The Correttis (Books 1-8). Кейт Хьюит

a requirement apparently.’

      ‘Apparently?’

      ‘Well, from what I’ve seen.’ She wasn’t going to tell him about her family. She wanted nothing to dim this day, so she spoke about more casual acquaintances. ‘I’ve got a friend back home and I’ve spent more hours watching her crying over the love of her life than I have seen her smiling. I’ve got another who—’

      ‘What about your parents?’ Santo interrupted her, realising just how little he knew about the woman who had been in his life for some considerable time now, by Santo’s standards at least.

      ‘Oh, I’ve seen a whole lot of forgiving and forgetting there too.’ She gave him a grim smile, but refused to elaborate. ‘So, all things considered, I think I’ll stick with lust.’

      Santo had no problem with that.

      Or just a slight one, because he actually wanted to know a little more. But Santo was fast realising as he lay there that Ella was as skilled at deflecting personal conversations as he was. To prove his point, she returned to the discussion about the script.

      ‘Do you think he forgives her?’ Ella asked about the husband’s return, about the kiss that would leave the audience hopefully reeling. It was the milliondollar question, the one he wanted the audience to be asking as they walked out of the theatre.

      ‘I wouldn’t.’ Santo’s response was decisive.

      ‘Why not?’ Ella challenged. Talking about film she was more animated than he had ever seen her, and for Santo, long may it continue because as she spoke, as her hands moved to make certain points, more and more of her left breast was being exposed.

      ‘How can he?’ Santo said. ‘It’s supposed to be the love of his life.’ Then he gave a rueful smile, because of course there was no such thing as love. ‘Perhaps,’ he said, but he honestly didn’t know. Really, he did want her opinion on this. ‘What about you?’

      ‘I don’t know,’ Ella admitted. ‘I think that’s the point of it though, that it’s for the viewer to decide. I can’t wait to see how Taylor will play it.’

      ‘Nor me,’ Santo admitted and they were quiet for a moment, sharing a similar vision, going over it in their minds—the script and a kiss that to the viewer must seem seamless but was actually going to be incredibly complicated to film. Ella had read the script over and over. Nothing was actually said at the end. It all came down to one kiss, an incredible reunion, relief mingled with fear as his hands roamed her body, as the soldier noticed the subtle changes, as he realised the love of his life had slept with someone else a matter of days after his supposed death.

      This film had to work.

      It had always been important to Santo, but never more so than now. With Alessandro gone, with the family name about to be smeared over the papers, for once there was a chance to prove himself, a chance to step out of his older brother’s shadow and show that he wasn’t a lightweight. He was dangerously close to telling Ella that.

      He actually opened his mouth to. He looked at the woman in his bed and maybe that angry fist of Alessandro’s had loosened something in his head, because for a second he thought about telling her what it was like growing up with Carlo as a father, how as the second son he had just been dismissed. He had even had the boardroom closed in his face once. Not one smile of approval from his father—not one. Not that Santo needed it, but there was something to prove now.

      But even as he opened his mouth to tell her that, Santo changed his mind. There were things you didn’t think about, let alone discuss with another, and he looked where the sheet had slipped and her breast was exposed. There was a welcome, most pleasing distraction from his race of dark thoughts.

      ‘I think we need to sort out a few technicalities.’ Santo smiled, and reaching for the bottle he topped up her glass.

      ‘Oh, really?’

      ‘I’m still struggling with the ending.’

      ‘Which is why you are paying big bucks to someone like Taylor, to carry it off…’ But her voice trailed off as she realised they were no longer actually discussing the film. Instead Santo had replaced the bottle then dipped into the ice bucket and pulled out a cube. She stared, fascinated, clutching on for dear life to her champagne glass, as his fingers approached her naked breast.

      ‘The script reads that he notices the small changes to her breast…’ He watched her bite down on her lip as he ran the ice cube around her nipple.

      Her free hand went to move his, to stop him, but she wanted the full Santo experience. Instead she looked down at her nipple, tight and erect, and then, just as it was surely unbearable, she got the warm reprieve of his mouth. He sucked, gently at first and then deep, and just when it was too much, just when her body was begging for conclusion, his hand dipped back into the bucket for more ice.

      ‘And realising that she might be pregnant—’ Santo’s voice was low as they worked through the script, as between words he kissed her ‘—his hand moves to her stomach…’ And Ella’s eyes screwed closed as in the film Taylor’s must, but in Ella’s case it was because his hand was full of ice. ‘And still he kisses her,’ Santo said, taking the dripping ice into his mouth and kissing her with a very cold tongue. ‘Why would he still kiss her when he knows she has been unfaithful?’ Santo lifted his head and asked her.

      ‘Because when he stops kissing her, he knows they must talk and he doesn’t want to know the truth.’

      ‘Does he forgive her?’ Santo asked. ‘Does he end it?’

      ‘He surely has to,’ Ella said.

      ‘Even though he loves her?’ Santo checked.

      ‘He cannot trust her,’ Ella said.

      ‘Too simple.’ He was sucking on the ice and she watched the round, smoothed slivers as he ran them over her stomach.

      She was so turned on, watching his fingers work the cubes down. She lifted her knees a little, blanched as he teased and intimately iced her then breathed as his tongue warmed and sucked a far more tender place than her breast.

      And she was more than a willing participant. The sensations he delivered and the skill of his tongue were exquisite, and it was Ella sucking on ice cubes and passing them to him now.

      For Santo, the feeling was incredible. He liked sex, and a little play prior just to be nice, but if the clock stopped now, even without coming, this was the best sex he had had. He was just fascinated by her body, by the sighs and moans from her mouth, how if he put his tongue there her fingers tightened in his hair, and if he put it there, her hands sought her thighs and still she kept passing the ice.

      ‘I always use…’ He was pressing ice into her with his tongue and she thought she might die from the pleasure.

      ‘I know,’ Ella whimpered, locked between pleasure and pain.

      ‘I want to try…’

      ‘Please…’ She was in this very strange place, where for the first time she could voice her want, did not have to be demure, be quiet, did not have to hold back what was on her mind. She had never opened up to another before, but she handed herself over to him now, if just for a while.

      He climbed up her body and she was frozen deep on the inside and frenzied with heat at the surrounds. Her body, her skin, wet and cold from their games, sought the relief of him dry and warm now on top of her and he wrapped his arms under her.

      ‘God, Ella…’ He looked down, nervous at diving in as she begged him to hurry. Santo had never expected to be tentative his first time unsheathed, and she heard his shocked moan as he entered. ‘I don’t like it.’ They were both shaking with laughter, with shock, with adventure, and then he moved a little more. ‘Actually—’ he rocked deeper and harder ‘—I’ve changed my mind.’

      The friction warmed her, warmed him, till they were soaked and panting, and Santo was true to his word,