Escape for Easter. Trish Morey

mouth. A groan was wrenched from Sam’s chest as she opened her mouth to increase the sensual penetration. ‘Why fight it?’

      Sam wasn’t. Fighting was the very last thing she wanted to do. ‘Is this supposed to be the clincher? You think you can kiss me into agreeing to marry you? Cesare, you’re really not that good.’

      But he was!

      She found her fingers in his hair and kissed him on the mouth, the pent-up hunger she had been carrying around for weeks finding some release, but not enough.

      ‘There are more powerful, primitive instincts at work here. We have a sexual connection.’

      ‘I don’t want a sexual connection!’ she wailed.

      His lips curved into a fleeting smile, but his expression remained intent as, with his heavy lids half closed, his fingers slid under her top.

      ‘But you do want this, don’t you?’ he slurred, lifting the cotton top she wore and skating lightly across the smooth skin of her midriff before moving to cup one breast through the thin light lace covering of her bra. His thumb moved across her nipple; the seductive motion of his lips on her neck made her head spin. She felt on fire, out of control and loved it.

      She watched him as he peeled the top over her head and flung it to one side.

      He bent his head and, with one arm wrapped around her narrow ribcage, applied his mouth first to one straining breast, pulling the nipple into his mouth, and then administering the same exquisite torture to the other. Sam clung to him, her fingers digging into the muscles of his shoulders as her head fell back.

      Fingers splayed across her spine, he brought her upright until their faces were almost touching. There was a fine mist of sweat over his skin and he was breathing as hard as she was. ‘Marry me,’ he said thickly.

      CHAPTER EIGHT

      SAM lifted a hand and ran it down the hard curve of Cesare’s jaw.

      ‘Couldn’t we just go to bed?’ she suggested hopefully.

      One corner of his mouth lifted in a wolfish smile as he ran a finger slowly down the curve of her cheek. ‘You’re offering me some sympathy sex, cara?’

      ‘I’m offering you me.’

      He gasped, and she could feel a shudder run through his hard lean frame.

      ‘I don’t seem to have any pride where you’re concerned. I’m utterly shameless.’ She had never imagined that she could surrender herself so unconditionally to any man, let alone a man like Cesare.

      She was totally unselfconscious but at the same time more aware of her femininity than she had ever been in her life. Everything about this man was a contradiction and so were her feelings for him. The antagonism and attraction she felt for him bled into one confusing, powerful, all-consuming entity.

      ‘You’re utterly delicious,’ he contradicted thickly. ‘I have been thinking about being inside you.’

      The erotic image his words created in her head made the ache low in her pelvis intensify. She stared into his eyes, she saw her reflection, saw the predatory glow and felt an equally primal response clutch like a tight fist deep inside her. Reckless desire tugged like a silken thread at Sam’s senses as she watched her bra go the same way as her top. She shivered as the cool air touched her overheated skin.

      ‘Then do it,’ she whispered.

      ‘Marry me.’

      ‘Will you stop saying that? People don’t make decisions just like that,’ she protested, pressing her lips to his throat and tasting the salt of his skin.

      ‘Forget people. We’re not people, we’re us. We made a baby, Samantha. He needs us.’

      He made a compelling argument. Feelings struggled and warred inside her; her sex-soaked brain wouldn’t work. On one level what he was saying made sense and it was attractive, on another it terrified her witless!

      ‘What about me? Doesn’t it matter what I need?’

      ‘You need me.’ And right now he needed her. The hunger roared in his blood like a furnace, drowning out the nagging edge of guilt over his manipulation of the situation.

      ‘A paper arrangement, you said?’

      A slow smile of male triumph spread across his face. ‘We’ll talk about it later. Right now I think we should finish this in the comfort of a bed. You do have a bed?’

      ‘Yes, I have a bed.’

      He fitted his hand in hers. ‘Then lead the way, cara,’ he said, rising to his feet and pulling her with him.

      ‘I didn’t say yes.’

      ‘Of course you did,’ he said with smug male complacence before he kissed her and made her feel as though she’d say anything he wanted her to.

      It was two days later that Cesare accompanied her on her visit for her first scan.

      The plush offices of the Harley Street clinic were a million miles from the NHS department she had expected to be attending.

      Watching her budget was too deeply ingrained in Sam for her not to feel a flicker of guilt at her luxurious surroundings, but, having seen Cesare’s expression when he’d spoken of the safety and health of his unborn child, she had recognised that this was not a point that he was prepared to be flexible on. It seemed better to save her energy for battles she could win.

      Besides, she couldn’t see Cesare standing patiently in an NHS-clinic queue—he would probably behave so badly they would be asked to leave.

      ‘What are you smiling at?’

      Sam turned her head, astonished. ‘How do you know I’m smiling?’

      He shook his head, looked briefly perplexed by the question himself, and said, ‘But you are?’

      ‘I was thinking about you behaving badly.’

      His voice dropped to the seductive purr that always made her stomach muscles quiver. ‘I thought you liked it when I behaved badly, cara?’ he observed with a pretty feeble display of innocent surprise.

      ‘I wasn’t thinking of the bedroom.’

      His grin deepened. ‘I rarely think of any place else.’ He didn’t need to be psychic then to know she was blushing.

      A few minutes later Sam knew Cesare’s thoughts were not in the bedroom.

      She turned her face briefly from the screen and the look she caught on his face tore at her heart. She had been too excited and enthralled by what she had seen to give a thought to how Cesare would feel hearing the doctor describing the images of their baby—images he could not see of a child he would never see.

      Swept away on a wave of painful empathy, she caught his big strong hand between two of hers, for once not caring of his ultra sensitivity to any form of sympathy. To hell with his pride! His skin felt cold as she brought his hand to her chest; she felt the raw pain in his face as a physical ache.

      Her expression grew determined. She could not make him see but she could share.

      ‘You can see his head and his heart beating and that…’ She threw a questioning glance towards the medic. ‘The spinal cord?’

      Cesare swallowed, the muscles in his brown throat working hard as his fingers tightened around her own.

      ‘You say he?’

      ‘Do you want to know the sex, Cesare?’

      There was a pause before Cesare responded. ‘I do not care about the sex so long as he, she, is strong and healthy.’

      ‘Well, the way he she is moving around there seems very little problem there.’ She glanced towards the doctor to seek confirmation and he nodded.

      ‘I’m