one another in any way since he’d turned up at the hospital with his ultimatum of a marriage proposal. But too much had happened for her to ever go back to that easy intimacy. How could she possibly lie in his arms and let him kiss her after all the cruel and bitter things which had been done and said? How could she bear to feel him deep inside her body when he’d been so eager to think badly of her?
She remembered freezing as his hands went to her expanded waist, feeling as if her body had suddenly turned to marble. ‘Please, Renzo,’ she’d whispered, her words a soft protest, not a plea.
But he hadn’t let her go or changed his position. He’d dipped his head and spoke to her in low and rapid English, his fingers spanning the delicate fabric of the dress and increasing the points at which he’d been in contact with her.
‘You are dressed to play the part of my bride and therefore you will act the part of my bride,’ he’d said softly. ‘Let’s show the world that I have married a flesh-and-blood woman and not some pale-faced doll.’
It was then that he’d bent his head to claim her lips and it had been the weirdest kiss of her life. At first her determination had made it easy not to respond, but the sensation of his lips on hers had soon melted away her reservations and she’d sunk into that kiss with an eagerness she hadn’t been able to disguise. She’d felt powerless beneath that brief but thorough exploration. She hadn’t been able to hold back her gasp as she’d felt that first sweet invasion of his tongue. Heat had flooded over her. Her hands had reached up to hold on to him as the beat of her heart had become erratic but suddenly the movement had become about so much more than support. Suddenly she’d been clinging to him and revelling in the feel of all that rock-hard flesh beneath her fingertips. She’d wanted him so much that she hadn’t even cared about his triumphant laugh of pleasure as he’d drawn his lips away because it had felt like for ever since he’d kissed her and it had tasted as delicious as having a drink after a dusty walk. Like the first hint of sweetness on your tongue when you badly needed the boost of sugar.
A kiss like that was the inevitable forerunner of intimacy and she must not let it happen again. She dared not...
‘You look miles away.’ Renzo’s low drawl broke into Darcy’s reverie and she watched his reflected body as he strolled in from the en-suite bathroom of their honeymoon suite, wearing nothing but a too-small white towel slung low over his hips. Crystalline droplets of water glittered like diamonds in his ebony hair and, despite knowing she shouldn’t be affected by his near-nakedness, Darcy’s brain was refusing to listen to reason and instead was sending out frantic messages to her pulse points.
It was the first time she’d seen him in a state of undress since the night of the ball, when they’d come home and he’d made rapturous love to her. The night before Drake had visited and the necklace had disappeared and her whole world had come crashing down around her. A necklace Renzo had been prepared to write off in his eagerness to be rid of her. It all seemed like a dream now and yet suddenly all that honed silken flesh was haunting her with everything she’d been missing.
‘So why,’ he questioned, his voice growing sultry as he walked over and stood behind her and wound one long finger around an errant curl, ‘did you let them put your hair up like that?’
Darcy swallowed because, from this position, far too much of his flesh was on show and his skin was still damp and soap-scented from the shower. ‘The hairdresser said loose hair would look untidy.’
‘But perhaps your husband doesn’t like it to look tidy,’ he mocked, pulling out one pearl-topped pin quickly followed by another. ‘He likes it to look wild and free.’
‘Which is slightly ironic given that you’re the most precise and ordered man on the planet. And I don’t remember giving you permission to do that,’ she protested as he continued to remove them.
‘I’m your husband now, Darcy. Surely I don’t have to ask permission to take your hair down?’
Glad for the tumble of curls concealing the reluctant lust which was making her cheeks grow so pink, Darcy stared down at her lap. ‘You’re my husband in name only,’ she said quietly.
‘So you keep saying. But since we’re sharing a room and a bed—’
‘Yes, I wanted to talk to you about that. Tell me again why we’re sharing a bed.’
‘Because I need to keep an eye on you. I promised the midwife and the doctor.’ His black eyes glittered. ‘And that being the case—just how long do you think you can hold off from letting me make love to you when you’re as jumpy as a scalded cat whenever I come near?’
‘I think making love a rather inaccurate way to describe what we do,’ she said, sighing as the last curl tumbled free and he added the final pearl pin to the neat little line he’d assembled on the dressing table. ‘I wish we didn’t have this wedding party tonight.’
‘I know. You’d much rather be alone with me.’
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘I know you didn’t.’ His dark gaze was full of mockery. ‘But a wedding is a wedding and it is fitting to celebrate such a momentous occasion with friends. We don’t want them thinking our union is in name only, do we?’
‘Even if it is?’
‘Even if it is. So why not try playing your part with enthusiasm? Who knows? Sooner or later you might find the feelings have rubbed off.’ He stroked her hair. ‘You won’t have anything to do, if that’s what’s worrying you. The food, the wine and the guests have all been taken care of.’
‘And in the meantime I’m to be brought down and paraded around in my white dress like a cow in the marketplace?’
He gave a soft laugh. ‘Looking at you now, that’s the very last image which springs to mind.’ He leaned forward, his hands on her shoulders, his mouth so close that she could feel his warm breath fanning the curls at the back of her neck. And suddenly his voice was urgent. ‘Listen to me, Darcy. Neither of us wanted this to happen but it’s what we’ve ended up with. I didn’t want to get married and I certainly didn’t plan to be a parent and neither, presumably, did you.’
Her lips folded in on themselves. ‘No.’
In the reflection of the glass their eyes met and Renzo wondered why, even in the midst of all this unwanted emotional drama, their chemistry should be as powerful as ever. Did she feel it too? She must.
He could see her nipples pushing against the silk of her wedding gown and the darkening of her emerald eyes, but the tight set of her shoulders and her unsmiling lips were telling him quite clearly to stay away. Once he had known her body completely, but not any more. Her bulky shape was unfamiliar now, just as she was. She was spiky, different, wary. It was difficult being around her without being able to touch her and, oh, how he wanted to touch her. That had not changed, despite everything which had happened. Her skin was luminous, her eyes bright, and the rampant red curls even more lustrous than before. Didn’t people say that a woman with child developed a glowing beauty all of her own? He’d never really thought about it before now—why would he?—but suddenly he knew exactly what they meant. He noticed the way she kept moving her hand to her growing bump, as if she were in possession of the world’s greatest secret.
Pregnant.
His mouth dried. It was still hard for him to get his head around that. To believe that a whole new life was about to begin and he must be responsible for it.
