Modern Romance March 2017 Books 1 - 4. Эбби ГринЧитать онлайн книгу.
her? Because he was starting to realise that, despite his experience with women, he had no idea how to sustain a long-term relationship. He’d never had to try before. In the past he had always just walked away—usually because boredom had set in and he’d found the increasing demands tedious. But with Darcy he couldn’t do that. Furthermore, he didn’t want to. He wanted this baby so badly. It scared him just how badly. For a man who’d spent his life building things for other people—someone who considered himself urbane, sophisticated and cool—he hadn’t reckoned on the fierce and primitive pride he felt at having created the most precious thing of all.
Life.
But Darcy remained a mystery he couldn’t solve. She’d closed herself off to him since that night in Rome. She’d told him more about what he’d already known and the brutal facts had horrified him when he’d thought how tough her childhood must have been. He’d sat up for a long time that night after she’d rushed off to bed, drinking whisky until it had tasted stale in his mouth and gazing into space as he’d wondered how best to deal with the information. But he had dealt with it in the same way he dealt with anything emotional. He’d compartmentalised it. Filed it away, meaning to do something about it sometime but never getting round to it. She’d been asleep by the time he’d slid into bed beside her, her fecund body covered in one of his oversized T-shirts, sending out a silent signal to stay the hell away from her. He remembered waking up to a beautiful Roman morning with the air all clear and blue. They’d gone out for coffee and cornetti and he hadn’t said a word about her revelations and neither had she. She’d closed herself off from him again and he sensed that he could frighten her away if he didn’t let her take this thing at her own pace.
But it hadn’t worked.
Because now she looked at him so warily by day, while at night she still wore those infernal all-enveloping T-shirts and lay there quietly, holding her breath—as if daring him to come near. Had he handled it badly? If it had been any other woman he would have pulled her into his arms and kissed her until she was wet and horny—reaching for him eagerly, the way she used to.
But she was not any other woman. She was his wife. His pregnant wife. How could he possibly ravish her when she was both bulky and yet impossibly fragile? Her skin looked so delicate—the blue tracery of her veins visible beneath its porcelain fragility—as if to even breathe on her might leave some kind of mark. And against her tiny frame, the baby looked huge—as if what her body had achieved was defying both gravity and logic, something which continued to amaze him. He’d even taken to working solely from home these past weeks, cancelling a trip to New York and another to Paris, terrified she was going to go into labour early even though there were still three weeks to go.
‘Let’s get inside,’ he said abruptly. He unlocked their new front door and stood back to let her pass and their footsteps sounded loud in a house which was still largely empty, save for the few pieces of furniture which had already been delivered. But at least it wasn’t cold. Despite the bite of early spring, the estate agent must have put on the heating—knowing that today was their first visit as official owners. The door swung closed behind them and he realised that she was still looking at him with confusion in her eyes.
‘Why have you put the house in my name, Renzo? I don’t understand.’
‘Because you need to have some kind of insurance policy. Somewhere to call home if—’
‘If the marriage doesn’t work out?’
‘That’s right.’
She nodded as if she understood at last for her face had whitened, her eyes appearing darkly emerald against her pale skin.
‘But you said—’
‘I know what I said,’ he interrupted. ‘But I didn’t factor in that the situation might prove more difficult than I’d anticipated.’
‘You mean, my company?’
‘No, not your company,’ he negated impatiently, and then suddenly the words came bubbling out of nowhere, even though he hadn’t intended to say them. ‘I mean the fact that I want you so damned much and you don’t seem to want me any more. The fact that you’re always just out of reach.’
Shocked, Darcy stared at him. So she hadn’t been imagining it. It had been lust she’d seen in his eyes and sexual hunger which made his body grow tense whenever she walked in the room. So why hadn’t he touched her? Why did he keep coming to bed later and later while keeping their days ultrabusy by whisking her from property to property until at last she’d fallen in love with this East Sussex house which was only eight miles from the sea?
The truth was that he hadn’t come near her since that night in Rome, when she’d told him everything about her mother. She felt her stomach clench. Actually, not quite everything—and hadn’t she been thankful afterwards that she hadn’t blurted out the whole truth? Imagine his reaction if she’d told him that, when he was already repulsed by what he knew, even though he’d done his best to hide it. And it was funny how the distance between a couple could grow almost without you realising. They’d been wary in each other’s company. As the space between them had increased, she’d found the presence of her Italian husband almost...forbidding.
But if she had read it all wrong, then where did that leave her? If he hadn’t been making value judgments about her, then why was she being so passive—always waiting for Renzo to make the first move? Yes, he was an alpha man with an instinctive need to dominate but it wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility that he was simply being cautious around the baby she carried in her belly. He’d never had a pregnant lover before. He had taught her so much—wasn’t this her chance to teach him something?
She walked over to him and, without warning, raised herself up on tiptoe to press her lips against his—feeling him jerk with surprise before sliding his arms around her waist to support her. Their tongues met as he instantly deepened the kiss but although Darcy could feel herself begin to melt, she forced herself to pull away.
‘No,’ she whispered. ‘Not here. Not like this. Let’s go upstairs. I need to lie down.’
‘To bed?’
She took his hand and began to walk towards the stairs. ‘Why not? It just happens to be about the only piece of furniture we have.’
An old-fashioned boat bed had been delivered to the master bedroom, her only instruction to the removal men being that the thick plastic covering the mattress should be taken away and disposed of. The wooden-framed structure dominated an otherwise empty room and on its king-size surface lay the embroidered coverlet she’d found when she and Renzo had been rooting around in one of Rome’s antiques markets. She hadn’t asked for it to be placed there but now it seemed like a sign that this had been meant to happen.
‘Get undressed,’ she whispered as she pulled off her overcoat and dropped it to the ground.
His eyes were fixed on hers as he removed his jacket, his sweater and trousers. Soon their discarded clothes were mingled in a heap beside the bed and at last Darcy stood in front of him. She was naked and heavily pregnant and feeling more than a little awkward, yet the look of desire in his eyes was melting away any last trace of shyness.
‘I feel...bulky,’ she said.
‘Not bulky,’ he corrected, his voice husky. ‘Beautiful. Luscious and rounded—like the ripest of fruits about to fall from the tree.’
She shivered as he spoke and he took her into his arms.
‘You’re cold,’ he observed.
She shook her head, still reeling from his words and the way he’d looked at her as he said them. ‘No, not cold. Excited.’
‘Me, too.’ He gave a low laugh as he unfolded the coverlet and shook it out over the mattress.
‘It almost looks as if we’re planning on a picnic,’ she said, her voice suddenly betraying a hint of uncertainty.
‘That’s exactly what I’m planning. I’m going to feast on you, mia