Italian Mavericks: Expecting The Italian's Baby. Andie Brock
break the connection. ‘This is quite mad.’
‘Mad can be good.’
‘Can it?’
His dark eyes gleamed. ‘Oh, yes.’ The furrow between his dark brows deepened. ‘Where did you come from?’ he asked, continuing to stroke her cheek.
‘I’m not sure.’
‘You just dropped from heaven.’ No angel had a mouth like hers. He focused on her lips and the pain in his groin, not the deeper pain that cut up his insides. She was an oasis to escape that pain, to lose it and himself inside.
His thumb touched the pouting curve of her lower lip and his hand stilled. ‘Boyfriend?’
Her chin lifted a notch, her nostrils flaring as her green eyes sparked. ‘Not any more,’ she rebutted firmly.
‘Where are you going?’
She closed a door in her head, blotting out Mark’s rejection and her stupidity.
‘With you, I hope.’ She heard the words, the supremely confident tone, even though inside she was anything but. Inside, she was holding her breath. She’d only just picked herself up and now she’d set herself up for another fall.
Head thrown back, she fixed him with an emerald stare that sent a fresh flash of heat through his already primed body. He could feel the hairs on the nape of his neck tingle as his body hardened in anticipation. Another time he might have blocked out his primitive response to this woman, might have heard the alarm bells, but tonight he didn’t think beyond it, instead he embraced the mindlessness of it.
For the first time since he’d discovered Jamie’s body he wasn’t hearing Rob’s broken voice in his head sobbing, ‘What am I going to do without him? He’s gone for ever. He’s gone...gone...gone...for ever...for ever, Raoul.’
That was what he had kept repeating over and over until Raoul could feel nothing but pain, his, Rob’s, just a universe of pain that went on and on.
Now he was feeling something that wasn’t pain and regret, and it didn’t matter that it was shallow or transient. He needed breathing space—not that he could breathe when he looked at this woman.
Did the ability to think of sex while in the depths of grief make him shallow? If Jamie had been burying him, would his brother have been able to escape so easily? Would he have wanted to?
He pushed away the speculation, the grief, the anger, the loss and lost himself to the moment of this intoxicatingly beautiful woman in his arms. He looked down into her sensual face and released a slow sigh. If he’d believed in fate, if he’d believed there was actually some grand plan, he’d have thought fate had sent her there at that moment.
He didn’t believe in fate but he did believe in embracing opportunities when they appeared, and the thought of shutting out the blackness in this woman’s arms just for an hour or two was irresistible.
‘That works for me, cara.’
She felt a rush of relief—for a moment she’d thought he’d been going to say thanks but no, thanks. Her confidence had already taken a battering today.
‘Good.’
He laughed, the sound sending a fresh tingle of excitement through her.
‘I’ve never met anyone quite like you.’
‘I have an identical twin sister.’
He slung a teasing look over his shoulder. ‘Is she around?’
If she were she wouldn’t be doing this with you. The thought came with an unbidden image of their headmistress berating her for some minor infringement ‘People will not respect you, Lara, unless you respect yourself. Your sister would never—’
‘No, she isn’t.’
Her flat response drew a sardonic look. ‘I was joking.’
For a split second as their eyes locked, Raoul thought he glimpsed a vulnerability that did not belong to the self-possessed, sensual creature who stood in front of him. But a moment later it was gone.
It had probably never been there.
Hell, he was not going to talk himself out of this. From the corner of his eye he saw a taxi and lifted his hand. His place was within walking distance but prolonging this agony was not on his agenda.
It was happening so quickly, she had no time to think; was this a good thing or a bad thing? She didn’t know and didn’t want to—the answer might make her walk away.
And she didn’t want to...she really didn’t want to.
Her senses were strangely heightened and yet she felt distanced from what was happening as a taxi stopped and then with the snap of the door she was inside, the jarring noise introducing a sense of reality to her dreamlike state.
But this was no dream.
‘IS SOMETHING WRONG?’
Lara shook her head and her spurt of panic subsided. Instead, desire, warm and fluid, spread through her body as his iron-hard thigh nudged hers, then a second later drew away.
‘Is it your ankle?’
‘My ankle?’ It took her a moment to recall turning it earlier. The pain had been sharp but it had subsided now. ‘No, it’s fine, see?’ Proving her point, she hitched the long skirt of her dress slightly to expose her calf and foot, stretching them out as far as the confined space allowed. ‘I just turned it, but it’s fine now.’
She turned her head and found his eyes on her leg. She could see a nerve relaxing and tensing like a ticking bomb in his lean cheek as he stared.
He turned his head, his eyes only brushing hers for a moment before he leaned forward to give the driver directions in Italian. But one glimpse of the devouring heat in them was enough to pull her back in her seat shaking, frightened not by the intent she had seen written in his face but the response it had awoken in her.
She sat there, thinking of the taste of his cool, firm mouth, her hand pressed tight to her quivering stomach.
Raoul didn’t move any closer or attempt to put his arm around her. As the car drew away from the kerb they could have been strangers forced to share a space on crowded public transport...except for the air thick with possibility between them.
Lara’s head was spinning as she sat there, and her thoughts began racing to keep pace with the turbulent thud of her heart.
What are you doing, Lara? You have no idea where you are, let alone where you are going. You just got into a car with a total stranger, and the plan is to have sex with him?
Mark thought you were easy—how is this different?
What does it matter? Lara asked herself. She was just using him. It would be liberating; she wouldn’t have to pretend. So far her wild-child reputation had been window dressing. This was real.
A conversation with her recently engaged friend, Jane, surfaced in her head. A crowd of them had been sitting in a bar drinking shots, except for Lara, the designated driver with a zero tolerance to alcohol, while Jane showed off her ring.
‘It was magic, guys, the moment I saw him I was dizzy with longing—you know what I mean?’
Because it was expected Lara had smiled and nodded her agreement along with everyone else, but she hadn’t known what Jane meant. Not really. And she had actually been happy in her ignorance. Losing your balance, not to mention your grip on reality—Jane’s dream man was not exactly what you’d call irresistible—was not something she envied anyone.
Had she lost her grip on reality now? It wasn’t too late to change her mind.
She halted the