“Are you happy
about the news or not?”
She punched him
again.
“Of course I
want our baby. You’re the one who doesn’t want a family,
remember?”
“I want a
family with you.” He kissed her and this time there was nothing
soft about it. It was a kiss of a man desperately in love with his
woman, his mate.
Those eyes
stared into his as if searching his very soul.
“You change
your mind like you do your shirts. How do I know you won’t change
it again tomorrow or the next day or the next week?”
“You are my
reason for living. I love you, Bronte. My heart, all that I am, is
yours.”
Tears swam in
her eyes, but this time they were happy tears he was relieved to
see.
“I love you so
much, Nico, so much.”
She heaved in a
huge breath. Enormous green eyes stared into his.
“But Nico, I’m
a bastard.”
His mouth
plundered hers before he raised his head to grin into her face.
“That makes two
of us,
cara.”
Two months later.
With gentle open
mouthed kisses on his wife’s stomach, Nico worked his way along her
hip as she gave a contented little sigh.
Lifting his
head, he met her lazy smile with one of his own.
He pulled the
duvet over them and felt her snuggle into his side.
He pressed his
lips to her hair.
“Madame insists
on supplying your wedding gown.”
Bronte’s head
shot up and a sharp finger poked him in the chest.
“That woman is
not coming within ten feet of me.” She pressed her hand to her
stomach, gave it a little pat. “Or my child.”
With his tongue
planted firmly in his cheek, he sighed.
“I only want
you to look beautiful on our big day. She has selected four.” His
lips twitched as he saw her frown. Love swept over him as he buried
his face in her neck and inhaled the pure essence of his wife. “Do
it for me,
cara
, I do not wish to see you married in chef
whites.”
“We’re already
married. I don’t see why we have to go through with another
ceremony.”
“That was the
civil ceremony, as you well know. Don’t you want a party with
friends and family?”
“We had friends
and family.”
Nico leaned on
his elbow and stared at her. That stubborn, belligerent look he
loved glared back at him. The only time she ever gave him trouble
was when it came to clothes. But they needed to do this for their
families and then she would be his alone for a six week honeymoon.
He couldn’t wait.
She narrowed
her eyes and pouted. “If she pokes and prods, mutters and moans, I
will not be held responsible for my actions.”
They married on the
beach at Cap Ferret at sunset, surrounded by the people who
mattered most.
With Rosie as
the maid of honour and a deliriously excited Carmen, Gabriel’s five
year old daughter as her flower girl, Bronte walked towards her
husband dressed in an Elie Saab strapless gown of ivory silk. She
carried a single blushing pink rose. Alexander held her hand in the
crook of his arm. Carl had insisted her brother give her away. She
wore no shoes or jewellery other than her three carat diamond
engagement ring.
Nico waited for
her with his brother Gabriel who winked at his daughter. His
American wife, Julia, carried their dark haired baby boy. The men
wore cream tuxes with white shirts, no ties and Nico had refused to
wear shoes too. He looked so handsome and happy, Bronte’s heart
caught in her throat.
Safe in the
arms of her husband, she watched the sunset and realised yes,
dreams really do come true.
“Congratulations! Where is my godson?”
Rosie boogied
into the hospital room holding a blue teddy bear with a helium
balloon tied around its neck and an armful of cream roses. She
dumped everything on a table, washed and dried her hands.
She wiggled her
fingers. “Gimme.”
Bronte sat in
bed with a dark haired baby nestled in her arms and a beaming smile
on her face. Nico looked out of the window and caught his wife’s
eye over his shoulder.
“Oh, look at
him, isn’t he gorgeous?” Rosie took the baby carefully from Bronte,
her eyes damp and misty. “Hello, Luca darling.” She touched his
perfect tiny fingers.
“And meet
Sophia.” Nico turned round with another baby, smaller than her
brother, but with a head of ash blonde hair.
Rosie’s jaw hit
the floor as Alexander arrived with a pink teddy and balloon. “I
don’t believe it, how did you keep this a secret from me?”
Bronte pulled
up her knees. Three days after a caesarean delivery, she still felt
fragile.
“Probably
because we’ve been living at Lake Como and you’ve been running
Sweet Sensation. Oh, don’t make me laugh. It’s the first time I’ve
ever seen you speechless.”
Rosie shook her
head in mock disgust and beaned Alexander with a jaundiced eye.
“Let this be a
lesson to you. Look what happens in this family when you have
unprotected sex.”
Rosie always
had to have the last word.
THE END
Thank you for
reading Reckless Nights in Rome.. Please consider leaving a
review.
Thank You!
Where were her
panties?
On her hands
and knees, hair streaming across her face, Becca’s heart pounded in
her ears.
Her fingers
fluttered around the floor, under the bed and found a scrap of silk
she realised was her bra and a single shoe.
Where the hell
was the other one?
A deep voice
muttered in Spanish. She peered through dawn’s early light at the
man the glossy magazines had crowned one of the world’s most
celebrated bachelors. He slept amid tousled white cotton sheets in
a bed the size of a lake.
What a night.
She ached in places she never even knew existed.
The things he’d
done to her had been truly ...
A muscled arm
flopped over the side missing her by a whisker.
Becca froze,
and sighed in relief as he murmured again before pressing his face
into the pillow.
The spiked heel
of her Jimmy Choo dug into her knee, how she managed to contain the
hiss of agony she’d never know.
On shaky legs,
dangling her shoes in one hand she got to her feet. She tip-toed to
the door and slid into the sitting-room of the luxurious hotel
suite.
Her eyes
widened in horror as a table lamp shed an intimate glow on the
evidence of the night before. On the carpet an empty champagne
glass lurched on its side.
Amongst the
debris were her wrap and bag and her dress lay in a heap of red
silk along with his shirt and tie, hastily toed off shoes and
socks. No sign of her panties.
She desperately
tried to remember the sequence of last night’s events.
Not a good
idea.
Don’t
think.
Get out.
Struggling into
her dress Becca wondered what she’d been thinking. She never did
things like this. Things like having a one night stand with a
perfect stranger. And he was perfect all right, in every
conceivable way. The society pages didn’t do him justice. They
couldn’t begin to capture his height, his strength or the
sensitivity of that amazing mouth.
Stop it.
Don’t think
about his mouth.
Frantic fingers
zipped up her dress.
She shoved her
bra into her bag and feet into sky high heels.
Running away
was sheer cowardice. She knew it, but it couldn’t be helped.
She was way,
way out of her depth with this man. The whole thing felt
surreal.
Perhaps she
should leave him a note? Thanks for having me?
An erotic
little shiver ran up her spine, she wouldn’t forget last night in a
hurry.
She reached for
the door handle.
“Going somewhere,
Becca?”
The deep voice
husky from sleep held the musical lilt of Spain. It vibrated up her
spine and brought jumpy nerves to her throat. The gentle tone,
filled with humour, stopped her from acting on her initial instinct
and making a run for it.
She turned.
Eyes the colour of dark chocolate slammed into hers. Once again
their impact left her reeling, off balance.
How could one
look across a crowded room have led to this?
He was naked
except for black trousers, unbuttoned and unzipped. Her physical
reaction, the shortness of breath as her heart ricochet into her
throat and the weakness in her legs couldn’t be blamed on a couple
of glasses of champagne. She was stone cold sober this morning.
Those immense
shoulders leaned against the doorframe. She’d pressed her mouth
against that marvellous chest, clutched those dark tousled locks as
he’d kissed her intimately. Heat rushed into her cheeks. By his
broad grin he’d read her mind.
Her brain
soaked up the sight of him. He was ridiculously handsome with the
light of fun along with a smouldering desire in his eyes as they
stayed on hers.
Attack Becca
firmly believed was the best line of defence.
She frowned.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
Narrowing his eyes at
the combative tone of her lovely voice, Lucas Del Garda recognised
panic when he saw it.
Her hair, the colour
of burnt toffee, tumbled in slippery curls around slim shoulders.
Beautiful blue eyes glittered into his.
She hadn’t
sounded like that a few short hours ago with those high little
moans panting in her throat as she’d begged him to take her. She’d
been wild for him and he’d loved it. He had no idea how many times
he’d made her come since it wasn’t the sort of thing he kept a
score of. But she’d twisted and turned under him and almost burst
his eardrums with her screams of completion.
If she thought
he was prepared for her to leave without so much as a telephone
number then Becca was sorely mistaken. Rebecca, he had no idea of
her surname, what she did or where she came from.
This had been a
first for him. He never indulged in sex with a woman without
covering the preliminaries.
He’d never seen
eyes like hers, blindingly blue, they stared into his and he read
embarrassment, despair and a mounting alarm that tickled his
antennae. Hmm, it seemed Becca had regrets and wanted to escape.
Interesting. Most women were more than happy to snuggle after sex.
He wasn’t a snuggler, never had been and usually managed to
extricate himself without any trouble. But last night had been the
first time he’d held a woman close. It felt natural with her. It
felt right.
Lucas didn’t
analyse his feelings but accepted them for what they were. He’d
known the instant she left his bed and listened to her hunting for
her clothes. It had been wrong of him to play with her and he
almost laughed as he remembered her little whimper of alarm.
Intrigued, he
studied her. No, Becca did not look happy to see him.
For a moment he
toyed with the idea of seducing her back to bed but those big eyes
staring at him in silent appeal held him back.
He stepped
towards her, zipped up his pants and sent her an intimate
smile.
Much better to
play it cool. Keep it friendly and relaxed.
“The least I
can do after such a wonderful night is to offer you breakfast.” He
picked up the telephone and kept a sharp eye on her. With a little
frown wrinkling her smooth forehead she moved towards the centre of
the room.
He indicated
the couch. “Please, Becca, sit down. We can be civilised about
this.”
Becca kept a wary eye
on him as he ordered enough breakfast to feed a family of
eight.
Her stomach
growled and she took a breath.
Okay, be an
adult, you can do this. Eat, do small talk and then leave. No
problem.
“Would you like
to shower or have a bath?”
His voice
vibrated along her nerve ends. Deep, gravelly and sexy as hell, he
could make a fortune as a voice over. She imagined him modelling
Speedos lounging in a boat in the middle of the ocean. Those dark
sinful eyes curling the toes of every female who watched TV wishing
she was there with him. Well, that’s how advertising agencies sold
expensive cologne for men. They appealed to the women in their
lives. And Becca knew Lucas would appeal to any female with a
pulse.
She blinked as
he raised a dark brow and she realised she hadn’t answered his
question.
“Thank
you.”
He pointed her
in the direction of another bedroom.
She wandered
through and found an en-suite in black granite. The shower was big
enough to hold six.
Stripping down
to her skin she wondered again where her panties had gone.
Becca piled her
hair on top of her head, suddenly breathless as water shot from six
different jets. The designer liquid soap smelt wonderful and she
slathered it over her body, stifling a groan as the purely feminine
part of her throbbed with desire and an aching need that shocked
her in its intensity.
What on earth
was happening to her?
A gasp of shock
escaped from her throat as large hands slid gently but possessively
over her flat tummy and too small breasts. How did he know which
parts of her were too tender this morning? His fingertips lingered
with exquisite care on nipples so delicately sensitized to his
touch they were hot-wired to that yearning pulse between her
legs.
“If you want me
to stop,
querida
, I will,” Lucas whispered into her ear.