In the Italian's Bed: Bedded for Pleasure, Purchased for Pregnancy / The Italian's Ruthless Baby Bargain / The Italian Count's Defiant Bride

‘Okay, mate…’ Surfer boy must have seen it all before, because, though breathless himself, he was incredibly calm. ‘She knows she made a mistake. You did the right thing, letting the rip carry you,’ the boy reassured her as Zarios stood there silently fuming. ‘You can’t swim against it.’

Her breathing was slowing down now, delicious oxygen creeping into every exhausted cell. Each and every breath was like a refreshing glass of lemonade, and she relished each one.

A little posse had formed—mainly lean, bronzed surfer-types, and an elderly woman who was walking her dog, all standing around her as she shivered in her bra and panties and in her own misery. A blanket was produced from the surf shed, and Emma was grateful for its heavy, musty warmth as it was wrapped around her shoulders.

‘Did you take in a lot of water?’ the surfer asked.

‘No! I was just tiring. I’m fine now…’

‘Maybe we should get you looked at?’

Emma shook her head. ‘I just want to go home.’

She remembered to thank him, although Zarios actually remembered first, shaking his hand and then wrapping an arm around Emma’s shoulders before leading her up the stony path to her parents’ house. He even smiled and thanked the elderly lady when she rushed up, having retrieved Emma’s clothes.

‘Don’t tell Mum…’ Her teeth were chattering so violently she could hardly get the words out. ‘I don’t want to ruin the weekend.’

‘You nearly took care of that…’ He stopped himself from ramming home the inevitable point. ‘Let’s just hope they’re not up yet…’ His voice faded again.

Despite the early hour the marquee was already being taken down. Lydia was trilling her orders, anxious to get the place in shape before the champagne breakfast.

‘What about in here…?’ He pushed open the doors of the summerhouse, a pretty white room where her mother read and her father escaped. Leading her to a daybed, he sat her down, then set about locating a towel, taking the musty blanket from her shoulders and wrapping her in its soft warmth. ‘We’ll get you dry, and then you can get dressed and back to the house…she won’t know.’

‘You won’t tell her?’

‘On one condition.’ He gripped her upper arms, his face stern and serious. ‘You have to promise me that you will never do anything like that again.’

‘I won’t.’

‘Christo, Emma…’ His eyes burnt into hers, anger creeping back in. ‘What possessed you?’ He was drenched, his black hair almost blue, droplets of water still on his wide shoulders.

‘I don’t know…’ She couldn’t give a sensible reason. She’d grown up by the beach—knew the rules. Knew, knew, knew… ‘I just wanted to clear my head. I’m just worried…’

‘About what?’

She wanted to tell him so badly. In fact, she almost did, but even as she opened her mouth, she shook her head. Jake’s gambling and the filthy, complicated mess he had created were just too big and scary to face, let alone share.

‘I can’t say.’

‘You could.’

‘I can’t.’

‘Okay, don’t worry about it now…’ His hands were stroking her through the towel, moving to her back, drying her off, then moving down to her legs. The floor was littered with sand. ‘Let’s get you dressed and inside.’

And then it really seemed to hit him. Zarios paused mid-stroke, bemused eyes looking up to hers.

‘You could have died!’

Oh, there was no better warmth than his arms. Fiercely, he had pulled her from the daybed into his embrace, and kneeling he held her, held her, held her, as if checking that she was still there. And, Emma thought, being held was so much better than being told off—just feeling his heartbeat in her ear, his warmth imbuing her. For a full five minutes he held her, and whether it was adrenaline that propelled them, or just the sheer exhilaration of finding out just how sweet and precious life was, it felt entirely right that he kissed her.

It was the most thorough, expert and welcome kiss of her life. His mouth claimed hers, pressing hard into her shivering one, warming her as his body scooped her in. Kneeling, facing her, he devoured her with his mouth, kissing her harder and harder as though he still had to prove that she was really there, pausing for a second and then possessing her mouth again.

Just absolutely the best a kiss could be. Like a balm to her wounds. The horror that had consumed her simply faded. The soft stroke of his tongue, his taut body against hers, obliterated everything.

No kiss had ever moved her like this. She had thought last night’s effort wonderful, but it had only skimmed the surface of what his mouth could do. His touch seemed to flick a trigger, unleashing in her such want. He was pushing down the straps of her bra, his mouth still pressing on hers, his rough and unshaven and utterly delicious jaw rasping her cheek. His skilled fingers impatiently unhooked her bra and tossed it aside. Her frozen and exhausted body was warming and waking beneath hands that massaged her full breasts as still he kissed her.

‘I thought I’d lost you when you went under…’

He was talking as if he loved her, and her head was spinning with his words. He spoke as if they were, as if they had once been lovers. The world was spinning in a strange fast-forward, in recognition of some future time. Everything aligned as she knew, without it being said, that they were going to make love. The passion, the emotion that ripped through them, was inexplicable, almost, but utterly, utterly right. Kneeling still, they pressed so hard into each other it hurt—a hurt that reminded her she was alive!

As he kissed her cheeks, her ears, her eyelashes, and gently tugged at her panties, Emma remembered that she had nearly died. And nearly dying was a very, very good reason to start living, she told herself, as both of them stood just long enough to dispose of their few pieces of clothing.

And this was living!

She’d expected the frenzy to continue, but Zarios slowed things down. As they sank to their knees he rested on his heels, devouring every inch of her with hungry eyes, one single finger tracing the length of her body. She quivered under his scrutiny. Pathetically grateful she’d taken her panties off when she’d had a spray tan, Emma was agog with terror as she watched him harden to his full, impressive length. Her stomach curled inside as his fingers moved down and slowly stroked her damp blonde curls.

‘All night I thought of you.’ His knees parted hers, the dark hair on his legs scratching against her thighs, pushing them apart until he exposed her. He began to stroke her slowly.

Unable to stop herself, Emma admitted the same. ‘I thought of you, too.’

She was having trouble breathing for entirely different reasons now.

‘I thought of this.’ He slid a finger inside her, the nub of his thumb working her clitoris. ‘And then I thought of this…’ He lowered his head and suckled on her nipple, the rhythmic sucking matching his handiwork.

Her head arched back as he worked her, and in a moment of weakness again she admitted the same. ‘I thought of this, too.’

He was huge—worryingly so, excitingly so. Her head was back down, watching as her fingers instinctively reached for him as if they belonged to someone else. She began to stroke him in the same slow motion with which he was stroking her. She could see his mouth still suckling her breast, but she gazed down beyond it, one greedy finger taking the silver pearl of moisture from his tip and massaging it into the soft velvety skin that belied the strength beneath.

‘Attente!’ His voice was thick, the words spoken between greedy mouthfuls. ‘Be careful.’

And then he looked up, warning her, offering her an out. But her voice, when it came, was absolutely sure. ‘I don’t want to be careful!’

It was all the confirmation he needed to go on, and, oh, the bliss as he guided her onto the daybed. She braced herself for his weight, but it never came, his fingers instead working their magic, sliding deep inside her as his erection hovered at her entrance. She was a frenzy of sensation, a bleating mess of indecision, wanting him to go on, but wanting him to come in. She could hear the sounds of her own moisture as he massaged her deeply, as he made sure beyond doubt that her tight space was oiled and ready to accommodate him. And thank heavens he did, because even with his lavish attention, even with a body that was cooing and aching to be filled, she felt a sudden pain when he entered, a delicious hurt as he filled her. The heat was building as he pushed so hard inside her, so deep within her, she could feel the bruise of her cervix.

She was coming, biting his salty chest, wrapping her calves around his muscular back. Still he bucked inside her, the throb of her orgasm gripping him, but it didn’t match his strength because he pushed her on.

‘Zarios…’ She wanted him to stop, was almost scared that he might continue. Her twitching body was surely spent, but still she could feel him swell further, feel the more urgent, reckless staccato rhythm of his thrust, and she was coming again, her orgasm more intense than she could have ever dared to imagine it might be. Her hands were two balled fists of tension on his back. Unfurling her fingers was an impossible task as every muscle in her body twitched in spasm as she received him, felt a shudder of tension rip through him, and then the warm melt of him on her.

And then he kissed her.

His tongue was strangely cold as his lazy kiss brought her round, welcoming her back to a world that was brighter, and somehow very different.

‘If I swim out again will you rescue me?’

‘That is not funny.’

‘Well, that wasn’t a very good deterrent.’

‘I might not be here next time to save you…’

As he looked down at her Emma realised that his eyes, though they looked black, were actually the darkest deepest indigo, more purple than blue, and a colour she wanted to capture and recreate with her brush. Only, even with her artistic prowess, she wasn’t sure she could do the colour justice.

‘Although I would like to be there.’

And she knew he wasn’t talking about swimming—knew, because at that moment they were so close words were hardly needed. A new language was forming, and their minds were meeting with the same force their bodies had and blending just as perfectly.

‘I’d like you to be there.’

‘Let’s get you back to the house.’ He held her tighter as he spoke. ‘This weekend cannot be about us. I want your father to enjoy his celebration.’ He kissed her very slowly. ‘Emma, this is big.’

A rather facetious comment was on the tip of her tongue, given the length of him on her thigh, but Emma restrained herself. Her mind was simply being kind, using humour to deflect the seriousness of his words for a moment. What they had just found was monumental.

‘I know.’

There was nothing to joke about.

‘We need to be very sure, and we need to get our heads around things ourselves before we share this with our families.’

Oh, he was right. If there was even a hint of romance today, the whole dynamics of the weekend would shift. They had to get used to things first, before they revealed their feelings to the world.

There wasn’t a flicker of question or doubt in her eyes as she stared back at him.

For that moment at least, she absolutely trusted him.

‘There you are!’ Lydia smiled when, a considerable time later, a rather bedraggled Emma appeared. ‘We were about to send out a search party.’

‘I was enjoying a walk.’

‘And the water!’ Lydia frowned at the knot of wet hair trailing down her back.

Given that it was now after eight Emma could be a touch honest. ‘I had a swim—I couldn’t resist.’ Emma flushed, her heart thumping as, not for the first time, she realised just how disastrous the consequences might have been had Zarios not saved her. Thankfully Lydia was too wrapped up in preparing for the champagne breakfast to question her further. ‘Do you need me to do anything, Mum?’

‘Get changed, darling!’ Lydia scolded, pulling out of the fridge the vast bowl of Strawberries Romanof that Emma had yesterday painstakingly prepared for the occasion without comment, then twittering with delight as she pulled back the cloth on the basket of rolls and pastries that had thankfully been delivered.

‘He’s gone way over the top, as always…’ Lydia tutted at the contents. ‘But then, that’s Jake!’

The shower was bliss—warm water washing away the salt, her body burning still from Zarios’s attention. Massaging conditioner into her hair, Emma closed her eyes and revelled in the sheer wonder of being alive, every nerve in her body tingling as she recalled his hands and mouth on her. Her heart was fluttering with excitement, and she cradled her knowledge like a treasured gift—scarcely able to comprehend that in just a few short hours everything had changed.

She dressed in pale khaki shorts and a white cotton halter neck, quickly blowdrying her hair and then tying it back in a loose ponytail, before adding just a little make-up. She joined her family and the D’Amilos out on the decking. Today was more intimate—just immediate family, which Rocco practically was, and of course Zarios.

He smiled as she entered, just a brief smile, but it confirmed every last thing she was feeling.

There was an exhilaration about her that perhaps had something to do with surviving a near death experience, or perhaps just the sheer pleasure of being with her family, all combined with the giddy recall of Zarios’s lovemaking. For Emma it truly was the sweetest time, every second relished as she sipped on Bucks Fizz and listened to her father’s laughter, saw her mother’s face flushed and pretty with the relief that the her beloved Eric’s birthday had gone so well. He was opening his gifts, smiling at the slippers, the tankards, at an expensive pair of binoculars for his beloved bird-watching, and then frowning at Rocco’s gift.

‘A phrasebook?’

‘For when you come to visit me at my home in Rome.’ Rocco waved away Eric’s protests as he opened a travel itinerary along with two first class tickets. ‘When Bella left—when I was on my own—every week you rang me, every week there was a letter, and every time I came back to Australia to check on my business here not once did I sleep in a hotel. You, my friends, were always there. Now it is time for you to eat at my table—for you, Eric, to take your wife to what is surely the most beautiful city in the world,’ Rocco finished, wiping tears from his eyes as he told the couple the true value of their friendship.

Well, nothing was going to top that!

‘Here, Dad.’ Emma found she was biting on her lips as she handed her father her gift. An oil painting, it was of the beach scene from their house at late afternoon. Normally in her paintings Emma always left faces blank, so the people who bought her pieces were able to place themselves in the image—it was the signature mark of her work. Except in this one, amongst the families and children playing on the beach, unmistakably there were her parents, smiling and relaxed as they walked hand in hand along the beach they had loved for so long.

It had taken her days to paint.

But it had been weeks of thought that had drained her.

‘It’s lovely, darling.’ Eric gave her a suitable smile as he studied her work for, oh, around ten seconds, before kissing her cheek.

‘You and Mum are there…’ Emma pointed to the figures in the scene.

He pulled on his glasses and peered more closely. ‘So we are!’ Eric beamed, then took his glasses off and kissed her on the cheek again. ‘Thank you, darling.’

He put the painting down on the floor beside the mountain of other presents, then peeled open the gift Jake and Beth had bought, crowing in delight at a bottle of champagne Emma could have sworn she’d given them as a gift when the twins were born, and holding up the two department store champagne glasses that accompanied the bottle as if they were made of the finest crystal.

‘That’s for you two to share,’ Jake said, and smiled, ‘when the party’s over. Happy birthday, Dad!’

Emma found she was biting hard into her lip as her mother oohed and ahed, kissing Jake and telling him he was so thoughtful. Her fingers were clenched, and in an effort not to say anything, not to spoil things, Emma actually sat on her hands, telling herself she was being unreasonable. Her father had been delighted with her present. She was just being sensitive, that was all, because Rocco was nodding at the lovely champagne and Zarios was busy with his mobile phone. She was surely just being childish. But was she the only one who could see the glaring disparity between how she and Jake were treated? Blinking back sudden pathetic tears, Emma was glad of the diversion of her own phone bleeping. Picking it up from the table, she frowned slightly when she saw that she had a message from Zarios.

Don’t sulk!

She suppressed a smile as she texted back.

Do you blame me?

As she hit ‘send’, the sound of his phone bleeping at the opposite end of the table sent a fizz of excitement through her—especially when she saw that he was texting again.

I liked it.

She was about to text back her thanks, but she had another incoming message.

I want you.

Two spots of colour burnt on her cheeks as her phone bleeped again, and Zarios told her exactly how much he wanted her. She was blushing like an eighteen-year-old—felt like an eighteen-year-old as her mother’s frown scolded her for spending so long on her phone.

‘Could you get some more orange juice, Emma?’

‘Of course.’

She fled to the kitchen, embarrassed yet exhilarated, as jumpy as a cat. She trembled as she pulled open the door of the fridge. It wasn’t just that he was sexy—though he was, Emma thought, gulping icy air from the fridge—it was that smile, that lazy smile that just made the world pause, and the intensity of his eyes when they held hers.

And instinctively he had known how much her father’s dismissal of her work, however unwitting, had hurt her.

Never had a man read her more skilfully.

It was as if he’d versed himself in her thoughts—like an extension to her mind.

He got it!

Got the crazy make-up of her family and the fact that they could make her smile, make her laugh, even as they drove her round the bend.

‘Need a hand?’

He didn’t wait for an answer. His hot palm was between her legs, running lazily the length of her thigh, and she rested her head on the freezer door to steady herself, simultaneously revelling in his touch and tensing at the thought of anyone walking in.

‘Zarios…’ She turned to face him, to warn him off with a brittle expression, to tell him this was neither the time nor the place—but he’d beaten her to it. He was smiling down at her, pulling out cartons from the fridge and feigning such utter innocence that if her thighs hadn’t been on fire she’d have sworn she’d imagined the whole thing.

Zarios had been confused by her parents’ reaction to the painting—had been confused by the gift as well. From the way Lydia had spoken, and from the information he had gleaned over the years, he had assumed Emma’s hobby had simply been indulged by Lydia and Eric.

But with one glance he’d seen her talent.

A real talent that should be nurtured and applauded, not tossed amongst a pile.

He was lying, and they both knew it, when he tried to say the right thing. ‘I know how it looked out there,’ Zarios said as he picked up some jugs from the bench, ‘but they are proud of you!’

‘I think you’re talking to the wrong sibling.’ She snipped open the juice and poured it into the jugs. ‘They’re proud of the one with the real job and the fancy car—the one who gives them grandchildren…’

‘You’re incredibly talented.’

‘That doesn’t always sell paintings!’ She hadn’t meant to say anything, but the financial pressure Jake had heaped on her fledgling business was just too much to bear, and unwittingly, just as her mother did when stressed, Emma put down the carton and massaged her temples for a moment.

‘Business not going too well?’

‘Just a few money worries at the moment; it will pick up,’ she said, doing just that to the juice. But his hands caught hers, making them let go of their contents.

‘Tomorrow?’ Zarios said, stunned by the comfort saying that single word gave him.

‘Tomorrow,’ she agreed, taking a deep breath, and then another rapid one, as he deeply kissed the nape of her neck. He kissed it so hard that when she fled to the loo moments later she could see the bruise he had left, which had her pulling out her ponytail and arranging her hair to hide it. She had been angry with him at the time, and yet was surprisingly grateful later.

Grateful, because when everyone had gone, when the chopper had long since lifted into the sky, and her parents had read through the cards for the hundredth time and all that was left was the tidying up, it was almost impossible to fathom what had taken place.

She checked her phone for the hundredth time, willing a text to appear, telling herself it didn’t matter that there wasn’t one—he was at a christening; he’d told her he’d speak to her tomorrow…

Later, having undressed for bed, exhausted, she brushed her teeth, and then, lifting her hair, saw again the smudge of purple bruise. She shivered, running her fingers over the only tangible evidence of what had taken place. Emma clutched the memory of it to her like a hot water bottle as she curled up in the same bed Zarios had slept in last night, slid under the weighty warmth of a duvet that still held his scent and let memories caress her exhausted body.

Remembered the bliss of being in his arms.

Willed sleep to come so that soon she could greet the morning.