Happy Mother’s Day!: Accidentally Pregnant, Conveniently Wed / Claiming His Pregnant Wife / Meant-To-Be Mother

‘No.’

‘I’m much too heavy.’ ‘No. You are perfect.’

It felt like being in a dream, as if she had spent her whole life waiting for just that moment. Cradled in Gianluca’s strong arms with her head resting against his chest in the warmth of the balmy night and a silver moon blazing overhead.

She barely noticed the cool, dim house with its ancient flagstones and its worn stone steps and beautiful old furniture—all she could feel was the pounding of his heart against her body. Gianluca didn’t even put her down once they were inside—instead he began to mount the stairs with Aisling still in his arms. How strong he was, she thought, in admiration and slight bewilderment.

The first moment of panic she knew was when he kicked open a door which revealed a huge bed, its counterpane and cushions covered in some dark, silky material. An unashamedly masculine bed which looked made for seduction—and Aisling suddenly wondered what he would expect of her in return. Would she let herself down with her relative inexperience?

Her tongue snaked out over bone-dry lips. ‘Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,’ she whispered.

He had been expecting this, but it didn’t stop him from laying her down on the bed as carefully as if she had been composed entirely of something fragile. He smoothed a stray tendril of hair from her cheek, his black eyes suddenly serious. ‘Oh, yes, it is,’ he affirmed softly. ‘It is the best idea I’ve ever had.’

And then he bent over her and kissed her with a different kind of kiss from the one beneath the tree—it was all soft and tender and stomach-melting—the kind of kiss which said: Trust me. Could she? More importantly, could she trust herself not to read anything more into this than what it really was? If she was prepared to accept reality for just this once, then she would be safe.

Gianluca felt another unexpected kick of something which seemed to exceed mere desire as her arms looped up behind his neck and her lips parted as she stared up at him in silent invitation. Her dark hair was fanned out against the gleaming backdrop of the bed, the filmy top outlining her amazing breasts and her denim-clad legs splayed out in careless abandon.

His lips began to graze over her eyelids. ‘Do you know how beautiful you look tonight, cara?’

‘Seriously?’ she questioned uncertainly, guessing that this was what he said to every woman he took to his bed. But it unsettled her. She might have scrubbed up well tonight, but no way was she beautiful.

‘Oh, yes.’ He felt her tense and his hand cupped her breast until he felt her nipple peak against his palm and he wanted to say to her—Why the hell don’t you dress like this normally? Except to say that risked bringing work into the bedroom and destroying the enchantment.

So instead, he whispered to her in Italian, telling her that she was much too beautiful to hide her hair and body away—allowing himself the luxury of knowing that she could not understand anything he was saying. So there was no chance his words could be misinterpreted … only their sensual tone would be taken on board.

He felt the apprehension begin to leave her as he told her that her hair was as dark as the night and that she looked like a sorceress. He told her that her body was everything a woman’s body should be, and as he tugged off the jeans he realised that he had been right. Madonna mia, but she was a Venus! It was true that her lingerie was a little on the plain side, but he wasn’t intending that she wear it for very much longer.

‘Gianluca,’ she breathed as he slid off her panties and tossed them aside to join the other garments on the floor. And suddenly the uncertainty began to dissolve with the sure caress of his fingers against her nakedness and his murmured words.

He was just so gorgeous, and he was making her feel gorgeous—and hadn’t she been nurturing a fantasy about this man from the very first moment she’d met him? Reaching up, she burrowed her fingers beneath his silken shirt, feeling the flat, hard planes of his torso and the rough texture of the hair which grew there.

‘Sì, touch me,’ he urged, and closed his eyes as she began to unbuckle his belt, as he had prayed she might. ‘Do not be shy, cara. Ah, sì—touch me right there.’

The momentary inhibition Aisling felt at the formidable length of him against her palm was soon banished by the groan of pleasure he made and now she felt powerful. Equal. Because she wanted this, too.

She wanted it enough to forget everything but the potent strength of her own desire, which had her tugging off his jeans and hearing his low laugh until suddenly they were both naked, their bodies and limbs entangling, and Aisling gave a little cry of delight.

Gianluca kissed her and touched her until she cried out for him to take her and that made him laugh and kiss her some more. ‘Shall I make you wait?’ he teased.

‘Don’t you dare!’

‘Or, what?’

‘Or … this …’

She took her hand away from where it had been playing with him and he groaned, even while he wriggled with pleasure. So the cool and contained ice-maiden was melting, was she? Inside she was as hot and as sexy as any woman he’d ever made love to. He moved over her, brushing aside a few wild strands of dark hair, kissing the tip of her nose, and suddenly he was overcome with a need to make love to her.

‘Aisling?’ he said unsteadily. ‘You are protected?’

As Aisling shook her head he groaned and reached for some protection, stroking it on with shaking and impatient fingers and then moving over her once more.

There was that split-second before he entered her which somehow felt as intimate as anything could be. She wanted to tell him that she never normally did this kind of thing, that this was special, but she sensed that it would be inappropriate. As if she was expecting too much from it.

And besides, Gianluca was too aroused to be able to hear anything and so she just drew him down to her, wrapping her arms possessively around his bare back, wanting him closer than close—on her and in her and … ‘This is …’

‘I know it is,’ he groaned as he delayed for one more blissful and agonising second. ‘Il settimo cielo.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘It means that it feels like heaven. That you feel like heaven.’ And then he thrust into her—slow and hard and deep—enjoying the cry of delight which was torn from her lips as they moved in the act of life itself.

Again and again, he brought her to the edge—teasing her into writhing submission until suddenly he knew that he could wait no longer. He bent his mouth to her nipple, his teeth grazing against the sensitised bud, so that her nails gripped into the flesh of his shoulders when at last she tumbled over the edge and he winced with the heady combination of pleasure and pain before he climaxed himself.

They lay there, tight together, moist bodies mingling as their breathing and their hearts slowed, and as a delicious torpor began to creep over him he lifted his arm up to glance at his watch and swore very softly.

Sleepily, Aisling lifted her head. ‘Is something … wrong?’

He yawned and shrugged. ‘I’m not exactly behaving like host of the year, am I?’ he murmured. ‘We’ll stay here for a while, but then we really ought to get back to the party, cara.’ But the temptation of a goose-down heap of pillows and a warm, naked body next to his was just too much to resist and Gianluca fell asleep—a naked thigh spread carelessly against the curve of her hip, one hand lying lightly just above her waist, a few stray tendrils of hair like silk bonds against his skin.

Aisling must have slept too, because when she awoke she felt both disorientated and yet utterly contented. Her limbs felt heavy and her body warm and replete—its sticky heat and the tingling sensation of her skin reminding her of … of …

Her eyes flew open and she experienced a momentary feeling of sheer, blind panic as she realised just where she was.

And with whom!

She swallowed. It couldn’t be. She must have dreamt it. Please may this be a dream.

But then she heard the sound of a small sigh and the stirring of a body beside her and she knew that it was no dream.

Scarcely daring to breathe, she carefully turned her head to look at the figure on the bed next to her, as if seeking visual reassurance that she had really just slept with her client.

In sleep, Gianluca’s face was much softer. The ruffled hair and dark sweep of his lashes made him seem a million miles away from the high-powered executive with the restless nature and rather cruel smile. For one mad moment she almost gave into the overwhelming desire to lower her head and to whisper her lips along the olive silk of his bare shoulder and to move her body over his, until a wave of reason washed over her like a cold shower, bringing her to her senses.

In the air was the sense of utter silence which told Aisling that it must now be the middle of the night—and, apart from the dawning realisation of what she had done, something else jarred at her conscience.

Jason!

Aisling froze. She had brought her young assistant to a party in the middle of nowhere and she had disappeared halfway through without a word, in order to sleep with their host!

A tiny moan escaped from her lips before she could stop it and the figure beside her stirred again. Aisling hastily clamped her lips shut. She needed to think. To decide on a plan of action—or rather a damage-limitation plan.

Ruthlessly, she quelled the aching in her heart and the wistful little voice in her head which kept telling her how wonderful it had been. Maybe it had, but it should never have happened—and whether she blamed the wine or the moonlight or her longstanding infatuation with him, none of that mattered. It had happened—that was the only thing which counted, and now she had to get out of here. She ran through the options in her mind.

If she waited until morning, then not only would she have the embarrassment of facing Gianluca, but also of facing however many staff he had working here. How the hell would that look? She bit her lip as she remembered him introducing her to his old nanny last night and that nice local lawyer. It would look exactly what it was—that she had behaved like a tramp! And then she remembered Gianluca looking at his watch after they’d made love and saying that they really ought to get back to the party.

Now that didn’t sound like the behaviour of a man who wanted to eke out every last moment or lie around stroking her face and telling her that it had been wonderful, did it? No, it sounded exactly what it was—that she had presented him with an opportunity for seduction and he had seized it like the red-blooded man he was.

But what did she do now? And where the hell was Jason? Had he taken the chauffeur-driven car back to Rome or was he asleep in one of the bedrooms of this large house?