She laughed, but any hint of amusement died inside her as he dragged his lips lower, falling to his knees so that he could kiss her in her most sensitive, private place. His tongue ran along her seam and her knees quivered as sensations began to drown her, to make thought impossible.
‘I can’t believe there was a time when you were not mine,’ he said against her flesh, and she moaned, running her fingers through his hair as pleasure spiralled in her belly, driving through her, making her blood heat and her heart pound.
‘I need you!’ she cried out as an orgasm began to unfurl, spreading through her limbs, making them weak and aching.
‘I’m glad.’
He didn’t stop, though. His fingers dug into her hips and he held her where he needed her, his tongue dictating the speed of her release, and the intensity too. She cried out into the shower as the orgasm unfolded, her mind exploding, every conscious thought obliterated by the havoc he wreaked on her body.
He kissed her quivering flesh as he stood, but didn’t give her even a moment to recover. His hands spun her easily—she was weakened by the total meltdown of her bodily awareness—and he bent her at the hips. Holding her steady, he drove into her from behind and felt her tremble as his possession was complete—the ultimate coming together.
He throbbed inside her, his fingers massaging her wet, soapy breasts, his arousal rubbing against her sensitive nerve-endings, squeezed by her tight, wet muscles. He spoke in Italian—words that meant nothing and everything. He bent forward, kissing her back as he moved, stroking her, touching her, and finally, when her muscles squeezed him with all their need, he emptied himself into her, the feeling of ownership more complete than ever before. She owned him, and she was his.
Emmeline pressed her flushed face against the shower tiles, her mind reeling.
‘I am going to find it very hard to concentrate today,’ she said thickly, rolling her hips as he continued to pulse inside her, his length experiencing the aftershocks of the earthquake of their coming together.
‘That makes two of us.’
He ran a finger down her back before easing himself out of her, away from her, releasing them from the agony and ecstasy of what they had been. She stood and turned to face him, and her eyes were so vibrant and her smile so broad that a dull ache spread through his chest.
He’d been fooling himself in pretending the lie didn’t matter.
It did. Of course it did.
He ran a hand over her hair, wet and dark. ‘Emmeline...?’ he said softly, studying her cautiously.
‘Mmm?’ She wrapped her hands around his waist, holding him close to her body.
How could he tell her now? On her first day at university? It would derail her completely, and he’d already done his best to do that. No, he couldn’t do it today.
But Col Bovington was going downhill, and enough was enough.
Pietro had an obligation to his wife. Soon, when the time was right, he would tell her.
Having made the resolution, he felt a thousand times better. As if simply by deciding to do something he had in some way enacted a small step of the deed.
Absolution was close at hand.
* * *
Emmeline hummed as she moved about the kitchen. There was a pile of textbooks in the corner, opened to the page she had most recently been reading. She cast a gaze over the papas di pomodoro, smelling the piquant sweetness of the tomatoes and the undertones of basil and garlic, then shifted her focus to the quails that were roasting in the oven.
It was the first time she’d cooked dinner for Pietro’s family and she wanted everything to be perfect.
He’d laughed when she’d said as much. ‘I have a housekeeper, a chef and a valet. Why do you not leave the food to them? You have too much on your mind already,’ he had said, nodding towards the books that were littered around the house.
‘I’ve only been at uni a week; it’s still early days.’ She’d smiled back. ‘Besides, I want to. I like to cook and I think... I don’t know... It just feels like something nice to do.’
Of course now she was regretting that impulse, as time marched on and food simmered and she worried that she would have nothing ready by the time they arrived.
There was nothing she could do but wait. The quail in confit needed an extra hour before they would be ready to remove. The soup was the entrée. There were olives, breads and cheeses ready to serve as antipasti.
She rubbed her hands together, checking the table for the tenth time. She’d set it with a simple white cloth and put several vases of old-fashioned roses in the centre. Sprigs of orange blossom lent them a beautiful fragrance. Plus, they reminded Emmeline of his farmhouse—the place where their relationship had come alive.
She smiled as she leaned down and breathed in deeply—then her back pocket vibrated. She reached down and fished her cell phone out, relieved and surprised in equal measure to see a text from her dad. She’d left several messages for him in the last week, and apart from a brief email she’d heard nothing.
Hi, Pumpkin. Sorry I’ve been hard to catch lately. I’ve got the flu and it’s kept me in bed all week. Are you doing good? Love, Daddy.
A smile tickled her lips. It was something he had often asked her when she was younger.
I’m doing real good, Daddy. Uni is amazing.
She ran her finger over the phone, wondering what she should say about her husband and settling for, Married life suits me. Come over and visit soon?
She thrust her phone into her pocket and continued with her preparations. But as she showered and changed she couldn’t help but let a kernel of worry infiltrate her happiness.
Her dad wasn’t a young man. For the flu to have kept him in bed all week sounded serious. That and the
