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He looked down at his wife. Her hair was spread across the pillows—his pillows—in a wild, honey-soft tangle. Her face was still pale, her eyes glittered from the tears she’d shed, her mouth trembled….
And he knew that he wanted her for more than the child she carried, certainly for more than the bank her grandfather owned. He wanted her for reasons he couldn’t understand and that made it all the more important to step back, walk away….
But he didn’t.
Instead he took her hands in his.
“Or,” he said gruffly, “I can undress you. I can put you to bed and lie with you, cara. Not to make love to you but to hold you in my arms as you sleep…and to promise you that I will honor you, care for you, that I will not frighten you again.”
He wasn’t sure what he expected her to say. Anything from “no” to “are you insane?” would probably have suited…But when she finally answered him, it was in a whisper so soft he had to bend his head to hear it.
“I—I feel safe when you hold me.”
He swallowed. “You should, cara. After all, I am—I am your husband.”
Their eyes met. Aimee smiled. Nicolo smiled back. Then he went to his closet and returned with a pair of burgundy-colored silk pajamas.
“Stand up,” he said softly.
Aimee obeyed. Turned her back so he could unzip the yellow dress. Strip it from her. Under it, she wore only a scrap of white lace.
Nicolo swallowed again. Decided that leaving the bit of lace would probably be the only intelligent thing to do, but why worry about intelligence?
A man who stripped a woman naked, then didn’t touch her, had no claim on intelligence.
Carefully he hooked his thumbs in the panties. She gave a little gasp and he acted as if it were important that he was easing them down her hips, her long legs.
“Lift your foot. Now the other,” he said and that gave him away. Was that thick, rough voice really his?
He tossed the scrap of lace aside. Rose to his f
eet. Did his best not to look at his wife but how could he not, when she was so exquisite? He had not seen her naked since the night they’d met but he remembered, oh, yes, he remembered….
Her body had changed. He would not have imagined it possible but it was even more beautiful now that she carried his baby. Her breasts were larger, her nipples darker. And her belly…Was he wrong, or was it just slightly fuller?
By all the saints, he was going to lose his sanity if he didn’t cup her breasts, lift them to his lips and kiss them. Kneel before her, put his mouth to her belly, to her feminine delta…
Nicolo dropped the burgundy pajama top on the bed and turned his back. “There,” he said briskly. “That’s for you. I’ll wear the bottoms. Okay?”
He sensed her nod of acquiescence; he was not fool enough to look at her to make sure. As it was, he was doing mental multiplication tables to try to keep from becoming erect.
He had promised all he’d do was hold her in his arms and that was what he would do.
Quickly he took off what remained of his own clothes, stepped into the PJ bottoms and tied them.
“Ready?”
“Ready,” Aimee said softly.
A deep, deep breath. Then he swung around. Her sandals stood neatly beside the bed; her panties were on the night table.
She was under the blanket.
God was merciful, after all.
Nicolo forced a smile, lifted the covers and slid in beside her. For a moment, neither of them moved. Then he turned, and she turned, and suddenly she was in his arms.
She smelled of flowers.
