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She stopped him as his mouth reached her centre, laying her palm against his cheek as he looked up at her. ‘I need you now, Duarte.’
Her voice was a husky whisper and he reacted instantly, pulling himself up over her and covering her with his big body.
The first contact of his bare skin flush against hers was almost too much. She spread her palms over his powerful shoulder muscles and just looked up at him for a long moment. She knew that this was real, not an instrument of anger, control or manipulation. And he felt it too, this intense connection between them. She could see it in his eyes as he slid into her in one sharp thrust, his hand splaying roughly through her hair to hold her in place.
It felt far too intense, locking eyes this way as their bodies began to move in a rhythm that managed to be both frantic and heartbreakingly intimate. Nora felt words in her throat, the need to tell him what she felt. But she closed her eyes, burying her face into his shoulder and focusing on the pleasure he gave her. On the way he touched her, the care he took in ensuring she found her pleasure...
Maybe that was his way of showing love. Even if trust could never truly exist between them, perhaps she could be happy so long as they had beautiful moments like this. Maybe that would be enough for her.
They made love hard and fast, barely able to catch their breath by the time they both fell in a pile of limbs on the carpeted floor. Duarte gathered her against his chest and let out a sigh that she felt deep within herself. A sigh of relief, as if he were coming back into the warmth of home after battling through a freezing storm.
But as she lay in the silent afterglow of their passion the silence crept over them once more and reality flooded back in.
She excused herself to go to the bathroom and stared at her flushed face, wondering how something that felt so wonderful could make her feel so hollow inside afterwards. She closed her eyes, wishing that loving him didn’t have to hurt quite this much.
Duarte had spent the night in her cabin, in her bed, his warm body curled around hers. Despite her sadness, she’d slept well in his arms and had awoken at dawn to find him sitting back on the pillows, feeding their son.
After breakfast, he’d said he needed to run some errands for the day before the event that evening. She’d already told him she wasn’t sure about attending the event, using her lack of appropriate clothing as an excuse. But as he’d been about to leave he’d kissed her softly and said he had asked his sister to offer her services to help her get ready.
Nora had not been prepared for Daniela Avelar to arrive an hour later, with a full entourage in tow. Though Daniela had made sure to double-check that her presence was welcome before she’d ushered in the small team of stylists, with racks of dresses and cases of hair and make-up.
Now Nora felt overwhelmed, but excited at the prospect of being pampered for an hour. She had always enjoyed dressing up for her father’s events—she just hadn’t enjoyed his authority over her appearance.
This wasn’t the same, she told herself sternly as she felt her anxiety rising. Duarte had done this for her, not to her. It was not the same.
Her inner turmoil must have been apparent, because Daniela gave her a moment to collect herself and asked if she could hold Liam. Duarte’s sister seemed thoroughly enamoured by the tiny infant, and only reluctantly returned him when Nora said he needed to sleep.
She settled him near the open balcony doors in his crib and immersed herself in looking through the expensive gowns on the racks in the makeshift dressing area that had been set up on the opposite side of the saloon.
‘If you don’t want to attend the event, you can move to my yacht,’ Daniela spoke quietly beside her.
Nora turned to the other woman, noting the question in her golden eyes. ‘I wasn’t sure if I wanted to attend,’ she said, clenching her hands together. ‘But now I think I do want to be here for the celebration. I just haven’t been very sociable of late.’
‘Because of the baby?’ Daniela asked.
‘Even before that. I’ve been hiding myself away for a long time. I’m not sure I know how to be the kind of woman who wears gowns like this anymore.’ She gave a weak laugh.
Daniela seemed to measure her words for a moment, becoming serious. ‘Valerio told me who you are. Who your father is.’ Golden eyes met hers earnestly.
Nora stiffened, looking away towards where her son slept. She wondered if Duarte had told his sister what her father had done. Why their beloved parents were no longer alive. She felt shame creep into her, clogging her throat.
Daniela stood up and closed the space between them. ‘He also told me that you risked your father’s wrath to try to save his life on that terrible night, and most likely saved my own fiancé’s skin too.’ She reached out to take her hands. ‘I want to thank you.’
Nora shook her head, finding herself unable to find the right words to protest at the other woman’s gratitude. Clearly Daniela didn’t know the full story, because if she did she’d bet that this would be a very different conversation.
‘I’m sorry you had to go through all that,’ Daniela continued. ‘I just want you to know I don’t judge you for who your father is.’
Nora pressed her lips together, hearing the kindness in the woman’s words but hating that they had to be said at all. She felt the reminder of her father’s influence like a weight in her chest.
‘When my brother came back from that place...’ Daniela sighed, reaching out to examine one of the dresses on the rack. ‘He was like a shell of his former self. I’ve never felt so helpless. But now here he is with you...with a child.’
‘It’s a lot to take in,’ said Nora, pursing her lips.
‘He hasn’t said exactly what you are to one another, but I can tell that he’s different. He looks more...alive.’
Nora frowned, remembering that this woman had believed her brother dead for six months, just as she had. They had both experienced grief and mourning over him, only to have him reappear in their lives.
‘He proposed to me,’ Nora blurted out, feeling the sudden urge to confide her turmoil in someone. To try to sort through her own tangled mind.
