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“With pleasure,” he whispered, and kissed her.
Another kiss. And another, kisses that grew deeper and longer until Nicolo knew that soon, there’d be no turning back.
He groaned, kissed her one last time and rolled onto his back. Aimee made a sound of protest that went straight to his heart, and he gathered her closely against his side.
“We have things to do this morning.”
“More important than this?”
“Nothing is more important than this…Except, perhaps, our ten o’clock appointment with Dr. Scarantino.”
She rose up on her elbow. “Who?”
“I spoke with my physician about a doctor for you and the baby.”
“Already?”
“I made the call hours ago,” he teased, “while you lazed in bed.”
“And why was I lazing in bed, do you think?”
Nicolo’s eyes darkened. “If I answer that question, we’ll miss our appointment with the best OB-GIN in all of Roma.”
Aimee brushed a lock of dark hair from her husband’s forehead. She smiled, loving the way he mangled the abbreviation.
“After that, we’ll stroll along the Via Condotti. Do you like Armani, cara? Valentino?” He smiled. “Who are your favorite designers, hmm? Tell me, and we will visit their shops today.”
Her favorite designers were whatever was on sale in So Ho. Not taking money from her grandfather had long ago become a way of life.
“Nicolo. I brought a suitcase. I don’t need—”
“And,” he said, “then a stop at Bulgari for a proper wedding band. One that fits you and will tell the world that you are mine.” He paused; his expression grew serious. “I did something else this morning, as well. I sent a fax to your grandfather, informing him that I do not wish to purchase his bank.”
“No. I’ve thought about that. And I can’t let you—”
“The choice is mine, cara. And I have already made it.”
The words were arrogant, masculine…and wonderful. Aimee sighed and lay her head against her husband’s shoulder.
“You are enough for me, Aimee. Do you understand?”
Was she enough? She had to believe it. Nicolo had sacrificed ownership of her grandfather’s financial empire for her.
“Do you understand?” he said, rolling her onto her back.
“Yes,” she said, “yes…”
He kissed her. Kissed her again…And forgot everything but making love to his wife.
A prince and his princess could surely be a few minutes late for an appointment.
The obstetrician—not an OB-G-Anything but uno medico l’ostetrico—was middle-aged, pleasant and, to Aimee’s relief, spoke excellent English.
His calm demeanor was just what Nicolo needed.
Somehow, finding himself waiting in the doctor’s private office while Aimee was examined had turned him from a man whose wife was having a baby into one whose wife was about to do something no female on the planet had ever done before.
He sprang to his feet when she and the doctor reappeared.
