The Delicious De Campos

CHAPTER EIGHT

RICCARDO ENDED UP nursing a glass of ten-year-old rum on the front steps of a local rum shack in Holetown. Neat, as the grizzly old proprietor had suggested.

He’d needed a place he could think, away from the glitzy west coast hotels and restaurants. A place where he could digest his mind-blowing conversation with his wife. Because if he’d suspected before that he didn’t know all of her it was now brutally apparent he hadn’t even scratched the surface of who Lilly De Campo was.

Mind reeling, he’d wandered down the road from the villa until he’d come to the local hotspot—a red-and-cream-painted clapboard house emblazoned with the logo of a local beer company, one of dozens of such dwellings scattered around the island. There had been a handful of Bajans sitting on the front steps, chatting about last night’s cricket game, and zero expectations of socializing.

Perfetto.

He took a sip of the rum and was glad the proprietor had talked him into drinking it neat. It brought out the oaky molasses flavor of the blend and right now he needed its smooth burn. Needed to quell the tumult raging through his brain.

His wife had trusted him so little she’d paid a gossip columnist one hundred thousand dollars for pictures that weren’t even of him. Then she’d lied to him about where the money had gone.

Che diavolo.

He pulled in a deep breath. What state of mind must she have been in to do something like that? To air their dirty laundry to a tabloid journalist and expose their private lives rather than come to him? He wanted to shake her. To chastise her for being so stupid. Except it had also been his fault. He had given her reason to be jealous. He had violated the trust in their marriage.

He had almost smeared the past in her face without knowing it by being unfaithful to her like her father had her mother.

He uttered a smothered oath. The bombshells had just kept coming. His wife had been suffering from an eating disorder he hadn’t known about. She had been struggling with a disease only made worse by the limelight she’d been thrust into and he hadn’t noticed. How had he not noticed? It was inconceivable to him. He wasn’t an expert on eating disorders, but didn’t women usually make themselves throw up when they had one? He knew for sure he hadn’t missed that. Lilly hated throwing up, and when she did so because of her migraines she was miserable.

So where had been the signs he’d been supposed to see?

She’d always been tall and thin, and he’d thought that was her natural predisposition, but now that he thought about it she had been curvier when they’d met. She’d consistently lost weight throughout their marriage until she’d been ultra-thin at the end, but he’d thought that was because she’d wanted to fit into the designer dresses she’d worn. In hindsight, he admitted, shifting uncomfortably on the steps, her penchant for skipping meals near the end should have raised alarm bells. It was just that he hadn’t been home enough to monitor it.

A memory of Lilly, exhausted and seemingly emotionally spent, begging him to let her stay home the night of the financial district’s Christmas ball filled his head. He’d thought she was just being difficult and had insisted on her attending because it was a De Campo-sponsored event.

She’d obviously been struggling.

His hands tightened around the glass. He could have destroyed her by not knowing. By continuing to push her. Had he really been that oblivious? Was he so set on perfection in those around him she’d felt she couldn’t come to him? Couldn’t talk to him?

Had he been, as Lilly had accused, so caught up with his obsession of becoming CEO he hadn’t seen anything but the end goal?

An intense feeling of shame washed over him. There had been one month in that last year when he’d only been home one night because he’d been traveling so much, opening restaurants. One night.

And maybe there had been more months like that...

“You left me alone to deal with the fallout of being Lilly De Campo.”

Was that what he’d done?

He took a swig of the rum and stared out at the cars whizzing by on the snakelike coastal road. Their ability to hurt each other was monumental. The breakdown in communication between them breathtaking. How had something so good gone so wrong?

He watched as a new arrival joined the other grizzled old men on the steps. They clapped him on the back and kept on talking about last night’s game, which apparently had been a barn-burner. He was struck by how absolutely insane his life had become. He was a machine, not a man. He no longer remembered what it was like to live because he was too busy planning for tomorrow.

He nursed the glass between his hands and stared down at the brilliant amber liquid. It was time he simplified his life. Step one had been this weekend with Lilly, to discover the truth. Step two would be in three months, when Antonio ceded control to him. Step three was going to be about honesty.

“I faked my way through our entire marriage.”

The statement had made his blood boil. He might have done things all wrong but Lilly had owed him honesty. She had owed that to their marriage. And nothing, nothing made up for the fact that she’d walked out on him. And left him to deal with the fallout of their marriage.

“It was never going to work.”

Her words danced in front of him like a red cape, egging on an enraged bull. If his wife thought she was going to check out again now, when the honesty had just started between them, she was sadly mistaken. Lilly was about to find out what it was like to follow through on a promise. What it was like to pay as he’d been paying for the past year. Because De Campos didn’t divorce. They stuck it out—even if they were in a loveless partnership like his parents.

He drained his glass and set it down with a thud that drew the eyes of the faction of grizzled old men. Standing up, he went back inside and slapped his glass on the counter. “Another,” he said hoarsely. “Make it a double.”

* * *

This time he had left her.

Lilly stood on the balcony of their villa, staring at the ocean as it sparkled in the moonlight. It was pushing one o’clock and still her husband hadn’t come home. He had decided the muddled, mass of confusion his wife undoubtedly was wasn’t CEO wife material. Wasn’t worth the effort.

Hot, silent tears ran down her cheeks. She’d kept her secrets because she’d known if she’d told the truth about who she was she’d lose him. But in the end it hadn’t mattered. She’d lost him anyway.

Had he been repulsed by her secret—by the anorexia that had been her Achilles’ Heel? Or had it been the dishonesty? The lies she’d told to save herself?

She didn’t blame him for not wanting her. She’d only just started to learn how to appreciate herself.

“I thought you’d be asleep.”

Her husband’s deep voice came from behind her. She spun around, her heart in her mouth as her gaze moved over his strained, somber features.

“You came back.”

“Of course I did.” He closed the distance between them. “I told you this is not over between us.”

That had been before tonight. Before they had annihilated each other.

His gaze moved over her face. “I’ve never seen you cry.”

She raised a hand to swipe the tears from her face. Telling him she still loved him, that she’d thought she’d lost him forever, wasn’t going to happen. Not when she was sure he hated her for what she’d done to him. But she couldn’t stop the emotion that was suffocating her, threatening to spill over into something she couldn’t control.

His eyes darkened and the strain on his face deepened, looking even harsher in the moonlight. “This is not over,” he repeated. “Get that through your head, Lilly. We are only getting started.”

How could that be? This reconciliation of theirs was only for six months. And it wasn’t real. But tell that to her brain. He did away with the last few inches between them, a look of intent on his face so deliberate her heart stopped in her chest.

“Ric—”

The hand she held out to ward him off was captured and folded against his chest as he pulled her into him. “No more talking,” he murmured, moving his lips to the upper curve of her cheek, where the tears were still falling. “We’ve done enough talking for a lifetime tonight.”

She knew she should protest, but then he was kissing away her tears one by one, following the hot, salty path down over the curve of her jaw. As if with every one he dispensed with he was wiping the past away. A sigh was torn from deep inside her as she arched her neck back. If this was supposed to be comfort she couldn’t quite envision it, because he was setting her blood on fire.

His big hands swept the straps of her négligée aside so his lips could continue their exploration down the sensitive skin of her neck and over the roundness of her shoulder.

The honesty of this—the honesty of them together like this—had never been in question. And tonight she needed for him to heal them.

To hell with the consequences.

She moved willingly against him as he pulled her up on tiptoes and kissed her—a slow, drugging caress she felt down to her toes. It was like an anesthetic to her soul, his touch, as if the only thing she’d been put on this planet to do was kiss him in these deep, never-ending caresses that devoured the essence of each other.

A shiver ran through her—anticipatory, all-consuming. She buried her fingers in the thick muscles of his shoulders, rediscovering the feel of him under her hands, the way the sharp tug of her teeth on his bottom lip made him groan low in the back of his throat.

“You are killing me,” he murmured, sliding his hands down over her silk-covered bottom and yanking her closer.

The feel of his big, warm hands on her, shaping her against the muscular hard length of him made her whimper. His thick erection made her gasp.

“Esattamente,” he muttered, scooping her up into his arms. She breathed in the familiar, heady male scent of him as he carried her into the bedroom. It was like coming home.

Light from the big, fat, almost-full moon flooded the beautiful blue-and-white-striped bedroom that looked as if it had come straight out of a magazine. But all Lilly had eyes for was her husband as he let her slide down his body to the floor, the silk catching between them. He was the most smoking hot man she’d ever encountered on so many levels.

Intense, like the night. Exciting, like a summer storm that made everything electric. Earthy, like a man who knew how to savor every moment like the fine wines his family created.

Her heart thumped at the foot of her throat as he slid his fingers under the straps of her négligée and dropped it to the floor. She closed her eyes as his gaze moved over her naked flesh. She had never been perfect but she was definitely less than that now.

“Dio, Lilly. Come sei bella.”

His raspily intoned observation made her eyes fly open. The look of pure lust on his face made her knees go weak. “I don’t look like I used to,” she whispered.

He slid his hands down her back to her bottom and tugged her forward, until her naked flesh was flush against his still clothed body. “I told you,” he murmured. “I love the curves... If anything, I want you more than I did before.”

Oh. Liquid fire raced through her veins as his fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of her neck and he tipped her head back to receive his kiss. Open-mouthed, and hotter than Hades, it immersed her in a pool of want that threatened to eat her alive.

Her control snapped. The depth of her emotion for this man was frightening, endless, but to have him again like this made her frantic, desperate.

“Ric,” she muttered against his mouth. “Please.”

He abandoned her lips in favor of a fingertips to bare skin exploration of the weight of her breasts. “Do you know how hard it’s been for me to keep my hands off you?” he breathed, brushing his thumbs over the tips of her nipples. “I took down a ninety-foot tree in Westchester, I was so crazed.”

Lilly squeezed her eyes shut as her nipples hardened beneath his touch. “I can’t believe you didn’t kill yourself.”

“Gabe helped. Matteo got in the way.”

She smiled and wriggled against him, trying to get closer, but he closed his hands down hard over her shoulders and held her away.

“Not so fast, tesoro. It’s been a long time since I’ve had you like this.”

She eased back reluctantly. “Did you really go a year without sex?”

“I’m a man, Lilly. I found ways to ease the tension.”

“Oh.”

His soft laughter filled the night air. “Don’t worry—you were still the star attraction.”

The erotic image of him pleasuring himself—stroking that beautiful muscular body of his and thinking about her—sent another hot flash through her body that made her feel vaguely feverish. But then he was kissing his way down her throat toward the sensitive spot at the base of her neck—the spot he knew drove her crazy.

Hot. So hot.

She moved desperately against him.

He slid a hand down over her trembling stomach, over her navel to the juncture of her thighs. “Spread your legs for me, sweetheart.”

Lilly swallowed hard and relaxed her grip, letting him push her legs apart.

“Did you ever touch yourself, thinking about me?” he questioned, sliding his fingers against the most private part of her.

“Ric—”

“The truth,” he insisted.

“Yes,” she murmured. God help her, yes, she had.

He rotated his thumb against the hard, aching center of her. “But it wasn’t as good as the real thing, was it? Because I know it wasn’t for me.”

“No,” she groaned. “It wasn’t.”

He lowered his head and kissed her, made her remember exactly how good he could make her feel. She grabbed a hold of his shirt to steady herself as he slid a finger inside her, his touch so unbearly good she thought she would scream.

“More,” she murmured against his lips.

He withdrew and slid two fingers inside her, filling her deeper, harder. She arched against his hand as the ache inside her became unbearable.

“Please,” she moaned.

He dropped to his knees in front of her. Lilly made a sound of protest, reaching down and grabbing his arms to pull him back up to her. She felt too exposed, too raw to have him do this to her right now.

But he shook her hands off and looked up at her, eyes glittering. “Immersion therapy, Lilly. Relax and enjoy it.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, too hot, too aroused to do anything but obey. And then he was parting her with gentle fingers, his raspy, “Bella...” filling the air before he bent and feasted on her. She held the back of his head as he slid his tongue against her aroused flesh. The rush of pleasure that swirled through her was so incredibly good she felt as if every nerve in her body was concentrated right there.

“Ric—I need—”

“I know,” he murmured against her skin. “Let go, Lilly.”

Her legs started to tremble wildly. He slid his fingers inside her again and shot her into another stratosphere. God. She just needed him to curve his fingers like—that.

“Oh.”

He kept his fingers there and flicked his tongue over the hard bud at the center of her. Her insides contracted as she came in a rush of such sweet, hot pleasure he had to hold her upright. It was white-hot, blinding. All-consuming.

She was floating on a sea of pleasure when he got to his feet, scooped her up into his arms and carried her to the bed. “You are so sexy,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss her. “Your reactions...everything about you turns me on.”

The taste of herself on his lips was unbearably intimate. And she felt her last barrier come tumbling down.

He left her to pull his shirt over his head, his impatient, jerky movements so unlike him she smiled. “Need some help with your pants?”

He stepped closer and brought her hands to his belt.

She took in the hard muscles of his torso, the perfectly defined six-pack, the undeniably hot vee that disappeared beneath his jeans. She had undressed him hundreds of times, but this time her hands were shaking and her throat was dry.

She worked his belt buckle open and fumbled with the button of his jeans.

“Lilly,” he murmured, covering her hand with his. “Are you okay?”

She nodded and bit her lip. With a smothered curse he stepped back and shoved his jeans and boxers off. The masculine beauty of his body made her want like a woman who’d been stranded in the desert far too long. When he sank down on the bed and reached for her she straddled his muscular thighs, wanting to give him as much pleasure as he’d given her.

He was hard, aroused, barely leashed male power beneath her, and she wanted him inside her more than she wanted her next breath.

He buried his lips in her shoulder, a tremor running through his big body. “I can’t play around like this much longer...”

“Who’s playing?” She sat back on her haunches, her eyes riveted to his beautiful toned body. “I’m not,” she assured him, sliding her fingers to the insides of his thighs.

His gaze moved to her hands. “Lilly...”

She curved her fingers around him and reveled in his sharp intake of breath. He was smooth and hard like steel, pulsing underneath her fingers. With a muffled curse he sank his hands into her waist and lifted her over him, the movement bringing her swollen flesh into contact with his engorged length.

Ruddy color dusted his cheekbones. “Maledizione, Lilly...”

She slid the thick head of him inside her, her body so aroused, so wet, she accommodated him easily. He cursed under his breath, the muscles of his arms bulging as he braced them on either side of himself. She took more of him, and more, until she felt as if she couldn’t go further. She’d forgotten how big he was, how the length of him caressed every last centimeter of her. Closing her eyes, she focused on taking him, adjusting her hips until he slid in to the hilt.

Her gasp split the air.

He stayed completely still beneath her while her body adjusted to his, his jaw clenched, his face a picture of grim self-control. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” she breathed, relaxing into him. “You’re just so damned big.”

He closed his eyes. “That’s not usually a complaint.”

“It’s not, it’s j— Oh, God, you feel so good.”

“I’d feel better if I could move,” he rasped.

She leaned down and kissed him. “Let me.”

She rode him slowly, deliberately at first, every movement designed to drive him wild. He twisted his hips and tried to control the rhythm but she shook her head. “Like this.”

He clamped his jaw shut and let her take the lead. Lilly shut her eyes and just felt. Felt the size and girth of him stroke her, reach every nerve-ending. Her body clamped around him as she remembered the pleasure he could give her, cried out desperately for it.

No man had ever been able to turn her on this much. Only Riccardo.

She threw her head back and let herself go. Every powerful stroke of his body up into hers was filling her from the inside out—filling the lonely place inside her that had never gotten over the loss of him. And when she looked down at him the dark glitter in his eyes told her he felt it too.

“Are you with me?” he demanded hoarsely. “Please tell me you’re with me.”

“Always,” she whispered.

Something tilted in his face. A look of such raw, uncensored emotion that she felt it in a place she’d never felt it before. He might not love her anymore, but he wasn’t devoid of emotion.

She committed it to memory, held onto it as he surged up inside her and demanded she ride him harder, faster. Something told her she was going to need it as he made her drown in the sensations he was creating. As he branded her with his touch and found that sweet spot he knew would take her over the edge. Her fingernails dug into his shoulders as he stroked her deliberately, repeatedly, until she felt the white-hot beginning of her release. Once, twice, three times he drove into her, and she screamed, her body contracting around his in an orgasm stronger and more shattering than the first.

He cursed under his breath and fell back onto his elbows, his body surging up inside her. She felt him throb even bigger, watched his face as he lost control. His hands clamped down on her hips and his body shook in a release that rocked them both.

Winded, shaken to her core, she collapsed forward onto his chest, listening to his heart thunder beneath her ear. This was the time when he’d used to whisper that he loved her in Italian. When he’d tuck her into his side and cradle her until she slept. When she had been sure beyond a shadow of a doubt of his feelings for her.

The hot, humid Caribbean air throbbed around them—heavy and full. A loaded silence stretched between them. They stayed like that for several long minutes. Then Riccardo lifted her off his chest and tucked her beneath the sheets.

“You need to sleep.”

She wanted to beg him to hold her. To prolong what they’d shared for just a few more minutes. She heard him snap off the lights and come back to the bed, felt the mattress dipping beneath his weight. Then he reached for her and pulled her into his arms, curving her back against the warm length of him. She exhaled in a long, slow breath. This was enough. Being back in the place where everything felt right. Even for one night.

She fell asleep almost immediately.

Her pounding head woke her at two a.m. She stumbled into the bathroom and grabbed her painkillers out of her bag. She had unscrewed the bottle and downed two tablets with a glass of water when the unthinkable occurred to her.

In the hustle of traveling this morning she’d forgotten to take her birth control pill.

It had been almost twenty-four hours since she had.

“Do me a favor.” Alex’s words rang in her ear. “Whatever you do, don’t get pregnant.”

She pulled the birth control pills out of her bag and desperately shoved one in her mouth. It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours... It would be fine.

But even as she reassured herself she knew it had been stupid, stupid. How could she have complicated a relationship in which the only thing that was clear was that it didn’t need complicating?