Once a Ferrara Wife...

‘I wouldn’t describe it as an ambition. More of an assumption. And if you think that what you just told me would change the way I feel about you then you truly have no idea how much I love you.’ His voice was decidedly unsteady. ‘Which means I still have a great deal to prove.’

‘I don’t want you to jump through hoops, Cristiano—’ This time she did pull away from him. ‘I don’t even know if we have a future together. You’re asking me to take a leap of faith and I’m not sure I can do that, especially after what I’ve just told you. It’s huge.’

‘Compared to losing you, it’s minuscule.’

She didn’t know whether it was his husky voice or the look in his eyes, but the tense little knot inside her unravelled and she realised that no matter what she said or did she would always love this man and the depth of that love would always make her vulnerable.

‘It’s not just you.’ Admitting it was hard. ‘It’s me. I’m just not good at relationships. I’m not sure if I can give you what you want from me.’

‘Because of what I did to you two years ago? Or because of what someone else did to you years before that?’ His gentle tone smoothed the edges of the blunt words, his gaze fixed on hers as he broached a subject she’d carefully dodged for the whole time they’d been together. ‘Yes, I behaved badly and you have every right to be angry with me but your trust issues didn’t begin with me.’

And he was right, of course. Her trust issues, her refusal to depend on others, had begun years before she’d met him. They were fossilised into the foundations of who she was.

When she didn’t answer, he sighed. ‘I know your life was hell as a child and that you learned never to trust anyone, but I’m telling you that you can trust me. I messed up, but that wasn’t because I didn’t love you. I was crazy about you. I adored every independent inch of you. Yes, I made a bad judgement but even that wasn’t quite as straightforward as it seemed because the situation was complicated. Now stop thinking and worrying and let’s just go home and spend some time together.’ Lacing his fingers into hers, he led her back onto the main street that led towards Piazza Sant’Antonio.

‘By “spend some time together” I assume you mean have sex.’

‘That wasn’t what I meant. That’s the one area of our relationship that has never needed any attention.’ He paused to kiss her, indifferent to whoever might have been watching, the touch of his mouth a sensual reminder of what they’d shared the night before.

Her head spun and she wondered dimly whether this whole thing would have been easier if the sexual attraction between them hadn’t been so extraordinarily powerful.

‘I can’t think when you do that.’

‘Good.’ His slumberous gaze moved to her mouth. ‘You think far too much.’

Right now all she could think about was sex. And she could tell by the way those heavy-lidded eyes darkened that he was thinking the same thing. In fact she knew he was because when she started to move he caught her hips and pulled a face.

‘Don’t move for a minute.’

Because he was usually the one with all the control, it was fun to tease him. ‘What happens if I move?’

His teeth were gritted. ‘I’ll probably be arrested for indecency. Stand still. And stop looking at me like that.’

She licked her bottom lip slowly and heard him mutter something in Italian. ‘I didn’t understand that.’

‘Probably just as well.’ He exhaled slowly and stepped away from her. ‘Let’s get back home quickly. Move.’

CHAPTER EIGHT

LAUREL lay naked in a warm after-sex glow, her limbs tangled with Cristiano’s as they watched the sun set over Mount Etna, turning the sky a deep rosy gold.

‘It’s as if the island’s on fire.’ Like their relationship, she thought. If their love were a colour, it would have been red. Red for hot. Red for passion.

He rolled her onto her back. ‘Not just the island.’ He lowered his head and immediately she was consumed by the hungry demands of his kiss.

Red for desire.

She felt her own heart pounding and the thrill of excitement mount as his hand stroked down over her thigh in a smooth, possessive movement.

Being with Cristiano was the ultimate adrenalin rush, an experience of such erotic intensity that her senses were constantly humming.

‘Did you really not have an affair?’ She hated herself for asking, for sounding like someone needy and insecure when she’d always prided herself on her independence but part of her—the part she wished she could dig out and throw away—couldn’t stop torturing herself with that scenario.