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Rebellion sparks in her eyes. “You told me not to say it.”
“Unless you come.”
“That night, I made myself an oath.” She meets my gaze squarely, even at the disadvantage of her height. “And I won’t break it.”
Fuck. That cuts into me like glass shards and steel knives. I can’t say I don’t deserve it. I’ve been a prick. I’ve just been so fucking angry, so self-consumed.
“Say it.” I have to try. “Forget about what I said then. Say it now.”
She gives a sad little shake of her head. “A promise is a promise, Mr. Russo. I can’t go back on my word. Not to myself.”
I exhale through my nose as I deal with that blow. I can’t say I didn’t bring that one on myself either.
Securing her with my hand around the back of her neck, I pull her closer until the length of her body is pressed against mine. I inhale the smell of the cherry blossom shampoo in her hair, and suddenly, I miss the salt of the sea on her skin and the look on her face when she comes out of the water. Happy. Carefree. And I realize with a start I only saw her like that once. On the day I met her.
“What will it take for you to believe me?” she asks, her expression empty. Devoid of hope.
It guts me that it’s me who put that look on her face. I want to believe her so damn much. She has no idea. Under the numbing influence of the alcohol, I’m honest enough with myself to admit that what stalls me in killing Lavigne isn’t the kids or the war Marziale started. No. Those are mere excuses. What’s stalling me is the fear of finally facing the truth. To have proof beyond a doubt of what Sabella is planning. But I can’t live in fear and denial forever. I can’t carry on like this. I’m at the end of my tether.
The time has come to reel Lavigne in.
Gripping her chin, I tilt her face up. I home in on her luscious lips before I claim them. Instead of returning the kiss, she pushes me away.
My voice is thick with lust. “I want you,cara.”
“What you did… It’s so wrong.” She looks at me with disappointment burning like golden flames in the depth of her eyes. “What you did is unforgivable.”
I frame her face between my palms and hold her fast. I don’t want to remind her of her promise or her duty. What I want most is her own sweet, free will. “I won’t come inside you. I’ll pull out.”
She leans back, trying to escape me. “What happened to wanting to make me pregnant?”
“You’re right.” I didn’t mean to say that. It wasn’t my plan. I have no idea where that impulsive declaration sprang from. I only know the words come from deep inside me. “It’s a decision we should make together.”
She blinks. “Do you mean that?”
“Yes.”
She studies me with a skeptical look. “What changed your mind?”
The truth? I have no fucking idea why I just said what I did. The only logical explanation I can give her is something the kids made me realize. “Being a parent isn’t easy.” I utter a wry laugh. “I never gave my parents enough credit.”
Concern passes over her face. “How are the children?”
“Fine,” I say, aiming for her mouth again.
She turns her face away. “Sophie?”
A growl of frustration reverberates in my chest. “Forget about them.” When she leans farther backward, I negotiate like I’ve never negotiated in my life. “Just for a few moments.” Because let’s be honest. I know how to negotiate multi-million-euro deals, but when it comes to my relationship with my wife, I’m out of my depth. Working my fingers into the knot of the belt that ties her robe, I breathe against her neck, “Just until I can get inside you.”
“You mean this,” she says, holding me at bay with her hands on my shoulders and driving me insane. “About not forcing my hand.”
I drag my nose along the arch of her neck, inhaling the womanly scent of her skin before nipping the soft spot on the curve of her shoulder where her robe has fallen open. “Yes, dammit.” The knot of her belt comes loose. “I don’t say things I don’t mean.”
Still, she relents. “I’m going back on the pill.”
“Yes,” I say, catching her and planting a kiss full on her lips.
“What if it’s too late? What if I’m pregnant?”
