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Her heart did a funny little stitch in her chest. “I had an apple earlier.”
“An apple?” He turned back to her, his brow lifted, and her heart skipped another beat. She pressed her palm to her bare stomach, drawing his eyes lower without meaning to.
But his gaze didn’t drop directly to her stomach. It meandered there, slowly, moving over her breasts first, their generous curves highlighted by the lace bra she wore, tracing the lines of each nipple before moving slowly downwards, to her stomach. Her breath was burning in her lungs, making it almost impossible to breathe normally.
“I’m interrupting you.” His voice was hoarse, the words layered with a thousand and one emotions, each of them in conflict with the other.
“I –,”
What? What was she?
She tried to pull her thoughts into order but they were scattered through her brain, discordant and frustrating.
“I’ll go.” It sounded like the last thing he wanted to do.
She should nod softly, gently, turn away from him. She should put the shirt back on. She should do any number of things, she thought with a lifting in her belly, because none of them were what she wanted to do.
Her tongue traced the line of her lips, moistening them, but it didn’t help the drowning sensation that was swallowing her whole.
“Nothing fits,” she gestured towards her wardrobe distractedly. “I was just trying to find something. I’m…huge.”
A muscle jerked in his jaw and she knew she was standing on a precipice – she had only a moment in which to tell him to stop, to go, to lighten the mood between them. A second later, he was walking towards her, his eyes showing intent, his shoulders squared.
“You are not huge,” he promised darkly, his breathing loud when he came to stand right in front of her.
“Nothing fits,” she repeated, as though it was some great profound statement of importance instead of an unusual hint of vanity.
“No?” He reached for the shirt she was still holding in her hands. She hadn’t realised it was there. Their fingertips brushed as he removed it, dropping it to the floor without looking at her.
She shook her head, but could barely remember what he’d asked her.
“Then you need new clothes.”
Her lips lifted in an involuntary half-smile. “I need to have this baby.”
He ran his hand over her stomach
, and she flinched – but not because his touch was unwelcome, so much as it was a surprise, and the confirmation of all the desires she’d been nursing for so long.
“It’s too early.”
“I know.” His hands moved higher, his eyes on hers the whole time, silently seeking her permission, inviting her to stop him, to do anything to put a stop to the inevitably that was drawing them together. “I just meant –,”
His hands brushed her breasts and the sentence trailed into nothingness.
“I know what you meant.” His fingertips found her nipples through the lace of her bra, circling them as he moved his body closer, his face only an inch or so from hers.
She’d denied herself this for so long, telling herself she was being pragmatic and smart, that it made sense to keep a distance from this man given their situation, but standing in her room with the Roman night sky framed perfectly beyond her window, she didn’t want that any longer. She needed things that were beyond her ability to explain.
“Max?” It was a question, a silent plea. He understood, but his eyes swept shut, as though he were fighting some kind of battle she couldn’t understand.
“I want to make love to you,” he said firmly, but there was a plea of his own in the words, as though he expected – hoped? – she would stop him.
She swallowed, lost in a swirling torrent of uncertainty that was eclipsed only by the power of her body’s wants.
“I know.”
“I told myself I wouldn’t do this.”
