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Hidden in the Sheikh's Harem: Christmas at the Castello

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Pushing the thin lace to one side, Leo trailed one fingertip along the slick crease between her thighs. Dara moaned under his touch, pressing closer into his hand. He could tell that she was ready for him. But a wicked part of him made her wait a moment longer. He leaned just close enough to blow a single breath of hot air against her sensitive flesh.

Dara gasped, gripping the hair at the nape of his neck to pull him closer.

The action drove him wild. She was flushed and breathing harshly. Leo obeyed her breathless plea, pressing his lips to her tender flesh and hearing her groan in response. He moved his mouth in sync with his fingers, driving her closer and closer to that point of no return. He felt her body tense under the onslaught of pleasure. A single curse escaped those delicate lips as she reached her climax.

No sooner had her aftershocks subsided than he was thrusting deep inside her, sinking into her molten heat with a muttered curse of his own. ‘Oh, Dio, I’ve missed this.’ He groaned as he built up a steady rhythm, spreading her legs wide as he leaned down and took one taut nipple into his mouth.

Dara caressed his back with her fingertips as he drove into her with all the control he could muster.

His release came hard and fast, taking them both by surprise.

Once the wave of pleasure had subsided, he sank down on the rug by her side and exhaled hard.

Dara sat up on one elbow, tracing the hairs on his chest idly. ‘That was worth the wait.’

Leo murmured his agreement, feeling her hands on his chest and listening to her rhythmic breathing as his eyes closed.

* * *

Dara couldn’t sleep. She stared up at the two stockings that hung over the fireplace. They looked so plain, so small on that huge mantelpiece. That same feeling that had plagued her for the past few months threatened to overcome her again.

This wasn’t about the stockings.

The same way as her frequent trips to Syracuse had nothing at all to do with business.

Since they had opened up their charitable project, the Valente Foundation, she had been required to attend a handful of fundraisers and benefits. Her presence wasn’t necessarily required in any of the institutions they supported on a day-to-day basis, and yet she had found herself taking on the role of patroness at the Syracuse orphanage with the aim of being a silent figure.

The first couple of trips had been to check on the progress of some renovations, and then she had arranged for a new playground to be built. That playground had been finished in the summer, and yet she still found reason to visit as often as she could manage. With Leo away she had found herself making the hour-long trip up to three times a week. Even the ever-smiling house matron had begun to look confused at her continued presence.

There were stockings up on the fireplace at the orphanage too. Seventeen of them, side by side, hanging on a string in the common room. Now that Leo was home she supposed she would find no reason to go to Syracuse again. He would ask questions about why she visited only one orphanage—why not all the others? Why not the hospitals? He would know, just as she knew, that her actions weren’t about being charitable at all.

The press had been merciless in the beginning: everyone had wanted to see Leo Valente transformed from playboy to father. Dara had never made a secret of her inability to bear children, so it had been no surprise that the press had caught wind of it soon after their wedding. The rumour mill had gone into overdrive. Would they adopt? Would they use a surrogate? They’d been a hot topic for quite some time.

They had decided that their business was their own, and that their choice to remain childless was both private and definite.

Hot tears threatened to fall from her eyes now, as emotion built in her throat. It just didn’t make sense. She had made it clear from the start—before they married—that children were not in her future. She’d made her peace with that on a hospital bed, upon being informed that her condition was incurable. She hadn’t been foolish enough to hold out any hope of some day carrying a child of her own. It was better to be realistic. She had never had strong maternal tendencies anyway. For goodness’ sake, she was a workaholic and a complete neat freak—both qualities didn’t exactly mix well with motherhood.

She knew all this and yet she had been selfish enough to go back to the orphanage after that first time. Selfish and inconsiderate.

She had been plagued by a sense of restlessness these past few months. Married life was wonderful, and her success in her career was at an all-time high. And yet it seemed as if the only time she felt whole these days was when she was there.


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