Pregnancy of Revenge(37)

CHAPTER EIGHT



A LIMOUSINE met them at Genoa airport and, tucked under Jake's arm, Charlie gazed out of the window as the car cruised along a winding road by the sea and into the hills, stopping at a massive pair of iron gates, complete with gatehouse. A security guard opened the gates and the car sped up a mile-long drive to what to Charlie looked like a mansion.

Jake helped her out of the car and she looked up in awe. The house was magnificent. Of surprisingly modern design, it was mostly constructed in glass and steel. It was situated a few miles from Genoa, with the Dolomites as a backdrop, and a spectacular view of the Mediterranean to the front.

'Your new home, Signora d'Amato. Do you like it2'

It’s spectacular.' Laughing, Jake swept her up in his arms and carried her through the massive double doors. 'Oh, my God, a glass staircase! It's fantastic,' Charlie exclaimed, and then she realised a reception committee of two were waiting in the enormous hall.

Lowering her to her feet, Jake introduced her to Marta, a pretty, dark-haired lady, and Charlie blushed as she shook her hand, remembering her crazy call. Then she was introduced to an adorable little boy, Marta' s son Aldo, and to Charlie's delight he spoke to her in good schoolboy English. Marta' s husband Tomas joined them: he was the chauffeur, and a bottle of champagne was produced and a toast drunk. Then Tomas and his family departed to their cottage in the grounds with smiles and grins, and Jake closed and locked the door behind them.

Charlie looked around. The furniture was an eclectic mix of traditional and modern but it was the paintings that caught her attention. She recognized a Matisse and two Monets.

'At last we are alone.' Jake swept her up in his arms and carried her up the stairs. Her shoes fell off and she tightened her grip around his neck with a startled, 'Oh!'

'One less item to remove.' Jake gave her a wicked grin and they both burst out laughing as he walked into the master bedroom.

With less than his usual grace, he stumbled over her suitcases already deposited in the bedroom. 'Don't you dare drop me,' Charlie commanded, still laughing.

'Never,' Jake responded with an abashed grin. Their eyes met and the laughter stopped.

Slowly he lowered her to her feet, and her eyes widened fractionally as he touched a gentle finger to her lips and traced the upper outline, and then the lower curve. Incredibly she suddenly felt nervous. She had slept with Jake countless times, but this time was different.

Jake's eyes didn't leave hers as he stepped back and shrugged off his jacket and tie. Then, with slow, deliberate movements, he removed the rest of his clothes until he was standing before her, tall and broad-shouldered with bronzed skin sheathing hard-backed muscle and sinew and wearing only white silk briefs that did little to hide his arousal. Warm colour tinged her cheeks, and for a long moment she simply stared, the sexual tension simmering between them.

'No need to be nervous, Charlotte,' Jake said, accurately reading her mind, and closed the distance between them. 'Have I told you today you look beautiful, cara? He asked softly as he lowered his head down to hers.

Warmth flooded her body and became a pulsing heat as he slid her jacket from her shoulders, and a moan sounded in her throat at the touch of his mouth on her own.

His hands skimmed her breasts, and down her thighs, and in one fluid movement the raw silk dress slid down to pool at her feet leaving her naked except for delicate white lace French panties.

Jake stepped back, the better to appreciate her lush shapely body tantalizingly enhanced by the pearl choker and the seductively cut lace panties. Her breasts were fuller, her stomach where his child lay still flat.

'I feel as if I have waited a lifetime to see you like this.'

It was incomprehensible, but Charlie, who had the confidence to do anything, was suddenly plagued by self-doubt as Jake's dark, obsessive gaze roamed intently over her. He was so perfect, tall and golden, and she wanted to be perfect for him, but she was pregnant and it was over seven weeks since they had been together. Her breasts were fuller, not so firm, and Jake was used to perfection: his house, his art. Her eyes flicked past him in a brief panicky movement and she saw the picture on the wall behind him. It was a Gauguin, an island woman with long black hair, and it reminded her of another painting and Diego's comment about Anna.

Jake's hands reached for her and settled on her waist.

'Who was Anna?' She murmured the thought even as her eyes were drawn back to meet smoldering black and the uninhibited desire, the raw hunger she saw there ignited a fire deep in her belly.

But as she swayed towards him his head reared back, his fingers digging into her waist almost to the point of pain in a knee-jerk reaction to her question. 'Where the hell did that come from?' he ground out harshly.