“I’ll call him if you want me to, Theresa,” he offered quietly and she shook her head, suddenly feeling an overwhelming urge to quite simply burst into tears again.
“You’re right, a visit from him wouldn’t be very pleasant,” she said in an alarmingly wobbly voice. “But I keep hoping…” She left the rest unspoken but he seemed to understand.
“I know,” he hesitantly reached for one of the limp hands resting on her stomach, engulfing it in both of his.
“I don’t know why he’s like that,” she kept her eyes averted. “All of my life, I tried so hard to make him love me but he never could. For a short while I thought I found what I was looking for, someone who could love me…” she was barely aware of what she was saying, her blurred gaze remained fixed on their joined hands. There was a long silence, while they both contemplated their entwined fingers and Sandro finally sighed heavily.
“Why don’t you take a little nap?” He suggested gently. “I’ll be here to keep an eye on things.” What things he thought he had to keep an eye on, she had no idea but just having him there made her feel better and she lay back with a contented sigh and was asleep almost immediately.
Chapter Eight
“You are an extremely difficult patient, cara,” Sandro gritted out from between his teeth three days later. It was mid-afternoon and he had walked into her workroom, only to find her guiltily standing in the middle of the room. She was clutching the sketchbook that she had crept upstairs to retrieve, to her chest.
“I was bored,” she whined. “So I thought if I had my sketchbook handy, I could work on some designs.”
“Why didn’t you call me or Phumsile to get it for you?”
“You were catching up on some work,” and he had missed enough of it already, taking the week off to stay with her. “And Phumsile has dashed out to do some shopping.”
“This is ridiculous,” he growled, reaching her in one stride and swinging her up into his strong arms as if she were a featherweight. “You’re being impossible. Why didn’t you watch some TV, or read a book or take a nap, or anything until Phumsile got back?”
“Because I’m bored now,” she complained sulkily and he muttered something in Italian beneath his breath.
“What does that mean?” She demanded to know and he slanted a wry sidelong glance at her before snorting softly.
“I said, ‘God save me from stubborn women’,” he obligingly translated and she scowled.
“I am not stubborn,” she insisted stubbornly and his gorgeous lips twitched in amusement.
“Of course not,” he shook his dark head in a most condescending manner, that Theresa immediately took exception to.
“And you don’t have to patronize me,” she seethed. “I’m not made of glass…”
“You’re just spoiling for a fight aren’t you?” He mused, his lips curling up slightly and she simply folded her arms over her chest and kept her gaze mutinously fixed on his strong jaw. He sighed dramatically and hoisted her further up against his chest before making his way downstairs. When they got back to her room he deposited her gently onto the side of her bed and stood staring down at her implacably with his hands shoved into the pockets of his navy blue cargo pants. She loved him in cargo pants, they rode low on his lean hips and certainly did wonderful things for his already gorgeous backside. Now, while he brooded above her, her mouth went dry at the picture of masculine perfection he presented in those pants and his favourite old t-shirt, a torn, stretched grey thing with a Batman emblem on the front. His hair was a mess and he was in serious need of a shave but he looked absolutely gorgeous and she was suddenly breathless with desire for him.
His eyes narrowed speculatively on her suddenly flushed face and he seemed to clue in to what was happening immediately, the corners of his lips tugged upward as he stretched suddenly, adding a jaw-popping yawn to the movement. His t-shirt rode up over his toned, ridged abdomen, revealing his smooth bronze skin and Theresa nearly groaned out loud as she squelched the urge to reach out and stroke the satiny skin on display just inches from her face. The elaborate stretch finally ended and he groaned as he rolled his head on his shoulders, working the kinks out of his neck.
“I’m exhausted,” he informed her huskily, sinking down beside her and she hurriedly scooted closer to the headboard. He ignored the evasive movement and threw himself backward, lying down with his knees over the side of the bed and his feet braced on the floor. Once again his shirt had ridden up and Theresa stared at the tempting skin of his ripped torso mutely. He lifted his hands to cover his face, hitching the shirt up even further, and he sighed again. “Just let me rest here for a couple of minutes, cara. I need to recover my strength after hauling you down those stairs. You have put on a lot of weight over these last few months…” she was so captivated by the delectable picture he made, laid out like a buffet in front of a starving woman, that it took a moment for the words to sink in. When they did, she yelped in outrage and thumped his hard bicep in response. His mouth, the only part of his face that she could see beneath his hands, shifted into a lazy smile.
“You hit like a girl,” he smirked, keeping his eyes covered and she attempted to hit him again, only he was ready for her this time and grabbed her clenched fist to tug her towards him until she was awkwardly sprawled on top of him. She tried to shift off him but his arm tightened like an iron band around her waist, keeping her in place with the barest of efforts.