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Stefano reached out to her, hesitated. ‘May I?’
Lucy held out her hand, palm up. He took it, cradled it in his own. The tips of her fingers were flushed pink. He brushed his own over them, then her palm. She gave a sharp exhalation.
‘Do they hurt?’ he asked.
‘Not for a long time. I have calluses there now.’
Her voice was a whisper as he touched her skin and held the true instrument of her brilliance—not the violin, but her hands. He stroked his finger along her palm, then down each of her fingers. The pupils of her golden eyes flared wide and dark.
‘Who would think that flesh and bone could contain such skill?’
‘I’ve worked hard and my body’s suffering for it.’
‘Is it painful right now?’ He pressed his own thumb where he’d seen hers go so often during her short stay here.
She moaned softly. ‘You’re strong. Better than my physiotherapist.’ She looked up at him. ‘That feels so good.’
He shouldn’t be this close to her. He shouldn’t be touching her. Because all he wanted to do was kiss her pain away. Their kiss in the conservatory had been a revelation. Lucy in his arms...confusing everything that he’d thought he wanted or needed. The way they’d fitted together so perfectly had made him question his place, where he should be—because now there was no more important place than here. In the mountains of his ancestral home. Alone with Lucy and her music.
The sound of it had awakened something in him—as though for years he’d been walking through a fog and then she’d entered his life and it had lifted to reveal a brilliant, sunny day he hadn’t realised existed. Burned off the mist of despair to give him something dangerous, like hope. Hope that underneath—somewhere buried deep—he was still a good man.
‘You are a miracle,’ he whispered.
He took her hand and placed it on the flat of his chest, his own hand over hers. The warmth of her palm almost burned through his clothes. She looked up at him, her lips parted, cheeks still flushed a sunset-pink. The pupils of her eyes were wide and dark, almost obliterating the warm honey-brown.
‘Not a miracle...just a woman.’
‘No, you’re more.’
He cupped her jaw with his free hand and lowered his mouth to hers. She met him halfway. Their lips touched and it was if something inside them exploded as they burst into life. She slid her hands up, over his shoulders and into his hair, gripping tight as if never wanting to let him go. He wound his arms around her, pressing her into him. Her body against his was still the perfect fit.
The fire crackled low in the hearth, warming the room, filling it with a dusky glow. There was no one here but her and him...two people shipwrecked together. The world would exist again soon enough, but today he needed to pretend. His whole life had been set out for him, directed as if it were a play and he a mere actor. Lucy wasn’t written into any script, but for once he craved to do what he wanted rather than what was required of him.
Lucy was unexpected. A bright, perfect burst of passion in what had otherwise been a passionless life—one of duty and honour but somehowlacking. He hadn’t seen it before, but he knew it now, with brutal clarity as he held this woman in his arms and simply allowed himself towant. Nothing would intrude—not his duty to his siblings, not recovering the Crown Jewels. For now he was simply Stefano Moretti the man. Not His Excellency the Count of Varno, Shield of the Crown.
He slowed the kiss before passion completely overtook him...pulled back. Lucy made a muffled sound of protest.
‘I crave you, Lucy. Crave to make love to you and to hell with tomorrow. Tell me you want that too.’
She looked up at him, her lips a deep blush-pink, her golden eyes searching his face. She wasn’t pushing him away, but he loosened his arms nonetheless. Stefano recognised the disparity of their positions. He didn’t want her to feel beholden to him, for giving her shelter in the castle. He was in the position of power, but he needed her to know she had all the control.
‘If you don’t want what I do I’ll walk away. You’ve nothing to fear.’
The corners of her perfect mouth tilted as she threaded her hands into his hair once more. His heart thumped hard and fast, beating in his chest like timpani.
‘I’m not afraid of you.’ Her voice was soft, like the sound of the world in the moments before snow fell. ‘Take me to bed, Stefano.’
He groaned and swept her into his arms. Her lips had parted and her eyes were bright with a glorious flame. He walked the short distance to his bed, placed her gently on the covers. She needed care, reverence, this woman who played like an angel and injured herself for her art.
That heady drumbeat in his chest drove him, spurred him onwards. But he was tired of a life that was hard and fast. All he craved was softness.
He kicked off his shoes, lay over her. Lucy’s body was supple and pliant under him. She parted her legs and he settled between them, resting in her warmth, aching with desire. He dropped his lips to hers again and she welcomed him. Their tongues touched and he was lost. The scent of her was rich, like raspberries and cream. Like the perfect dessert at the end of a meal. It was a promise of something that might be out of reach for ever, but for today was his to grasp.
He slid a hand under her top, skating over her side, her ribs, and she quivered.
‘Cold?’ he murmured.
He should get her under the covers, but for the moment he simply wanted to be here...with her. She wrapped her legs around him, pressing herself up into him, and his breath hitched.
