Текст книги "A Scandal, A Secret, A Baby "

Автор книги: Sharon Kendrick

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‘I just am,’ she said flatly.

He shook his head. ‘You’ll have to do better than that.’

‘What are you talking about?’

His mouth twisted. ‘If you recall, you told me that you did “all right” with men.’ He remembered the casual way she’d said it, and his own corresponding stab of jealousy. The overpowering sense of darkness which had shadowed his soul at the thought of other men making love to her the way he’d done. ‘I got the distinct feeling that I wasn’t the only one who shared your favours—not least from the enthusiastic way you climbed on top of me and ground those hips of yours so expertly against mine. I certainly didn’t think that what happened between us on the night of the wedding was in any way unique.’

It was the cruellest thing he could have said, and Justina prayed that her face didn’t register the hurt which was curling up inside her. He thought she was a tramp. He’d just come out and said so. ‘Then why are you here if you believe that?’ she questioned. ‘Why this dramatic appearance—ambushing me in the lobby of my hotel as if you were in some kind of movie?’

‘I’m here because I want the truth.’

‘Why not just phone me up and ask me? Surely that would have been simpler for a man as busy as you?’

His gaze was steady. ‘Would you have taken my call?’

Beneath his intense scrutiny, Justina shrugged. She wanted to save face. She wanted to hurt him back, as he had just hurt her. And instinctively she wanted to do the one thing she suspected would appal him so much that he might even contemplate going away and leaving her alone. She wanted to deny him. To let him know that she didn’t need him. She wanted to offer him the freedom to walk away and leave her to face this on her own. ‘Probably not,’ she said eventually.

He nodded his head and turned to stare out of the window. Somehow it was easier to contemplate the courtyard gardens than continue to confront the fecund swell of her belly—though the white frangipani blossoms on the trees might as well have been lumps of snow for all the notice he took of them. But the brief respite was all he needed to regain his composure, and when he turned back he nodded.

‘So it is true,’ he said, his voice filled with silken venom. ‘I have often been accused of cynicism, but even I couldn’t believe that a woman could be quite so manipulative as you have been. It seems I was wrong.’ There was a pause as his gaze raked over her, and even as the words formed on his lips he could feel the betraying leap of desire. ‘You just wanted a stud, didn’t you, Justina?’

‘A stud?’ Justina stared into eyes which resembled flat, dark metal. ‘What...what are you talking about?’

His mouth twisted. ‘I’m talking about the interview you gave just before Roxy’s wedding. The one where you said how much you regretted not having had a baby and how much you’d like one.’

She heard the condemnatory tone which distorted his voice and for a moment felt vulnerable. Yes, she’d said that—but sometimes you said things which were only half-truths for all kinds of reasons. Especially when a journalist got you on the back foot. He knew that—and surely there was enough history between them for her to explain why she’d done it?

‘Because that’s what I felt I was supposed to say,’ she defended. ‘Because women who don’t want babies are seen as monsters.’

‘But I thought you didn’t want babies.’ His dark brows shot up. ‘How could you possibly want them when your damned career was always so important to you and took precedence over everything else? You told me that there wasn’t enough time in your life for children—and I can’t see that having changed.’

Frustratedly, she shook her head. Hadn’t he realised that at the time she’d said that it had been fear which had motivated her—as well as ambition? Her career had mattered to her because it had been a symbol of her own survival, as well as her success. She’d still been on the way up, and it had meant too much to her to simply let it slide just because that was what he wanted. But Dante had also wanted her pregnant as soon as they were married, and that had scared the hell out of her—and not just because she’d been so young. She had tried to explain that it was partly down to the awful experience she’d had with her own mother, which made her want to wait, but he had been immovable. Women married and then they became pregnant—it was as primitive as that to Dante.

‘You don’t understand, Dante.’

He shook his dark head and gave a cynical laugh. ‘Oh, but I do, Justina. I understand only too well. You had sex with me—what? Five years after we’d last seen one another? Most women would have slapped my face for even trying it on. But not you. Oh, no. You wanted me from the moment that you saw me in the cathedral—I could read it in your eyes as clearly as if you’d come straight out and propositioned me.’

‘I’m sorry if I don’t match up to the saintlike status of your other lovers!’

‘We didn’t even use any protection!’

‘I didn’t realise that was solely the woman’s responsibility.’

‘I assumed you were still on the pill,’ he snapped, knowing that he should have stopped to find out. But he hadn’t. He hadn’t cared about anything other than finding himself in the tight, molten slickness of her body again after so long. And hadn’t it felt good? Hadn’t it felt like heaven? He swallowed as he tried to force the erotic memory to the back of his mind—but he couldn’t. It had been haunting him ever since—so how could he expect it to disappear when the woman who had so lured him was standing right in front of him? ‘Why would you take such a risk with a man you were never likely to see again after that night?’

Justina stared into the cold condemnation on his face. Because she hadn’t been thinking straight, that was why. So blinded by passion that common sense hadn’t got a look-in. Oh, why did it have to be him who’d made her feel all these things? Why did he still make her feel them even now? If he walked across the room and started to kiss her, she honestly didn’t know how she’d respond.

‘You tell me,’ she said tonelessly.

‘Okay. I will.’ His eyes grew hard and his voice was calculating—like a detective who was poised on the brink of a breakthrough. ‘I’ll tell you exactly how I think it was. Maybe you wanted a baby. You’d reached a time in your life where you realised you’d better get a move on if you wanted to be a mother. Only maybe you wanted a baby without all the added trouble of an accompanying man. Isn’t that what every successful career woman craves these days, Justina? The designer baby to go with her designer life?’

Justina flinched. Did he really believe her capable of doing such a cold-blooded thing? ‘That’s the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard.’

‘And what better candidate for her baby’s father than me?’ he continued, as if she hadn’t spoken.

‘You?’

‘Yes, me.’ Automatically he pulled his powerful shoulders back as his proud words hissed into the air. ‘Strong and virile. The alpha of the pack. Women are programmed to want a man like me to father their child. That’s why they thrust themselves on me at every opportunity.’

For a moment she was tempted to point out that he had been the one doing the thrusting, but she recognised that this was no time to attempt humour. Not when he was essentially accusing her of having used him as some sort of unknowing sperm donor.

‘I’m not continuing with this ridiculous discussion any longer,’ she said. ‘Go and mull over your crazy conspiracy theories somewhere else. I’m tired and I need to pack. I have a plane to catch.’

He watched as she rubbed two fingers tiredly across her forehead. ‘You’re going home?’

‘Yes, Dante—I’m going home. I’m only just within the legal requirement for flying, if you must know.’

‘Why the hell are you flying? Why aren’t you doing what most women would do in your position—lying on a sofa with your feet up instead of trekking halfway across the globe?’

‘I’ve been working.’

‘Of course. I should have guessed.’

‘I know that for you it’s a dirty word when it comes from a woman’s lips—but that’s just the way it is. I was working—and now I need to pack. So if you wouldn’t mind leaving me to get on with it, I’d appreciate it.’

‘As it happens, I would. I’d mind very much.’ For the first time he saw the faint shadows which darkened her eyes. ‘I presume you’re booked on to a scheduled flight?’

‘I wasn’t planning on flapping my arms and flying to England, if that’s what you mean.’

He let out a low breath of irritation. ‘That is a completely unsatisfactory state of affairs. You will travel with me instead. On the D’Arezzo jet.’

For a moment she hesitated. ‘You’ve got your own plane now?’

‘Yes, I’ve got my own plane,’ he snapped. ‘I told you at the wedding that the company was doing well—you didn’t bother to ask how well. But I don’t know why that should come as a surprise, when my career never made you sit up and take notice. It was always about you—wasn’t it, Justina?’

He said it in a way which filled Justina with rebellion. Already he was trying to take over. To use his power and his wealth to control her movements. Earlier in the day she’d been feeling lonely—but now she could see that there were worse things than having to deal with an unplanned pregnancy on her own. Like having Dante call the shots and expect her to fall in with his wishes.

‘I will not travel on your plane,’ she said quietly. ‘I already have my ticket and I’m intending to use it. Before you ask, I will be travelling in first class and I will be perfectly comfortable. I don’t need your money and what it can buy. That’s why I’ve always made my own. Why I’ve always been so protective of my career and my independence. Don’t you realise that I’m not impressed by your wealth, Dante? I never was.’

There was a pause while their eyes clashed in a silent battle of wills. Yes, he thought bitterly, she had always made it perfectly clear that she didn’t need him.

‘But I’m not trying to impress you,’ he said quietly. ‘On the contrary, I am merely trying to make you see sense. Because this is no longer just about you and what makes you happy—although God knows that’s been your main consideration for so long that it’s difficult to see how you could ever change your behaviour. You seem to forget that you carry my child within you, and I have a responsibility towards that unborn life.’

She felt her heart contract. ‘But you don’t—’

‘Now, we can do this one of two ways.’ His unequivocal words cut through her protest. ‘You can force me to carry you kicking and screaming through the foyer of this beautiful hotel—with all the attendant embarrassment and publicity that will cause. Publicity which will be abhorrent to me and to the D’Arezzo corporation. But if I have to do it, then I will. Be under no illusion about that.’ There was a pause as his dark gaze scorched through her. ‘Or we can do this the easy way. You can go and do your packing and let me fly you back to England and all you have to do is sit back and let it happen. Which is far better for you—and for the baby. Surely even you can see that?’

Justina pursed her lips together, afraid that she was going to do something stupid—like bursting into noisy tears of frustration. He still thought he could march right in and take over her life. Even worse, he didn’t just think it—he was actually going ahead and doing it, in that powerful and pig-headed way of his. He had her backed into a corner and she knew it—just as she knew that his forceful words were underpinned with truth. It was better for the baby, and this was no longer just about her.

And if she was being brutally honest hadn’t his words produced a flicker of comfort somewhere deep inside her? A feeling which was distracting, because comfort had been absent from her life for so long. For months now she’d carried on travelling and working as she’d done all her life while her belly had got bigger and bigger. She’d tried to convince herself that she was a perfect example of an independent woman who could do this on her own. But lately it had felt lonely, and sometimes in the middle of the night it had even felt scary.

At this precise moment she felt tired—and Dante was standing in front of her like a symbol of everything which was strong and vital. But it was dangerous to buy into that. Everything that he did came with some sort of clause. He never offered something without demanding a whole lot back in return. She should remember that.

‘It seems that you’ve got your own way as usual,’ she said.

Dante gave a bitter laugh as she spoke the sulky little phrase without any apparent sense of irony. Didn’t she realise that she was the one person who had stopped him getting his own way and thus had marred his personal track record of success? That she was the one and only person who had ever defied him?

‘Maybe you should hold on to that thought, Justina,’ he said. ‘It might save you from useless rebellion in the future.’

CHAPTER SIX

‘THIS IS WHERE you live?’

Justina fought against an inescapable feeling of weariness as Dante stood like a dark avenger in the centre of her apartment and bit out his critical question. Despite the undeniable luxury of his private jet she was exhausted after the long flight, and the traffic from the airport to her East London home had been horrendous. And now she was being forced to stomach the sight of Dante dominating her private space, which was making her feel edgier still. She wished he would just go away and leave her alone—and yet she knew him well enough to realise that he wasn’t going anywhere.

Because nothing between them had been settled.

No decisions had been made about the baby during that flight from Singapore. He had settled down to tackle a huge pile of work and largely ignored her. At the time she had been grateful for the respite—relieved not to have to tackle a difficult subject beneath the eyes of the gorgeous stewardesses who worked on his plane. She’d even pulled her notebook from her bag in a retaliatory gesture, but she’d been far too het-up to be able to concentrate on her latest song.

She had tried to buffer herself against the curious volatility of her emotions during that long journey, and yet it had proved almost impossible to remain calm and immune to him. She despaired of the ever-present desire she experienced whenever he was near—as if her body had been hard-wired to make her want him even when she was this pregnant. She didn’t know how to make it go away. And now she was beginning to realise that they couldn’t keep putting off the inevitable talk about the future.

‘Yes, it’s where I live,’ she said, putting a pile of unopened mail down on the table. ‘What’s the matter with it?’

Dante glanced around, not bothering to hide his disapproval. It was a vast open-plan apartment which was perfect for a career woman, but not for a baby. There were too many sharp corners, too many glass surfaces—and the furniture was coloured an impractical shade of oatmeal. He’d been to many sophisticated apartments like this but they always left him cold. In Tuscany he had a palazzo which was centuries old, and in New York his home was a faded brownstone filled with antiques. He didn’t do modern—and wasn’t that yet another great difference between him and this woman? She had no great love for the past. She’d once told him that was because her own history was so full of gaps—and yet his history was what defined him.

Walking over to the window, he stared out at the stately dome of St Paul’s Cathedral and the glittering skyscrapers beyond, before turning round to face her.

‘This is no place for a baby,’ he said.

There had been several times recently when Justina might have been inclined to agree with him, but hearing Dante say it was different from thinking it herself. ‘Don’t tell me—a baby can’t be happy unless it’s living in some cute little house with roses growing around the door?’ she said sarcastically. ‘Or, as in your case, some whacking great palazzo nestling in the Tuscan hills?’

‘Don’t be naïve, Justina. How many other women in this block have babies?’

She frowned. ‘What’s that got to do with it?’

‘So already we’re talking social isolation.’

‘For a newborn?’

‘For you, too!’ he snapped. ‘New mothers need people around them for all kinds of reasons. And what about that tiny elevator?’

‘What about it?’

‘How the hell are you planning to get a buggy in there?’ He looked around again, only this time he appeared to be seeking out something in particular. His dark gaze finally settled on her. ‘Where is the buggy?’

‘Buggy?’

His voice was dangerously quiet, and he appeared to be choosing his words with care. ‘Please tell me you’ve bought our child something in which to transport it. Just like you’ve bought a cot and clothes and all the other things he or she will require. Do you have all those very necessary things, Justina—and, if so, would you mind telling me where they are?’

Still reeling from that wholly possessive ‘our child’, which had flowed so fluidly from his lips, she met his eyes, unprepared for the wave of guilt which washed over her. ‘No,’ she said, and her voice was little more than a whisper. ‘I haven’t bought a thing. Not yet.’

For a long moment there was silence, before Dante slowly took in her words. ‘Not yet’ she had said, while looking so ripe with child that he wouldn’t have been shocked if she’d suddenly gone into labour right there on the oatmeal sofa. No, that wasn’t quite true—he would be pretty shocked if that happened.

‘Why not?’ he demanded. ‘What are you waiting for?’

His words were like bullets, and Justina felt as if she’d just removed the vest which might have bounced them back at him. All the fight went out of her—because how could she possibly explain that her life had been non-stop activity for the past thirty-five weeks? That she’d been afraid to turn down any work since she’d first stared aghast at the telltale blue line which had confirmed her pregnancy? That she hadn’t wanted people to think she was going to retire or start taking things easy because she still needed to work—baby or no baby? She was going to have to work for all kinds of reasons—the main one being her own sense of crippling insecurity, which always lurked just below the surface of her life.

Hadn’t it been easier to cram her life full of jobs? Much easier to have things which kept her busy rather than to have to think about a future she’d never envisaged and which she still couldn’t quite imagine. But as she met Dante’s gaze she could see that her actions might easily be interpreted as selfishness. And hadn’t that always been one of his number one accusations against her? That she was one of a terrible breed of women who refused to put other people first—or rather put their man first?

‘I kept putting it off,’ she said. ‘Maybe it was an extended form of denial that it’s actually happening. I’ve been to all the childbirth classes....’ Her voice tailed off as she remembered the ignominy of that. Everyone else had been part of a gleeful couple—each man proudly patting his partner’s bump at every opportunity and religiously doing all the breathing exercises. One man had even given up soft cheese and alcohol in order to ‘share his wife’s experience’. Justina had just felt such an oddity in their midst. Maybe they’d found it slightly embarrassing that she didn’t have a partner—that she’d clammed up whenever they had tried to quiz her about her baby’s father. And hadn’t she felt so unbelievably lonely as she’d tried to stem her envy of their seemingly uncomplicated and ordinary lives?

‘It just seemed so unreal,’ she continued slowly. ‘Like it wasn’t really happening to me. As if I’d wake up one morning and find that it had all been a mistake.’

His gaze was still fixed on her and she waited for some control freak tirade to follow because she’d dared to neglect the material requirements of the D’Arezzo heir. But to her surprise there was no outburst. Just that same faintly despairing expression in his dark eyes, which was infinitely worse. She thought that he’d never seemed more distant as he stood there, his powerful body seeming to absorb all the light in her usually airy apartment. But there was something compelling about him which drew the eye so that it became impossible to look anywhere else other than at him.

‘What do you do to relax?’ he asked suddenly.

The question was so unexpected that she didn’t have time to concoct a convincing answer. Instead, she shrugged. ‘I’m not very good at relaxing.’

‘I can tell. You look worn out,’ he said softly. ‘So why don’t you think about the baby for once—instead of your unquenchable desire to be number one in the music business? Go and take a bath, or something. Isn’t that what women usually do to relax?’

‘You would know about that better than I do, Dante.’ She was about to add that she would have a bath when she wanted one—and preferably after he’d gone—but his phone had started ringing and he’d clicked to answer it. And unbelievably, he was holding up a forefinger to silence her while he listened.

She contemplated telling him to go and take his calls somewhere else—but she was damned if she was going to stand there like some sort of simpering secretary, waiting patiently for him to finish his conversation. Instead, she stomped into the bathroom and locked the door behind her, turning the taps full on and recklessly dolloping in far too much lime and mandarin bath foam, before she hit the music button and then lowered herself into the foamy water.

When she’d first moved into this apartment she’d had a sophisticated sound system installed which played music in all the rooms. Usually she pressed the ‘shuffle’ button, so that she never knew which track was coming next. But today she selected Metamorphosis—which had been one of the Lollipops’ most successful albums. A success which had come at a cost.

It was the album she’d been writing when her relationship with Dante was breaking up. She hadn’t been able to listen to it for years but her reasons for needing to hear it now were important. No, they were vital. She needed to revisit that dark place she’d been in. She needed to remember the heartbreak and the desperation she’d felt as it had all slipped away from her. To remind herself that the occasional twinge of isolation was nothing to the pain she’d suffered in the past.

She lay back in the warm water, the shiny mound of her belly emerging from the white suds as the sound of the music filled the bathroom.

It hurt. It hurt more than she had expected it to. The lyrics of one song in particular felt like having a bucket of salt poured over an open wound, and she flinched as the memories all came flooding back. It was a song which had soared up the charts. Women had bought it in droves. She’d even been approached about having it used in the film score of a romantic comedy, but she had said no—even though her agent had hit the roof when she’d told him. She hadn’t been able to bear the thought of having it associated with comedy when it symbolised the bleakest time of her life. In fact, she’d always regretted releasing it as a single. It had been played on the radio so much that for a while she’d stopped listening in order to preserve her sanity.

She’d written it when she’d got back from finding Dante in bed with that blonde, pouring all her feelings out into a song because she hadn’t been able to bear the shame of telling anyone else what had happened. She’d entitled the track ‘Her’ and the words were still unbearably painful to hear.

Does she know the things you said

When you were lying in my bed?

Your words of love became a slur

When you whispered them to her.

Justina wanted to scream. To turn the music off and with it the images it brought back—but she couldn’t move. She was marooned in a great tub of bath water, feeling and looking like a beached whale, her usual agility long gone. So she closed her eyes and waited for the track to finish.

The water was almost cold by the time she carefully got out, hoping that Dante would have taken the hint and gone.

But he hadn’t gone. He was still talking on the phone, looking out of the window as he conversed in his native tongue. He must have heard her enter the room—even though she was moving soundlessly on bare feet—for he turned round, his eyes narrowing when he saw her.

Maybe she should have put on some jeans and a sweater, not the full-length silken robe which she’d wrapped tightly over her baby bump. But why should she start turning her whole life around to fit in with him? She was dressed for bed and she intended to go to bed—perhaps he might take the hint and leave her to it.

His voice slowed as he watched her push a lock of damp hair back behind her ear, and he said something in Italian before cutting the connection and sliding the phone back into his jacket pocket.

‘I thought you’d have gone by now,’ she said ungraciously as she slumped down onto the sofa.

‘I was listening to the music. Unsurprisingly, the acoustics in your apartment are the best I’ve ever heard.’ His smile was brief, but damning. ‘Tell me, do you always listen to your own songs when you’re lying in the bath?’

If she said ‘never’, wouldn’t that indicate that he could still unsettle her enough to make her behave in an uncharacteristic way? And she didn’t have to justify herself to him.

‘That’s none of your business. I can listen to what I like. Frankly, I’m surprised you’re still here—not least because that last song must have made you feel intensely uncomfortable. Or maybe not.’ Her eyes challenged him with a bravado she was far from feeling. ‘Maybe it feeds your massive ego to hear yourself written about in a song.’

‘Not that particular song, no,’ he reflected. ‘It was unforgivable for you to take our private disagreement and throw it into the public arena.’

‘Perhaps if you hadn’t behaved like a total sleaze then I might have found something good to write about you.’

‘“A total sleaze”?’

His eyes narrowed, but she could tell by the way that he was tapping his forefinger against his lips that he was furious.

‘Is that what you think I am, Justina?’

He was walking towards her now, with a look on his face which was making her shiver. Actually, it was making her do much more than shiver. It was making the soft, curling excitement at the pit of her belly slowly begin to unfurl. She knew she ought to move, to run away—but her slumped position on the sofa meant that she wasn’t able to run anywhere. And deep down she knew she didn’t want to.

‘It doesn’t matter what I think you are,’ she said.

‘No?’

‘No. You’re nothing to me any more, Dante.’

For a moment their gazes locked, and Justina held her breath as he walked round the back of the sofa to stand behind her, so that she couldn’t see him. She could feel a strange kind of tension begin to shimmer in the air around them.

‘I think it does matter.’ There was a pause as he brushed a fingertip over the back of her neck. ‘You don’t like me very much, do you?’

She shook her head. ‘No.’

‘Brutal, but honest,’ he mused, his fingertip retracing the path it had just taken, as if he was fascinated by the innocuous column of flesh he found there.

She tried to fight against the sudden whisper of pleasure that touch had given her. ‘What are you doing?’

He began to massage her shoulders, briefly expelling a breath as he felt her soft flesh beneath his fingers again. ‘I’m trying to make you relax, but it isn’t easy because you are very tense, tesoro,’ he observed softly. ‘Very, very tense.’

Justina swallowed. She ought to assert herself. She ought to tell him to stop. But how could she bear to do that when it felt this good? His fingers were kneading at the tightness in her shoulders and she could feel the tight knots dissolving as if by magic. His thumbs began to circle rhythmically at the base of her neck and it was impossible not to just go with it. She told herself that the caress of his fingers on her skin was dangerous. She knew that. But it had been so long since she had been touched. Not since that night back in Norfolk, when their baby had been conceived.

She closed her eyes. ‘Dante—’

‘Shh.’ His fingers continued with their steady movement. ‘Don’t talk.’

‘You shouldn’t be doing that.’

‘All I’m doing is making you relax.’

But that wasn’t all he was doing. He must know that. Because the tension which had melted away had now been replaced by a very different kind. She could feel it building in the air around them—like the heavy electricity you got before a violent thunderstorm. She could feel the melting ache of heat between her thighs and the insistent tingling of her breasts as she yearned for him to touch them. And wasn’t it appalling that the woman who was due to give birth in a few short weeks should be feeling this rising tide of need?

So stop him!

Her throat felt dry, her mouth so parched that she could barely get the words out. ‘I don’t think—’

‘Good. Don’t think. Just feel.’

And—oh, God—it was all too easy to do that. Sinfully easy. His hands were working deeper into the flesh around her shoulders and he had drifted two thumbs down over her ribcage. Her heart was fluttering wildly in response. Surely she was mistaken but had he...had he just brushed his hands over her breasts? Yes. There it was again. Definitely. The whisper of his fingertips was butterfly-light but achingly accurate.

‘Dante—’

‘For once in your life, will you just shut up?’ he questioned, splaying his hand over one peaking nipple and letting his thumb circle over the tight bud.

She began to squirm with excitement. She couldn’t help it. She wanted to call his name out loud. She wanted him to walk round to the front of the sofa, to pull her into his arms and start kissing her and make love to her properly. But he wasn’t doing that. He was... He was...

She gasped as he leaned over her, so that his lips were on the top of her head. She could hear the heavy sound of his own breathing and it was echoing the sound of her own. She could smell the sandalwood scent of his aftershave and feel the warmth of his flesh as he touched her. His hand had skated down over the swollen mound of her belly and he was pushing aside the folds of her silken robe. She could feel her thighs parting—as if she was a puppet and someone was pulling her strings. Well, he was. That was exactly what he was doing. He was skating little circles over the cool skin of her inner thighs until she was gasping helplessly with pleasure. And then his finger flicked over her moist and eager flesh until it alighted on the tight little nub and she opened her thighs wider. She gave another gasp as he began to make that achingly familiar movement, her hunger briefly tempered by the fear that he might stop.