”
His fingers did something magical to her feminine flesh.
“I missed you,” she panted, her defenses obliterated by his touch and her disorientation in coming awake to it. “I missed this also,” he said in a husky voice that sent shivers of need rippling through her.
He wanted her again. Relief mixed with her growing passion in a volatile combination that had her moving restlessly under him, spreading her legs in an age-old invitation. “I want you.”
He groaned his approval and took her nipple into his mouth, but he did not move to join their bodies together. He tortured her with bliss, touching her body in ways he knew drove her crazy with desire.
“Please, Luciano. Now.” She arched toward him. “Be with me. Please.”
He made a sound that sounded as tortured as she felt and joined their bodies with one passionate thrust.
Tender flesh stretched to capacity, but she did not murmur a complaint. She wanted this very thing. Needed it.
He cried out in Italian and then began to move, his body surrounding her, filling her, completing her.
Afterward, he rolled over so she was on top of him, but they were still connected. He was still partially aroused inside her and little jolts of pleasure shot through her every time he moved.
She nuzzled into his neck and kissed wherever her lips landed. “You’re not mad at me anymore.”
Instead of answering, he gripped her hips and started moving her on his rapidly hardening flesh. Soon, she lost all desire to talk as sensual hunger took over.
This time they reached the pinnacle of pleasure together and their cries of satisfaction mingled in the air around them. When they were finished, he pulled her into his body and fell asleep before she could get answers to the many questions roiling in her mind.
She snuggled closer to him, reveling in the physical contact, needing the affirmation of her place in his life. He’d been desperate for her, but did that mean anything more than he hadn’t tired of her physically yet? She could not believe he could touch her so gently and take such care to insure her pleasure and still hate her.
The absence of hatred did not guarantee love, however.
And she needed his love, now more than ever.
She took the masculine hand resting on her hip and pulled it over her to press against her flat stomach. Her menses had not come. She wanted to take a pregnancy test, but she was sure deep inside that she carried Luciano’s baby.
Would he be happy?
His mother would be ecstatic, but it wasn’t her mother-in-law that Hope wanted to please. It was the man who had made such beautiful love to her, the man now holding her as if she meant something to him, as if he had missed having her in his bed as much as she had missed his presence in the night.
The last two weeks had been horrible and she had vacillated between certainty that marrying Luciano had been the biggest mistake of her life to an irrepressible hope that things could get better, that he would come to care more deeply for her. After that first phone call, he had called every day. She didn’t know if it was because he wanted to put a good front on for his family, or if he’d discovered he needed the connection as much as she did. Did it really matter?
Those phone calls had been her lifeline.
They hadn’t talked about personal issues, but he hadn’t been curt with her either. He always asked how she was doing and showed interest in how she had spent her day. He’d answered her questions about his business, sharing his frustrations and satisfactions depending on how his day had gone.
Would a man who hated being married to her share that kind of meaningful communication with her?
It was a question she’d asked herself at least fifty times a day since he’d gone. No satisfactory answer was forthcoming.
