Читать книгу The Italian's Love-Child - Сара Крейвен, Emma Darcy - Страница 10

CHAPTER FIVE

SATURDAY… Matt’s first day with his father.

Luc instantly made the most of his arrival, turning up in a red Alfa hatchback, presenting Skye with the car keys and announcing, much to Matt’s delight, that the car was for his Mummy, so she could drive him to soccer training during the week and matches on the weekend.

An expensive Italian car, not a cheap runaround which would have been far more suitable. The house they lived in did not have a garage attached. The car had to be left parked in the street and a red Alfa would stick out like a sore thumb in this neighbourhood. But did a Peretti think like that? No. And she hadn’t thought to advise Luc sensibly when he’d insisted she needed her own transport for the activities his son would want to pursue.

Like soccer. Matt’s friends at school were signing up for soccer today. Skye hadn’t driven a car since her mother had died and the Alfa made her nervous, not to mention having Luc sitting beside her in the front passenger seat. Somehow she managed to get them to the football oval without doing anything stupid.

Luc took care of the signing up. Skye gritted her teeth over the pride in Matt’s voice as he announced to his play-mates, ‘This is my father.’

So far he’d been quite shy with Luc, wary of what this new intrusion in his life might mean, not quite understanding the background and sensing Skye’s fearful reservations. But even a little boy could see that the other boys’ fathers did not match up to Luc Peretti, certainly not in looks, and not in authoritative and charismatic presence.

They were exchanging smiles now.

With a sinking heart, Skye realised there’d be no stopping an attachment forming. Luc was intent on it and Matt was responding.

He’d better not walk away, she thought fiercely. If he ever hurt Matt as he’d hurt her… Skye took a deep breath and unclenched her hands. It was impossible to fight this. All she could do was watch over it, which she had insisted upon. No way would she agree to Luc taking Matt anywhere without her, and nowhere that didn’t have her approval. To her intense relief he had made those concessions.

For now, she added to herself.

She didn’t trust him to keep to them for long.

Next stop was a shopping mall where Luc had Matt fitted with a proper pair of soccer boots, which he paid for. They proceeded to a toy shop where he also bought for Matt a soccer ball and a goal structure complete with netting so his son could practise shooting goals—which could have been done with simply setting up two sticks in the backyard.

Skye could feel herself bristling at the money being spent without a second thought. They ate lunch in a restaurant—another expensive exercise—with Matt full of excitement at being treated to his favourite chicken nuggets and a banana smoothie. He ate and drank with gusto, while Skye could barely swallow the chicken Caesar salad Luc had ordered for her, remembering it had been one of her favourite meals when they’d been going out together.

She didn’t want those memories revived. It was hard enough, having to be with Luc all day, having to be agreeable for Matt’s sake, feeling forced to accept the Peretti largesse which was bound to have an insidious influence on Matt.

At least the buying stopped with lunch. She drove them home and Luc spent the afternoon in the backyard with Matt, setting up the goal, showing how to kick the soccer ball with the side of the foot, not the toe, practising dribbling the ball and demonstrating other skills that fascinated Matt into trying to copy them.

It hurt to watch them—father and son—having fun together, chatting, laughing, cheering and clapping achievements. Matt was having a great time, completely relaxed now with his new Dad, liking him and loving the different kind of attention he was getting. Male attention. Male understanding. Male activity.

It brought home to Skye that no single parent could supply everything a child needed, no matter how well-balanced one tried to be. Better to have the input from both parents, if it could be given in harmony. And it had to be conceded Luc was delivering on his promises. So far.

At last the day was over, with Matt bathed, fed, put to bed and enjoying the novelty of reading his father a story before lights out. Luc was astonished that his five-year-old son could actually read, and when they left Matt’s bedroom, having kissed him goodnight, Skye found herself being forcibly steered back to the kitchen instead of carrying out her intention to see Luc out the front door.

‘Let go of me!’ she growled, resenting being denied a ready escape from the prolonged tension of his company.

‘I just want to say thank you, Skye,’ he said reasonably, releasing her arm once he’d accomplished his purpose of regaining territorial advantage.

She stepped away quickly, moving to put the small kitchen table between them, instinctively rubbing at the heat he’d left on her skin. He frowned at the action but she’d didn’t care if he found it offensive. He had no right to touch her, to use his dominant strength to get his own way.

‘I don’t want you frightened of me,’ he said in sharp concern.

‘Then please leave. You’ve had your day. You’ve said thank you. There’s no reason for you to stay any longer.’

He shook his head, still frowning. ‘Did I do something wrong with Matt?’

‘No. He had a happy first day with you.’

He raised his hands in a gesture of appeal. ‘So why can’t we talk about it?’

‘What do you want? My stamp of approval?’ she snapped, screaming inside for him to go because any more of him today was unbearable. She’d had to hold in so much for Matt’s sake, pretending she was pleased for him to have his father, giving Luc the freedom to court his son, while all the time feeling that the little world she had constructed was under terrible attack.

Instead of answering, Luc eyed her with searching intensity, looking for the reason behind her hostile stance. ‘Is it really so hard to share him with me, Skye?’ he asked in the soft tone that stripped her of defences.

She gripped the back of a chair, trying to hold herself together. Tears were welling—tears of emotional exhaustion—and the lump in her throat made it difficult to speak. ‘You’ve won him over,’ she pushed out. ‘It’s done. Please… just go now. Let yourself out.’

Her eyes blurred and she swung blindly around, stepping over to the sink, frantically turning on the taps so as to look busy, though there was nothing to wash, only a glass that had already been rinsed. She didn’t hear Luc move, didn’t even sense him closing in on her. Her whole concentration was aimed at not breaking up before he went.

It shocked her when his hand reached out and turned off the taps. Her fingers didn’t have the strength to resist when the glass was taken from them and placed on the draining rack. Her mind was completely seized up, incapable of directing any action. Her body could have been that of a rag doll’s as Luc turned her towards him, wrapping her in a supportive embrace, holding her, pressing her head onto his shoulder, rubbing his cheek against her hair with a tenderness that broke open the floodgates to the tears she’d tried so hard to contain.

The storm of weeping was draining, reducing her to such a helpless state, she couldn’t find the pride that might have dragged her away from him. His broad shoulder was there to lean on. His warmth and strength was like a blanket of comfort. And it had been a long, long time since anyone had held her, emitting a sense of caring.

That it was Luc didn’t seem to matter. In fact, the familiarity of past intimacy between them somehow made it easy to sag against his body. It didn’t feel strange or wrong. There was a sense of belonging that she simply didn’t have the will to fight, however false it might be.

Eventually the tears dried up, leaving her aching from the emotional upheaval and limp from all the energy spent. She became conscious of Luc’s fingers gently raking through her hair and realised he must have removed the clip at the back of her neck, releasing and loosening the long flow of it—a liberty—but she didn’t mind. It felt good.

‘Skye—’ her name gravelled from his throat as though scraping over painful barriers ‘—I’m not trying to win Matt from you. Please believe that.’

She closed her eyes and dragged in a deep breath, needing to fill her lungs with air, ease the ache in her chest. She felt too tired to speak. Her mind didn’t want to take up the fight over trust. It was too hard.

‘You’re his mother,’ Luc went on, a deeper, strong throb in his voice—a throb that somehow moved into her sluggish bloodstream and revived all the maternal feelings in her heart.

‘You’ve done a wonderful job of bringing up our son. You can be very proud of the boy he is…the boy you’ve shaped him to be…’

The warmth of his approval flooded through her.

‘I don’t know how to thank you…doing it all alone. He’s amazing. A happy child, well-mannered, eager to have a go at everything, and reading at his young age…’

He sounded so awed, a smile tugged at the corners of Skye’s mouth. She was proud of Matt. Justly proud. And she was glad Luc felt she had done a good job of bringing up their son.

‘If you’ve been thinking I might take him away from you, I swear to you I won’t, Skye. That was never my intention. And seeing how he is today…why would I want to? Matt couldn’t have a better mother. So please…don’t be afraid of me.’

She didn’t want to be. But even if he truly meant what he said now…she stirred herself to raise her head, open her eyes, look straight at him, speak her fears. ‘Today…Matt was a novelty to you and you were a novelty to Matt. It won’t stay that way. You won’t want to give him so much quality time and if Matt feels let down by you…’

‘I’ll do my best not to let him down.’

‘Things change, Luc. Other people can interfere…’

‘Not this time.’ The resolute gleam in his eyes suddenly burned into something else entirely. ‘And some things don’t change.’

Her heart kicked in alarm as he whipped his hands up to cup her face, his thumbs slowly fanning the line of her lower lip, making it tingle. ‘Remember how it was, Skye?’

Raw desire was blazing at her, furring his voice, stunning her into mesmerised passivity. Her hands were pressed against his chest but she didn’t think to push away. Some magnetic force kept them glued there. She didn’t think to move her head aside, either, though his was bending closer and closer, his intention unmistakable. She was conscious only of a thundering need to let it happen…to know, to feel, to match the memory.

His mouth covered hers, instantly triggering an electric sensitivity. She hadn’t been kissed since he had last kissed her and her mind filled with wonder that it could be so fascinating, so seductive, the soft sensuality of having her lips tasted, the exciting slick of his tongue opening them further, teasing and tantalising as it slid into her mouth to entice hers into play.

The temptation to respond was irresistible. The desire to feel again what she’d once felt with him surged out of the sense of having been cheated of it, cut off as though she was dead, through no fault of her own.

But she wasn’t dead. It was as if every cell in her body was springing into vibrant life, screaming out for what had been lost. She wanted it back—the all-consuming passion they’d shared. He owed it to her. He owed her so much…

A torrent of feelings pumped through her, driving her out of passivity, long-buried needs rising, demanding at least some satisfaction. Her tongue sprang into an erotic tango with his. Her hands clawed their way up his chest, over his shoulders, fingers thrusting through the thick matt of his hair, curling around his head, fiercely denying any end to the kiss which turned into a wild battleground for possession—invasion, assault, frenzied passion, no retreat, ragged pauses only to regather breath enough to engage again.

He no longer held her face. His hands clutched her bottom, fingers digging into the soft rounded flesh as he dragged her closer, lifting her into more intimate contact with him, and a mad exultation fizzed through her brain as she felt his arousal. She rubbed against it, wantonly provocative, deliberately stirring the desire he’d turned his back on, building the heat he had doused with ice, not believing it had only been for him.

No ice now.

He wrenched his mouth from hers, scooped her off her feet, and carried her out of the kitchen, down the central hallway, into her bedroom at the front of the house, his chest heaving but there was not one falter in the long, strong strides that were driven by the compulsion to get her to a bed.

Skye didn’t protest, didn’t struggle to assert herself in any way. It was wildly exhilarating to be swept off by Luc, knowing he wasn’t thinking of anything but having her—the woman he’d cast out of his life. He wasn’t about to walk away now. Oh, no! And Skye’s whole body tingled with a sense of power—a deep, primitive power that clamoured to be used, claiming this man as hers, so completely hers all the more suitable women would never get a chance with him.

It was twilight outside, almost dark in the bedroom, though she could see Luc clearly enough, see the strained look on his face as he put her down and worked at speed to strip them both. No finesse in the undressing. No stopping to touch, kiss or caress. Urgent need.

She didn’t try to help or hinder, didn’t care about her own nakedness. She watched him, secretly revelling in the desire that couldn’t wait, that was raging out of Luc’s control, his eyes hungrily feasting on her femininity as he moved onto the bed, knees intent on parting her legs, his own magnificent physique right in her face now, smooth shiny olive skin stretched over tight muscles, his whole body yearning for hers, craving the union he’d put behind him.

And for a moment she hated him for it, a fierce flash of hatred for the contempt he’d dealt out, making all she’d given of herself negligible, dirty…yet everything within her sighed a sweet welcome as he entered her, plunging deep, filling the emptiness she’d known for far too long.

He paused there, sighing himself, and Skye savagely hoped it signalled the feeling of having come home—home to where his heart was. Except she couldn’t really believe it because he would never have left her if that was true.

She closed her eyes and focused on feeling him inside her, no longer caring what it meant for him, wanting to recapture all the sensations she had forgotten, the rippling pleasures of the rhythm, the buildup of intense physical excitement. And Luc delivered. He always had delivered. Not usually as roughly as this. But that had its exciting edge, too, knowing control had been sabotaged by need, adding to the power of his wanting her.

He was breathing hard.

She was, too, her body instinctively accommodating the wild pounding, exulting in it, her legs wound around his taut buttocks urging him on, her back arched, her hands raking the bunched muscles of his shoulders, the tips of her breasts brushing his chest as he rocked back and forth in a frenzy of driven possession, the tension of it becoming more and more explosive.

The shattering started, the ecstatic meltdown she had only ever known with him, and even as she started floating with it, she felt the release of his climax, the jerking spurts of heat spilling from him, mingling with her own contentment, increasing the sweet pleasure of it, the sense of fulfilment that matched the memories.

He collapsed on top of her, his face buried in the stream of her hair across the pillow, and she hugged him tightly to her, clutching the intimacy of the moment before it went away. For this little time, at least, he was hers, and she consciously shut out the realities of the worlds they occupied, feeling only their togetherness—a dream that had been lost—a dream that couldn’t last.