The Fall Of Jacob Del Garda (8 page)

Now her brow creased and her fingertips pressed into his waist.

She closed her eyes.

"Look at me," he demanded.

Her eyes snapped open to his.

He’d never spoken to her in that tone.

And he saw now that again he had scared her.

Tough.

"What do you want?" she asked again.

His forehead rested on hers.

And he could feel the rigid tension gripping her slight frame.

"I want closure,
querida
. I want to be able to move on with my life. I want to be able to go to sleep without hearing your voice, without wanting to bury myself deep inside you, without imagining you being fucked every which way by another man. I want peace, Gabriella. And you are going to give me that peace. Tonight."

Nico stretched and yawned, then toed off his shoes and shrugged off the jacket of his tux.

He was back home.

And all appeared nice and quiet at Ludlow Hall, thank God.

Feet sinking into the thick rug of cream wool, he padded over to his dressing room to grab a coat hanger. Stepping out of his pants, he hung them up too, careful to keep the crease of the silk and wool fabric. He wasn't a vain man, but for a boy who'd lived in foul-smelling rags for the first ten years of his life, he took a simple pleasure in taking care of his designer threads. The sound of a bath being run made him smile. If his wife was preparing for bed all must be well with the twins. Thank goodness they slept through the night these days. Bronte needed her rest. Smoothing his silk tie, Armani, into a slim drawer he stripped and tossed the rest of his clothes into a laundry bin. Strolling through their huge bedroom he noticed a pair of abandoned fuck-me heels of black suede at the side of the bed and bent to pick them up.

They'd been designed by Jimmy, bought on one of their frequent trips to the city of his birth, Rome. Bronte was not a demanding wife who spent her days depleting his bank balance. In fact, compared to the women he'd known before she changed his life, his wife was particularly low maintenance.

However, the one thing she couldn't resist was shoes and since he adored her he was more than happy to feed her habit. A silk gown, the colour of gunmetal, lay draped across a low couch. She'd fought a losing battle with him over the dress, right in the middle of the exclusive boutique, informing him that,
'She had plenty of gowns she hadn't worn yet so why the
hell
did she need another one?'
  Bless her, she hated clothes shopping with a passion. And he had to admit he got a real kick out of winding her up and spoiling her and he didn't feel at all guilty about it because she'd looked amazing tonight.

Grinning at the memory of furious eyes the colour of emerald hills, and the stubborn set of her mouth and chin, he picked up the dress and wandered through to her dressing room to put it in a garment bag for dry cleaning. And then he placed her shoes in a specially designed shoe rack in her closet. Bronte liked to joke that his tendency to like order in his life was verging on OCD, but Nico simply shrugged and told her she loved him anyway. And God knew she did love him, faults and all, and how amazing was that?

A tired yawn from the bathroom had him stroll through the open door and head for the shower. His wife lay in white claw foot tub up to her neck in bubbles. Like their daughter she was a natural ash blonde and the silky hair was tied up in a messy knot on the top of her head. Her face was scrubbed clean, which made her look about sixteen and her eyes were closed. Nico's brow creased at the dark circles under those thick lashes. She was doing too much. He stepped into the shower, slapped on the tap and made quick work of soaping and rinsing.

As he tucked a thick towel of white cotton around his hips, he picked up another to dry his hair and found himself the recipient of intense scrutiny. His wife's green eyes did an incredibly slow journey from his toes, to his hair, and back again before resting on his groin. And that was all it took for him to go rock hard. Then her spectacular eyes flew to his and she gave him such a naughty smile of sheer wickedness he couldn't help but laugh out loud.

God, he was so beautifully built with wide strong shoulders, hard toned arms and long legs. And that face could stop traffic. His black hair was spiky on the top of his head and the strong jaw needed a shave. But it was his mouth that did it for Bronte, every time. It was a mouth made for kissing and she wanted that mouth on her. Now. The deep rumble of his laugh and the way those fabulous eyes went dark with desire made her too sensitive breasts swell in the warm water. Dusky nipples went so hard they rose to peek through the bubbles and her husband growled low in his throat.

After three years of wedded bliss, a woman might think the everyday routine of demanding careers, plus children, would put a damper on desire, but not in this marriage. If anything, their attraction to each other was deepening, and maturing, to the point where often words were unneeded. All it took was a look or a touch. Eyes never leaving hers, he tossed the towels in the general direction of the hamper, they missed. One hand scratched his flat belly as the other fisted his swollen erection and pumped once, twice. It must be the pregnancy hormones because in an instant she felt the thick syrup of desire burn between her legs.

"You want me,
cara?
" His Italian accent always deepened when he was aroused and as usual it poured even more molten desire through her system.

Oh, yeah.

"Always," she whispered.

Her eyes dropped to his shaft.

She licked her lips.

He got the message.

She rose to her knees.

Silky bubbles clung to her skin running over her breasts to drip from her aching nipples. Bronte held on to the side of the bath as he came to stand before her. She used the flat of her tongue to lick him from his balls right up to the head of his shaft, and then pressed gentle kisses all around his slit. His groan and the way he trembled told her he liked that. But she knew what he liked even more, and that was to take him all the way into her mouth and suck. As she gave him the ultimate pleasure his strong thighs trembled, his fists clenched at his sides. She knew he wanted to thrust, wanted to grab her hair to keep her steady and pump into her mouth. And she also knew he wouldn't do that in case she choked. Because her big strong husband always put her needs before his own. She wanted to taste him, to have him come in her mouth, but he could never bring himself to permit that intimacy.

Her hand slipped on the edge of the bath and he gripped her shoulders to steady her as he slid out of her mouth with a little pop.

"You are too tired for this," he said in a tight voice.

And she had to admit he was right, although it wasn't his fault that they couldn't keep their hands off each other. She'd made the first move. Before she could speak, he'd released the bath water, and had her wrapped in a warm thick towel, and was carrying her into their bedroom.

No matter how many times he made the same move it always thrilled her.

Sitting her on the edge of their bed, Nico patted her dry spending so much time on her breasts that she trembled. His wicked grin had her give him big eyes. But then the towel moved lower to gently pat over the swell of her tummy where their child slept. She was twenty-four weeks pregnant, and the way his dark eyes softened before he pressed gentle kisses on her tummy made her own sting.

She sniffed and his eyes leapt to hers.

"It's just pregnancy hormones. Don't look at me like that. These days I cry at the opening of an envelope."

He lifted her in his arms before laying her on the bed.

Anxious dark eyes studied her face. "I do not remember you being this emotional with the twins."

He switched off her side light before climbing into bed and spooning her in his arms.

Rubbing her bare bottom against him, she pressed open mouth kisses on his arms that wound around her, loving the smell of him, the taste of him, before she responded, "Every pregnancy is different. For some reason I'm really tired with this one, too."

His rock hard erection rubbed between the cheeks of her bottom and she tipped her pelvis back to encourage him to enter her slick heat, but he simply kept sliding back and forth driving her crazy.

"
Si
, I have noticed. You are doing too much and working too hard. Last time you did not have two active toddlers to care for. You only had
me
to look after."

She laughed at his “and-I'm-not-a-lot-of-hard-work” tone.

"Yeah, like living with you is a walk in the park."

Immediately he stopped rubbing himself against her and turned her on her back to gaze into her eyes.

Oops.

One outraged male stared down at her.

She patted his strong cheek and rubbed her thumb to smooth out the frown between his eyes.

"I am not easy to live with?" he asked, absolutely serious.

It was bad of her to yank his chain but surely he knew he was incredibly demanding at times. Being honest with each other was one of the reasons why their marriage worked so well, so it didn't occur to Bronte to think before she spoke.

"You can be too demanding at times, and controlling."

If she'd punched him in the face he couldn't have looked more shocked.

Nico sat and simply stared at the love of his life.

She was not happy living with him?

He was too demanding and controlling? But...

His heart beat too fast against his ribs and he rubbed the spot.

"Explain," he ordered.

She bit her lip as if trying hard not to laugh, and gave him a look she usually reserved for their daughter when she was about to lose her temper.

"You're pouting, Ferranti," she warned.

His brows flew into his hairline.

"I am Italian. We never pout."

Then he frowned when she gurgled with laughter.

And just like that the fear trickled away.

He rolled over to cage her between his arms and legs and looked down into her lovely face. "You are teasing me," he growled.

"You were sulking," she retorted, and gave him big eyes.

"No."

"Part of you was sulking," she insisted, and then looked down between his legs. "Although it looks as if it's made a complete recovery."

His eyes narrowed, and hers went soft and loving.

He spoke from the heart, "You know I love you. Your happiness matters to me,
cara
."

Her hands rose to cup his face, and she pulled his head down to hers.

Their mouths met in a whispered benediction of their love. The kiss she gave him was so sweet, and so loving, it made him tremble. Then she pulled back to stare deep into his eyes.

"I love that you are demanding in your need for me. You make me feel desired and loved. Never change, Nico. I love you just the way you are."

But deep inside him was a nagging guilt that he
was
too demanding as a lover, and as a husband. His wife was pregnant with his third child, and she was tired.

He moved off her and rolled to his side, taking her with him.

His hand shook a little as he stroked her face, cupped her chin to get the angle just right for his kiss before his hand went on a voyage of discovery down the side of her breast, her ribcage, to settle gently on top of their child.

"You need rest."

"Hmm, where did Jacob run off to? I don't think I exchanged two words with him all night."

Rubbing his cheek on the top of her head, Nico hoped his friend had found closure with his ex-fiancée.

"He has a romantic interest in the photographer. Didn't you recognise her?"

Bronte yawned hugely. "No."

"She is Gabriella Dolman."

Now his wife went stiff in his arms. "His ex-girlfriend? The one who broke his heart?"

"Si."

"But, she's a supermodel. What was she doing taking photos of Coco and Rafe?"

"I believe she has decided on a career change."

"Seriously?"

"She is staying in one of the cottages with her twin sister for a couple of weeks."

"And how does Jacob feel about that?" Bronte wanted to know. And he could hear the ice in her voice. His wife had a soft spot for the fierce looking Spaniard.

"He needs closure,
cara
."

She didn't say anything for the longest moment.

"Do Lucas and Becca know she's here?"

Nico kissed her cheek and smiled. His wife was not a gossip and neither did she interfere in people's personal lives, but she was good friends with Rebecca Del Garda. She knew Jacob's brother Lucas and sister-in-law had been terribly worried about him.

"I do not think it is either my business, or yours, to interfere in Jacob's life," he warned in a silky voice.

The tone made her huff against his arm before she pressed a soft kiss on his skin.

"He's a grown man. But we haven't seen Lucas and Becca and the boys for ages. Maybe I'll invite them down."

Nico couldn't help but laugh at the innocent tone, and nipped her earlobe to let her know he was on to her.

"I am always happy to see Lucas. I will call him tomorrow."

"And I'll call Becca," Bronte said and gave a tired sigh.

And for the first time in their marriage his wife sank into sleep before he'd made love to her.

Nico was rock hard, and couldn't decide whether to laugh or cry at the way his body betrayed him every single time she so much as looked at him. But her too demanding and controlling comment just wouldn't go away. Another thought, one he didn't like, entered his brain.

Perhaps it might be an idea for him to sleep in another room until Bronte felt better?