His wet hand covered her mouth. “I do not want you to think. For then I must think and I do not wish to. About anything.”
And she understood…or thought she did. Had she not been so tired, she would probably have anticipated this. Claudio needed comfort. His father lay in a hospital bed, his future uncertain and her strong husband would never willingly admit fear on that score. Or any other if it came to that.
The question was what was she going to do about it?
But even as she asked herself that, a realization came to her. She needed comfort, too.
He did not love her and that hurt. King Vincente’s health was at risk and that hurt as well. Even if he survived his surgery, which there was every chance he would do…she would lose him along with the other Scorsolinis from her life when her marriage ended. That knowledge added pain on top of pain.
The careful little world she had built around herself in which she had people she loved, if not those who loved her in return, was crumbling.
Soon, she would be living a life entirely separate, one in which she would have to stand on the sidelines. She would have to watch from afar while the things and people she cared about existed and thrived apart from her.
Her pet projects would be taken over by someone else, the issues she thought were so important would find another spokeswoman. Her role in the political infrastructure of Isole dei Re would be filled in by someone else, doing things differently…prioritizing differently and wanting to accomplish different things.
More painful to her heart was the knowledge that her sisters-in-law would blossom in their new roles, have their babies, and more children besides. All without her around to experience, if only vicariously, the reality of a family love.
Flavia and Vincente would finally find their way back to each other…it was obvious to anyone with eyes in her head that they were head over heels in love and always had been. But she would not be around to rejoice with them. She would once again be on the outside looking in.
She would try to fill her life with meaningful endeavors, but the cold winds of loneliness were already blowing across her soul. Because most devastating of all, Claudio would one day remarry and have his own children and they would not be hers.
Pain so intense it was physical shook her frame as Claudio stared down into her eyes, his own expression unreadable except for the physical need that burned in his dark gaze. “I want you, cara. If you are honest with yourself…you will admit you want me, too.”
She looked down where his gaze had traveled. Her breasts were flushed a soft pink with desire, her nipples as hard and crimson as frozen berries. They ached under his hot scrutiny, the skin tight and throbbing with the blood pulsing below it and the engorged tips crying out for the relief of his touch.
A million memories of how it felt to have his mouth and his hands on her erogenous zones tormented her mind. And what he could not see, but she could feel, was the way her most intimate flesh had swollen as well and throbbed with a need to be filled by him, connected to him.
Both her emotional pain and the physical need surging through her sprang from the deep well of love she had for him. It did not matter that he did not return that love. It was too much a part of her being to dismiss and each set of emotions caused by her love warred for supremacy.
One promised empty loneliness that tears would not assuage and the other oblivion. She chose the oblivion. “Yes, I want you,” she said with some despair.
He took no further urging, but swooped down on her mouth with the speed and power of an invading armada as he yanked her into full-body contact. His lips devoured hers and his hard, masculine body imprinted a message of sexual need on her own.
It was one that found an answering craving in her and she did not remain passive against him, but touched him as if it would be the last time. She reveled in the contrast her fingertips found between the silky tautness of his skin and the whorls of dark curling hair that marked his body so different from her own. A man’s body, the epitome of masculine perfection to her senses.
She traced the outlines of ridges created by honed muscle, memorizing anew the way his body felt. She did not know how she was going to live the rest of her life without this. It was too special…so perfect, she often cried afterward at the sheer beauty of the feelings he evoked in her.
Tears burned her eyes and she blinked them away as the hot water masked any signs of her inner turmoil. Her hand hovered above his hardness, her nails scoring through the nest of dark hair from which it sprang. His big body trembled and sounds of need rumbled from deep in his chest.
Incredible how much she loved those sounds. She was addicted to them and she had spent hours in bed with him listening, watching, paying oh so very close attention to his reactions so she could have more…and more…and more.