The Costanzo Baby Secret (8 page)

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied, filling their champagne flutes from the bottle of Cristal chilling in the wine bucket. “This trip will be strictly for pleasure.”

“I see. Well, I hope you have a very lovely time.” She tilted her chin, praying for pride to conceal her hurt, and took an inelegant but fortifying swig of champagne.

“And
I
hope,” he continued, amusement silvering his voice at her conspicuously acidic response, “that you’ll come with me.”

She choked as her next mouthful went down the wrong way. Had she heard him correctly? “Go with you?” she spluttered.

“Provided you feel up to it, of course. If not, we’ll forget the whole idea.”

She swallowed an unseemly hiccup. “Surely a more pertinent question is, are you quite sure
you’re
up to it?”

“Well, who else would I take? You are my wife, after all.”

“I know. It’s one of the few things I
am
aware of.”

“Then why the hesitation? I thought you’d welcome a change of scene.”

“I would,” she agreed. “It’s your about-face that’s giving me pause. Or is your memory as faulty as mine and you’ve forgotten that, as recently as two days ago, you insisted I’m not yet well enough to face the outside world?”

“I’ve forgotten nothing, but you’ve made so little progress since you came home that I’m no longer sure keeping you secluded is helping your recovery. Perhaps, instead of trying to revive old memories, we should concentrate on forging new ones, and where better to begin than in a place you’ve never been before?” He looked at her expectantly. “Well? What do you think?”

She lifted her shoulders, bemused. “I hardly know what to say.”

“Say yes. Let’s start over and see where it leads us.”

“A second honeymoon, you mean?”

“Sì.”

“As in you and I…um…you know…?”

“Precisely. Starting tonight. It’s either that, or I enter a monastery, because keeping my distance from you is having a most deleterious effect on my health, not to mention my sanity.”

“Is it really?” For the life of her, she couldn’t quite contain her delight. “My goodness, I’d never have guessed.”

Laughing, he reached across the table and grasped her hands. “You certainly would, you little minx. You know exactly the effect you have on me.”

“But I never thought you’d give in to it.”

“Don’t underestimate your power, Maeve. I have missed holding you close while you sleep, missed waking up next to you each morning, and deeply missed making love with you. But not furtively or hastily, as almost happened the other night, which is why, before I left for Milan, I instructed Antonia to prepare our private rooms for your return.”

Resuming her married life was what she’d wanted almost from day one, but now that it lay within her grasp, some of
its luster faded. She’d been right in thinking the master wing looked naked under all its chic finery. It had indeed been swept clean. The secrets of the past were not about to be revealed, after all, merely shoved out of sight. And she’d bet her last dollar they were securely under lock and key in that other room.

That a deafening hush had descended over the terrace became apparent when Dario said, “I hoped for a more enthusiastic response,
mio dolce
.”

“This is all so unexpected, I’m still trying to take it in,” she said, to cover up the suspicions racing around in her head. “I suppose, if I’m really honest, I half expect you to change your mind again.”

Coming to where she sat, he pulled her to her feet, extracted a small leather pouch from his shirt pocket and tipped the contents onto the table. A pair of white-gold wedding bands rolled over the polished surface and came to rest at the base of her wineglass. Taking her left hand, he slipped the smaller of the two on the third finger. “Once again, Maeve Montgomery, I take you for my lawful wife. Is that enough to reassure you?”

The ring, though a little loose fitting, gleamed in the candlelight and felt so deliciously right that for the moment only one thing mattered. She picked up the other ring, slid it on his finger. “And I once again take you, Dario Costanzo, to be my husband.”

He handed her her wineglass and raised his in a toast. “Then here’s to us,
mia bella
.”

“To us.”

The intensity of his gaze as they sipped made her blush. “I do believe,” he murmured hoarsely, setting both flutes back
on the table and reaching for her, “that it’s customary at this point for the groom to kiss his bride.”

Struggling to breathe normally, she nodded. “I do believe you’re right.”

He cupped her face between his palms and lowered his head.

Brushed his lips over hers lightly, fleetingly, then with crushing urgency, as one hand stroked past her shoulders to settle intimately at her waist. “After which,” he said, lifting his head to gaze deep into her eyes, “comes the first dance.”

Slowly he clasped his other hand with hers and guided her across the terrace. They moved together effortlessly, his longer legs accommodating her shorter steps, his lips skimming her temples.

A clock inside the villa rang out the hour, nine musical chimes that briefly drowned out a silken-voiced tenor crooning softly from stereo speakers mounted on the outside wall, then drifted out into the night.

Caught in a sudden powerful tide of déjà vu, Maeve yearned toward her husband. Once before he had held her in his arms, and a chime had echoed across the quiet sea. As the bell-like tone died away, he’d kissed her just so, under the same stars that sprinkled the heavens now. And it had been wonderful. Magical. She knew it as surely as she knew her own name.

“I remember,” she breathed. “Dario, it’s all coming back to me.”

“A
LL
what?”

“Kissing you like this. Dancing with you under the stars.”

“Nothing unusual in that.” In marked contrast to her excitement, Dario kept his response determinedly casual. “It’s the sort of thing married couples do all the time.”

Except that, in their case, it had happened only once before, the night he’d seduced her. Considering the aftermath, he’d as soon it didn’t all come rushing back in vivid Technicolor now. They wouldn’t stand much chance of starting over if she recalled the embarrassment and hurt she’d suffered at his hands, the day after she’d surrendered her virginity to him. And in his opinion, a fresh start was long overdue.

He was tired of fighting his feelings for her, and of living like a monk despite being tempted beyond human endurance. Among other considerations, walking around with a permanent erection was humiliating, as he’d discovered during his meetings in Milan when his thoughts had repeatedly strayed from the serious business of international finance, to the much more pleasurable contemplation of soon making love to his wife.

Maeve wasn’t helping matters, either, in looking more desirable by the day. Plenty of homemade pasta, good, fresh seafood washed down with excellent local wine, and the
mostazzoli panteschi
and other pastries she enjoyed so much had eliminated her gaunt angles and restored her delicious curves. Add to that her impeccable sense of style, and he’d have had to be both neutered and brain dead not to desire her.

Plainly put, he missed the wife he’d grown to love, and not just because of the sex or lack thereof. He missed her companionship, her sharp intelligence and her quick wit. He missed how they would lock glances across a roomful of people at a dreary corporate party, and smile in complicit understanding that they’d enjoy their own private celebration at the first opportunity. Yet he’d been forced to keep his distance from her because he didn’t trust himself to be close.

Even worse, Maeve hadn’t seen their son in nearly nine weeks. The longer the separation continued, the harder it would be on everyone. Already she’d missed so much of their child’s development; milestones that would never be repeated. Sebastiano had three teeth now, which was three more than he’d had the last time she’d seen him. He pretty much sat up unaided, and already was trying to crawl by pulling himself over the floor like a baby seal. He gurgled with pleasure every time he saw his little cousin, Cristina, and had bonded with his aunt to the point that he’d cried and reached out for her the last time Dario had tried to pick him up. Tearing him away from the people who’d become his primary family was going to be painful for everyone involved.

That Dario was hugely indebted to Giuliana and her husband, Lorenzo, for helping out by taking the baby into
their household and into their hearts, went without saying. But the boy should be riding around on his own father’s shoulders and sleeping in his own crib, with his own mother singing him to sleep at night.

Dario had had enough of feeling more like a visitor than a parent, and more than enough of paying discreet visits to his sister’s, in order to spend a stolen hour or two with his son. It irked him to be put in such a position. No man should have to sneak around to see his own child.

But Peruzzi’s warnings had left their mark. Dario had no way of knowing how Maeve would react when her memory returned, but he did know he wouldn’t be responsible for causing her more grief than she’d already have to face. Whether Yves Gauthier had been friend or lover scarcely counted for much, compared to her having wiped all knowledge of her son from her mind.

Nor was that all. As her husband, Dario was beyond weary of the half-truths and evasions he was feeding his wife. He didn’t handle well not being in control, and if it were up to him, he’d tell her everything, sort out the mess they’d found themselves in and go forward from there. In light of Peruzzi’s warnings, however, it was a risk he dared not take.

Unaware of the direction his thoughts had gone, Maeve sagged against him now. “You believe I’m grasping at straws, don’t you?”

“Not necessarily,” he said, “but if you’re determined to immortalize a particular night, why not let this be the one?”

“You’re right.” Drifting back to the table, she sat down and toyed with the cook’s very excellent
linguine allo scoglia
, mounds of clams, prawns, shrimp and mussels bathed in a rich
tomato sauce. “Tell me more about our trip tomorrow. Exactly where are we going in Tunisia?”

“The capital itself, Tunis. It’s an interesting city that I think you’ll enjoy.”

She nibbled a fat prawn thoughtfully. “What should I pack in the way of clothes?”

“For the evening, one of your pretty dinner dresses. During the day, something in cool cotton, a couple of wide-brimmed hats, comfortable flat-heeled sandals and sunscreen,” he said, tackling his own meal. “Walking’s the only way to appreciate everything the city has to offer, and it’s going to be hot. Oh, and fairly modest clothes—I won’t stand for strange men burping at you.”

“Burping?”
She choked back a laugh. “No wonder you call them strange!”

“That’s not why. Burping’s the Tunisian way of showing appreciation for a pretty woman, and since most local women cover themselves from head to toe in public, tourists are fair game for any man with a roving eye.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were jealous.”

“Perhaps I have reason to be,” he said, an unexpectedly bitter note coating his reply.

“What?”
She stared at him, shocked.

Cursing himself—the festering accusation was out before he could contain it, and hardly an auspicious way to effect the kind of reconciliation he was hoping for—he added swiftly, “It’s the price every husband pays for having a beautiful wife, Maeve.”

“Well, let me put this particular husband’s mind at rest,” she said flatly. “I don’t care how many men burp at me, I only have eyes for you.”

There it was again, the erection that never slept! “How hungry are you?” he inquired huskily.

“For this?” She poked her fork around in the unquestionably delicious food remaining on her plate. “Not very.”

No more was he. “Then what do you say to our continuing this conversation someplace more private?”

“I think it’s the best idea you’ve had in ages.”

Earlier, Antonia or one of the maids had added a few more romantic touches to the master suite. A bouquet of lilies filled the sitting area with fragrance. In the bedroom, a single rose in a bud vase stood on the little table next to the Victorian chaise longue. More than a dozen squat candles in glass cups suspended from the tree-shaped floor candelabra cast a glimmering light over the bed, but left the corners of the room swathed in moon-shot darkness.

All this Maeve took in with what she hoped showed just the right degree of curiosity. But despite her best efforts, her gaze repeatedly wandered to the locked doors, first the one in the foyer, and then the other, there in the bedroom.

That Dario noticed quickly became apparent. “It doesn’t matter that you don’t recognize anything,” he said, rather firmly steering her away from the room at large, and through the open glass doors to the terrace. “Tonight’s about us and the future,
tesoro
.”

Outside, more candles burned in faceted glass hurricane lamps set around the pool, and waiting on the table was an ice bucket containing another bottle of champagne and two long-stemmed frosted glasses. As the perfect introduction to a night of seduction, she could hardly have asked for better.
Yet her delight was tainted by something far less pleasant. “It’s not that, exactly,” she muttered, treading a fine line between truth and lie.

“Nor is it about rushing to make love before you’re ready,” he assured her. “We take this at your pace, Maeve. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

It wasn’t that, either. The simple fact was, she was riddled with guilt. If only she’d known this was how the evening would end, she’d never have come sneaking through the suite, the night before.

A good marriage should be based on trust and respect, so what did it say about theirs, that she’d behaved so shabbily? Yet to admit to her transgression now was more than she could bring herself to do. After all, it wasn’t as if she’d discovered anything significant, or tried to pick the locks on the doors to that other room.

But that line of reasoning offered cold comfort and prompted her to say, “That’s not what’s bothering me, Dario. It’s my conscience. You’ve been so patient with me ever since I came home, but I’ve been a pretty poor wife, and I’m sorry for that.”

“You’re here now, and that’s all I ask for,” Dario almost purred, drawing her down to sit on his lap. “Do you have any idea,
innamorata,
how empty these rooms have been without you, or how long the nights that you have not shared our bed?”

If he never did anything more than speak to her like that, with his voice resonating over her nerve endings until her entire being hummed with awareness, she could die a happy woman.

He mesmerized her. Rescued her from the mundane and, with a fleeting kiss here, a featherlight touch there, transported her to a world far removed from the ordinary.

He shaped her mouth with his thumb, a tactile benediction so exquisite that she quivered uncontrollably. Stroked his fingertip the length of her arm, from her wrist to her shoulder, imbuing the caress with a tenderness that made her want to weep. He traced the line of her collarbone, the contour of her throat, and left her gasping for more. Did all with such consummate finesse that she was hardly aware of when they returned to the intimacy of the bedroom, or how it was that they were standing naked before each other.

As though seeing her for the first time, he held her at arm’s length and let his eyes roam from her breasts to the indentation of her waist, then past the curve of her hips to the shadowed juncture of her thighs. And every place his gaze touched caught fire until she was burning all over.

“I thought I remembered how lovely you are,” he finally murmured in hushed tones, “but would you believe I did not do you justice?”

“Yes,” she said on a breathless sigh, raging desire giving her the courage to scrutinize him with the same minute attention to every detail of his physique that he had afforded to hers. “Memory so often plays us false.”

The candle flames bathed his olive skin in tongues of shimmering light. They played over his torso, illuminating the muscled slope of his shoulders, the breadth of his chest, the hard, flat plane of his midriff, and the long, strong length of his legs. They showcased the urgent thrust of his erection that told her more plainly than anything words could convey how much he desired her.

The day over a week ago that she’d stepped out of his private jet and seen him for what, as far as she was concerned,
was the first time, she’d thought him the most handsome man she’d ever met. But only now did she appreciate the extent of his masculine beauty. He stood before her like a god hammered from bronze and dusted with gold. Proud, powerful, invincible.

He left her weak with longing; dazed with wonder. “Dario?” she whispered.

“I’m here, and I’m yours,” he said, the timbre of his voice chasing new thrills over her skin. “Show me what you want,
amore mio,
and I will give it to you.”

Hypnotized by his unwavering stare, she put her hand to his chest. Felt the strong, steady beat of his heart. Circled his flat nipple with her forefinger. “I want you all of you,” she told him and, with new daring, slid her hand past his waist and flexed her fingers possessively around his erection. How smooth and heavy it was. Soft as silk, strong as steel.

“I want to feel you hard against me and hear your breath catch in your throat,” she whispered, her words vibrating with suppressed passion. “I want you to take me to bed and fill me so that there are no empty corners left where I can hide.”

With a muffled groan, he swung her into his arms. The mattress sighed as he lowered her to it and lay down beside her.

Stirred by the night wind, the filmy drapes at the open glass doors whispered applause. The candlelight winked.

As though he’d been waiting permission from all three, he finally kissed her. Deeply, hungrily. And when that wasn’t enough to satisfy either of them, he put his mouth in other places, scorching a path from her breasts to her navel, and lower still to her thighs. Boldly, he flicked his tongue between them, searing their tender skin and inching them apart.

Momentarily shocked, she stiffened. But he’d done more than inch her legs apart. He’d forced open a chink in her memory of other such times. Times her body recalled with aching intensity, even if clouds continued to swirl in her mind.

He had done this before.
They
had done this before, with her clawing at his shoulders as she writhed before the onrushing waves of ecstasy threatening to drown her. And with him holding her hips captive so that she could not escape the pleasure he was so determined to give to her.

Tension caught her in an unforgiving spiral. Wound tighter and tighter. So tight that perspiration dimmed her vision. A silent scream rose in her throat, but before it could find voice, she soared, exploding into a hundred thousand prisms of light, each more blinding than its predecessor.

Desperate to anchor herself to earth, to him, she cried his name. He heard her unspoken plea and, bracing himself on his forearms, he lowered himself until his flesh was touching hers, there where she craved him the most.

Smoothly he filled her. Carried her in a rhythm at first slow and easy and so deeply intimate that her eyes flooded with tears. Then, as the momentum built, a different kind of emotion swept over her, one laced with greed because a little wasn’t enough. She wanted everything he had to give her. She wanted his soul in exchange for the one he’d taken from her.

But she should have known that nothing worth having ever came without a price. As she took from him, so he robbed her a second time. Even as he groaned and shuddered in release, her world splintered again with such unrestrained abandon, she thought her heart would burst.