are the last person I would want to comfort me!’ she heard herself rail, before she could stem the impulse.
There was silence outside for a long moment, then Cristiano spoke again, his voice low and his words measured.
‘Maybe you would prefer it if it was my cousin standing outside this door talking to you? But as we both know that is not possible. You will simply have to make do with me. Open the door, Dominique.’
‘I don’t want Ramón!’ she answered, her tears coming faster. ‘Why would I want him? It was over between us a long time ago, and he walked out on me—remember? It’s just such a waste, that’s all—to die like that! A stupid, stupid waste!’
Glancing at her stricken expression sidelong in the mirror, Dominique gulped down another sob and dabbed feverishly at her reddened eyes.
‘Sometimes it is hard to make sense of these things, even when one has faith … But life goes on, yes? And you have a beautiful baby daughter to remember him by. Not all is lost.’
Strangely comforted by his words, Dominique took a deep breath, then shakily released the latch and opened the door. The handsome visage that confronted her was both grave and concerned, and she didn’t know why she should feel so guilty about yelling at him, but she did. He was, after all, throwing her a lifeline of sorts, as well as giving Matilde an opportunity to grow up knowing the family that had raised her father …
‘There is a park close by,’ Cristiano told her, dark eyes assessing her tear-stained face with intimate scrutiny. ‘The day is bright and cold—I think we should take a walk together and get some air. What do you say?’
‘I don’t know. Yes … all right.’ But even as she agreed, Dominique sensed her lip quiver uncontrollably and her face crumple. ‘I’m just so tired!’ she breathed mournfully, dipping her head. ‘So tired of everything!’
In the next instant Cristiano had propelled her into his arms and was cradling her head against his chest, just over his heart. The steady, even throb of his heartbeat and the comforting sensation of warmth and strength that emanated from his hard, masculine body made Dominique curl her fingers into his fine wool sweater for added security, and she gratefully shut her eyes, feeling as if they stood together in the eye of a storm. She prayed it would soon pass. But her scalding tears would not be so easily contained, and they seeped from her eyelids in a steady trickle of pain and sorrow. What was the matter with her? After all this time of staying strong, telling herself she could cope come what may, she was suddenly falling apart.
‘Cry all you want, querida,’ the man who held her murmured in his compelling velvet-lined voice, his big hand cupping her head and stroking her hair as though tenderly giving consolation to a child. ‘Expressing our sorrows is sometimes necessary rather then holding them inside. You should not see giving in to grief as something undesirable, or feel that you have to put on a brave face when you are feeling sad. That would not be good for you or the little one!’
For disturbing moments Cristiano felt as if his feelings were under siege as he held Dominique’s slender quivering body close to his own. The scent of her honey-laced shampoo was inexplicably alluring as it drifted beneath his nose, and he had never touched hair of such fine silk as hers before. The sensation was incredible. He was aware too of the soft fullness of her breasts as they pressed intimately into his chest, and was shocked by the entirely inappropriate sensations that swept violently through his body as a result of that close contact.
It had been too long since he had held a woman in his arms, and no doubt that was why his body was reacting so strongly. All he had wanted to do was offer Dominique some comfort and reassurance, but now her body was awakening feelings in him that he’d thought long petrified. If the sensations were purely sexual he could handle them well enough—women had always been interested in Cristiano, and there had been no lack of opportunity for that kind of consolation since the tragedy that had stopped his world. But other, much more dangerous emotions were assailing him too, and Cristiano realised he would have to be on his guard against getting this close to the beguiling Dominique again. The risks were simply too terrifying to be contemplated …
CHAPTER FOUR
AS HER tears and sorrow started to abate, Dominique became disturbingly aware that she was actively enjoying being held in Cristiano’s arms. Not just because he was giving her the comfort she sorely needed, but because his body was hard and warm and strong, and the contact made her feel alive and human again, after being shut off from those vital sensations for too long.
Now she knew why babies failed to thrive when they were denied the most basic necessity of all … that of being touched and held. Surely something similar must happen to adults? And it was with genuine reluctance that she uncurled her fingers from the soft weave of Cristiano’s sweater and started to step out of the protective circle of his arms.
Just before Dominique disengaged herself completely, he took her hands in his and stroked the pads of his thumbs back and forth across her fine, delicately boned fingers. His dark gaze was almost brooding.
‘It will get better, you know? You will find a way to manage it. I know it is hard to believe that right now, feeling the way you do, but you will. Every day the hurt will ease a little more. You are fortunate that you have little Matilde to draw comfort from.’
He sounded as if he knew intimately what it was to lose someone you cared for. Staring back into the black velvet night of his arresting glance, Dominique felt her hands alive with electricity from their contact with his. Her grief and despondency had been stunningly transformed into a fascination that perplexed and frightened her.
‘I think I’ll give that walk a miss, if you don’t mind? I really ought to be getting back to Matilde,’ she heard herself announce, her voice sounding remarkably even and calm in spite of her turbulent feelings.
Cristiano shrugged, his expression not easing in its disturbing intensity one iota. ‘When can I see you again?’ he asked.
Her heart momentarily stalled at the question—for a second there he had sounded like an ardent lover, counting the minutes until he saw his paramour again—and Dominique sensed heat rush into her face.
‘Why don’t you come and join me for dinner this evening? You can bring the baby … I will see about a private room for us,’ he suggested when she did not reply straight away.
‘I can’t. I’m working tonight.’
‘Ring them and say that you are taking the night off.’
‘Are solutions always so black and white to you?’
Dominique bet when this man dealt with clients he didn’t suffer fools gladly, or grant any quarter to anyone who dared disagree with him. The world must seem a very different place when you saw the answers to problems with such enviable clarity!
‘I’m already going to have to let them down when I tell them I can’t work over Christmas as it is. It would hardly be fair for me to phone in at the last minute and say I’m taking tonight off as well!’
‘I can see that you have a very admirable sense of duty, Dominique, and although I am disappointed you won’t be joining me tonight I cannot fault it. So … We will meet tomorrow for lunch instead, yes? We can go for a walk in the park first, then have something to eat afterwards. Does that plan appeal more to your sense of fairness?’
His
