From Florence With Love: Valtieri's Bride / Lorenzo's Reward / The Secret That Changed Everything

‘I don’t know. It just seems right.’

Again he hesitated, then he took her hand and pressed it to his lips. ‘Give me ten minutes. I need to check the children.’

She nodded, her mouth dry, and he brushed her lips with his and left her there, her fingers resting on the damp, tingling skin as if to hold the kiss in place.

Ten minutes, she thought. Ten minutes, and my life will change forever.

He didn’t come back.

She gave up after half an hour, and went to bed alone, humiliated and disappointed. How stupid, to proposition a man so far out of her league. He was probably still laughing at her in his room.

He wasn’t. There was a soft knock on the door, and he walked in off the terrace. ‘Lydia? I’m sorry I was so long. Are you still awake?’

She propped herself up on one elbow, trying to read his face, but his back was to the moonlight. ‘Yes. What happened? I’d given up on you.’

‘Antonino woke. He had a nightmare. He’s all right now, but I didn’t want to leave him till he was settled.’

He sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes shadowed in the darkness, and she reached for the bedside light. He caught her hand. ‘No. Leave it off. Let’s just have the moonlight.’

He opened the curtains wide, but closed the doors—for privacy? She didn’t know, but she was grateful that he had because she felt suddenly vulnerable as he stripped off his clothes and turned back the covers, lying down beside her and taking her into his arms.

The shock of that first contact took their breath away, and he rested his head against hers and gave a shuddering sigh. ‘Oh, Lydia, cara, you feel so good,’ he murmured, and then after that she couldn’t understand anything he said, because his voice deepened, the words slurred and incoherent. He was speaking Italian, she realised at last, his breath trembling over her body with every groaning sigh as his hands cupped and moulded her.

She arched against him, her body aching for him, a need like no need she’d ever felt swamping her common sense and turning her to jelly. She ran her hands over him, learning his contours, the feel of his skin like hot silk over the taut, corded muscles beneath, and then she tasted him, her tongue testing the salt of his skin, breathing in the warm musk and the lingering trace of cologne.

He seemed to be everywhere, his hands and mouth caressing every part of her, their legs tangling as his mouth returned to hers and he kissed her as if he’d die without her.

‘Please,’ she whispered, her voice shaking with need, and he paused, fumbling for something on the bedside table.

Taking care of her, she realised, something she’d utterly forgotten, but not him. He’d remembered, and made sure that she was safe with him.

No strings. No repercussions.

Then he reached for her, taking her into his arms, and as he moved over her she stopped thinking altogether and just felt.

He woke to the touch of her hand on his chest, lying lightly over his heart.

She was asleep, her head lying on his shoulder, her body silvered by the moonlight. He shifted carefully, and she sighed and let him go, so he could lever himself up and look down at her.

There was a dark stain over one hipbone. He hadn’t noticed it last night, but now he did. A bruise, from her fall. And there was another, on her shoulder, and one on her thigh, high up on the side. He kissed them all, tracing the outline with his lips, kissing them better like the bruises of a child.

It worked, his brother Luca told him, because the caress released endorphins, feel-good hormones, and so you really could kiss someone better, but only surely if they were awake—

‘Massimo?’

He turned his head and met her eyes. ‘You’re hurt all over.’

‘I’m all right now.’

She smiled, reaching up and cradling his jaw in her hand, and he turned his face into her hand and kissed her palm, his tongue stroking softly over the sensitive skin.

‘What time is it?’

He glanced at his watch and sighed. ‘Two. Just after.’

Two. Her flight was in thirteen hours.

She swallowed hard and drew his face down to hers. ‘Make love to me again,’ she whispered.

How could he refuse? How could he walk away from her, even though it was madness?

Time out, she’d said, from reality. He needed that so badly, and he wasn’t strong enough to resist.

Thirteen hours, he thought, and as he took her in his arms again, his heart squeezed in his chest.

Saying goodbye to the children and Carlotta and Roberto was hard. Saying goodbye to Massimo was agony.

He’d parked at the airport, in the short stay carpark, and they’d had lunch in the café, sitting outside under the trailing pergola. She positioned herself in the sun, but it didn’t seem to be able to warm her, because she was cold inside, her heart aching.

‘Thank you for everything you’ve done for me,’ she said, trying hard not to cry, but it was difficult and she felt a tear escape and slither down her cheek.

‘Oh, bella.’ He sighed, and reaching out his hand, he brushed it gently away. ‘No tears. Please, no tears.’

‘Happy tears,’ she lied. ‘I’ve had a wonderful time.’

He nodded, but his eyes didn’t look happy, and she was sure hers didn’t. She tried to smile.

‘Give my love to the children, and thank Francesca again for my Italian lessons.’

He smiled, his mouth turning down at the corners ruefully. ‘They’ll miss you. They had fun with you.’

‘They’ll forget me,’ she reassured him. ‘Children move on very quickly.’

But maybe not if they’d been hurt in the past, he thought, and wondered if this had been so safe after all, so without consequences, without repercussions.

Maybe not.

He left her at the departures gate, standing there with his arms round her while she hugged him tight. She let him go, looked up, her eyes sparkling with tears.

‘Take care,’ she said, and he nodded.

‘You, too. Safe journey.’

And without waiting to see her go through the gate, he walked away, emotions raging through him.

Madness. He’d thought he could handle it, but—

He’d got her address from her, so he could send her a crate of wine and oil.