Читать книгу Once a Ferrara Wife... - Sarah Morgan - Страница 7

EXHAUSTED from the emotional bombardment, Laurel wondered whether she’d survive an entire evening within touching distance of Cristiano. It had been so long since she’d spent time with him she felt like an addict starved of a fix.

From across the terrace she heard him laugh and she turned her head, drawn by the sound. She’d never laughed as much as she had when they were together. Life had felt light and full of hope. Now he was laughing with another woman.

And she was beautiful.

There was an intimacy in the way they communicated, an ease that suggested a relationship deeper than friendship.

Torturing herself, Laurel was unable to drag her eyes away. As she watched, one of the little cousins dressed in a froth of blue danced across to him and tugged at his leg. With an indulgent smile, Cristiano scooped her up and gave her his full attention. Laurel couldn’t hear what he was saying but, judging from the child’s expression, it was something amusing.

His interaction with the child was enough to unlock everything trapped inside her.

Laurel turned away, wondering if anyone would notice if she slipped away.

It didn’t matter where she stood, she was aware of him. Even with her back to him she could sense him. The feeling crept over her skin and took control of her mind, making it impossible to concentrate on a conversation. Her neck ached with the need to turn and look. For once she was grateful for the crowd of people and the constraints of social behaviour that prevented her from rushing across to his side and undoing everything she’d done.

‘You should eat something.’ He appeared by her side, cool and commanding as he gestured towards one of the waitresses circulating with a tray of canapés.

‘I’m not hungry.’

Cristiano took a small piece of chicken from the plate. ‘Unless you’re trying to draw attention to yourself, I suggest you eat. It’s marinated in local lemon juice and herbs. Your favourite.’

She wondered if he was doing it on purpose, conjuring up shared memories of the night they’d raided the kitchen like children and taken food down to the beach.

That decadent moonlit picnic was one of her happiest memories of their time together.

Feeling as if she might choke on the sadness, Laurel took the chicken because it seemed easier than arguing and it gave her something to do. Somehow she managed to chew and swallow, despite the lump in her throat and the fact he was watching her with those dark, velvety eyes that saw too much.

She looked away from the cynical curve of his mouth, shaken by the impulse that washed over her. Standing as close as they were, it would take no effort to press her lips to his. She would melt into him and then his hands would be in her hair, his mouth devouring hers with a skill that would leave her head spinning. No one kissed like Cristiano. He had an innate understanding of what a woman needed and his repertoire ranged from hot and out of control to slow and sensuous. He’d introduced her to a whole world she’d never known about.

The scent of the sea mingled with the sweetness of Mediterranean flowers and from all around them came the clink of glasses and the hum of conversation. The terrace was crowded with people and yet it might as well have been just the two of them.