Scandals Of The Powerful. Sarah Morgan

       CHAPTER SEVEN

      EMILY WOKE in an unfamiliar bed with a thumping headache and a body that was so sore and tender she wondered for a moment if she’d been in an accident, which wouldn’t account for the ache between her legs, the luxurious sheets beneath her or the aroma of coffee and the sound of gushing water from the pool.

      Maybe she’d died and gone to heaven, Emily thought for a blissful moment, and stretched and then looked up into the navy eyes of Anton.

      Maybe she had.

      Yes, it all came back in delicious stages.

      Emily drank her coffee and then figured she ought to ring Gina, but she didn’t pick up, so Emily fired off a text to say she would meet her there.

      ‘I hope she’s there,’ Emily said, but Anton was talking on his own phone.

      ‘What size are you?’ He saw her frown. ‘Dress size.’

      ‘I’m not sure.’

      He smirked and told whomever it was he was talking to his estimate. Unfortunately he guessed right.

      ‘Shoe size,’ Anton said, and she wished for daintier feet but, for blisters’ sake, she told him the truth.

      He must be seriously loaded, because an hour later when surely anyone who was anyone was, this morning, getting their hair done, she was sitting in one of his shirts on a bar stool having her hair curled and put up as Anton showered.

      She couldn’t wait till he came out of the bathroom for a proper look at herself and, modesty long since discarded, she walked in to where he was shaving at the sink, a towel wrapped low on his hips.

      ‘Bella,’ he said when he saw her hair. ‘Has the dress not arrived?’

      ‘Not yet,’ Emily said, moving to wash her panties, but his hand halted her.

      ‘I asked for a selection of underwear.’

      ‘And a toothbrush?’

      He smiled and nodded to the drawer.

      It was strange for Anton. Usually he loathed getting ready with another. He liked sex but not too much conversation. He did not do the dating thing. ‘Am I taking someone’s spot?’ Emily checked, sure he must have had a date lined up.

      He had naturally RSVP’d plus-one for the wedding but was reluctant to take one of his usual companions.

      ‘I could have gone with someone, but I chose not to. Women tend to think you are serious about them if you ask them to such things.’

      ‘Have you ever been serious about anyone?’

      ‘My wife,’ he said, not looking at her horrified expression. Instead he carried on shaving. ‘She was in the explosion.’

      ‘When you said family, I thought you meant just your parents.’ She was truly lost for words. ‘I don’t mean just....’

      ‘I did,’ Anton said. ‘They were all in the car at the time. Unfortunately I had gone back to the house to get my wallet.’

      ‘Unfortunately?’

      ‘They went to heaven. I went to hell.’

      She could not fathom such pain, just stared for a moment.

      ‘Did you...?’ She was nearly crying. ‘Did you have children?’

      He closed his eyes.

      Fattispecie, Anton thought. ‘No.’

      ‘How could you stand to sit in the same restaurant?’ Emily asked.

      ‘Because I do not yet know if it was the Correttis that were responsible.’ He rinsed his face and forgot to dry it because, yes, he was dreading today. ‘But there will be other family heads there today. Almost certainly the one who ordered the hit will be...’ Anton stopped speaking then. She was right—he almost could not stand to be in the church today, had been dreading it since the wedding was announced. The only reprieve was Emily, and he pulled her in for a fierce kiss. His breath was shallow and ragged. He felt her soft lips and it did not match his mood. He loathed sharing and he wasn’t about to. He pulled his mouth away.

      ‘Get ready.’

      ‘I can’t till my dress arrives.’

      ‘Your make-up.’

      He went to leave, to release her, yet at the last moment hauled her back to him, a mire of confusion, for he wanted her but he did not. He could not share pain.

      Emily could.

      She felt the push and then the pull of his hands and the agony in his lips. She kissed down his neck and he held her close. She continued down his chest and he did not halt her as she went to her knees. She kissed his stomach and then down his thighs, heard his moan as she coaxed him from hell with her mouth.

      His hands bunched at his sides as he stopped hating and loathing and thought of nothing but Emily on a morning he had dreaded for so long. He felt soft lips become firm, felt the comfort of her tongue and mouth and gave in.

      She swallowed his tension—there was no other word for it—but she relished it a moment on her tongue and then, a bit shocked at her own boldness, she just knelt there until he pulled her up to him and held her fiercely. They clung on to each other for a long moment, Emily scared of her own feelings toward this very dark man, Anton basking in the calm she had just allowed, both holding each other till a bell rung out.

      ‘That will be your wardrobe.’

      ‘I hope you’ve got good taste.’

      He thought of his wife for a moment and then he looked at Emily, and his answer, even if she did not fully understand it, was completely true. ‘I do.’