Her kiss sparked his blood, and the lifeline she offered – to obliterate their conversation and his thoughts, and all his sadness – raced through him, so her tentative contact was no longer sufficient. He crashed his mouth to hers, kissing her hard and fast, tasting her until she moaned, then lifting her easily, carrying her away from the kitchen and their conversation, confident that making love to Isabella offered a form of temporary salvation – and he was selfish enough to take it…
10
IT WAS STILL EARLY when she woke, dark outside, though the snow had stopped falling. Isabella stretched gently, her fingertips brushing Gabe’s side. She lifted up onto her elbow, watching him, studying him, grateful that in this moment of repose, she could look without explanation.
Awake, he was so hard-edged, his face set, his shoulders stiff, tension radiating from him at all times. He lived as though he had a ghost at his back and now she understood: he did. Sadness rolled through her. His grief was real. His guilt almost impossible to stem. She didn’t want to wake him and yet she needed to touch; she wanted to feel him, to pleasure him, to wipe his grief away once more.
She’d seen his darkness and presumed it was immovable, but that had been wrong. His darkness was a shell, assumed as a form of penance, a shell he was determined to keep hold of, but it could be moved. Bit by bit, she was sure he could be freed from it.
His chest moved rhythmically with each breath he drew in, his lips parted as he exhaled, so she shifted quietly at first, pushing the sheet back from his body and straddling him in one movement, his cock between her legs.
Heat spread through her, memories of the way they’d made love all night burning her blood. How could she want him again already?
It had never been like this for her before. She was floundering, losing her footing and unable to care.
He was beautiful and despite what he might think, he was good and moral, kind and caring. What a waste it was that he chose to keep himself tied up in this castle, far away from people, punishing himself with every waking moment for an accident that had been, by and large, outside of his control.
She kissed him awake, moving her body over his as she welcomed him inside, smiling against his lips at the guttural groan that escaped from deep within his soul. A storm raged outside, but here in Il Nido, there was only this moment, this perfect, pleasure-filled moment. She wanted to make him smile and laugh, because he deserved that. Understanding the source of his pain had liberated her from its effects. He wasn’t rejecting her, he was rejecting life. Pushing people away had become his default position, yet he couldn’t push her away – not while they were snowed in together. He’d tried, and failed.
For whatever reason, they were drawn to one another, and there was no sense fighting it. There was only surrender and delight.
“I thought you’d hate me too.”
She blinked at the words he spoke into the room, milky dawn light gradually lifting the night’s darkness.
“Why?” She frowned, pulling her head to his chest, listening to the thundering of his heart. “Because of the accident?”
He made a gruff sound as her fingers traced the line of his tattoos.
“I don’t hate you, Gabe. I feel sorry for you.”
She felt him stiffen and instinctively knew sympathy was the last thing he wanted. Sure enough, a moment later, he shifted. “I’m going to go for a run.” He stepped out of bed, naked and glorious, so her eyes followed him even as her heart began to thump with a hangover of insecurities.
He drew on a pair of shorts, then turned back to her, a frown on his face.
“Coffee in an hour?”
Her heart tripped over itself. He was going out of his way not to push her away this time. It was a small gesture, but it meant a lot.
She nodded, trying not to focus on the relief flooding her body. “Sure. Coffee.”
Isabella found that even after showering and getting dressed, there was plenty of time left in that hour. She made her way to the kitchen and pulled some pastry from the freezer, thawing it and rolling it into croissants, sprinkling them with flaked almonds and popping them in the oven before making the coffees. He walked in just as she finished, and she smiled at him, shy suddenly.
Or perhaps ‘anxious’ better explained her mood. She felt the weight of what he’d revealed to her, and their changing relationship, and didn’t know exactly how to act – nor how he would act.
“Something smells good,” he remarked, lifting the coffee and sipping it appreciatively. And despite the fact they’d spent all night naked in his bed, she couldn’t help letting her eyes drop to his abdomen, the ridges of his muscles exposed and highlighted by his sheen of perspiration.
“I made croissants,” she said. “Well, cheats’ croissants, really, because I didn’t want to faff about with rolling pastry for hours on end. And they’re a pretty good substitute, I have to say.” She moved to the oven, withdrawing the tray and placing it on a wooden chopping board. The croissants had turned a light gold in colour and were steaming from the top.
Pulling butter from the fridge and jam from the larder, Gabe had arranged plates by the time she returned to the pastries. She placed one on each plate, then gestured to the butter.
“It looks too good to eat,” he observed, but nonetheless reached for the pastry.
“I’m sure we’ll manage.”
His laugh fired something in
