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‘You can’t control the weather. You’re not responsible for storms. You weren’t then and you’re not now. Do you understand?’
He couldn’t speak. Wouldn’t lie. Ithadbeen his fault. Then. And after...
She grabbed his hand and placed it on her chest. The thud of her heart pulsed against his palm.
‘I’m safe,’ she said, and then she pulled his hand down between the centre of her breasts and pushed the flat of his palm firmly but gently against her stomach. ‘And so is the baby.’
‘Piccolina...’
‘I’m listening,’ she said.
She was smiling at the endearment he’d used on this night when her size had been small against the mass of him, but her presence had been mighty and all-consuming. And now she stood before him again, touching him. And hers was the biggest presence he’d ever felt.
She was bigger than the storm.
Louder than his desire.
She deserved the truth, didn’t she? The truth of why he hadn’t taken her to his bed? Hadn’t been there to weather the storm with her?
‘These last four days...’ he started, refusing to let himself hold back. She deserved this much. She was to be the mother of his baby. She was to be his wife. ‘I’ve held you at bay. Said goodnight and watched you close the door with me on the other side. Because—’
‘Because?’ she prompted gently, and her small hand was still on top of his, both sheltering the baby inside her.
Their baby.
‘The night we met I was out of control. I allowed myself to lose control. And when you disappeared in London, with the possibility of my baby growing inside you, I promised myself I’d never let myself feel that way again. But you make me feel—’
‘Out of control?’ she finished for him.
He swallowed thickly. ‘Completely.’
‘You’re afraid of who you are with me?’
‘I’m frightened of the man I could become in your arms. That I will forget my duty—my responsibilities—that I won’t be able to protect you.’
‘Then we will protect each other.’ She moved, gripping his face and standing on tiptoe. ‘We can keep each other safe in the storm, Raffaele,’ she said. ‘And we can controlthis.’ She leaned in and feathered her lips against his unmoving ones. ‘This is natural. This desire. You told me so. So show me you’re not afraid of me—because I’m not afraid of you. And you shouldn’t be afraid of yourself. Be with me the way I want to be with you. Let’s choose to be the people we are with each other and let’s make this work. Prove our marriage can work because wechooseit. We chooseus.’
It snapped. The leash on his control. And he thrust his mouth on hers. Pushed his fingers into her hair.
Raffaele had claimed his choice.
He pushed his tongue into her mouth. She gripped onto his shoulders, thrust her hips against the hardness of him.
‘I want you so badly,’ he confessed into her mouth. ‘I desperately need to be inside you,piccolina. I hurt. The want... It hurts.’
She broke free from his embrace, just enough to reach down to the hem of his jumper. He lifted his arms instinctively and let her pull it off.
He trembled.
Desire flared in her eyes. She looked from his mouth to his chest and discarded the jumper at their feet. She placed her hand on his chest. ‘Trust me to make it better,’ she said, and he thickened—his blood, his erection. ‘Trust your body to tell you what it needs...because I need you.’
She reached for the hem of her silk vest. The blue silk had darkened from the wetness he’d transferred from himself to her. The fabric stuck to the outline of her breasts, her peaked nipples. She pulled the vest over her head.
‘I want you,’ she said. ‘And I trust this is the right choice. So trust me to navigate the next steps.’
He growled, gripping her wrists and pulling her bare chest to his. He’d asked for her trust using exactly the same words...could he do it?
He wanted her. Her words. Her softness.
