The Price Of A Dangerous Passion

He entered her bedroom with the briefest of knocks, annoyed that she’d go against his wishes. “What are you doing? Moving things around? Coming to rooms where you’ll be alone at night?”

Charlotte drew the duvet up higher, hiding her breasts and bump. “I don’t want or need constant supervision. I’m not a child. I’m having a child. Quite a significant distinction, Brando. And I didn’t move anything but myself. Your staff carried my things, and I just took my time and walked back here.”

He paced around the bed. “And what if something happens at night?”

“I’ll call you. We both have phones. We’re lucky to live in the age of technology.”

He glared down at her. “I’m not amused. You’re taking risks—”

“And you’re being hopelessly overbearing,” she interrupted, “as well as an alarmist. Dr. Leonardi said everything looked better, normal—”

“He never said ‘normal.’ He wanted you in the hospital. I was the one who insisted you would be able to rest better if you were at home. But I promised you’d be supervised.”

“And I am. The midwife starts coming daily tomorrow. I’ll have a quiet evening tonight. Just send a tray up for me and I’ll have an early dinner, and will make an early night of it, too. I think having some downtime would be good for both of us.”

Brando seemed about to protest when he thought better of it. He nodded shortly. “Fine.” He started to leave, then turned in the doorway. “Did you see anything in Livia’s designs that appealed to you? She’s offered to come this weekend for a fitting.”

The last thing Charlotte wanted to do was discuss the wedding, or a dress made for her by his famous sister, but she didn’t want to offend him tonight. “There are so many beautiful designs, I couldn’t even narrow the options down.”

“No problem. I can look through them with you tomorrow.”

“I don’t need help looking at bridal gowns.”

“Happy to give you my opinions.”

“I’m sure you are. Good night, Brando.”

“Buona notte, Charlotte.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

A BREEZE RUSTLED the leaves of the citrus trees in the ornate terra-cotta pots on the terrace, and the moon, even though only a quarter full, winked white in the purple-black sky.

Brando leaned back in his chair at the table and let the beauty of the night distract him from Charlotte’s lengthy explanation of why they didn’t need a proper wedding, never mind a reception after.

She’d spent the last ten minutes giving detailed reasons why a formal wedding was a bad idea, and he let her talk as he sipped his after-dinner coffee. It was his favorite kind of night, warm, fragrant, without summer’s sultry heat. He’d had a good day in the wineries, and Charlotte looked particularly beautiful tonight, too, wearing an ice-blue sleeveless blouse paired with crisp white silk trousers. Her long hair spilled over her shoulders, and she wore simple sapphire drop earrings that matched the blue of her eyes.

She was stunning and smart, and he felt fortunate that she was to be the mother of his children. She’d be a good mother, a good partner and wife. If she’d just stop fighting him on the wedding. His family celebrated marriages, just as they celebrated births and anniversaries and other special moments.

“I want a proper ceremony, followed by a proper dinner, and a proper cake,” he said. “This is our wedding. It should be special.”

“Do we need the fuss, as well as the expense?”

“As this is the only wedding I will ever have, yes. It should be beautiful. Music, flowers, table decorations, all of it.”

“A big wedding, Brando, really?”

“I didn’t say ‘big.’ In fact, I want a small, intimate ceremony here at the castello chapel, followed by a reception in the courtyard. That way there is no traveling, no fuss, nothing to stress over, nor would you have to be on your feet very long.”

Charlotte listened to his plans, and didn’t know how to argue against them, especially as he offered to handle most of the arrangements so she didn’t have to be stressed by anything. He did insist on her selecting a wedding dress, or at least, pointing out a few in the design book that she liked, and Livia and Luca would make up something special just for her.

“Your family knows, then?” she asked, careful to keep judgment from her voice.

“Only Livia so far. I will share the news with the rest once we have a wedding date.”

Charlotte toyed with her dessert spoon. “What are you telling them?”

“That we’re getting married and we’d love them to join us.”

“Nothing about the pregnancy?”

“It’s not the first thing I’ll tell them, no.” He lifted a brow, his expression slightly sardonic. “Would you prefer me to share the news about the baby first?”

“No.” She glared at him. “And I don’t want to wear a dress that screams ‘pregnant bride,’ either.”

“I’m sure some of Livia’s designs will flatter your figure. No matter what you’ll wear, you’ll look beautiful.”

Charlotte’s eyes suddenly smarted and she blinked, clearing her vision. “I feel rather lumpy at the moment, and I dread people talking. There will be gossip, you know. I know you don’t care, but I’m not there yet. I’m still trying to figure out how to navigate this new world. My success stems from my reputation as someone who doesn’t make mistakes. I fix other people’s mistakes. And yet look at me—” She broke off, and bit into her lower lip, holding back the flow of words.

“Starting a family is a beautiful thing. We’re excited. Remember that.”

“You don’t think your family will judge?”

“They’ll be happy for us. They know you. They like you. Livia is thrilled to be making your dress.”

“And your business associates? My clients?”

“They’ll think the best, not the worst.”

“Which is?”

“That we’re head over heels in love and eager to start our new lives together.” His silver gaze met hers and held. His voice dropped, and deepened. “And who is to say we’re not? Who is to say that this marriage isn’t something we both want?”

Her heart did a funny double beat, and butterflies filled her middle. She couldn’t look away from the flare of desire in his eyes, the heat radiating out, wrapping around her. “Marriage wasn’t on the agenda,” she said.

“Maybe not, but you know I want you. If I could have you now, I would. Desire is not an issue between us.”

She could see heat and interest shimmering in his stunning pewter eyes. She felt the intense physical pull. She craved it herself, feeling isolated in this strange new body of hers, facing a different future than she’d ever imagined. “Then kiss me,” she whispered. “Make me remember why I lost my head over you.”

He drew her from her seat, up into his arms, one hand sliding beneath her hair t

o cup her nape as the other settled low on her hip. His lips covered hers, claiming her, his mouth warm, and firm. He smelled of that spice he wore and as well as a hint of wine. She welcomed the pressure of his mouth, her lips parting beneath his, his tongue tasting, teasing, sending shivers of pleasure through her. He kissed her until she felt boneless and mindless, kissing her until she forgot to breathe and she ached between her thighs, wanting pressure there. His knee moved between her legs, his hard thigh pressed to that place where she was so very sensitive. His hand ran up the length of her, over her hip and waist to cup her breast and then play with the tight, tender nipple, strumming the peaked tip so that she arched, grinding herself against him.

Pleasure screamed through her, bright, hot, intense.

She was so close to climaxing. Just another pinch of her nipple, another rub against his thigh, and she’d come. She wanted to come, craved release, but an orgasm could set off the contractions again.

Panting, Charlotte pulled back, feeling shameless and frustrated all at the same time. “I want you,” she breathed, tears of vexation filling her eyes. “But I can’t have you.”

“You can, but not for a while.”

“This is awful.” She knocked away the tears, feeling wildly out of control. “We can marry but we can’t have sex.”

“We’ll have sex again, I promise you. But you’re right, we can’t take any chances now. It’s not worth the risk.”

Charlotte couldn’t fall asleep that night. She was spending so much time resting, so much time in bed, that she felt restless and trapped. The surging hormones didn’t help. The relentless desire didn’t help, either. She’d never felt sexual, but now, being so close to Brando, desire and awareness hummed through her night and day.

But what she felt for him was so much more than desire, and the feelings were growing stronger by the day. They hadn’t even married and yet she felt bonded. Wed. Was it the pregnancy making her feel so connected to him, or was it the way he was treating her...as if she were special...priceless...irreplaceable?