Antonia’s lips trembled.
“I shouldn’t have brought it up.” Octavia’s heart ached for Sandro. She thought of all those times he’d said to a wound-up Primo, “Relax. Come into my office and let’s talk about it.” She’d always felt shut out of their important discussions, but he’d really been calming his cousin from doing something rash.
Understanding didn’t reduce her concern, however. It just made her realize how thoroughly he’d locked away his deepest feelings.
“It’s fine,” Antonia murmured. “I just try not to show how sad I still am if Sandro is around. He takes it so hard. And it’s not that he became controlling after Papa died, but he became very controlled and expected us to be the same. If he overheard an argument, he moved in to defuse it. He would lecture us to think first. Bad things can happen if you don’t, you know? Mamma dealt with her grief the other way, by letting every thought and feeling out. She married the viscount, trying to find what she’d had with Papa and even though the viscount loved her right up until the day he died, he never really knew how to deal with her. Not many men know how to match that much heartfelt expression.”
Octavia watched Ysabelle snuggling up to her Spanish count as she introduced him to Ermanno. “It must have felt like two extremes,” she mused.
“It was, and it was comforting to have Sandro’s steady counterbalance while she was going through all those highs and lows.” Antonia cast an affectionate look across the room to where Sandro was speaking to an elderly couple. “He made sure we all learned to control ourselves, and we still do around him. He has no idea how passionately we fight with our husbands,” she confided cheekily, nodding toward her own. “That’s why mine nearly swallowed his tongue when you said I was reserved. I have a terrible temper. But it feels so good to let it out.” She patted her round belly and grinned. “And the makeup sex is always fun, too.”
Octavia blushed, glimpsing Ysabelle in her daughter as Antonia overshared, but it was nice, too. It made her feel closer to her sister-in-law.
She was still thinking about makeup sex when she slid back into bed next to Sandro after feeding Lorenzo at dawn. Sandro was fast asleep, having come to bed only a few hours ago, waiting until the last guest had gone. He was on his stomach, sheet at his waist, sculpted shoulders and back bare to the stripes of rosy light coming through the blinds.
She longed to touch him, longed to make up with him properly. She wanted to kiss better all the hurts and misunderstandings and lack of communication. Maybe lovemaking wasn’t love, but it was connection and caring and the opposite of fighting. She wanted harmony.
A real, true, fresh beginning.
Lifting her hand, she hesitated, briefly unsure, but didn’t let herself overthink it. The line of his spine begged to be traced and she did, nudging the sheet a little lower on the curve of his buttocks, then coming back up to the edge of his fresh haircut and the shadow that had come in on his jaw.
He drew in a long breath, big body stirring as he opened one eye. “Is he crying?”
“No,” she said softly, feeling defenseless as she said, “He’s fast asleep.”
And because he was a very smart man, he didn’t ask her why she’d woken him. He read the want that she didn’t try to disguise and lifted his arm to gather her and pull her half under him. “Is he?”
She felt him thicken against her thigh as he pressed over her. He hadn’t even kissed her, but he was instantly aroused. His body was smooth and hard and strapping, his neck still faintly scented with his cologne, his chest hot and hard against her kiss.
Liquid heat rolled through her veins as they shifted to lie stomach to stomach, chin to chin. The contact made her sleepy muscles feel even more like melted wax. As they kissed lazily and moved against each other, her nightgown climbed. He slid his hand up her thigh and stroked her hip, her waist, her lower back and bottom, her spine and rib cage and then, ah, yes. Her breast.
He was gentle and possessive and it felt so good she had to moan and bring her knee up to his hip and press with her calf against the back of his thigh, encouraging him to position himself to rub against her.
“I have always thought you had beautiful breasts, but, cara...” He dragged her nightgown up and off. “Oh, bella.” He kissed the swell and admired how it overflowed his hand, thumb circling her nipple so it was a firm, eager point.
The sweetest nerve endings tightened in her inner thighs as he played, making her ache for his touch. His thrust.
He was wearing his silk boxers again, but she could feel the insistence of him against her as if one move was all that was needed and he’d rip through silk and be inside her. She could hardly breathe she was so gripped by anticipation, but...