Page 53 of An Italian Wedding Adventure

He tumbled onto the bed and she came with him, his mouth finding hers again for a searing kiss as he grasped the back of her head. He had to reach down beside the bed to fumble in his bag for a condom, but he kept a hand on her thigh as though he couldn’t let her go.

‘Okay?’ he asked one more time when he was ready.

There wasn’t even a hint of uncertainty as she answered, ‘Yes.’

It was eight years overdue as he fitted inside her. Sophie hung on and struggled to remember to breathe as an ache she hadn’t acknowledged, the unexploded bomb of her feelings resolved – for a moment at least.

His expression was taut – his muscles too. She could tell he was trying to hold back, draw it out, but everything felt too good and his determination crumbled before her eyes. Propped up on his elbows with his fingers tangled in her hair, he shut his eyes while hers soaked in every detail of him beginning to come apart.

The climax swept them both away, rising through Sophie until her vision blurred. Then there was just the weight of him, his head on her shoulder, blissfully heavy.

Now was the time to talk herself out of falling in love. He’d expressed passion, fervour – nothing more. But wow, he felt amazing against her: soft, relaxed – vulnerable. She ran her fingers through his wiry hair and down to his sculpted shoulders. His groan was muffled in her neck.

‘Ahhh, Sophie,’ he mumbled. With what sounded like superhuman effort, he propped himself up again and peered into her face. ‘Okay?’ he asked again.

She nodded hastily.

‘I didn’t mean to… the instant they left.’

She smiled faintly and traced his strong brow with her fingertip. He caught her hand and kissed it before hauling himself upright to take care of the condom. Sophie sat up, tugging the bedsheet over herself, and stared at his back, safe in the knowledge that he wasn’t looking at her as more troubling thoughts descended – unwelcome thoughts about her four years with Rory.

After spending those years convincing herself that she’d got everything wrong with Andreas, those opinions seemed upside down, now, after only one week with him. Rory had never strode around their apartment casually naked. He’d never asked her if she was okay after sex, even at the beginning.

He’d never fallen on her the instant they were alone.

When Andreas came back into the room a few minutes later with a cup of tea, Sophie had to gather all her wits to stop herself bursting into tears.

‘Hey,’ he prompted, brushing a hand over her hair and cheek. Setting the tea on the bedside table, he sat on the bed next to her. ‘Did I hurt you?’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t really want to talk about it.’

His eyes clouded. ‘Are you thinking about Rory?’ His tone was indignant, no trace of his earlier uncertainty.

‘Yes, but it’s nothing to do with you. It’s me and my decisions, so don’t lose your shit.’

The puzzled frown he gave her almost made her laugh, as though he thought he would never lose his shit. ‘I thought the “it’s not you, it’s me” was my line. And when we’ve just slept together, it’s a bit difficult not to think it’s about me.’

She gave his shoulder a shove and he grabbed her hand and held it. Staring at her hand in his beaten one, Sophie’s breath was short again. She felt too close to him, but she didn’t want to back away again – not yet.

‘I suppose that’s fair enough,’ she murmured. Resting her head on his shoulder, she continued, ‘Was it always that good? Or have you improved with age?’

He chuckled, his muscles moving under her cheek. ‘I don’t know whether to be flattered by the compliment or to tell you off for forgetting how we were back then.’

‘I think I forced myself to forget,’ she admitted.

Swallowing heavily, he replied, ‘I never managed to.’ His breath tickled her forehead as he turned to her. ‘But it was a little different today – better, yes, although those memories of you are important enough to me that I don’t want to touch them.’

A shiver raced down her spine. Being together that day had held a sharpness that hadn’t been there years ago, a push-pull of emotion, blurry, flawed wanting. But the rawness hit deeper somehow. Sophie had tried to give him everything eight years ago, without knowing how – without knowinghim?

But today…

He pressed a quick kiss to her forehead. ‘Let’s eat some lunch and then I want to show you something – something your wedding-loving soul will appreciate.’

She gave him a doubtful look, but nevertheless dressed quickly and followed him into the kitchen.

21

‘Where exactly are we going?’

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