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His gaze met hers, and she hardly recognized what she saw there.
Beneath the glacial arrogance that was all Cristiano, there was something else. Something that made her hold her breath as he ventured near, nodding coldly at the doctor to continue.
Together they stared at the screen before them, and the unearthly picture that didn’t seem to make sense—until it did.
Cristiano stood next to where she lay, and she stared up at him as his throat convulsed. Once, then again.
The doctor pointed out the baby’s features, and Julienne looked from the screen to Cristiano’s stricken expression. And at the hand that flexed slightly at his side. Then, following an urge that came straight from the swell of emotion in her heart that made it beat too hard and too loud, she dared to reach over and slide her hand into his.
She made a great show of looking at the screen, not at him while she did it.
Cristiano stiffened. Julienne expected him to shake her hand off.
But then, a breath later, his hand wrapped around hers. And held her fast.
That evening, Julienne dressed for dinner the way she always did. She smoothed her way into another stretchy dress, this one with a longer skirt that brushed the floor as she moved. It made her feel prettier somehow. Especially since the baby had been particularly active all day, kicking and punching like he had a score to settle.
“Or,” she murmured, rubbing her belly as she walked out of her room and into the atrium, “like a little baby boy whose papa saw his face at last.”
She could hardly put into words how that made her feel. It hadn’t mattered to her that Cristiano had walked out with the doctor, and had not returned. Or it hadn’t matteredmuch.Not when she could still feel the sensation of his hand on hers. The way he clenched so tight, and kept holding on to her even after they finished with the picture part of the examination.
Her fingers flexed of their own accord. And she could still feel the heat of his grip. The strength.
It was a beautiful spring evening and against her will, Julienne took a deep, almost happy sort of breath. She loved this villa more every day, though she tried so hard not to let it charm her. The graceful colonnade that formed the border of the atrium, wound with flowering vines. The atrium itself, a beautiful central garden that made every room in the house feel a part of the wild, surrounded by so much Tuscan beauty on both sides. She made her way down the path that cut from the guest suite to the formal part of the villa, with its many reception rooms. The stones beneath her feet were still warm from the day. The trees that stretched above her head provided a canopy of shade and birdsong. The small pond had a little fountain on one end, so the sound of water spilling and falling filled the whole of the villa like a happy song.
She couldn’t help but smile as she made it to the dining room. But to her surprise, the table was not set. The housekeeper stood there instead, and nodded diffidently when she entered.
“Mr. Cassara requests the pleasure of your company on the west terrace,” the housekeeper said.
Julienne wanted to argue. She wanted to demand that Cristiano come to her, and that they continue this tradition that she’d put into place when he’d left her here. Because maybe she wanted to play at being the lady of the manor—the lady ofthismanor, anyway.
His lady,something in her whispered.
She made herself smile at the waiting housekeeper, which was better than crying at her own foolishness. “We wouldn’t want to keep Mr. Cassara waiting.”
And she followed the housekeeper around to the west side of the villa, through one pretty, airy salon after the next. Eventually they walked out onto a stone terrace surrounded by wrought iron, also festooned with flowers and greenery. The terrace sat up above a slope of vineyard that rolled down into the valley below. It was not quite dark, and the light was magical, making the red rooftops of the villa’s outbuildings and guest cottages gleam, while the marching pairs of cypress trees along the estate’s winding lanes seemed to head straight for the setting sun.
She told herself the light was the reason Cristiano looked the way he did then, standing at the rail with all that soft gold licking over his strong, gloriously perfect body.
The body she knew better now, having refreshed her recollection of him last night.
And it amazed her that she could still blush after the things they’d done, but she did. Hard and hot. She hoped he would mistake it for another trick of the light.
He turned at her approach. And though his face was cast in shadow, then, she could still feel the impact of his intense gaze.
And everything felt fraught, suddenly. As if that intensity that emanated from him was part of the silky Tuscan golden light between them. And it was all around her, too, pressing in tight. Until she wasn’t sure which one of them might burst.
She didn’t know what to do. And the baby was kicking, her face was aflame and she couldfeelthe way he looked at her, all that hunger and hope. Not that she imagined he’d admit that last part. She flexed her hand again, then she walked to him because she couldn’t think of a single other thing to do.
And her heart stuttered as she drew close, because he reached out his hand and took hers.
Of his own volition this time.
And then, stunning her, he pulled her close.
“I thought we would eat here,” Cristiano said, sounding formal and stuffy and delicious. And the way he gazed down at her, she was not entirely certain what sort of meal he meant. “To take advantage of the view.”
Her head was tipped back so she could look him full in the face, though she had no memory of doing that of her own volition. “I like the view,” she said softly.
