deep, dark eyes seemed to pierce her soul as he reached for her. ‘Kelly, my wife,’ he growled. ‘At last.’ He hauled her to him with a savage urgency that surprised her.
Her hands found his shoulders as his tongue plundered the tender interior of her mouth. He kissed her deep and long, his hard body burning against her, until her head swam and she could hardly breathe. Then he lifted her to the bed.
‘Gianfranco.’ Kelly surfaced long enough from the heady magic of his kiss to say his name.
‘Who else?’ he growled sexily. ‘You are mine now.’ He muttered something huskily in Italian before his mouth dipped down to capture one taut nipple and suckle her tender flesh with intense erotic delight that drove her wild with wanting.
In the long passion-filled hours that followed they fed off each other’s hunger to the point of exhaustion. Kelly thought Gianfranco had taught her all about love in the past few days, but he still surprised her.
‘You make me insatiable,’ Gianfranco rasped on a shuddering sigh as he reluctantly withdrew from the sleek heart of her and drew her gently into the hard curve of his body. ‘I must remember you are pregnant, and control myself.’
Kelly smiled. She had lost count of the times he had driven them both to the brink and over. ‘A bit late now, my love,’ she murmured sleepily, resting her head on the side of his chest, her long lashes falling down over her sapphire eyes. ‘But it is our wedding night.’ She whispered the words against his sweat-slicked skin, her body sated and exhausted.
A sound jerked her out of a deep sleep and, rolling over on the bed, she reached for Gianfranco and found only space. Hauling herself up into a sitting position, she blinked and looked around. Their holiday was obviously over.
The past three days had been the most marvellous of her life. Gianfranco had shown her Rome, the Colisseum, the Trevi fountain, where she’d thrown the obligatory coin, all the obvious tourist attractions, and a few not so obvious. There was the tiny church tucked away in a narrow street, with an altar screen of unbelievable beauty. A small restaurant with plastic tablecloths, serving the most mouth-watering food in Italy, according to her husband.
A sigh of sheer contentment was followed by her stomach’s rumbling. She was eating for two and they had missed dinner again last night. Slipping out of bed, she padded to the bathroom and after a brisk shower she walked back into the bedroom, wearing only a large fluffy towel tucked around her body toga-style.
‘Good morning, cara,’ Gianfranco drawled huskily, placing a loaded tray containing coffee and a selection of pastries down on the bedside table. He walked towards her, his eyes bright with amusement at her scantily covered, rumpled state. ‘Sorry to rush you, but I want to make it home by midday if possible.’ He pressed a swift kiss on her lush lips.
‘Monday morning and the honeymoon is over.’ Kelly sighed dramatically, her blue eyes sparkling up at him; he looked devastatingly attractive in blue jeans and a black Armani sweater.
‘Don’t worry,’ Gianfranco instructed, ‘I will take you on a proper honeymoon—anywhere you want. The Maldives, the Caribbean. Once our child is born and we can be alone.’ His deep voice dropped sexily and, lifting his hand, he brushed her hair behind one ear. The touch of his warm fingers and the sensual promise in his dark eyes made her heart skip a beat. ‘I promise,’ he mouthed against her slightly parted lips, and kissed her again. ‘Now eat and pack and dress.’ With a tender pat to her stomach, he spun on his heel and left the room.
Refreshed by the coffee and food, in five minutes she was dressed in a pair of pale grey trousers, in fine wool blend, and a crew-neck blue sweater. On her feet she wore comfortable black loafers, and she had draped a dove-grey leather jacket over the suitcase. She gave her hair a quick brush, leaving it to fall long and straight from a centre parting, and she was ready.
‘Ready?’ Gianfranco demanded sauntering back into the room and looping a long arm around her waist.
‘I guess so.’ Kelly’s eyes were nervous as she glanced up at him. ‘I hope your mother likes me…’
‘You worry too much,’ he teased, and kissed her again, and when she was suitably breathless he lifted his head. ‘I adore you, and my mother likes whoever I like,’ he drawled with unconscious arrogance, and, bending, he picked up the suitcase. ‘Come on.’
If he thought he was reassuring Kelly he was wrong. Common sense told her no woman was going to be delighted to have missed her only son’s wedding and then have him turn up with a pregnant wife. Acceptance was the best she could hope for, she reasoned, and the first seed of doubt took root in her heart. Had she done the right thing in marrying Gianfranco? She loved him, but would love be enough?
Kelly looked out of the window of the Ferrari with some trepidation as Gianfranco brought the car to a halt in a huge paved courtyard outside the impressive entrance portico of his family home. They had stopped on the way for lunch, but now they had arrived there was no ducking the inevitable any longer; she was about to meet his mother as his wife. She glanced back at her husband, but he was already out of the car and a second later had opened the car door for her.
‘Welcome to Il Casa Maldini.’ He gestured at the huge building with a wave of one hand, and, grasping her arm, helped her out of the low-slung sports car. ‘A Ferrari was obviously not designed for a pregnant lady,’ he said, grinning down at her as he swept an arm around her shoulders. ‘From now on we will use the Mercedes.’
With some astonishment Kelly realised ‘Il Casa Maldini’ was actually engraved in the stone lintel above the great door. ‘Some house,’ she murmured. She tipped her head back and stared up at the building. Built in an open-ended rectangle, three storeys high, it was enormous. The ochre stuccoed walls gleamed golden in the pale winter sunshine.
‘Sì, my family has owned the land around here for countless generations. Maldini is a very old and very much respected name,’ he stated as he led her up the steps to the massive double doors, now magically opened by a small white-headed man.
In a flurry of introductions Kelly discovered the man’s name was Aldo, his wife Maria was the cook; there were six more servants whose names she barely registered, and finally a young girl of about eighteen, Anna, who smiled shyly when Gianfranco introduced her to Kelly as her personal maid.
His mother appeared from a room at one side of the massive oak-panelled hall, and welcomed her son with a kiss on each cheek. Her greeting to Kelly was less demonstrative.
‘I am sorry I missed the wedding, but it was so unexpected, so quick.’ And her dark eyes, so uncannily like her son’s, dropped down to Kelly’s stomach and then quickly back to her face as she added, ‘Welcome, Kelly; I know you inglese shake hands.’ She held out a perfectly manicured hand.
‘Thank you,’ Kelly murmured. Hot colour scorching her cheeks, she took the hand offered her and hoped she had made the right noises, feeling intimidated by the woman, the line of servants and the overwhelming grandeur of the place.
Five minutes later, seated on a rather hard satin-backed sofa, Kelly looked around her in barely concealed awe. The furniture was all antique, and the magnificent marble fireplace was a masterpiece. But it was the ceiling that made her gasp, being exquisitely painted and depicting some kind of pastoral scene, with men and women lying around in various stages of undress, draped in vines and flowers.
‘Kelly? What would you like?’
Kelly tore her gaze away from the stunning frescoes
