Her New Year Baby Secret(7)

They were so close he could feel her heart racing against him before she  pulled back. 'Still, small or not, it must be a wonderful place to  live. Are your parents still there?'

'My mother,' he corrected her. 'My father died ten months ago.' He  steeled himself for the usual hit of guilt, regret and anger. Guilt his  father's heart had been weakened in the first place, regret they had  never patched up their relationship-and anger his father would never now  admit that Marco had a right to a life of his own.

'Ten months ago? That's so recent, I'm sorry.'

'Thank you.'

'She must miss you, your mother.'

He allowed a smile but knew it was wintry at best. 'Miss me? I'm not sure. Miss telling me how to live my life? Every day.'

'I know a little about that. What does your mother want that's so terrible?'

Marco shrugged. 'What every Italian mother wants for her children,  especially her only son. A place in the family business under her eyes, a  wife, children, the usual.'

'And you aren't hankering for bambinos clustered around your knee?' She  didn't sound disappointed or disapproving, which made a refreshing  change. So many women seemed to see Marco's lack of interest in a family  as a personal affront-or, worse, a challenge. 'Sunday morning football,  wet wipes in every pocket? I have two brothers and they both have kids.  I know the drill.'

'I like my life the way it is. Why complicate it?'

'And I take it no interest in a wife either.' She smiled, a small dimple charming him as she did so. 'Your poor mother.'

'She only has herself to blame,' he said lightly. 'My marriage is an  obsession with her. I remember going to my mother's friend's house and  while the mothers talked I played with the daughter. She was a nice  girl, sporty. We got on really well. When we left my mamma asked me if I  liked her and when I said I did she said bene she would make a good  wife for me. I was five!'

'All mothers do that. My mother was convinced I'd marry Tom next door.  He played the violin and sang in the church choir, always said hello and  helped shovel snow or rake leaves. Perfect husband material.'

'And yet he isn't here with you tonight?'

'Well, it turns out that Tom prefers boys to girls, so even if I had been tempted, it was never going to happen.'

'Lucky for me.' He pulled Sophie in close and swung her around. 'Tell  me, signorina, why are we here in this beautiful room dancing to this  beautiful music and discussing my mother? I can think of many more  interesting topics.'

Her eyes laughed up at him. 'Such as?'

'Such as how very sexy you look in that dress. Such as how very well you  dance. Such as what shall we do with all this time until midnight?'

Sophie swallowed, her eyes luminous in the bright, pulsing disco lights.  His eyes were drawn to the graceful column of her neck, the lines of  her throat, and he ran his thumb down her skin, feeling her pulse speed  up. 'Do?' she echoed a little hoarsely. 'Why, signor, you asked me to  dance and so far we've just swayed to the music. Less talk, more  dancing. It's New Year's Eve after all.'                       
       
           



       

There was no conversation after that, just dancing, movement, an  intimacy that could only be conjured by two bodies caught up in the same  beat. Sophie could move, hair flying, eyes shining and silver minidress  glittering in the disco lights as she swayed and turned. 'A childhood  full of dance lessons,' she told him during a breathless break. 'I did  it all, ballet, jazz, tap. I have medals and everything.'

But as the night neared midnight the music slowed and she was back in  his arms. The ballroom was filled with anticipation as the seconds began  to tick away, people gathering in groups ready to welcome in the new  year. Marco steered Sophie to a secluded corner of the dance floor, not  wanting the shared jollity, the drunken group embraces that so often  marked the new year's first seconds. 'Felice anno nuovo.'

'Happy New Year, Marco.' Her eyes were half shuttered, her lips full and  inviting. He knew the taste of them, the sweet plumpness of her bottom  lip, knew the way her hands wound into his hair as a kiss deepened, how  her skin slid like silk under his fingertips. Just a dance, he'd said.  Surely they'd both known that after the night they had shared they  couldn't possibly stop at dancing. Besides, it was New Year's Eve; it  was customary to kiss.

And how he hated to be rude. Just one kiss, to round off the evening, to  round off their brief but, oh, so pleasing acquaintanceship.

Sophie purred her approval as he lowered his mouth to hers, her hands  tightening on his shoulders, her body swaying closer until he felt every  curve pressed tight against him. Marco was dimly aware that the room  was erupting with cheers as the new year dawned, could hear bangs and  pops as the balloons and streamers were released and the first chords of  'Auld Lang Syne' began to echo around the room, but it was as if he and  Sophie were separated from the cheerful celebration, hidden in some  alternate dimension where all he knew was her mouth under his, her body  quivering under his caress, her touch on his neck, light enough to drive  a man mad.

And then it was over as she stepped back, trembling and wide-eyed.  'Thank you for a lovely night. I don't think...I mean, my friends will  be looking for me.'

It took a few moments for her words to penetrate his fogged-up brain.  All he wanted was to pull her back in, take her mouth again, hold her  still. Marco inhaled, long and deep, pushing the dangerous desire deep  down where it belonged.

'It was my pleasure. I am glad I got to meet you again, signorina.' He  took her hand, bowing formally over it, then stepped back, a final  farewell. She hesitated for the briefest of seconds and then, with a  quick smile, turned away.

A pleasant interlude and now it was over as all these interludes eventually were. Unless...

Tomorrow he returned home. Returned to a wedding, to play a part, to the  weight of parental expectations, no less heavy with the loss of his  father. Returned to guilt.

He could do with a distraction.

Sophie obviously wasn't looking for any kind of relationship; in fact  this was the third time she'd walked away from him without a backwards  glance. A wry smile curved his mouth; thank goodness her response to his  kiss had been so all encompassing or he'd be wondering if the  attraction was one-sided. And she had never seen Venice...

She would make the perfect distraction, for himself and for his family.

Marco didn't want to take any more time to think his idea through, not  when Sophie was disappearing into the revelling crowd. 'Sophie?' She  stopped and turned, a confused expression on her face.

He crossed the distance between them with a few long strides. 'My mother  will be holding her annual party on the sixth of January, for Epiphany.  I have to be there, to co-host, in place of my father. Would you like  to be my guest?'

The confusion deepened. 'Me? Come to Venice? But...'

'You said yourself how much you want to go.'

'Yes.' She looked tempted for a moment, then frowned again. 'But, Marco,  I hardly know you. You don't know me and I'm not really looking for  anything, for anyone. I like you, I like spending time with you...'

'And I like spending time with you and I really would like to get to  know you better. And that's all this is, Sophie. A couple of days in  Venice, a party and then we go our separate ways. What do you say?'

* * *

'Of course you should say yes.' The ball might officially be over for  another year, but the evening was far from finished yet-after all, as  Emma pointed out, they hadn't properly celebrated Grace's engagement  yet-and so they had all piled into taxis and gone back to The Armstrong,  the hotel Finlay owned and where the newly engaged couple had met, to  finish welcoming the new year in in style. It was a novel experience for  Sophie to be escorted up to the exclusive suite as a guest, not a maid,  and to sink onto one of the comfortable sofas, the room-service menu at  her disposal and the promise of a car to take her home.                       
       
           



       

A novel experience for Sophie, but all her friends seemed to take this  level of luxury almost for granted; even Grace stepped into the private  lift as if it were an everyday occurrence for her. And now it was.  Grace, just like Ashleigh and Emma, was marrying into some serious  wealth.

This evening, lovely as it was, was exposing the very clear differences  in Sophie's future and the paths her friends were headed down-and made  her even more determined to shape hers the way she had always intended  it to be. This year she'd put some serious effort into the website she'd  recently set up and start trying to sell her designs. She clenched her  hands at the familiar twist of excitement and fear. What if Harry was  right? What if she was wasting her time?

Grace plumped down onto the sofa opposite, heaving her bare feet onto  the glass coffee table with a sigh of relief. 'I agree. Go, have fun.  It's always quiet at work at this time of year-and we've been run off  our feet for months. Take some time off. You deserve it.'