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“Piano?”
“Any instrument.”
“No.”
“Too busy looking after little kittens?”
She half-smiled. “Something like that.”
“Sit down.” He moved to the side of the stool. “I’ll teach you.”
She demurred instinctively. “I can’t play.”
“No one can until they learn.”
But you won’t be around long enough to teach me.“I’d rather hear you again.”
Curiosity sparked in his gaze, but he didn’t argue, instead, his fingers moved over the keys again. This time, he played a Christmas carol, an old favourite, known the world over. She listened to the music as it filled the room, smiling without realising it, loving this even more than the classical piece.
It seemed to be the most natural thing in the world for Charlotte to come to stand behind Alessio, to put her arms over his shoulders and link them in front of his chest as he played, her chin resting on the top of his head, to be close to him. He continued to play and then removed his left hand, his right still crossing the keys and filling the luxurious penthouse with Christmas music while his other hand lifted to hers, his thumb stroking the soft flesh of the back of her hand, so their connection seemed to defy all sense and logic.
When the song finished, he turned his whole body on the stool and she came to stand between his legs, a perfect moment of synchronicity without choreography, that brought them closer. Charlotte couldn’t have said if he kissed her or if she moved first but their lips connected and sparks buzzed and hummed into space, charging the atmosphere with the power of an electrical storm.
He stood, pushing her back a little, lifting her around the waist, drawing her to him, and something clicked inside Charlotte, so she felt as though she’d come home, really come home, in a way she’d never known. If she could think straight, it might have shocked her, but she was incapable of thinking or feeling anything more than this, this perfect, drugging, all-consuming bliss.
She didn’t take in any of the details of his home—she couldn’t—as he carried and kissed her down a wide hallway and into his bedroom. Later, she’d notice the sweeping views of Rome, but for now, she was simply lost to the moment, and for a split second, Charlotte hoped she’d never be found.
He wantedto keep her here longer. At least another night. Maybe two. A week?
He wanted to keep her here because it felt so good and right to have Charlotte in his home, because he loved sharing meals with her and found her fascinating to talk to, because he liked playing the piano for her and hearing her soft little breaths behind him, because he liked holding her and touching her and he loved having her in his bed, but even though Alessio had been accused of being selfish by many women, many times, with Charlotte, he was well aware her needs had to come first.
Not her needs, but those of her little ward, a young boy who Alessio wasn’t going to disadvantage by using Charlotte’s sensuality to make her forget her responsibilities.
He didn’t psychoanalyse why this mattered to him so much—he didn’t need to. He remembered what it was like to be a young boy, to have the adults in your life put their needs first and would never be a party to causing that kind of sadness to a child.
With regret, he brushed his fingers over Charlotte’s face, watching as her eyes flickered to waking.
“I fell asleep,” she said, bemused.
“Yes.”
Then, she sat bolt upright. “What time is it?”
“It’s okay. You’re not late. But we should get ready to leave.”
“Yes. I have to get back to Dash. I didn’t mean to—,”
“I know. That’s why I woke you. Come on.” He kissed her forehead and then quickly stepped out of bed, before he could change his mind and sweep her into his arms, kissing her deeper, harder, faster, with all the passion and need that were storming through his body.
* * *
“I don’t thinkwe should walk inside together,” she said slowly, hesitantly, as Alessio’s car idled outside the pub. “Anyone could see us.”
It was a reasonable point, and they’d both agreed to keeping this quiet, for Charlotte’s sake. So why did the suggestion make him experience a surge of irritation? “Sure,” he nodded, with the appearance of nonchalance even when he felt far from it. “I’ll take in your bag; you wait here a few minutes.” He handed her his keys. “Okay?”
Her eyes were hooked to his, a small frown on her lips, but she nodded.
“Thank you.”
