‘You’re cold. Come on—let’s go back to bed,’ he decided.
‘But you said—’
‘I know what I said,’ he interrupted. ‘I have changed my mind.’
‘I don’t want—’
‘I’m not offering.’
Taking hold of the fingers she still clutched around her nightie, he prised them open and took the scrappy garment from her, shook it out, then dropped it over her head. As the silk slid down over her body Lexi let him take her hand and lead her back to the bed. She curled up there and watched him. He dragged on his undershorts as if he was making big statements with the nightie and the shorts about what they were not going to do next.
Her eyes were glued to that potent part of him until it was covered up. She felt her heartbeat go haywire, that so familiar flicker of heat deep inside her flaring up.
‘How are the bruises?’ she asked a trifle breathlessly.
‘Sore.’ Reaching out to hit a switch that plunged them into darkness, he came to lie down beside her. ‘Next time show a little pity on me and do all the work.’
‘You were so very good at it, though.’ Lexi could not resist stroking her fingers down his chest as he dragged the sheets up over them, her senses indulging in a leap of excitement when he went still.
Supporting himself on one elbow, Franco looked down at her. Through the darkness her eyes sparkled up at him, and she was biting down into the cushion softness of her lower lip.
‘You greedy minx,’ he murmured accusingly.
Flushing, Lexi wriggled. ‘Of course, if you’re so sure you’re not up to it …’
Without warning he rolled onto his back, catching hold of her to bring her to her knees beside him. Despite the sore bruises he still had more strength in his arms than Lexi gave him credit for.
‘OK, bella mia,’ he drawled. ‘Take what you want. I am all yours …’
Four days later, Lexi sat dangling her feet in the swimming pool and chewed pensively on her bottom lip as she watched Franco power his way up and down the length of the pool with the sun beating down on his glossy, wet bronzed back.
Tomorrow was Marco’s funeral. For the last four glorious days they had not so much as touched on any subject likely to spoil the old harmony they’d resurrected that night in his bed—but it couldn’t go on. She needed to shop for something suitably respectful to wear for the funeral, but the one time she’d asked if she could borrow a car to drive into Livorno he’d blocked the request with, ‘You need anything, tell Zeta. She will get it for you.’ Then he’d changed the subject.
His father was due home today. She’d heard Franco discuss his arrival over the telephone, using that same clipped blocking tone he’d used against her trip to the shops. In all the days she had been here he had not answered a single telephone call that had arrived in the house, leaving Zeta or Pietro to deal with whoever wanted to speak to him. He had, in effect, turned his home into a private sanctuary inside which the two of them lived as if the accident, or even the years they had been separated, had not taken place.
But his sanctuary was built inside a bubble that was about to burst, whether he wanted it to happen or not. He wasn’t stupid, so whatever he was thinking behind the lazily relaxed mask of contentment he wore all the time Lexi knew he must be aware that he was going to have to burst this bubble soon.
‘Franco …’ she murmured as he swam up to the pool edge beside her legs.
‘What?’ he said, only to power away again. It was a very impressive demonstration of freestyle arrogance, because he’d been swimming up and down for fifteen minutes without stopping and did not look as if he was tiring yet. His bruises had already faded into the tanned lustre of his skin, and the wound on his thigh was nothing but a fine purple line to add to the others he already wore on his powerful legs. He would still wince occasionally if she accidentally put too much pressure on his ribcage, but other than that he was, she supposed, returned to full health—except for the blanket refusal to talk about Marco’s death or his funeral.
As he powered back towards her Lexi timed the moment when she slid into the water and then stepped in front of him as he reached out to touch the pool edge. Finding the sun-kissed heat of her body obstructing him, he was quick to turn things to his advantage by taking hold of her waist and lifting her up as he rose like Neptune to his feet.
‘Mmm, I’ve caught myself a real live mermaid,’ he growled and tried to kiss her.
‘That’s corny.’ Lexi frowned distractedly, tilting her head back out of his reach. ‘We need to talk about—about tomorrow.’
‘You like corny,’ he insisted, and followed it up by capturing her mouth for a long, lazily sensual kiss. ‘You like taking walks in the sultry moonlight and holding hands even when we are only walking downstairs—all corny, romantic stuff, cara.’
Refusing to be diverted, she insisted, ‘We need to talk about tomorrow, Francesco.’ She watched his expression change—tighten up—and, releasing a small sigh, cupped his damp face. ‘Please listen to me,’ she begged. ‘You can’t go on ignoring the fact that Marco will be laid to rest tomorrow, and that everyone you’ve been avoiding since the accident is going to be there.’
Frowning—no, scowling now, he countered very grimly, ‘Yes, I can.’
‘Well, I can’t afford to ignore it, then.’ Lexi changed tack. ‘I need to buy something to wear for the funeral. I need to know how you want me to respond to questions about the two of us being together again.’
‘You’re not going.’ Opening his arms, he dropped her back onto her feet.
‘Yes, I am!’ Lexi protested.