Modern Romance March 2017 Books 5 -8. Natalie Anderson
needs its mother. You, of all people, should know that.”
She wasn’t sure what sparked the violent reaction that rose up inside of her—fire licking her spine, heat flaming her cheeks. Whether it was because this was Lorenzo and his perfect family he was using as a benchmark, or whether he saw her as a deficient product of her mother’s lack of maternal ability and wanted to make sure his child had better.
She pushed a hand against his chest, rolled to her feet in a jerky movement and stood facing him, hands planted on her hips.
“Angelina—”
“No, you’re right.” Fury crackled beneath every syllable. “I do know what it’s like. I also know what it’s like to feel as if my life is utterly out of control—to navigate those curveballs you talked about on a daily basis, to not know what’s going to blow up in my face next. I am an expert at navigating the perils of childhood, Lorenzo. So trust me when I say, I will never neglect our child.”
His jaw hardened. “I didn’t say that.”
“Yes, you did.” She lifted her chin. “A part-time nanny would not be detrimental to our child’s development.”
“You didn’t say part-time, you said ‘a nanny.’”
“Well, I’m saying it now. I will be in control of this, too, Lorenzo. You will not decide how this works and negate all my decisions or I will take the Ricci heir and walk so fast you won’t know what hit you.”
His gaze narrowed, an icy black flame burning to life. “You need to settle down and not say things you’ll regret, cara. You are overreacting.”
“Overreacting? You are the one who blackmailed me back into this marriage.”
“Sì.” A flash of white teeth in his arrogant face. “A marriage you promised to make work. And just to point out—you have sprung this on me just this minute. I have not had the time to process the fact that I am going to be a father. You might give me some time to do that.”
Guilt lanced through her. She thought she might be overreacting as she stood there, chest heaving with God knew what emotions, but it was all just too...much.
Lorenzo snagged an arm around her waist and pulled her back down on his lap.
“We,” he said, visibly pulling himself back under control, “are going to figure this out. You are not going to create one of your dramas to throw us off track. There will be no decrees from me, Angelina, but we will talk this out in whatever way we need to to reach common ground.”
She stared at him for a long moment. Took a deep breath and nodded.
“That said,” he continued, “what was it about what I just said that set you off?”
She was silent for a moment. “Part of it is Octavia. How you build her up to be this mythical creature who can do no wrong—the earth mother who created the perfect family. The other part of it is about me, I think. I worry about being a good mother. I worry I don’t have the skills to do it—that it isn’t in my DNA.”
His gaze softened. “You have a deep, loving relationship with your sister. You have mothered your own mother since you were fifteen. How is that not a sign you will be a caring mother?”
The adrenaline surging through her veins eased, her breath escaping in a slow exhale. She’d never thought of it that way. She’d thought she’d had no choice but to take care of her mother because that’s what family did. But in reality, she could have done the opposite as James had—as her father had—and pretended the problem didn’t exist, that the disease ravaging her mother wasn’t tearing her apart. But that hadn’t been in her DNA.
Her tendency to sabotage the good before it disappeared was suddenly cast in a bright, blinking light. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “It’s my instinct to reach for anger, to lash out when I don’t know how I feel...when my emotions confuse me.”
“I know you now.” His stare was level, unwavering. “I’m not going to let you drive wedges between us because of your fears. This baby is our second chance to do this right, Angelina. But you have to fight for us like I’m fighting for us. Fight for what we are building here.”
She nodded. Rested her forehead against his. “I know. I’m sorry. Old habits die hard.”
He lifted a hand to cup her jaw. Brought his mouth to hers. She met his kiss hungrily, wanting, needing him to wipe away her fears. Because she knew in her heart they could do this—that what they were building was more powerful, more real than what they’d been before. She just needed to get past the fear.
He slid a hand into her hair, held her more securely while he consumed her, feasted on her. She kissed him back, giving of herself without reservation. Hotter, brighter, the flame between them burned until it was an all-consuming force that engulfed them both.
Undoing the buttons that ran up the front of her dress, he exposed her body to his gaze. She shivered as he took the weight of her in his palms and teased her nipples into hard, aching points with his tongue, his teeth, nipping then laving her with soothing caresses. Moaned when he drew her deeper into the heat of his mouth, his hot, urgent caress turning her core liquid.
His eyes were hungry when he broke the contact, devouring her face with an intensity she felt to her toes. “My child will suckle at your breast,” he rasped. “Do you know what that does to me? How much that makes me want you? How can this not be right, Angelina?”
Her heart slammed hard against her breastbone, stealing her breath. Her gaze locked with his for a long, suspended moment before he lowered his head and covered her mouth with his. Sliding his hand up the inside of her thigh, he found the strip of silk that covered her most intimate flesh.
She spread her thighs wider, giving him better access. Sweeping aside the silk, he dipped inside her heat, stroking her with a touch that made her arch her back, mewl a low sound of pleasure at the back of her throat.
Nothing, no feeling on this earth compared to being in Lorenzo’s arms. He had become her addiction again as surely as she’d known he would. And yet it was more, so much more this time.
He sank two fingers inside of her. She gasped, her body absorbing the intrusion. He worked them in and out, his urgent, insistent rhythm sweeping her along with it until she was clenching around him. Begging him to let her come.
He pressed a kiss to her temple. “We should go inside.”
“Here,” she insisted, desperate to have him.
She slid off him, moved her hands under her dress and shimmied her lacy underwear off. Straddling him, she left enough room between them to find the button of his trousers and release it. He gritted his teeth as she slid the zipper past his throbbing flesh, closed her hands around him.
“Angie,” he groaned, eyes blazing. “The neighbors could see us.”
She ignored him, stroking her hands over him, luxuriating in the velvet-over-steel texture of him. He was made to give pleasure to a woman and she wanted him to lose control as surely as she did each and every time he drove her to it.
Her husband closed his eyes. Let go. Told her how much he loved it, how good it felt, how much it turned him on to have her hands on him. Her blood burned hotter, so hot she thought she might incinerate.
He let her have her fill, then he took control, snagging an arm around her waist and pulling her forward. Lifting her with one hand anchored around her hips, he palmed himself, brought his flesh to her center and dipped into her slick, wet heat.
His penetration was controlled and so slow it almost killed her. She shuddered, clenching her fingers around his nape. The look of pleasure written across his beautiful face, the naked play of emotion he couldn’t hide were all she needed to fall tumbling into him. And this time she did it with all of her.
She caught his mouth with hers. “More.”
He gripped her hips