Confessions of His Christmas Housekeeper by Sharon Kendrick
CHAPTER EIGHT
WITHHISHANDSfirmly underneath her bottom, Louise felt as if she’d lost all touch with reality as Giacomo carried her up the sweeping staircase of his ancient home and kicked open the door of the master bedroom. He must have lit the fire before he’d come down to dinner, because the room was deliciously warm and light from the flames was dancing in flickering patterns across the ceiling and onto the silk rugs. Splashing like liquid gold over the coverlet of the vast bed, which she had made that very morning.
She wasn’t supposed to be here. Just as she wasn’t supposed to be letting him place her on the soft mattress and then bend his head to her breast, to suck at a thrusting nipple with the teasing graze of his teeth, which she was certain was going to rupture the delicate lace of her bra. She shouldn’t be lying here with her dress rucked up to her waist. She should be down in the kitchen clearing up, before doing some last-minute prep for tomorrow’s meal. Peeling sprouts or putting the mince pies in the oven.
The mince pies...
But her to-do list slid from Louise’s thoughts as sexual hunger took precedence over everything, even the common sense which she had clung to like a lifeline during the long months of her separation from Giacomo. Her body was hungry for him—and if she concentrated on that need rather than the useless longing for something deeper, then what harm could this do? He wanted her and she wanted him and they were still married. Why not? And Giacomo had taught her this, she recognised achingly. He had taught her to enjoy her body—and his. He had somehow managed to eradicate the indoctrination of the over-strict aunt who had reared her. He had taught her that consensual sex could never be considered a sin.
Her head tipped back to accommodate his seeking lips as they roved over her neck, her eyelids fluttering to a close as he peeled the dress down over her hips and pushed it off her completely. She felt the rush of air to her heated skin and opened her eyes again to see him staring at her with a look which was midway between incredulity and smoky desire.
‘Did you intend for this to happen? Is that why you are dressed like this...?’ he demanded, one quivering fingertip tracing the fine edge of her black hold-up stockings before drifting upwards to touch the silky outline of her black thong panties.
She sucked in a breath as his finger found the taut gusset of her damp panties and recognised how close she was to the edge already. How could she have gone for eighteen months without any intimacy at all and then be poised on the brink of orgasm so quickly? It was like one of those sports cars which went from nought to sixty in three seconds...
Her reply sounded slurred and husky as she tried to formulate her skewed thoughts into some kind of order. ‘Believe it or not, but my everyday underwear doesn’t exactly go with a dress like...’ Like the one you’ve just hurled to the floor, she wanted to say—but he was tearing off his silk shirt, seemingly uncaring about the buttons which were popping off in the process.
She’d never seen him like this before. His eyes were blazing black fire, his sensual lips parted as if he were having difficulty drawing in each ragged breath. He had always been the perfect lover—always ensuring that she had more orgasms than she’d considered possible, before addressing his own needs. She had only ever known him as measured—his steely restraint always conquering his rampant desire, until he was ready to release it. He was the master and she the complete novice, and in terms of experience they were worlds apart. She had never imagined he could be so out of control.
He slid his hand around her back to free her bra and remove it, so that it fluttered to the floor in a crumple of black lace. He sucked in a low breath of appreciation as her swollen breasts came tumbling out. She could feel them jiggle, unfettered and free, as his gaze roved over them and it felt so good to be bathed in that fierce ebony light. Dangerously good. A whisper of warning trickled over her skin. Because where was this going to leave her?
‘Giacomo—’
‘I don’t want to talk,’ he growled. ‘Just tell me, yes or no. Do you want me to stop?’
Yes, shouted the voice inside her head. ‘No,’ she whispered back.
‘Voglio soltanto,’he grated as he dug his fingers into the mussed mass of her hair. ‘I...just...want...to...’
But whatever he had been about to say was lost in translation as his mouth fastened itself around her nipple and he sucked long and hard, causing darts of exquisite pleasure to arrow through her receptive body, so that she made a mewling little sound—like a kitten.
And, God forgive her, but she began to touch him back. She undid his belt and, with far less dexterity than he had displayed, began scrabbling ineffectually with the zip as she tried to remove his trousers. Her impatience seemed at first to amuse him and then he pushed her hand away and dealt with the garment himself, until all he was wearing was a pair of black boxer shorts.
There was a question in his eyes as his gaze swept over her, but she must have silently answered it because he began to peel off her black silk stockings, managing to make her feel even more decadent in the process—something she hadn’t thought possible. Next came her thong panties and although she was longing for him to graze his finger over her exquisitely aroused nub, he didn’t—just gave a little moan and told her he was having difficulty pacing himself. Did she convey some of her frustration to him? Was he aware—as she was—that the way he was responding to her was uncharacteristic? She’d never heard him admit to not being in total control before. Perhaps that was why he gave a soft laugh, lifting the panties to his nostrils and inhaling deeply—before tossing them aside to join her discarded bra.
Boldly, she peeled off his boxer shorts, caressing the hard, silken globes of his buttocks as he reached between her legs, his fingers brushing over the velvety wet folds. Something about the way he was looking at her was making her feel like nothing more than a sexual being, but that wasn’t enough to stop her right then. She didn’t think anything could have stopped what was happening to her. She quivered as he stroked her and writhed her bare bottom against the under-sheet which she had tugged smooth that very morning.
Rapidly, the pleasure built—layer by incredible layer—until she didn’t think she could take any more. He gave a low laugh as she reached the peak and then she was calling out his name as she pulsed around his finger, swamped by abandon as she tumbled over the edge. She was aware that he was watching her, as her orgasm shimmered to a dreamy end and that was when Louise knew she had to act—and act quickly. She saw his brief look of surprise as she pushed him back against the bank of pillows, instead of spreading her legs wide to accommodate the hard push of his erection, as usually she would have done.
‘Louise,’ he groaned, as she captured his shaft between her thumb and forefinger.
She had never heard him sound quite so helpless as she flicked her hand up and down over his rocky length, with a lightness and precision which he had taught her. His eyes were closed now, a look of naked bliss contorting his scarred yet still beautiful features. She felt the tension in him grow, his hard limbs growing tense, his hands bunching into fists, and she took him in her mouth just before he came, his fingers tangled in her hair as he ground out something incomprehensible in his native tongue before spurting his seed inside her mouth.
She lay there afterwards, her tongue exploring the roof of her mouth as she tasted the essence of him, her head resting dreamily against his chest. The moment felt so perfect and complete that she wished she could just be magicked out of his bed, to find herself safely tucked up on that monastic mattress upstairs. Safe in a place where there would be no questions or discussions to spoil the memory of what had just happened. But life was never that easy, and after a few minutes of silence, Giacomo stirred, levering himself up and rolling across the bed so that he was facing her, and she didn’t avert her eyes quickly enough not to notice the stir of a new erection at his groin.
But for all his problems with communication, nobody could ever have accused Giacomo of not understanding the language of the body—and he had always instinctively known what her physical needs were. His eyes were narrowed, his ebony gaze searching as it swept over her with laser-like intensity.
‘You don’t want to have full sex?’
It was a perceptive yet brutal statement and she wished he had put it another way—but how? It wasn’t the kind of subject you could soften or make sound romantic, was it? He couldn’t know that the thought of penetration horrified her—and not just because she was terrified of getting pregnant again. She was scared of the emotional impact of having Giacomo inside her again. Because in Louise’s limited experience, sex had a power all of its own. It made you feel ridiculously close to a man. As if you were one person instead of two.
And that was nothing but an illusion.
It always had been.
‘No.’ She bit her lip. ‘No, I don’t.’
He propped himself up onto one elbow, his black eyes glittering as they swept over her. ‘Do you want to tell me why not?’
His words were too forensic. Too bald. Louise shook her head. ‘Not really.’
‘Are you sure?’
If she hadn’t known better, she might have thought she detected a whisper of understanding in Giacomo’s voice, but that was nothing but wishful thinking. And not only was it stupid, it was also completely irrelevant at this stage in their relationship. There was no room in her life for romantic yearnings. No place for what-ifs. She had to be pragmatic—about the present and the future. She was here for a couple more days and she would be a self-deluding fool if she believed that they weren’t going to end up in a similar position again. The sexual chemistry between them was too potent to believe it was just going to fizzle out and go away, and she wasn’t deluded enough to deny that she wanted more of this. There was nothing fundamentally wrong with seeking pleasure, she decided, but this, too, had to be on her terms.
‘Okay, I’ll tell you why.’
He propped himself up on one muscular forearm, his dark eyebrows raised in question.
‘It’s too intimate,’ she said truthfully and then ventured further than she had intended to go. ‘And I think it would be too sad.’
‘Too sad?’ he echoed.
‘It will muddle my head.’ She shrugged, not caring that her breasts were bare, but then she had always felt unbelievably relaxed when naked with Giacomo. And that was another reason why she needed to blurt out these next words before his powerful charisma wrapped itself around her like a silken cord and obliterated all her doubts and fears. ‘It will make it hard for me to remember where we are right now, which is poised on the brink of divorce.’ She forced a smile. ‘Which I think is my cue to go upstairs to my own room.’
He didn’t respond to this—though, to be fair, neither did she. She certainly didn’t act on her intention to move. She told herself she was still sated from her orgasm and feeling lazy—and it was just too warm and comfortable here, with Giacomo beside her. His body was almost touching her, though not quite—but even so, she could feel the heat which radiated from his powerful frame. She thought how bizarre it was that they could lie there in companionable silence, even though their marriage was heading for the buffers. And wasn’t there a bit of her which wanted to hold on to this moment, which was the closest she’d come to contentment in a long time?
After a moment or two, he reached out to touch her hair and Louise didn’t stop him as he began to stroke it as he’d always done back in the day, enjoying the soft, rhythmic action of his fingers. She felt a slow warmth begin to creep over her as her skin began to glow. And not just her skin. Her breasts had started to tingle again and she could feel a molten tug deep inside her. It was the renewed blossoming of desire and she wondered afterwards what might have happened next, had his next words not shattered the unusual sense of peace and sent it hurtling into the stratosphere.
‘You were a virgin when we first met,’ he said slowly.
It was a statement, not a question, and her mouth dried. ‘You’ve just remembered?’
He captured a thick strand of hair and wound it around his finger. ‘In a way.’
She could feel the flicker of fear and realised how much she wanted to cling to the present, rather than go back to the bitter landscape of the past. ‘How...how much?’
His splintered jet eyes grew thoughtful. ‘We went to your little apartment. I remember the background noise of planes.’
‘Very close to the airport. That’s why it was so affordable,’ she interjected flippantly.
But he carried on as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘I think I’d started to guess you were an innocent by the time we were in bed, and I offered to stop.’ There was a pause and suddenly his face darkened and his expression became almost pained. ‘I’m asking you again. Did I take advantage of you, Louise?’
‘How?’ she challenged. ‘You think you were the only man to have ever made a pass at me, Giacomo? You think I was incapable of knowing my own mind—or knowing what it was I wanted?’
‘No. You certainly knew what it was you wanted. You were so small and so determined. So fierce... You wrapped your arms around my back and told me you couldn’t bear to stop.’ His voice became thick. ‘So we didn’t.’
Something about the way he was speaking—which was unlike any way she’d ever heard him speak before—made Louise instinctively reach out for him. She put her arms around him, but this time her fingers met the ridged scars which criss-crossed his back, rather than the smooth expanse of old.
‘Not pretty, are they?’ he questioned acidly.
Slowly, she slid her fingers over each one, realising he probably had deliberately drawn her attention to them when she’d seen him half naked on the corridor earlier. ‘People are drawn to imperfection,’ she said slowly. ‘It’s much more interesting. I mean, a shop-bought cake looks perfect on the outside—but put one next to a slightly lopsided home-made version and I know which one will sell first.’
He smiled. ‘I’ve been compared to many things in my life, Louise,’ he observed drily. ‘But never a cake.’
She found herself wishing he hadn’t done that, because the curve of his mouth looked so gorgeous. And so unbelievably kissable. This was getting more addictive by the second and Louise knew exactly what she should do. ‘I ought to go,’ she mumbled, reluctantly letting her hands fall.
But he shook his dark head. ‘You don’t have to go anywhere. Close your eyes. The lids look heavy. Heavy as lead. Go on, close them.’
Had he recently undergone a course in hypnosis? wondered Louise, with sleepy suspicion. But she must have been more tired or more affected by the rush of endorphins than she’d imagined, because the next time she slitted open her eyes it wasn’t to see a night-time room, splashed golden by firelight. The fire had long since gone out and there was nothing but grey ash in the grate. She blinked against the strangely bright light which was streaming in through the windows.
She held her breath, not daring to move. The room felt empty and she was pretty sure Giacomo wasn’t in bed with her. She risked turning her head to one side, unable to decide whether it was relief or disappointment she felt when she saw that the enormous bed was definitely empty, save for her.
She lay back against the pillows and thought about what she had done. And what he had done. What they had said and how she had reacted. She knew that her actions hadn’t just been completely reckless—they were potentially risky. She had thrown caution to the wind by having sexual contact with her estranged husband in a very deliberate way, and now her feelings towards him were no longer quite so black and white. She sighed. Or maybe she was just kidding herself, because since when had her feelings for Giacomo been that straightforward?
So where was he?
She looked around the vast room. The red velvet dress from her past life had been retrieved from the floor and now lay draped neatly over the back of a chair by the wardrobe. Alongside it were her discarded underwear and a pair of filmy black stockings. She supposed she could put on the wildly inappropriate morning outfit and creep back along the creaky corridors and head upstairs, hoping he wouldn’t hear her before she reached her room.
Or she could brazen it out and borrow something of Giacomo’s to wear. Why not? Wasn’t that one of the unwritten privileges of being a man’s lover, even if it was only temporary?
She hunted around and found one of his sweaters—an old one which she recognised—and that made her feel peculiar as she pulled it on over her head. In softest cashmere and the colour of an inky sky, it came to mid-thigh and enveloped her with his scent.
His scent.
His gorgeous scent.
She closed her eyes. She didn’t want to feel a stab of longing when she thought about him, just as she didn’t want to feel a dull ache at the thought that this was all going to end very soon, but she guessed that was her punishment for having let him seduce her last night.
She didn’t have a clue what the time was because she’d left her phone downstairs, but as she padded barefoot over to the window she let out a gasp of surprise—because didn’t snow always come as a surprise, even if you knew it was on the way?
It was magical.
Overnight, the world had been clothed in white. A thick, glittering mantle covering the trees and rolling parkland and explaining why the light seemed supernaturally bright. It looked like a fairy tale—like one of those animated cards you sometimes saw on the Internet. It made Louise’s spirits lift with an inexplicable kind of joy, and surely that was dangerous, too.
She turned away from the snowy scene and thought about the day ahead.
So now what?
