Larenzo's Christmas Baby

He leaned back a little so he could look into her face. ‘If you’re sure...?’

She nodded, amazed at just how sure she was. Everything about this night had been surreal, even magical. This felt, bizarrely and yet completely, like the logical and necessary conclusion. ‘I’m sure.’

‘Then come with me.’ He untangled himself from her and rose from the rug in one fluid movement, holding his hand down to help her up. With their fingers linked he led her silently upstairs to his bedroom.

Emma gazed at the king-sized bed with its navy silk sheets she’d changed herself and felt a tremor of—what? Not fear. Anticipation. And a little nervousness, because, while she was sure, this was still a new experience. An entirely new experience, and she didn’t want to admit to Larenzo just how new it was, how unlike her this decision had been.

He glanced back at her, his fingers still twined with hers. ‘Having second thoughts?’ he asked quietly, his gaze sweeping over her. ‘Cold feet? I wouldn’t mind.’ He let out a ragged laugh. ‘Well, I’d mind, but I’d understand.’

‘I’m not having second thoughts.’ She swallowed, lifted her chin. She wouldn’t tell him about her inexperience. It didn’t matter to her, and she didn’t want it to matter to him, or put him off. ‘Are you?’ she challenged, and he let out a soft huff of laughter.

‘Definitely not.’ He tugged her towards him. ‘Come here, Emma.’

And she came willingly, her breasts pressing against his bare chest as his mouth came down on hers once more and for a few blissful, buzzing seconds she forgot everything but the hunger and need for this, for him.

Larenzo reached down and with one swift tug he had her T-shirt up and over her head; the feel of her breasts brushing the crisp hair on his chest was so intense it almost hurt. She’d never felt so much, felt so alive, not when she’d been on top of a mountain or deep in the ocean. All her adventures paled in light of this.

She let out a gasp that he muffled with his mouth, his hands sliding down her back and then cupping her bottom as he settled her against his arousal.

He moved his mouth from her lips to the curve of her neck, the touch of his tongue against her sensitive skin making her shiver.

Then he drew her to the bed, laying her down on top of the silken sheets and covering her body with his own.

She twined her arms around his neck and arched up towards him, craving the connection of their bodies fused in every place. Of being that close to another person...even if it was just for a single night. A few hours. And she knew Larenzo needed it too, craved it as much as she did. She was giving him herself, the only comfort she could offer him now.

Larenzo slid a hand between her thighs, slipping her pyjama shorts down her legs and then tossing them on the floor. The feel of his fingers against her most sensitive flesh had Emma arching upwards again, her head thrown back as sensations fizzed and popped inside her.

And then they exploded and her breath rushed out on a ragged cry as Larenzo worked magic with his fingers and left her boneless in his arms.

‘Oh...’

‘That’s just to start,’ he promised with a soft laugh, and then he tossed his own pyjama bottoms aside before he slid seamlessly inside her—and then stopped. ‘Emma...’

She saw the confusion on his face, the uncertainty, and knew he’d guessed her inexperience. ‘You haven’t...’ he began slowly and she answered by tilting her hips up.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said fiercely, and as her body found its instinctive rhythm Larenzo matched it, burying his head in the curve of her shoulder as his body surged into hers.

If she’d felt any pain or discomfort, it was long gone as the exquisite friction of Larenzo’s body created a pleasure deeper and fiercer than what she’d already felt at his experienced hands.

She let out another long, ragged cry as the sensations exploded inside her again and with a shudder Larenzo emptied himself into her and then was still.

They lay like that for a few seconds before he wrapped his arms around her and rolled onto his back.

‘Why didn’t you tell me you were a virgin?’ he asked quietly.

Emma could still feel him inside her, still feel the bone-melting ripples of pleasure that had utterly rocked her moments before. ‘Because like I said, it didn’t matter.’

‘I might have done things differently...’

‘I liked the way you did things.’

He laughed softly then, his arms tightening around her. ‘Thank you, Emma,’ he said quietly, and she wasn’t quite sure what he was thanking her for. She propped herself on her elbows to gaze down at him, and saw the ravages of both grief and pleasure on his face. She had no regrets, and yet she still wished she could smooth the furrows of worry from his forehead. She brushed his hair from his eyes instead, savouring the feel of him.

‘I should be thanking you,’ she said, and Larenzo smiled faintly before glancing out at the night sky; the moon was on the wane, dawn only an hour or two away. ‘You should sleep.’

Did he want her to leave? Uncertainly Emma started to roll off him, but Larenzo clasped her to him once more.

‘Stay,’ he said, his voice rough with emotion. ‘Stay until morning.’

And so she did.

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_0d5d8a36-7e24-56f7-b1d3-39938fcf1416)

THEY CAME AT DAWN. Larenzo heard the first car drive up, the crunch of gravel, the sound of a car door shutting quietly, as if they were trying to hide their presence. As if they could.

He stilled, every muscle tensing, Emma still in his arms. Emma. He would spare her an ugly scene. She deserved so much more than that, but that was all he could give her now.

Slowly he slipped from the bed, doing his best not to disturb her. She sighed in her sleep and turned, her tousled hair falling across one cheek, a tendril lying across her breast.

He gazed at her for a moment, drinking her in: the golden, freckled skin, the wavy golden-brown hair, her lashes fanned out on her cheeks, although he knew if she opened her eyes, they would be golden-green. His golden girl for a night, gone in the morning.

At least he would be gone.

Quickly Larenzo turned, reaching for his jeans. He pulled on a rugby shirt and ran his hands through his hair, took a deep breath. And looked one last time at Emma, at freedom and happiness, pleasure and peace. He’d known them all with her last night, and now they were nothing but memories. Resolutely he turned from her and left the room.

* * *

Emma awoke to the thud of boots on the stairs, the sound of stomping down the hall. She was still blinking the sleep from her eyes, one hand reaching for the sheet to cover herself, her mind barely processing what she’d heard, when the door was thrown open and three men crowded there, all of them glaring at her. Her heart seemed to still in her chest, everything in her going numb with horror as she stared at these strange men.

‘What—?’

They spoke in rapid Italian, too fast for her to understand, although during her two years in Sicily she’d become fairly conversant in the language. Still, she understood their tone. Their derision and contempt.

She clutched the sheet to her breasts, her whole body trembling with indignation and fear. ‘Chi sei? Cosa stai facendo?’ Who are you, and what are you doing? They didn’t answer.

One man, clearly the leader of the pack, ripped the sheet away from her naked body. Emma gasped in shock. ‘Puttana.’ He spat the single word. Whore.

Emma shook her head, her mouth dry, her body still trembling. She felt as if she’d awakened to an alternate reality, a horrible nightmare, and she had no idea how to make it stop. Where was Larenzo?

One of the men grabbed her by the arm and yanked her upwards. She came, stumbling, trying futilely to cover herself. He reached for her T-shirt and shorts discarded on the floor and threw them at her.

‘You are English?’ he asked, his voice clipped, and she nodded.

‘American. And my consulate will hear—’

He cut her off with a hard laugh. ‘Get dressed. You’re coming with us.’

Quickly, clumsily, Emma yanked on her clothes. Dressed, even if only in flimsy pyjamas, she felt a little braver. ‘Where is Signor Cavelli?’ she asked in Italian.