Her heart turned over and emotion so sharp it was almost painful sliced through her. When he was touching her, when he was holding her like this, his reverence eclipsed her insecurities and made her feel like the most beautiful woman on the planet.
She got the buttons undone on his shirt, divested him of his jeans and boxers, and then there was only his magnificent body, free for her to touch at will. She dropped to her knees and worshipped him, moved her lips over his perfect chest, his powerful abs, then down over the hard, throbbing length of him that telegraphed his desire for her. Reveling in his sharp intake of breath, she teased him until he begged—begged for her to take him into the heat of her mouth—and then, when he’d had all he could take of that, he begged for her to end the torture.
She crawled up his body and hooked her legs around his waist. Slowly, torturously, she took him inside her, prolonging it until sweat beaded on his forehead and he cursed out loud.
Her gaze locked with his. She wanted to look away, needed to look away, because surely her love for him was written across her face. But she’d promised honesty. To herself and to him. She kept her eyes on his as he allowed her to drive him crazy with shallow, then deeper twists of her hips. His eyes were closed. His big body was shaking with need. She had control. But she knew it was an illusion. She was about to take the biggest risk of her life. Bigger even than that day when she and Alex had driven out of Iowa, a dust cloud rising up behind the beat-up old car they’d paid a hundred dollars for, which had barely been moving, with nothing but hope and determination in their hearts.
He could cheat on her again. He could actually cheat this time. And there was nothing she could do but believe he would never do it. And she did. Because he was the only man who could turn her world from dark to light.
She could only hope that this didn’t turn out to be her biggest mistake. That once he saw the messy, frightened truth of her he didn’t run in the opposite direction.
Pleasure coursed through her, wave after wave, as his body swelled inside her, making it impossible to think. To worry. She closed her eyes and rocked her hips and took him over the edge. And let go of everything except her love for him.
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE DEEP TIMBRE of male voices greeted Lilly as she let herself into the townhouse. Her husband’s smooth, rich baritone slid down her spine in a delicious reminder of how he’d woken her up this morning. A husky prompt to get out of bed, her own teasing reply, then a spark that burst into a flame that put both of them fifteen minutes behind schedule.
She kicked off her shoes. She was happy—so happy she felt as if she was floating on air. As if she’d figured out the secret of life.
Gabe’s voice floated in from the terrace. A male with a deeper, more heavily accented tone responded. Antonio?
A twinge of disappointment sliced through her. She’d been hoping for another quiet night at home with Riccardo. Tonight she’d intended on telling him about Lisbeth. She couldn’t hold off any longer because she was to fly to Switzerland in a couple of weeks. Finally she felt sure enough of what she and Riccardo had to tell him.
She was making peace with the past. She’d gone home for her mother’s birthday a week ago. It hadn’t been perfect. But it was progress. And now she would wipe any remaining secrets from her and Riccardo’s relationship.
She waved at Magda in the kitchen before joining the men on the terrace.
“Cara.” Riccardo’s dark eyes lit with pleasure. “You’re just in time to celebrate with us.”
She crossed to his side and smiled up at him. “Celebrate what?”
Antonio strolled over and pressed a kiss to her cheeks. “I’ve just told Riccardo I am backing him as the next CEO of De Campo.”
Her gaze lifted to her husband’s. A quiet gleam of satisfaction burned in his eyes.
“Congratulations,” she murmured, reaching up to brush a kiss across his cheek.
His lifted brow told her she would do better than that later. She smiled and tamped down her anxiety at the confirmation of what she’d known was coming but had secretly been dreading.
They had just gotten themselves back on track. Now the craziness would begin.
“Content to tend your vines?” she teased Gabe, walking over to greet him.
He smiled that serious Gabe smile she loved and kissed her. “The most crucial job in the company—si.”
She laughed and drew back. “But of course.”
“I intend to endorse Riccardo tomorrow at the board meeting,” Antonio said, nodding at his son.
Her throat tightened. It was all happening so quickly.
She moved back to Riccardo’s side and slipped an arm around his waist. He would make a far better leader for De Campo than Antonio had. He would inspire the best in those who worked for him without using fear or intimidation as a threat. And she—she would shine for him. Riccardo needed her by his side, needed her to be the softness when everything else was a million-dollar decision. And this time she would not let the pressure get to her. She had the tools in place to manage her stress.
The De Campo men stayed for dinner. Tonight there was no need for Gabe to be his usual buffer between Antonio and Riccardo. There was rare harmony at the table. And she wondered, moving her gaze over her handsome, quietly confident brother-in-law, what it must have been like always to be the peacekeeper—always to be second best. In any other company Gabe would have made a brilliant CEO. Instead he made brilliant wine.
And maybe that was all he wanted.
After dinner Antonio excused himself to make a call. Lilly checked with Magda about dessert, then slipped out onto the terrace to get a breath of fresh air. The summer night was on the chilly side and she wrapped her arms around herself and stared up at the sky. It was so rare to see stars in Manhattan that the smattering overhead held her attention.
“My son’s about to become one of the most powerful men on the planet.” Antonio stepped out of the shadows and slid his mobile phone into his pocket. “Are you ready for this, Lilly?”
She wrapped her arms tighter around herself. What was it about these De Campo men, always trying to intimidate her?
“You must think I can or you wouldn’t have mandated our reconciliation.”
“Scusi?”
She gave him a level look. “Your condition, Antonio, for throwing your weight behind Riccardo. I take it our reconciliation has cemented your choice?”
He lifted a brow. “The performance of the company dictated my choice.”
“But you wanted us to reconcile?”
He shrugged. “You’re good for my son. I’ve always thought you had an excellent grounding effect on him. But it had nothing to do with my decision.”
Her brain spun in a confused circle. “But you made our reconciliation a condition for your support.”
An amused look spread across his face. “If Riccardo said that he was using it as a way to get you back. You must know my son by now... He is solely focused on getting what he wants and damn the consequences.”
She felt the blood drain from her face. Either Antonio or Riccardo was lying.
She prayed it was her father-in-law.
An icy numbness spread through her limbs. She lifted trembling hands to her face. “I—I think I’m going to go back inside. It’s getting chilly out here.”
She was halfway across the patio when Antonio’s voice stopped her. “You look upset—but why? Riccardo may be ruthless in going after what he wants, mia cara, but is it so bad if he loves you that much?”
It was bad if he had lied to her without compunction. If he had preyed upon her in a moment of weakness, dangling a divorce in front of her she now wasn’t sure he’d ever intended to give her.
“De Campos don’t divorce.”
He had never intended to let her go.
She excused herself from dessert, uncaring of her husband’s concerned glance, sweeping upstairs before he had a chance to press her. She immersed her three and a half months pregnant body in a hot bath, desperate for something to soothe her. Desperate not to believe the man she had fallen in love with all over again could have lied to her like that when he had demanded honesty from her.
Damn him. She struggled to come up with a reason, an alternative explanation for why he’d done what he’d done. But there weren’t any. There was nothing that excused what he’d done.
She closed her eyes and let the steaming water attack the numbness that had consumed her. Riccardo hadn’t technically lied when he had talked about what had happened with Chelsea Tate. But it had been a lie by omission. And now he had lied again.
It was crazy. She’d wanted him to want her that much. She’d wanted him to do exactly as she’d fantasized in the limo the night of their divorce party. To ride down her street on a white horse, climb through her window and carry her home.
But now she was afraid he was still the same old Riccardo, just cloaked in a new suit. The Riccardo who would use any weapon at his disposal to get what he wanted.