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Their eyes met.
Neither of them spoke.
Something erupted in her chest, gripping her so tightly her lungs closed.
Time came to a standstill.
There they stood for the longest time, speaking only with their eyes. She read a hundred things in his; variations of pain, misery, anger and something else, something she hadn’t seen since the beat before he’d taken her into his arms for the only kiss they had ever shared seven years ago.
This was the first time she’d seen him alone since that kiss.
She would never forget the look in his eyes from across the marquee when she had said yes to Pieta’s proposal only two hours later. That would be with her until the day she died. The regret at all that had been lost would live in her for ever.
Her foot moved of its own accord as she took the step to him and placed her palm on his warm cheek.
He didn’t react. Not the flicker of a muscle.
Matteo stared into eyes puffy from crying but that shone at him, almost pleading.
All the words he’d prepared melted away.
He couldn’t even remember getting out of his car.
Her trembling hand felt so gentle on his cheek, her warmth penetrating his skin, and all he could do was drink in the face he’d once dreamed of waking up to.
A force too powerful to fight took hold of him, like a fist grabbing his insides and squeezing tightly.
Suddenly he couldn’t remember why he hated her. All thoughts had evaporated. All he could see was her, Natasha, the woman he had taken one look at nearly eight years ago and known his life would never be the same again.
CHAPTER TWO (#uee5e7a53-2ad3-5e37-b3fc-0929c3608c8e)
THE WORLD AROUND them blocked itself out and, without a word being said, Matteo crossed the threshold, kicked the door shut behind him and lifted her into his arms.
Their eyes locked together. Her fingers burrowed in the nape of his neck and he carried her up the stairs and into a bedroom. There he laid her on the bed and, his heart hammering in his throat, closed his eyes and brought his lips to hers.
Her taste...
When she parted her lips and his tongue swept into her mouth, the sweet, intoxicating taste he’d never forgotten filled him and from that moment he was lost.
In a frenzy of hands and heady kisses, they stripped each other’s clothes off, items thrown without thought, a desperation to be naked and for their bodies to be flush together. Then he speared her hair with his fingers and crushed her mouth to his, teeth and tongues clashing as if they were trying to peel the other’s skin and climb inside.
There were no thoughts, no words, only this potent madness that had them both in its grip.
He cupped her small perfect breasts then took them into his mouth, her moan of pleasure soaking right into his bloodstream. He ran his hands over her smooth belly and followed it with his tongue before going lower to inhale her musky heat.
He devoured her, not an inch of her creamy skin with the texture of silk left untouched or without his kiss.
Never had he experienced anything like this, this combustible, primal need to taste her, mark her, to imprint himself into her.
To worship her.
Natasha was adrift in a world she’d never been to before, Matteo her anchor, and she clung to him as if he were all that was left to hold onto, dragging her fingers through his hair, touching every bit of smooth skin she could reach with her needy hands. Every touch seared her, every kiss scorched.
His kiss from seven years ago had flicked something on inside her, a heat that had briefly smouldered before the direction of her life had extinguished it. Now he’d switched it back on and it engulfed her, flames licking every part of her, heat burning deep inside her, an ache so acute she didn’t know where the pleasure ended and the pain began. She could cry with the wonder of it all. All those years of living without this...
And it wasn’t enough. She needed more. She needed everything.
As if sensing her thoughts, Matteo snaked his tongue back up her stomach and over her breasts, climbing higher to find her mouth and kiss her with such passion that it sucked the air from her lungs.
His hand found her thigh and pushed it out while she moved the other and wrapped her legs around him.
His erection brushed her folds and she gasped for breath at the weight and hardness of it then gasped again when he pushed his way inside her.
There was no pain, there was too much heat and fire racing through her for that, just a slight discomfort as her body adjusted to this dizzying newness.
And then there was a moment of stillness from Matteo, a pause in the frenzy.
Suddenly terrified he’d sensed or felt something wrong, she grabbed the back of his head and kissed him deeply, hungrily.
And then she forgot to worry, forgot about everything but this moment, this time, and welcomed his lovemaking, the feel of him inside her, the pleasure taking over, taking her higher and higher until the pulsations burst through her and rippled into every part of her being.
As she absorbed these beautiful sensations with wonder, Matteo’s movements quickened, his lips found hers and with a long moan into her mouth, he shuddered before collapsing on her.
For a long time they simply lay there, still saying nothing, the only sound their ragged breaths and the beats of their hearts echoing together through their tightly fused bodies.
Then, as the sensations subsided and the heat that had engulfed them cooled, something else took its place.
Horror.
She heard Matteo swallow into her neck, then his weight shifted and he rolled off her, swung his legs over the bed, and swore, first in his native Italian and then in English.
Coldness chilled her skin.
It was just as well she was lying down for if she’d been on her feet she was certain her legs would have given way beneath her.
What had they just done?
How had it happened?
She couldn’t explain it. She doubted he could either.
Feeling very much that she could be sick, she stared up at the ceiling and tried to get air into her tight lungs. If she could get her vocal cords to unfreeze she might very well swear too.
After a few deep breaths to steady himself, Matteo got to his feet and went in search of his discarded clothing.
He needed to get out of this house. Right now.
He found his shirt under her dress. One of his socks was rolled in a nest with her bra.
Nausea swirled violently inside him.
What had they just done?
Why the hell had he got out of his damned car? Why hadn’t he driven off?
He pulled on his black trousers, not bothering to do the button up, then shrugged his shirt on, not caring it was inside out.
His other sock had rolled half under the small dressing table that had only a thin glass of dried flowers on it. That this was clearly a guest room was the only mercy he could take from this.
Stuffing his socks into his jacket pocket, he slid his feet into his brogues and strode to the door. Just as he was about to make his escape a thought hit him like a hammer to the brain.
His hands clenched into fists as recriminations at his complete and utter stupidity raged through him, every curse he knew hollering in his head.
Slowly he turned around to look at her.
She hadn’t moved an inch since he’d rolled off her, her hands gripping the bedsheets, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. But then, as if feeling the weight of his gaze upon her, she turned her face towards him and wide, terrified eyes met his.
That one look confirmed everything.
It didn’t need to be said.
Natasha knew as surely as he did that the madness that had taken them had been total.
They had failed to use protection.
And he knew as surely as she did that Natasha wasn’t on the Pill. Pieta himself had told him they were trying for a baby.
A thousand emotions punching through him, he left without a single word exchanged between them, strode quickly across the street and into his car.
Only when he was alone in it did the roar of rage that had built in his chest come out and he slammed his fists onto the steering wheel, thumping it with all the force he could muster, then gripped his head in his hands and dug his fingers tightly into his skull.
Another twenty minutes passed before he felt even vaguely calm enough to drive away.
He didn’t look at the house again.
Two weeks later
It was taking everything Natasha had not to bite her fingernails. It was taking even more not to open one of the bottles of Prosecco that had been in the fridge since Pieta’s funeral. She hadn’t drunk any alcohol since the wake. If she started drinking she feared she would never stop.
Francesca was due any minute to go through the plans for the hospital they were going to build in Pieta’s memory. To no one’s surprise it had taken her sister-in-law only one week to buy the site and get the necessary permissions to develop on it. Her sister-in-law was possibly the most determined person Natasha knew and she wished she had an ounce of her drive and a fraction of her tenacity.
For herself, she seemed to have lost whatever drive she’d ever had. She felt so tired, like she could sleep for a lifetime.
Where this lethargy had come from she didn’t know, had to assume it was one of those stages of grief she’d been told to expect. Everyone was an expert on grief, it seemed. Everyone was watching her, waiting for her to crumble under the weight of it.
And despite everything, she was grieving, but not for the reasons everyone thought. Her grief was not for the future she had lost, but the seven years she and Matteo had both wasted.
Mixed in with it all was that awful sick feeling in her belly whenever she remembered how the night of the funeral had ended.
God, she didn’t want to think about that but no matter how hard she tried to block the memories, they was always there with her.
The bell rang out.
She blew a long puff of air from her lungs and tried to compose herself while the housekeeper let Francesca in.
Footsteps sounded through the huge ground floor of the house Natasha had shared with Pieta and then Francesca entered the study with her brother, Daniele. It was the figure who appeared behind her brother-in-law that almost shattered the poise Natasha had forced on herself.
As was the custom with her Italian in-laws, exuberant kisses and tight embraces were exchanged with whispered platitudes and words of comfort. Then it was time to greet Matteo.
Bracing herself, she placed a hand loosely on his shoulder, felt his hand rest lightly on her hip as they leaned in together to go through the motions of something neither could forgo without arousing suspicion. When the stubble on his warm jaw scratched her cheek she was hit by the vivid memory of that same cheek scratching her inner thigh and had to squeeze her eyes tightly shut to block the image, something she must forget.
But she could smell his skin and the scent of his cologne. Smell him. Feel the strength of his body, the curls of his dark hair between her fingers...
It had been a terrible mistake, something neither of them had needed to vocalise.
She didn’t know it was possible for someone to hate themselves as much as she hated herself. She owed Pieta absolutely nothing, she knew that, but...
She just couldn’t believe it had happened. Couldn’t believe she had lost all control of herself, couldn’t work out how it had happened or why.
It was as if some madness had taken hold of them both.
For one hour she had left behind the girl who had done everything she could to please her parents to the point of abandoning the life she’d so desperately wanted, and had found the hidden woman who had never been allowed to exist.
Protection had been the last thing on either of their minds.
They’d been stupid and so, so reckless.
Francesca hadn’t said she would be bringing her brother and cousin with her. It hadn’t occurred to Natasha to ask. Daniele and Matteo both ran enormously successful businesses that took them all over the world. She’d assumed their input for the hospital—especially Matteo’s—would come at a later date.
But then she looked properly at Francesca and understood why Daniele at least had stuck around in Pisa. Her sister-in-law looked more bereft than she had at Pieta’s funeral. More than bereft. Like the light that had always shone brightly inside her had been extinguished. Daniele would never leave his sister in this state.
And Francesca looked closely at Natasha in turn. ‘Are you okay? You look pale.’
She gave a rueful shrug. None of them could pretend they were okay. ‘I’m just tired.’
‘You’re holding your back. Does it hurt?’
‘A little.’
The housekeeper brought in a tray of coffee and biscotti, which distracted them all from Natasha’s health. They sat around the large dining table onto which Francesca placed a stack of files.
Natasha couldn’t even remember what the meeting was for. Matteo being under the same roof as her had turned her brain into a colander.
Why had he come? Was it to punish her?
Every time she’d seen him over the past seven years had been a punishment she’d accepted. She’d let him kiss her and then hours later had agreed to marry someone else, in front of him, in front of everyone. Not just someone else, but his cousin and closest friend. She’d let the moment when she should have told him about Pieta slip by in the haze of his kiss.
Would things have been different if she’d told him, either then or in the weeks beforehand when Pieta’s intentions had suddenly become clear? Or would the outcome have been the same?
