Happy Mother’s Day!: Accidentally Pregnant, Conveniently Wed / Claiming His Pregnant Wife / Meant-To-Be Mother. Элли БлейкЧитать онлайн книгу.
as Gianluca had just done?
I could quite easily love you, she thought suddenly. She reached out her hands and ran them through the ebony ruffle of his hair, and something in the gesture made him lift his head, his eyes all hooded. This was Il Tigre at his most watchful and alert. ‘Are you okay?’ he queried.
Of all the things he could have said, it was possibly the most inadequate he could have chosen. The kind he might have asked at the end of a long and difficult business meeting. But maybe that was how he regarded it. It was certainly the kind of attitude they’d agreed on before it had all happened. So don’t let your stupid feelings show, she told herself. This is one night, no more. ‘I’m fine,’ she said lightly, her face lighting with a quick smile.
Fine? What kind of a testimony was that? Gianluca surveyed her naked body with the glitter of irritation. Only the rosy bloom which flowered above her breasts gave any indication that she had just been gasping her pleasure in his arms. From the detached expression on her face, you’d think she’d done nothing more exciting than going to the supermarket!
His mouth curved. Let her discover that he had only just begun—and that by the end of the night she would be gazing at him with the rapt adoration he saw as his due. After he had finished with her, she would not regard him so carelessly!
‘Let’s go to bed,’ he said harshly.
CHAPTER EIGHT
DESPITE Aisling’s best efforts to preserve the appearance of her pink silk dress, she still felt mortified as she stole down the hotel’s grand staircase the following morning.
She had been hoping to get away before anyone was up. Some hopes. Even though it was still early, there were enough people around to notice her and it wouldn’t take a genius to work out what she’d been doing. She guessed that a rather creased cocktail dress, spindly stilettos and the remains of last night’s make-up might have given the game away. All she prayed was that no client or prospective client was hanging around in this high-profile place to catch her out.
She tried telling herself that she was a grown-up woman in an age of independence where women were equal to men, and why shouldn’t she have had a night of consenting passion with a man who happened to be a guest there? But somehow it didn’t seem to make much difference to the way she felt.
Did she imagine the raised eyebrows from the more sedately dressed couples going in to breakfast—or the knowing smirks of the reception staff? It was all faintly seedy—and she began to wish that she hadn’t resolutely refused Gianluca’s offer to help her find a taxi.
But she had wanted to get away from him as soon as was humanly decent—afraid that she would make a fool of herself by telling him that he had been the lover of a lifetime and she wished that it were going to be more than just one night. Because when she’d woken up beside him—it had been to an overpowering feeling of amazement, of being utterly dazed. Half in love and smitten by the hard-faced Italian who had been so exceptionally tender during the night.
Had he deliberately gone out of his way to demonstrate his sensual skills? Very probably. Yet surely the way he’d touched her and held her so close to him had meant more than just expert technique? The way he’d cried out her name at the height of his orgasm—had she imagined real emotion there, or had that been wishful thinking on her part? But could he possibly be like that with every woman he went to bed with?
She didn’t know. All she did know was that he had been as cool as rainwater when the alarm on her mobile phone had gone off and she had blinked up at the ceiling, becoming aware of her nakedness and the warm body next to hers.
‘I’d better get going,’ she said—but, deep down, she was praying he would ask her to stay.
‘Yes,’ he agreed, even though he could feel himself stirring into life once more. But the pact and night was over—they’d already done it enough times to be memorable. Darkness had melted into the pale light of a winter day. It had been a spectacular night and one he would never forget—but attempt to add anything else into the mixture and it would start to become messy and complicated. Let them both file it under pleasure and move on. ‘Me, too,’ he yawned. ‘Unfortunately, I have a breakfast meeting.’ ‘Where?’
He opened his eyes then, but the dark glint in their depths spoke of no new intimacy born out of their lovemaking. ‘Here in the hotel, actually.’
That was the kick-start she’d needed to try to repair her sex-ravaged appearance and she went into one of the bathrooms to emerge wearing her pink dress.
She picked up her discarded shoes. ‘Gianluca—’
Gianluca stilled, because he knew that tone in a woman’s voice. He had just come out of the shower himself—wearing only a towel knotted at his hips. His olive body was gleaming, tiny droplets of water sparkling against his ebony head and glittering amidst the dark whorls of hair at his chest. So what did she want? A promise that he still respected her?
He flicked her a glance, thinking how un-Aisling-like she looked this morning—all tousled and flushed, with a slight air of being out of control, no matter how cool her eyes and her voice. ‘Sì, cara?’
‘You meant what you said yesterday?’
He raised his dark brows. ‘I said many things, Aisling—was there one in particular?’
‘About … about us still being able to work together—despite last night.’
Peculiarly, he was disappointed—but since when had realism ever deserted him? Why should she want to lose her most valuable client just because he’d spent the night pleasuring her? Hadn’t she already shown herself to be an admirably sharp businesswoman?
‘Don’t you worry about a thing,’ he soothed. ‘Last night is forgotten. It will never be mentioned again. As far as you and I are concerned, it is business as usual.’
Somehow that had felt like the worst thing he could have possibly said—and Aisling had experienced a weird sensation of alarm as she had made her way down in the elevator and caught a cab to the office.
Thank heavens she kept spare clothes there and arrived before any of the others, and was able to reapply her makeup and to lose the dress and stilettos without having to face any curious eyes. She sought refuge in a crisp cotton shirt and a smooth pencil skirt and a pair of flat suede shoes, which were reassuringly comfortable.
Stepping back from the mirror, she eyed her image with a resolute expression. It had been a wonderful experience and a sensual treat, but now—just as Gianluca had said—she must put it to the back of her mind.
If only it were that easy. She didn’t feel right. She felt … odd. As if something had fundamentally changed in her world. She worried that maybe she had sold herself short in some way—by snatching at something with a man who had offered her nothing but fleeting gratification. Had she been too easy—and should she have played harder to get?
If only she could rid herself of the burning ache she felt in her heart and the torturous replaying of things he’d said and done to her during that long, blissful night. She told herself she wasn’t in love with him—and, even if she had been, that absence would soon make him fade into his proper place in her memory bank.
She went through the mechanics of work. She hired a decorator to repaint the hall in her apartment and went shopping in Portobello Road for new pictures for the walls. She booked a spring break in Paris and went to the theatre with a man she met at the gym, before deciding that she didn’t like him enough to see him again—even though Suzy, who also knew him, thought she was being completely crazy.
But Suzy didn’t know the truth about her brief affair with Gianluca, did she? If she did, perhaps she would have echoed one of Aisling’s biggest fears—that she didn’t think any other man was ever going to be able to match up to him. Ever.
But not quite her greatest fear. That didn’t materialise for several weeks.
It started in the same