One-Click Buy: November Harlequin Presents (93 page)

‘Oh, no, my beautiful little witch.' Their eyes met and tangled in the half light. ‘I want to savour every last inch of you before I get there…I want you to hold on to the iron rails and don't let go, whatever I do…'

‘Sounds ominous. Should I be scared?'

‘Only if you're scared of going to Heaven…'

‘That's a big promise.'

‘And I'm a man who always keeps his.' He straddled her and she held fast to the rails of the bed head. Her breasts pouted up at him, the rosy nipples swollen and sensitive, but first he kissed her, leaning down and supporting himself on either side of her with his hands. His kiss was hot and urgent and her body arched up until she could feel his member rubbing against her. Lord, but how she wanted him! Her body felt weak and helplessly driven.

She wrapped her arms around him to pull him down and he tutted into her ear.

‘No cheating, now.'

‘I have to touch you, Angelo!'

‘In due course…Now, am I going to have to tie you up? I'm not averse to a little bondage.'

A hot surge of excitement flooded her and she grinned at him, her breathing quick and unsteady.

‘Oh, you keep handcuffs on the premises, do you? Very kinky, Mr Falcone. I wonder what your mother would have to say about that!'

‘Not handcuffs, my little darling. But I do have a wide assortment of silk ties.' He nibbled her neck while she writhed under him, desperate for him to press himself against her.

‘Silk ties sound like fun.' Francesca couldn't believe what she was saying but her trust in him was so utterly complete. Where no other man would ever be permitted to venture, she flung open the door to him. He wrapped silk ties around her wrists, so loosely that she could pull free of them at any time, not that she wanted to.

Then, inch by inch, he explored her body, starting with her shoulders and working his way down to her breasts. He suckled on them, tugging the tips gently with his teeth and drawing moans of pleasure from her. Instead of rushing him to continue, she was constrained by the ties to submit to this leisurely exploration. His tongue trailed along her stomach, circling her belly button as his hands smoothed sensuously along her sides, then up to massage her breasts, to prime them for yet more erotic pleasure. His tongue rasping over her nipples dragged a groan out of her—a husky, animal sound that she couldn't believe she had made.

‘This isn't fair!' Francesca panted, and he stopped in the middle of his sensory feasting on her breasts to glance up at her.

‘But are you enjoying yourself?'

‘You know I am! But I want you!'

‘And I want you too,' he confirmed smugly. ‘In the meantime, lie back and have fun…' He grinned at her. ‘Think of England!'

Francesca thought of anything but England. In fact, she didn't think at all. She just obeyed his command for her to have fun although it bordered on the impossible not to drag herself free of her silken trap when he parted her legs and inserted himself between them so that he could breathe in the sweetness of her femininity. A few flicks of his tongue and she was quivering and moving against his mouth, urging him on with her body.

Angelo cupped her buttocks with his hands and brought her up to meet his questing tongue, which he slid rhythmically over her sensitised bud. He could feel it throbbing. He knew her body as well as he knew his own, knew when the time was right for him to cease pleasuring her in that manner because she needed him to thrust into her or else she would tip over the edge into her own private climax.

Francesca's body welcomed him in, moving in the same rhythm as his as he took her to a shuddering orgasm that left her trembling in its aftermath.

He undid the silk ties and massaged her wrists.

‘Look at them, they're ruined,' Francesca said, turning the ties over in her hands.

‘Well worth the money I spent on them.' Angelo grinned and felt like a young man who had just ravished the woman of his dreams. He cupped her breast with his hand, a gesture of possession, and Francesca's stomach went into tiny, painful knots. She edged away and lay on her side, primly tugging the quilt up so that it covered her.

‘I think I'm going to have a bath now.' It was the last thing she felt like doing when her body was still so pleasantly slumberous and content, but she had to talk to him and talking would be better fully dressed.

Angelo gave a little frown of consternation. ‘Why?'

‘Because I want to get cleaned up. You know…'

‘No, I don't.' He was feeling it again. That little nagging apprehension that had been there at the restaurant. He told himself that he was mistaken, that no woman who had made love as passionately as she just had would ever have anything to say to him that might cause him concern. ‘But if you really feel you need to shower, then go ahead. Care for me to come and help you?'

‘I think tonight I might manage the exercise on my own.'

When she emerged, she was fully dressed and she saw his eyebrows raise in surprise.

‘We need to talk. I know talking isn't part of…this deal we have, but…'

He patted a space on the bed next to him and Francesca remained where she was. ‘Why don't you get dressed? I can't talk to you when—when you're naked under the covers.'

Angelo looked at her carefully. He heard the edgy wariness in her voice and he knew what was coming, what this little talk was going to be about.

‘Give me five minutes to have a shower. If you like, you can go downstairs and make us both a cup of coffee. I'll take mine black.' He strode past her towards the bathroom and shut the door. He leaned against the door, eyes shut, and contemplated what he was going to do. Sitting back and allowing her to spin him a story about walking away because she had finally decided she wanted more than he could give wasn't an option. That carried the nasty odour of how things had been played out the last time around. Not quite the same but close enough. The walking out bit would certainly be the same.

No, he would take the bull by the horns and dismiss her. It was always going to come to that in the end and if he was taken by surprise it was only because he wasn't quite ready for her to leave his life. He still enjoyed making love to her, but he wasn't going to cling on and try to persuade her to change her mind. In fact, he would rather have walked barefoot on a bed of hot coals than allow his emotions to formulate arguments his head didn't want.

He turned on the shower, making sure that it was as cold as his body could stand, and afterwards stuck on some jeans and a tee shirt. She was no longer in the bedroom. He went downstairs to find that the coffee had been made and she was sipping hers at the kitchen table. Next to her was her bag, a clear indication of the nature of the chat she had in mind.

‘I have something to say, Angelo, and it's not going to be easy…'

Angelo didn't say anything. There was a buzzing in his ears and he didn't know whether it was from rage that she intended to pull the same stunt on him again or frustration that he had let himself walk into a situation which had managed to bring him to this impasse. He strolled with his mug in his hand towards the chair facing her and sat down, looping his foot around the other chair so that he could drag it towards him. He was the picture of a man utterly at ease, sprawled on his chair, feet indolently stretched out on the chair he had pulled towards him.

‘Then let me help you along, Francesca,' he drawled. ‘We had a deal and the deal hasn't changed. The deal is
never
going to change. If you've suddenly decided that you need to tweak the rules, then you're barking up the wrong tree. I want you for one thing and one thing only.' The buzzing in his head was louder but his voice was perfectly calm, cold even.

‘Yes, I know that…'

‘No,' Angelo cut in coolly, ‘I don't think you do. Like every other woman under the sun, you start off with the right intentions but somewhere along the line the rules of the game begin to get a little unpalatable and you decide that it might be a good idea to change them—'

‘That's not true! You don't even know what I'm going to say!' And beating about the bush wasn't going to do her any favours but the closer she came to telling him the truth the more she shied away from the hideous complications it would involve.

‘I don't have to,' Angelo told her indifferently. He sipped the coffee. He had been in control of their little fling and he intended to be in control of its demise. But there was a leaden feeling inside him that made him feel slightly sick. ‘At any rate, it doesn't matter what you have to say. I won't lie, I was enjoying our little romps…'
Romps
seemed a particularly good word, reducing what they had to strictly sex but reducing it in a way that left no room for dignity or glamour. It was a basic, dismissive description and he saw the way she flinched in response. ‘But all good things come to an end and I just want to smooth the path for you by telling you that I'm more than happy to part company with you, no hard feelings. There. Have I helped you out at all?'

‘It's not as easy as that…'

‘Don't make a drama out of nothing, Francesca. It's actually very easy.' He looked at her impassively, noted the tremulous quivering of her mouth and steeled himself against the temptation to ask her questions, in fact to show any interest at all.

Was that what she was doing? Making a drama out of nothing? If only he knew! If only he knew that the low dosage contraceptive pill she had been assiduously taking had been too late to prevent the baby growing inside her, the product of that very first time they had made love spontaneously and unprotected, weeks and weeks ago. It was only today, when she'd realised that her breasts were feeling heavier than usual and more sensitive than they normally did, that the period she should have had during the gap in the little white tablets had been noticeable only by its non-appearance, that she had been feeling queasy at the sight of coffee and the smell of fried foods—disastrous for a chef and something she had ignored to start with—only now had she turned cold at the possible nightmare situation she might be facing.

She knew that she should have called him as soon as she'd discovered the awful truth. At least then he would have had time to prepare himself for when they met. Instead, she had decided to put off the dreaded confrontation. She would have her last memory of him, something to treasure for the rest of her life, and then she would tell him. Now, here she was and she still hadn't told him. She felt like someone staring up the face of Mount Everest and trying to work out how best to reach the summit without dying in the process.

‘You don't understand. If you'd just let me explain…' She wondered, sickly, what format these explanations would take. Perhaps,
You're going to be a daddy soon,
or maybe just a blunt,
Life as you know it is about to go into free fall.

‘There's nothing to explain,' Angelo interrupted. ‘And I'm not interested in explanations.' He stood up and politely waited for her to do the same.

Francesca stood too and stared at him across the width of the table. She would tell him about the pregnancy, but maybe not just yet, because what good would telling him do? She was still in the position she had been in three years ago. Telling him would present him with an insoluble problem. She felt sick with the worry of it all. In this day and age insoluble problems such as the one she was dealing with had an obvious solution that came under the heading of abortion, but Francesca would not even contemplate going down that road. Whatever wrong turns she had taken in her life had been of her own choosing or at least her own foolishness, and she had always taken responsibility for the consequences. That wasn't going to change now. And besides…she loved him. True love was unselfish, she told herself, as she blindly gathered up her handbag. The unselfish thing to do would be to spare him the knowledge of the time bomb waiting to destroy his life and his career.

‘If it's all right, I'll just call a taxi,' she whispered, fishing in the bag for her mobile phone.

‘No need for that. I'll give you a lift back. Like I said, no hard feelings.' He even managed a smile and for Francesca that was worse because it was so very impersonal.

He drove her back to her house in unbroken silence. The temptation to tell him what was going on was overpowering, but hard on the heels of temptation came the icy blast of reality—the position she would be putting him in, the consequences he would be forced to deal with.

The silent drive finally came to an end and he turned to her. ‘Good luck with your catering business, Francesca. I'll make sure to put in a good word for you.'

‘There's no need…'

‘Call it for services rendered.' It was a cheap shot but the tip of the iceberg when it came to what he was feeling. Yes, he had been the one to do the discarding and, no, it felt no better now than it had three years ago when the shoe had been on the other foot. He could see from her face that the dart had hit bull's-eye and loathed himself for delivering it. Too late now, and he wasn't going to apologise anyway.