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He lowered himself to sit down on the bed, leaning forward to kiss Connie softly on her parted lips. ‘Good morning,’ he murmured, lifting his head away, and holding her gaze. ‘Are you ready for breakfast?’
She didn’t answer immediately, only went on gazing up at him—as though she doubted he were really there...as though he was all she ever wanted to look at. Her eyes glowed sapphire, luminous and revealing. Too revealing?
Dante got to his feet, tugging his dressing gown more tightly around him.
‘Don’t look at me like that,’ he said, with wry humour in his voice, knowing she had no idea just how powerfully that candid gaze of hers worked on him. ‘Or breakfast might have to wait a bit longer.’
He headed for the ensuite bathroom of her bedroom, knowing how close he’d come to showing her just why breakfast would have to wait. He lifted down the towelling bathrobe and brought it across to her.
‘Your robe, milady,’ he said lightly, and draped it on the bed. Then he crossed to the door. ‘See you shortly—breakfast is on its way.’
He didn’t want to see her put the towelling robe on, covering all her beautiful silky skin—that, too, might delay breakfast for quite a while.
He made it out of the room, moving to the large window overlooking the rooftops of London. He was trying to understand what his feelings were, to make sense of all that was going through him, but all he knew was that taking Connie into his arms, into his intimate embrace, had been like nothing and no one he had ever known before. She was like no other woman in his life.
Because I know her. I have spent time with her, getting to know her, our lives are linked together. We already have something between us—warmth, familiarity, friendship, companionship—and that makes everything feel...
Different.
Just why or how exactly, he didn’t know. It was new to him—quite new.
And special.
That was the word that came to him, even though he could not define it, or explain it, or understand it, as he turned at hearing her come into the room. His face broke into a smile, encompassing her totally, and the blazing radiance of her answering smile sent him reeling.
His gaze feasted on her. In the morning light she looked as lovely as she had last night, but in a totally different way. She was not the stunningly glamorous creature she had appeared to be last night, done up to the nines, but she had a kind of soft sensuality about her, with her tousled hair, her sleepy gaze, her bee-stung mouth and the way the lapels of her towelling robe were quite insufficient in concealing the generosity of her cleavage...
The doorbell pinged and he was relieved: breakfast was arriving. The business of the suite’s butler, the laden trolley, getting themselves seated and all the dishes set out or set to keep warm on chafing trays, seemed to take for ever, but at last they were on their own again. His eyes were on her the whole time as they got stuck in to the lavish breakfast in front of them. And her gaze on him was constant, glowing, filling him with warmth.
A warmth which, when they were finally replete, Dante took ruthless advantage of.
‘There’s no rush to hit the shops,’ he told her, taking her hand, knowing his voice was huskily suggestive and his eyelids were drooping with quickening desire.
She meshed her fingers with his, saying nothing, letting him lead her to where he wanted her to be.
Her bed. With him. Making love to her again. And then again...
In Italy, they didn’t intend to spend very much time in Milan. Just long enough for Dante to touch base with his office, clear his diary—to the obvious surprise of his staff—and whisk Connie off to the fabled Quadrilatero area of the city, where the most famous fashion houses were based.
Though it was with wide-eyed wonder that she tried on the gorgeous creations, Connie was resistant to allowing Dante to buy too much for her, on top of what he’d bought her in London.
‘I feel bad accepting what you’ve already bought for me,’ she told him ruefully.
He looked taken aback. Then kissed her forehead indulgently. ‘It is my pleasure,’ he said.
But she still shook her head. Of course she wanted to look as stunning as possible for Dante, now that she finally felt so good about her body—but not at his expense. They bickered about it good-naturedly, and Connie compromised by agreeing that when they returned to Milan she might go shopping again.
But first they were going on holiday.
Again, Connie had initially demurred. ‘Dante, I don’t want to drag you away from your work. I know how important it is to you,’ she’d said anxiously.
Again, he’d dropped an indulgent kiss on her forehead.
‘It is my pleasure,’ he had said to this objection too.
Now he drew her closer to him on the massive sofa that was the centrepiece of the living area of his apartment in Milan. It was a ferociously modern apartment, and it was so very strange to Connie for her to be here again.
The only time she’d been there before had been immediately after their wedding, and they’d spent only two nights there. She’d been anxious about leaving her grandmother for too long, and Dante had been anxious about his grandfather’s lawyers, whom they’d had to call upon, vital marriage certificate in hand, to demonstrate his new eligibility for his inheritance.
