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Marriage In Peril
Miranda Lee
Brooke is happily married to wealthy Italian Leonardo Parini…until she overhears a conversation suggesting Leo was once in love with his late brother's wife. At first Brooke can't believe her handsome husband could betray her, but soon she has heartbreaking proof…Dare she believe her heart or should she believe the ugly rumors surrounding her husband? Brooke decides to save her marriage! Not by confronting Leo with her suspicions, but by giving him all he wants in bed!




“Hey, hey, what’s this?”
Leo took her tearstained face in his hands.
She couldn’t say a word. How could you do this to me? she wanted to wail at him. I gave you everything!
He stroked her hair and, speaking softly, gently, said, “I know I haven’t been much of a husband lately, but the past three weeks have been…difficult. My brother’s death has caused all sorts of problems, problems too complex and numerous to explain. Suffice to say I’ve sorted them out now.”
Brooke listened to this subtly worded confession without a shred of reassurance or forgiveness. How smooth he was, she realized. How clever. How patronizing! “I probably haven’t told you this often enough,” he went on, bending to press his lips into her hair, “but I do love you, Brooke….”
Brooke stopped breathing. How could words so longed for strike like daggers into her heart? For she knew who her husband really loved….
Mamma Mia!
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Miranda Lee
Marriage in Peril





CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE
BROOKE steeled herself for her mother’s reaction to her news. It wouldn’t be good. But there again, she reminded herself ruefully, her mother never approved of any of her decisions.
Not that Brooke was in the habit of being all that assertive. She’d only crossed her mother’s will a few times in her twenty-two years, and most of those had been secret transgressions, like reading with a torch under the bedclothes at night. And putting on lipstick the moment she turned the corner on her way to school.
Her only major openly defiant decisions had been taking an apprenticeship in the hospitality industry with a large Sydney hotel rather than doing law at university, followed by her move out of home last year to live by herself in a small bedsit at Bondi.
But neither of those decisions had been as mammoth as planning to marry at a register office ceremony tomorrow morning, without breathing a word to her mother about either her husband-to-be or the marriage till this very moment.
Tension built within Brooke while she waited for her mother to say something. But Phyllis Freeman just sat there at the green garden table, smoking. Silent.
The silent treatment was not a tactic her mother adopted very often. She was a highly intelligent and assertive woman, with a sharp mind and an even sharper tongue, who used argument and ruthless logic to get her way. She had definite ideas about everything, but especially the role and rights of the modern woman.
A lawyer who specialised in discrimination cases, Phyllis was an expert in arguing the feminist cause. At forty-two, and with two divorces behind her, she had become a dedicated man-hater, plus the most difficult of mothers.
Brooke had no idea why she loved her. The woman was impossible. She’d driven away two good husbands, and driven Brooke herself to distraction ever since she’d started dating. No boyfriend had ever found favour with Phyllis Freeman. There’d always been something wrong with them.
No wonder when Brooke had met Leo she’d never brought him home to meet her mother. Brooke hadn’t wanted to risk spoiling what she knew was the greatest love of her life.
But things had progressed beyond that now—now her mother had to be acquainted with the facts. Her marriage to Leo was about to become a fait accompli.
Brook had toyed with the idea of not telling her mother till after the event, but had decided that would be too cruel. At the moment, however, she thought it might have been the lesser of two evils.
Brooke’s stomach tightened as she watched her mother finally stab out her cigarette in the ceramic ashtray and look up at her with icy blue eyes.
‘Was marriage your idea, Brooke?’ she asked coldly. ‘Or his?’
‘His, actually,’ Brooke took pleasure in announcing. She’d been over the moon when Leo had proposed straight away on knowing about the baby. Because then she’d known he really loved her, and wasn’t just out for a good time.
Her mother had always said actions spoke louder than words. Well, marriage equated with love and commitment in Brooke’s mind. It wasn’t just her so-called beautiful face and body Leo wanted—something her mother had always gone to great pains to point out about her previous boyfriends.
Brooke wondered if that was what her mother had believed about herself in the past. That the men in her life had been blinded by her looks, that none had ever really loved Phyllis the person. As a young woman Phyllis had been a stunner, with long blonde hair, creamy skin, big blue eyes, full, pouty lips and a body just made for sin. Brooke was often told she was the spitting image of her mother at the same age.
The years, however, had wrought many changes in Phyllis Freeman. Chain-smoking had aged her skin and bitterness had thinned her mouth. Her once lovely long blonde hair was now cut ruthlessly short and going grey at the roots. A dedicated feminist, Brooke’s mother never went to the hairdresser’s, or wore make-up. She was too thin as well, in Brooke’s opinion, living on cigarettes and coffee.
Brooke worried about her mother’s health.
‘I suppose you refused to consider an abortion,’ Phyllis scorned, ‘being the hopeless romantic you are.’
Brooke almost hated her at that moment. ‘I didn’t consider it for a moment,’ she said indignantly. ‘I love Leo, Mum. With all my heart.’
‘I have no doubt you do, darling,’ Phyllis returned, though her eyes remained cynical. ‘Why else would an intelligent girl sleep with a man without using protection unless she was in love? But why did he, I wonder?’ she mused.
Brooke refused to say a word on that subject. No way was she going to admit to being so instantly besotted with Leo that she’d been quite shameless in her swift surrender to his impassioned pursuit of her. Not to mention totally reckless. She’d stupidly deceived him in matters of contraception that first night because she hadn’t wanted him to stop, even for a second, and she had genuinely thought it was a safe time. The same thing had applied each night over the following week.
But it hadn’t been safe at all. When her period hadn’t arrived at the end of that first marvellous week, she hadn’t panicked. But when it hadn’t made an appearance by the end of another fortnight, and a pregnancy test had confirmed she was going to have a baby, Brooke had been too afraid to confess everything, so she’d pretended that she’d forgotten to take the pill on one of those first tempestuous nights together. At the time she hadn’t been trying to trap Leo into marriage. She’d just been unbelievably stupid!
But he’d been so wonderful when she’d confessed her pregnant state. And not at all angry. Comforting and caring when she’d cried. Solid and strong when she’d said she didn’t know what to do.
‘Don’t worry, mi micetta,’ he’d murmured soothingly as he held her close. He always called her that. It meant little kitten. He said she was like a kitten after they’d made love, practically purring as he stroked her as he liked to do afterwards. ‘We’ll get married as soon as it can be arranged. But not a big wedding. And no honeymoon, I’m afraid. I do not have time for that right now.’
Only occasionally did she feel a stab of guilt over deceiving Leo, but never when in his arms, never when he called her his micetta.
She felt a bit guilty now. Not over Leo. Over her mother. She was probably very hurt by being kept in the dark like this.
But Brooke refused to apologise. Or back down. Once you took a backward step with Phyllis Freeman she went for the jugular.
‘So what does your husband-to-be do for a living?’ her mother asked abruptly.
‘He’s a businessman. His family company imports Italian goods into countries all over the world. Leo’s in the process of opening an office and warehouse here in Sydney.’
‘How enterprising of him,’ Phyllis drawled. ‘And where did you meet this…Leo? He doesn’t sound like your usual style of boyfriend.’
‘He’s been living in a suite at the Majestic till he can buy a house,’ Brooke said, and watched that information sink in.
The Majestic was one of Sydney’s most expensive hotels, a lavish, luxurious concern which overlooked the Harbour and the Opera House, and boasted pop stars and presidents amongst its clientele. Brooke had been working on the main desk for just over six months, and it had been there, on a warm summer evening back in February, just over two months ago, that she’d looked up from the computer and straight into Leo’s incredibly sexy black eyes.
‘So what’s his full name?’ Phyllis asked sourly. ‘This fine, successful businessman called Leo, who’s impregnated my daughter but doesn’t have the courage to face me himself.’
‘He did want to face you,’ Brooke defended. ‘It’s me who insisted on coming in alone first.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. Really. His full name is Leonardo Giuseppe Parini,’ she said proudly, thinking it was a wonderful name, with a wonderful heritage. Leo had told her his family could trace its ancestors back for generations. In the eighteenth century one of his forefathers had been a famous poet.
‘He’s Italian?’ Phyllis exclaimed, horrified.
Brooke was taken aback by her mother’s reaction. ‘Well…yes. He was born in Milan. But he speaks English perfectly,’ she hurried on, full of pride and praise for her handsome and clever husband-to-be. ‘He travelled a lot with his parents as a child. And he studied business at Harvard. He spent a few years working in New York, then London and Paris. And now he’s here in Sydney. He hardly has any accent at all.’ Just enough to be very, very sexy.
‘His accent isn’t the problem, Brooke,’ her mother bit out. ‘Accent or no accent, he’s a born and bred Italian.’
‘What’s the problem with that?’
‘At least I now understand why he’s marrying you,’ her mother muttered. ‘An Australian man would probably have run a mile. Italian men have this thing about their offspring, especially sons. I hope you realise, Brooke, how Italians treat their wives once a wedding ring is on their finger and they have them under lock and key at home. Like second-class citizens. Chattels. Italian wives are never partners. Just possessions and producers of children.’
‘Leo’s not like that!’ Brooke defended, her face instantly hot with resentment and fury. Trust her mother to start criticising before she’d even met the man. ‘And you’re wrong about Italian men. That’s an ignorant and very offensive opinion!’
Why, her best friend in high school had been Italian, and her father had been a wonderful man. Brooke had loved going over to Antonia’s house. It had been so much warmer than her own. No tension or arguments. Just a whole lot of warmth, and closeness, and love.
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Phyllis snapped. ‘All men are like that, given the opportunity. But chauvinism is bred into Italian men. They think they’re gods within their own family circles and demand to be treated as such, no questions asked. Italian women seem to be able to cope. They’re brought up with different values and expectations. But you’re not Italian, Brooke. You’re Australian. You’re also my daughter. There’s more of me in you than you realise, whether you admit it or not. He’ll make you miserable. You mark my words.’
‘You’re wrong!’ Brooke lashed back. ‘He won’t make me miserable because I won’t make him miserable. And I’m not like you. Not in any way. In my eyes, Leo is a god. Nothing is too good for him. I’m never going to drive him away like you did Dad, with your constant arguing and criticising. No wonder he left you. I’m going to give my husband whatever he wants. I’m going to be there for him whenever he needs me.’
‘Become a doormat, you mean.’
‘Not a doormat. A wife!’
‘Same thing, in some men’s eyes.’
Brooke shook her head in despair and frustration. ‘You have no idea how to make a man happy. You never did.’
‘Not if it meant suppressing every thought, wish and opinion in my head! You’re an intelligent girl, Brooke. And you’re quite stubborn and wilful in your own way. If you think squashing everything you are will bring you lasting happiness, then you’re in for a shock one day.’
Brooke said nothing, gritted her teeth and just counted to ten. ‘Are you going to come to my wedding or not?’
‘Would it make any difference?’
Brooke sighed a weary sigh. ‘Of course it would make a difference. I want you there at my wedding. You’re my mother.’
‘Then I’ll be there, I suppose. Just like I’ll be there to pick up the pieces when the honeymoon is over. And it will be over one day, Brooke. I hope you realise that.’
‘Leo and I are never getting a divorce, no matter what!’
‘You say that now,’ Phyllis said as she lit up another cigarette. ‘I wonder what you might say in five years’ time.’
‘The answer will be the same.’
‘I truly hope so, darling. Now…’ She dragged deeply on the cigarette and let it out slowly. ‘Am I going to meet this handsome Italian of yours or not?’ The corner of her mouth lifted in a knowing little smirk. ‘He is handsome, I presume? Never known you to go out with an ugly bloke. Not you, Brooke.’
Brooke’s chin lifted. ‘He’s very handsome.’
‘Then go get him. I’m beginning to be just a little bit curious about Leonardo Giuseppe Parini.’
Brooke was the one smiling when she led Leo back into her mother’s presence, her arms linked tightly around his. For she knew her lover of two months and imminent husband-to-be wasn’t just handsome. He was simply magnificent. In every way.
A mature and sophisticated thirty-two, he was tall for an Italian, at six foot two, with an elegant but well-shaped body and a face Valentino would have envied. It combined the best of all things Latin, with slightly hooded and absolutely riveting black eyes, a classic nose and a highly sensual mouth. His hair was even blacker than his eyes, its glossy thickness giving added style and shape to its up-to-date fashion of being cut quite short. Brooke thought him the most handsome man she’d ever seen.
But it was his presentation which really impressed. His utter perfection in matters of dress and grooming. His coolly confident bearing. His grace of movement.
Brooke’s smile broadened as she watched her mother’s eyes widen and her mouth fall rather inelegantly open.
‘This is Leo, Mum,’ Brooke said smugly, and ran a possessive hand down his sleekly suited arm.
Phyllis Freeman was rendered totally speechless for the first time in her life.

CHAPTER ONE
Italy…five years later.
BROOKE stretched out on top of the bed and tried to go to sleep, as everyone else was doing that warm, sultry afternoon. But it was impossible. She’d never been a sleeper during the day. On top of that, she was feeling restless and edgy.
Her gaze drifted agitatedly around the huge and very lavish bedroom, then up at the ornate frescoed ceiling and the elaborate crystal and gold chandelier which hung from its centre.
This was the main guest room, where she and Leo always stayed during their annual visit to the Parini family villa on Lake Como.
‘Only the best for my son and his lovely wife,’ his mother had said the first time Leo had brought Brooke and their baby son home, just on four years ago.
Brooke sighed at the memory of that first visit, and their subsequent yearly visits. What heaven they always were! With an English-speaking Italian girl to help mind the children, and more time to relax, it was almost like being on a honeymoon each year—the one they’d never had.
Their sex life had always been good—fantastic to start with!—and it was still pretty good. Leo would probably say it was very good. But Leo wasn’t a stay-at-home mother with two children under five.
Many was the night Brooke just didn’t feel like sex.
But she never refused Leo, not unless she was really sick. Of course, that meant faking an orgasm every once in a while. But she did it. For him.
Brooke frowned at the thought she’d been doing that quite a bit lately.
During their Italian stays, however, faking anything was never required. No longer tired from continuous child-minding, Brooke was more easily put in the mood. As for Leo…he would become practically insatiable, wanting her not just at night but during the day as well.
Four years ago, when he’d first suggested they take an afternoon nap at the same time as Alessandro was sleeping—he’d been their only child back then—she’d thought he’d gone crazy. The idea of Leo having an afternoon nap had been just plain ridiculous. The man was a dynamo, needing very little sleep at the best of times.
But he’d insisted, despite her blank look, and she’d finally twigged—courtesy of the knowing gleam in Leo’s father’s eyes. She’d blushed madly as Leo had practically dragged her up to the bedroom for a couple of hours’ torrid lovemaking.
Brooke had been a bit stunned at first. Leo hadn’t made love to her like that since before they were married. He’d been gentle and considerate during her whole pregnancy, and hadn’t complained at all during the six weeks after Alessandro’s birth when the doctor had vetoed any sex. Even when Leo had been given the green light he’d still been tender with her, which she’d appreciated. She’d had stitches and been pretty sore and sorry for herself for a while. He’d also seemed to appreciate the fact she was tired most of the time during Alessandro’s first six months. Far too tired for lovemaking marathons.
But that afternoon, although not rough with her, he’d been incredibly demanding. Whilst Brooke had found everything slightly shocking in broad daylight—plus in his parents’ house—it had been exciting, and she hadn’t needed dragging upstairs the next day. Or any day afterwards.
Claudia had been born eight and a half months after their return to Sydney.
But this visit was entirely different in every way. It wasn’t their annual holiday which had brought them to Como a little earlier than usual this year, but a funeral. Leo’s only sibling, Lorenzo, had been killed in a car accident, losing control of his prized Ferrari on one of the hairpin bends around the lake and crashing to a watery death.
Fortunately, Lorenzo’s wife, Francesca, had not been in the car at the time, although maybe she didn’t think she was fortunate. The poor woman had been almost comatose with grief at the funeral, unable to function at all. With Francesca’s own parents long dead, Leo’s mum and dad had brought Lorenzo’s widow home to the villa for some tender loving care, and everyone had done their best to offer comfort, despite their own unhappiness.
But it was difficult to know what to say to her. Brooke thought it was a shame the marriage had never produced children. Children would have given Francesca something to live for.
Brooke had tried to talk to her on one occasion, but the woman had just burst into tears and run back to her room, where she’d stayed for the rest of the day. Brooke had felt terrible, and had told Leo’s mum about it. Sophia had just patted her hand and smiled a sad smile, telling her not to worry, it wasn’t her fault. Francesca was just being Francesca.
Brooke knew exactly what she meant. Francesca was a weak kind of woman, in her opinion. Very beautiful in a dark-eyed, lush-figured way. But she never said much, or exuded much personality.
Not that Brooke had been in their company all that often over their four-year acquaintance. Just the occasional family dinner party, sometimes here at the villa, and sometimes in Lorenzo’s plush apartment in Milan.
Francesca would sit silently beside her husband on such occasions, her eyes darting nervously to him all the time, as though waiting to be told what to do, or say. Brooke could never work out if she adored the man or was afraid of him.
Two years older than Leonardo, Lorenzo had been a handsome and charming man on the surface, but Brooke hadn’t been able to stand him. He’d given her the creeps. Once, during a party at his place, she’d gone to the powder room. She’d been in there, washing her hands, when he’d come in unexpectedly and made the most disgusting suggestion. She’d been so shocked she hadn’t known what to do, except run out of the room and hurry back downstairs.
She hadn’t told Leo about the incident. No way.
Brooke wasn’t stupid, and she’d sensed there was some angst between the two brothers. They’d been civil on the surface, but nothing more. Brooke had got the impression Leo didn’t like his brother’s wife much, either, an opinion reinforced by his coldly indifferent stance when Francesca had suddenly upped and gone back to Milan a week ago. To be by herself, she’d said. Everyone had objected, thinking it a potentially dangerous idea; everyone except Leo.
To be honest, Brooke hadn’t really been sorry to see Francesca go. Her presence had hung like a pall over the house, bringing tensions she didn’t quite understand, not being one of the family.
Leo was actually the lucky one, in her opinion, since he was out of the house most days. He’d been driving back and forth to the Milan office during the working week, going through his brother’s desk and sorting out who was going to take charge there now. Brooke had worried his father might ask him to come back and do the job Lorenzo had been doing—Giuseppe had retired with heart problems the previous year—but this hadn’t eventuated, thank God.
She was grateful for that, but beginning to resent the amount of time Leo was spending away from her and the children. This past week, the situation had worsened, with her husband getting home later and later each night. After a quick supper and a shower, he would fall into bed, too tired to make love, a most unusual situation for Leo.
If there was one thing Brooke could rely upon with her husband, it was the unfailing regularity of his need for sex. Yet he hadn’t laid a hand on her since the funeral, almost three weeks ago.
Brooke was beginning to miss the feelings of love and intimacy Leo’s lovemaking always left her with, even when she was faking things. Every woman liked to be wanted that way.
Sighing, Brooke swung her feet over the side of the bed and stood up. Flicking her long fair hair back over her shoulder, she picked up the novel she kept by the bed and padded across the huge Persian rug towards the sliding glass doors which led out onto the balcony. Once outside, in the cooler air, she settled herself in one of the comfy deckchairs and opened her book at the page she’d reached the previous night.
After several minutes scanning the page without a single word sinking in, Brooke closed the book and just sat there, doing her best to relax and enjoy a view coveted the world over.
The first time she’d seen Lake Como she’d been wide-eyed over the scenic beauty of the mountains rising up from the crystalline lake; at the magnificence of the huge villas clinging to the hillsides; at the number of luxury yachts in the water, plus the all-round postcard perfection of the place.
She’d been even more wide-eyed when Leo had pulled up outside his family’s summer home.
The Parini villa was not as large as some, but larger than most, showing evidence of the family’s long-held wealth. The house had been built in the late eighteenth century, then added to and renovated several times since. Multi-levelled, it had acres of marble flooring, more bedrooms than Brooke could count, huge open-plan living areas, several very formal entertaining rooms, expansive terracotta terraces, a solar-heated swimming pool, and perfectly manicured lawns which sloped down to a private dock where three boats were moored. A speed boat, a cruiser and a racing yacht. Inside, monumental paintings filled the walls, and everywhere there were the most incredible antiques.
Brooke had worried over the years that her boisterous and mischievous son might ruin or break something, but oddly he hadn’t, as though he recognised that these treasures were his to inherit one day and had to be preserved.
Although half-Australian, Alessandro was a very Italian child. Openly affectionate, noisy and demanding, he was far too good-looking for his own good, with his father’s dark hair and eyes.
Claudia was dark-haired and dark-eyed too, and very pretty, but much quieter and delightfully amenable, content to follow her mother around, or just to play with her dolls. Her brother had to be always on the move, always doing something. Since the age of two, he’d refused to take no for an answer.
Like father like son, Brooke thought ruefully.
Which brought her thoughts back to Leo. Her darling Leo, whom she still adored but who was not the easiest man to live with, she’d found. He really did like his way in everything. Many were the times she’d been tempted to argue with him, to try to get her way for once, but she never had.
Except once…when Claudia was born.
Brooke had wanted to call her daughter Chloe. She’d also wanted to call Alessandro Alexander, but had given in when Leo had explained that the heir to the Parini fortune should have an Italian name.
Brooke hadn’t really minded, since Alessandro wasn’t so different from Alexander. But when she’d had a daughter, she’d expected to be able to choose the name she wanted. Not so, she had soon found out. Leo had been adamant about Claudia, then angry when Brooke had argued with him. More angry than she had ever seen him.
‘I am the head of this family,’ he’d pronounced dogmatically. ‘What I say goes!’
For a split second, Brooke had been overwhelmed by a deep, violent anger of her own. You’re just like my mother said, she’d almost thrown at him.
Thinking of her mother, however, had forced her to get a grip on herself. You don’t want to end up like her, do you? Bitter and twisted and lonely. It’s only a name, after all. What’s in a name? It’s not worth getting a divorce over.
So, once again, she’d given in.
But it still hurt a little; his not seeing her point of view on something that was important to her; his not meeting her halfway.
Her mother had warned her she would become a doormat. Well, maybe she had in a way, she conceded. But she was a happy and contented doormat. Most of the time.
A telephone ringing somewhere downstairs had her rising from the depths of the deckchair, only to sink down again when it was swiftly answered.
Determinedly, Brooke picked up her book again, and was doing her best to become absorbed in the story when a voice drifted up from the terrace below. It was Leo’s mother. Despite her speaking in Italian, Brooke understood every word.
She’d always been good at languages, and had studied Latin and Japanese at school. After her marriage to Leo, Brooke had made the effort to learn Italian, picking it up quickly from tapes and books, then practising it with Leo in the evenings, plus every time she visited his family. She had no trouble following the conversation below.
‘There you are, Giuseppe,’ Sophia said. ‘I see you couldn’t sleep, either. That was Leonardo on the phone.’
Brooke’s ears immediately pricked.
‘Anything wrong?’ came Giuseppe’s reply.
‘He’s going to be late again. Doesn’t want us to keep any dinner for him this time.’
Brooke groaned. Just when she’d been wanting him to come home a bit earlier.
‘So?’ Giuseppe said with a shrug in his voice. ‘Why the worried frown?’
‘If he has so much work on his plate, Giuseppe, why didn’t he ask you to go in with him? It’s not as though you couldn’t spend a few hours in the office here and there.’
‘I offered, woman, but he refused. Told me one death in the family was enough for this year. But you’re right. He did look tired last night. I’ll insist on joining him tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow might be too late, Giuseppe.’
‘Too late for what?’
‘I don’t think he’s in the office today…’ Sophia said in more hushed tones.
Brooke leant forward in her chair.
‘…I think he’s with Francesca.’
Brooke’s heart lurched.
‘What?’ Giuseppe exploded. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, woman! Leonardo is not that type of man. He would never be unfaithful to that lovely little wife of his. Never!’
Brooke was glad she was sitting down. If she hadn’t been, she might have fallen down.
‘Not normally, Giuseppe,’ she heard Sophia say. ‘But these are not normal circumstances. Leonardo was in love with Francesca long before Brooke came into his life. He never got over Lorenzo stealing Francesca away from him. He might have pretended to, but I know differently. I’m his mother.’
‘For pity’s sake, that was years ago!’
‘Maybe, but Leonardo is not a fickle man. I always knew that when he fell in love it would be for life.’
‘Leonardo loves his wife!’ his father defended, outrage in his voice.
‘Has he said as much to you?’
An increasingly stricken Brooke strained forward further, waiting to hear Leo’s father say firmly, Yes, of course. Many times!
‘Men don’t talk about things like that, woman. But it’s as obvious as the nose on my face.’
Sophia sighed. ‘I’ve no doubt he does love Brooke, in a fashion. She’s a very beautiful girl. And incredibly sweet. But he was in love with Francesca. I will never forget the way he looked at her on the night of their engagement party, with such hunger in his eyes. To find her in bed that same night with his brother must have nearly killed him.’
On the balcony above Brooke was reeling from shock after shock. Leo…her Leo, in love with Francesca? Her husband, once engaged to his brother’s wife? Francesca choosing Lorenzo over Leo?
‘Unfortunately,’ Sophia went on with another sigh, ‘Leonardo handled Francesca the wrong way back then, playing the gentleman with her. He thought respecting her virginity was the right thing to do. But he was wrong. Lorenzo, to my eternal dismay, had no respect for anything, or anyone. He simply took what he wanted, and silly, shy, naive Francesca was swept away by his decadent wickedness.’
‘You’re talking nonsense, woman! Lorenzo was not wicked, just weak in matters of the flesh. If he was truly wicked, he would not have married the girl. Yes, they did wrong, but they couldn’t help themselves. They fell madly in love at first sight. Lorenzo told me so himself. He was very sorry he hurt Leonardo, but Francesca obviously didn’t really love the boy. Lorenzo said she was only marrying his brother because he was kind, and she was so lonely after her father’s recent death. As soon as Leonardo understood that, any feelings he had for the girl died a natural death.’
‘If he no longer cared for Francesca,’ Sophia scorned, ‘then why did he run off to Australia? And why didn’t he return for his brother’s wedding?’
‘He didn’t run off to Australia. I sent him there! As for not returning for the wedding, give the man some leeway, woman. He has his pride. He did right to stay away.’
‘Perhaps so. But I don’t think he’s staying away now. With Lorenzo dead, Leonardo finally has the opportunity to have what he foolishly denied himself back then. Francesca, in his bed.’
‘I don’t believe a son of mine would dishonour the family name in this way.’
‘Why not?’ Sophia said, her voice becoming hard. ‘Your other son did. Often.’
‘Lorenzo may have strayed once or twice. But he was a handsome man, and women threw themselves at him in a shameless fashion. It’s unfortunate Francesca never had children. Children keep a man at home, and loyal. But let us talk of Lorenzo no more. The boy is dead. It is not right to speak badly of the dead. And you are wrong about Leonardo. Now, I want to hear no more about this matter.’
‘Turning a blind eye will not solve this situation, husband mine,’ Sophia said sternly.
‘If what you say is true, then turning a blind eye is the only answer,’ Giuseppe refuted. ‘If Leo is fool enough to be having an affair with Francesca, he’ll soon get her out of his system and realise there’s just as good to be had at home. If I’m any judge, I’d say better! Leonardo and his family fly back to Sydney in two more days. Be patient and say nothing. The problem will pass.’
‘Maybe you’re right. But two days can be a long time…’

CHAPTER TWO
SOMEHOW Brooke made her way back into the bedroom without alerting the couple on the terrace below, there to collapse onto the gold silk quilt. Both her hands lifted to cover her eyes, as though by blocking out the light she could somehow block out the horror of what she’d just heard.
Leo, in love with Francesca! Leo, once engaged to his brother’s widow! Leo, not at the office, but spending time with his lost love…
It seemed unbelievable, and yet it explained so much. The fact Leo had never actually said he loved her. Not ever! He’d used other endearments, other phrases. Adoration. Desire. Need. But never love.
And then there was his oddly cold behaviour around Francesca. Not dislike or indifference, as she’d imagined. But the other side of love.
Oh, God…
The pain wasn’t just emotional. It was brutally physical. A vice clamped around her heart, pressing down till she simply couldn’t breathe!
Gasping for air, Brooke struggled off the bed and into the bathroom, where she splashed some cold water over her face, then sucked in great gulps of oxygen before straightening. The distressed face staring back at her in the vanity mirror was hardly recognisable. Chalk-white, with huge, hurt blue eyes and an uncontrollably quivering chin. When tears blurred her vision her eyes dropped and her shoulders sagged. She had to clutch at the marble vanity-top to stop herself from sinking to the floor.
Dear Lord, what was she going to do?
Suddenly, and perversely, she wanted her mother.
Yet her mother was the last person she could tell any of this to. She would just say, I told you so! in that scoffing, scornful way of hers.
Brooke could not help thinking that it was almost five years since her mother had prophesied Leo would make her miserable. Next week was their fifth wedding anniversary. And she’d been right!
Or had she?
What if Giuseppe was right and Sophia was wrong? What if Leo wasn’t still in love with Francesca, let alone spending today—or any other day—with her? What if he didn’t give a damn about his brother’s wife, and hadn’t since she’d betrayed his love with his brother?
Brooke’s heart clung to this desperate hope.
It was possible, wasn’t it? Okay, so Leo hadn’t proclaimed his undying love for her. But in the five years she’d known him he’d never given a hint that he was unhappy, or pining for another woman. He’d always seemed very happy to come home to her every night, and very satisfied with their life together, especially their sex life.
Till this last three weeks, that was, she conceded, with a sickening twist in her stomach. Leo hadn’t been himself in that department since coming home for Lorenzo’s funeral.
She’d thought his unusual lack of desire was due to grief and exhaustion. Now, another more awful reason invaded her mind…
Brooke groaned in despair.
Francesca’s abrupt move back to Milan suddenly took on a more sinister meaning, as did Leo’s wholehearted approval of his sister-in-law’s decision. He’d wanted the opportunity to be alone with the woman he still loved and wanted, away from the prying eyes of his family, and well away from her, his wife.
Francesca’s tears that day might not have been grief, but guilt.
She was the type of female to feel guilty, Brooke thought bitterly, but not enough to say no to a determined man. If Leonardo declared his undying love for her, passionately insisting she give him what she’d once withheld, silly, wishy-washy Francesca would probably become as putty in his hands.
Now Brooke’s eyes snapped up, and they were no longer quite so haunted-looking. They were angry. No, not just angry. Livid.
Giuseppe might be able to turn a blind eye to his son’s adultery, but she could not! She would go and confront the pair of them. Right now! This very moment! Borrow Sophia’s car and drive into Milan to Francesca’s place.
She knew the way. Leo had often taken her into Milan to shop during previous visits, as well as to his brother’s fancy apartment for those dinner parties. She herself had driven home on these occasions, forced to concentrate on the roads involved in a way you didn’t when you were a passenger.
Leo liked to have a bottle of wine over dinner, and always gave her the keys at the end of such evenings. It was the only time he allowed her to drive when he was in the car, something which rankled Brooke but which she tolerated. As she’d tolerated Leo’s edict shortly after their marriage that he didn’t like her to drink much. He’d said it made her aggressive.
‘Like your mother,’ he’d added, when she’d been about to object.
That thought had stopped the automatic protest bubbling up in her throat, after which she’d curtailed her drinking, restricting herself to just one glass or two. Not once during the last five years of their relationship had she ever told Leo it was his turn not to drink that evening, that she wanted to relax over a bottle of wine for once.
‘Silly, weak cow!’ she sneered at herself in the bathroom mirror. ‘No wonder he thinks he can get away with cheating on you.’
Well, he was in for a shock, wasn’t he? In about an hour she would be arriving at Francesca’s door, and there would be hell to pay!
If by some remote possibility Giuseppe was right, and Leo wasn’t with Francesca, if it proved his car was parked safely in the Milan head office car park, and not where she suspected it would be, then she would simply turn round and drive home.
But some inner female instinct told her Leo wasn’t going to be at the office, just as his mother knew. Women knew about such things, provided they opened their stupid eyes and saw the signs.
‘Well, my eyes are well and truly open now, Leo,’ Brooke seethed aloud. ‘And God help you!’
With cold fury in her heart, Brooke set about brushing her hair and applying some lipstick before going downstairs in search of Leo’s mother.
She found her in one of the large sitting rooms, ostensibly reading a magazine. But her grey head was bowed in a weary fashion, her normally proud shoulders slumped in an attitude of great sadness.
Brooke’s heart squeezed tight. She liked her mother-in-law a lot. Sophia was a warm, generous-hearted woman who’d welcomed her into her home and her heart without question. How wretched she must be feeling, with one son dead and the other involved in a potentially disastrous affair.
Protecting Sophia from unnecessary distress became an instant priority with Brooke, her inner fury temporarily pushed to one side. She was still determined to go and find Leo, but whatever happened after that would be between them and them alone. Sophia was not to be told a thing.
Her mind made up, Brooke moved into the room. Sophia’s head jerked up at the sound of footsteps on the tiled floor.
‘Brooke!’ she exclaimed. ‘I…I thought you were sleeping.’
Brooke adopted what she hoped was a suitably wan expression. ‘I tried. But I have this dreadful headache.’
‘Oh, my dear. What a shame. Can I get you something? A tablet? A drink?’
‘No. I’m afraid they won’t help. It’s a PMT thing. My period’s due tomorrow.’ Which it was, she realised. Being on the pill, such things were very predictable. ‘Happens every month. Sometimes, when I get this back home, I go for a walk or a drive. For some reason that unwinds me and the headache goes away. Would you mind if I borrowed your car, Sophia? I promise to be careful and not to speed.’
‘Of course you can, dear. But where will you drive to?’
‘Oh…just around.’
‘Do you want me to go with you?’
‘No, no. I prefer to be by myself. Would you mind the children for me if they wake up before I return?’
‘Certainly.’
Five minutes later, Brooke was carefully negotiating the tight corners of the curving road which hugged the lake, only the prospect of leaving her children motherless stopping her from speeding.
She couldn’t get to Milan fast enough. She wanted to see the evidence of Leo’s betrayal for herself; wanted to see his car outside Francesca’s apartment block; wanted to storm inside and find them together.
In her mind’s eyes she saw herself tearing strips off Leo, shouting and screaming and doing all those hysterical things she hadn’t done during her last five lily-livered years!
The drive took well over an hour, with traffic building the closer she got to Milan. Brooke got a bit lost before finally turning into the wide, tree-lined street which housed Francesca’s apartment block.
Brooke had thought she was ready for the sight of Leo’s car parked in one of the visitors’ bays by the side of the building.
But she’d been wrong.
Her stomach cramped when her eyes landed on its distinctive make and colour, then heaved when the number-plate confirmed there was no mistake. She only just opened her own car door in time for her lunch to land in the gutter and not her lap. As it was, her dress became a little stained.
At last, she sank back against the leather seat, shaken and still shaking. All she could think of was that the man she loved… her husband…her Leo…was inside that building, inside Francesca’s apartment, in her bedroom, in her bed.
No use pretending he wasn’t. If his presence there was perfectly innocent, why lie about what he was doing today?
He’d probably been lying all week, Brooke accepted, nausea swirling again. He’d probably never been in the office at all. Or only minimally. That was why he’d left his mobile phone number with her, and not the office number.
Perversely, now that she had proof of his lies, her courage failed her. Suddenly she was afraid of what would happen if she did go inside and confront them both.
Because there would be no going back then: no pretending it was just a passing problem—or a passing passion; no turning that blind eye Giuseppe had perhaps wisely said was the only solution.
If she confronted them, her marriage would be over. Even if Leo didn’t want that—and Brooke believed that Leo would not want to hurt or lose his children—then pride would come into it.
Her pride.
It was one thing to go on living with a man you knew didn’t love you. Quite another to go on living with a man who knew you knew he didn’t love you. That would be beyond the pale. Totally unendurable.
But she could drive away now, go back to the villa and pretend she knew nothing. Then, if Leo took them back to Australia this Friday—confirming he’d made the decision to give up Francesca for the sake of his family—they might be able to go on as before. Because that would mean he did love her, in a way.
Who knew? Maybe his being with Francesca today was just a sex thing, a hangover from the past, an old, unrequited passion which he hadn’t been able to let go. Maybe he was doing exactly what his father said, getting the woman out of his system.
Much as it killed Brooke to think of Leo in the arms of another woman, it was better he take the creature to bed a few times then ask for a divorce.
The truth was she simply could not bear it if Leo divorced her. Brooke knew she would never love another man as she loved him. On top of that he was the father of her children. They adored him. Heavens, even her mother had grown to like him.
Better she swallow her pride and turn that blind eye. Better she ignore the pain, hide the overwhelming feelings of humiliation and pretend nothing had changed.
But oh, dear Lord, it was going to be hard…
Brooke swallowed, reached forward, and turned on the engine. Slowly, wretchedly, she turned the car and made her way back to Lake Como.
‘My dear, you look terrible!’ was Sophia’s first remark on her return. ‘And what’s that on your dress?’
‘I…I was sick,’ Brooke mumbled, feeling wretched and utterly exhausted. ‘Must be a migraine, not PMT.’
‘You poor thing. I know how terrible they are. I’ve suffered from migraines for years. You simply must go back to bed. And draw the curtains. I’ll bring you up some very good tablets the doctor prescribed for me. They’ll make you sleep, but that’s for the best. Now, don’t you worry about the children. Giuseppe has taken them out for a boat ride on the lake. Nina’s gone with them, so they’ll be quite safe.’
Brooke was having a battle not to cry. ‘You’re very kind,’ she choked out.
‘Not at all. Leonardo rang again. I didn’t tell him you were out driving. I said you had a headache and were having a sleep. I hope I did the right thing.’
Brooke met the woman’s worried eyes and wondered why they were both protecting Leo.
For the sake of the children, she supposed.
‘Yes, Sophia, you did the right thing,’ she said in a flat, dead voice.
‘Good. Now, upstairs with you and into a nice refreshing shower. I’ll put the tablets by your bed, along with a drink and something light for you to eat. It’s not good to take these tablets on an empty stomach. And don’t worry about anything. If you’re still asleep when Leo comes home, I’ll tell him not to disturb you.’
Now the tears came, and Sophia looked alarmed. ‘Are you sure it’s just a headache, Brooke? There’s nothing else wrong, is there?’
Brooke refused to add to the woman’s worry. She’d had enough on her plate lately. This was her problem and she would deal with it.
‘I think I’m a bit homesick,’ she said, not untruthfully.
Sophia nodded. ‘It’s time Leo took you home.’
Brooke just smiled sadly and turned to go upstairs. Her legs felt like lead, each step a mammoth effort. By the time she came out of the shower, two rather big white pills were sitting on the near bedside table, along with a glass of water. A small and very elegantly set out tray rested on the other table, with two tempting-looking sandwiches and a tall glass of iced milk.
Her mother-in-law’s sweet thoughtfulness brought another rush of tears. Brooke knew Sophia would be devastated if she and Leo broke up. So would Giuseppe. Brooke could not do it to them, or to her children, or to herself. She loved Leo. She would always love him, no matter what. Life without him was unimaginable!
Brooke fell asleep with tears still wet on her cheeks. But they had long dried when she woke many hours later to the sounds of someone in the en suite bathroom, in the shower.
Her errant husband, it seemed, had finally deigned to come home.

CHAPTER THREE
ODDLY, Brooke’s first reaction was fury, not distress.
The room was dark, she noted angrily. Leo must have turned the bedside lamp off when he came in.
She rolled over to check the luminous numbers on the bedside clock and saw it was twenty minutes past eleven. Not too late, so a wife wouldn’t be suspicious. Certainly not one as stupidly doting and one-eyed as herself!
With a bitter resentment in her heart, she rolled back onto her side, facing the far wall, curling her body up in a foetal position, glad she was wearing one of her more modest nighties.
Leo had a thing for short, slinky black satin night-wear which barely covered her bottom. This particular nightie was much longer, reaching her knees. It was particularly low-cut up top, however, and had only the thinnest shoulder straps keeping it in place. Still, with her back to him, its length was the most important factor.
I’ll pretend to be asleep, she vowed savagely as she lay there. That way I won’t say anything I might regret in the morning.
Maybe if Leo hadn’t stayed in the shower so darned long Brooke might have been able to keep to that vow. But fifteen minutes went by and the water was still running, evoking all sorts of darkly jealous thoughts.
He was trying to wash the smell of her off his body. He probably reeked of her, and that heavy, musky perfume she always wore.
By the time the taps were turned off, five minutes later, Brooke had rolled back over and was glaring in the direction of the bathroom, watching and waiting for him to come out.
She was still glowering at the door when it finally opened.
Leo emerged, obviously trying not to make a sound, turning off the bathroom light before carefully closing the door behind him.
But not before Brooke got a good long look at him, framed in the brightly lit doorway.
There was no doubting Leo was an impressive man naked. Brooke had never seen better.
He had it all. Broad shoulders. Deep chest. Flat stomach. Slim hips. Gorgeous olive skin. Not too much body hair. Strong arms and lovely muscular thighs…with more than adequate equipment in between.
Brooke had been overawed by him from the first time he’d stripped for her. She was still overawed by him. Even now, when she wanted to hate him.
Her heart began to pound as his darkened silhouette crossed the room, lifted the sheet and slid, still naked, into the bed. Not an unusual occurrence. Leo often slept in the nude.
But the cool, casual arrogance of the man infuriated her. When he rolled over and put his back to her, she wanted to kill him.
Brooke lay there, scowling up at the ceiling, thinking of the cruellest most uncivilised way of putting him to death for his crimes against her and their marriage. The guillotine was too quick and too kind. The same applied to a firing squad. She wanted him to suffer as she was suffering, to endure…in agony.
Hanging, drawing and quartering would do just fine, she decided. Like in past times. But only after a few years’ solitary confinement in one of those cold, old prisons, where his only companions would be cockroaches and rats!
Unfortunately, there was no real solace or satisfaction in such thinking, and Brooke’s jealous fury was soon sidelined by an equally savage determination to know for sure just how great Leo’s crimes against her were: how far things had progressed, how many times he’d been unfaithful to her that day.
The state of his body, she resolved with a wild recklessness, would be much more telling than the sight of his car in that car park this afternoon.
He flinched when her hand landed on the indent of his waist, then stiffened when it began to slide around further. Abruptly he rolled onto his back, his head twisting on the pillow to face her.
By this time the palm of Brooke’s hand was resting provocatively on his stomach, and her heart was racing. With fear of what she’d find, she wondered? Or fear of what he’d do if she dared touch him down there?
‘I thought you were asleep,’ he said, his voice as cool as his skin.
‘I was.’ She could just make out his face. The moon was out and the curtains which covered the bedroom windows were light and filmy, letting in enough light to see by once your eyes had adjusted.
Leo was looking at her rather oddly, his eyes narrowed and wary.
‘I tried to be quiet,’ he said, a measure of defensiveness in his voice.
‘Why?’
‘Mamma told me you’d had a bad migraine all day. She said she’d given you some pills.’
‘Yes. She did. She’s very kind, your mum.’
‘True.’
There was a moment’s awkward silence when Leo said nothing further and Brooke’s courage began to fail her. Her hand lay still on his stomach while her heart thudded away.
‘You’re very late, Leo…’
‘Yes. I know. I’m sorry, but Lorenzo’s left a damned awful mess behind him. I’m trying to have everything sorted out before we leave on Friday. I haven’t finished yet, either. I wasn’t as productive today as I would have liked to be. Too many interruptions. So I might have to work late tomorrow night as well.’
‘I see,’ Brooke said, and another awkward silence fell between them.
‘It’s not like you to have a migraine, Brooke,’ Leo said at last. ‘I wonder what brought it on?’
Thinking of you in love with Francesca all these years, she wanted to throw at him. Thinking of you in bed with her all afternoon and half the night.
Such thoughts renewed her bitter resolve to see the lie of the land, once and for all.
‘I feel much better now,’ she murmured, and slid her hand back and forth across his stomach.
He sucked in sharply.
‘So I see,’ he bit out.
When he made no move to stop her, Brooke’s hand changed direction. A little shakily, it began to travel downwards, till it encountered then encircled her intended target.
Shock held her fingers still for a few moments. For never had Leo felt so limp, or less interested in her touch!
As Brooke had already found out this afternoon, it was one thing to think something, another to find hard evidence of its truth, even when that evidence wasn’t hard, but soft. Crushingly, cruelly soft!
Waves of emotion swept through her. Dismay. Devastation. Despair! How could he betray her this way? Deceive her? Destroy her!
And how could Francesca? The bitch! And so soon after her husband’s death!
Eventually, surprisingly, the wish to kill them both was sublimated by the mad desire to make Leo respond, to show him that she—his wife—knew him better than any other woman, knew what he liked, could give him pleasure unequalled elsewhere. Francesca couldn’t possibly do for him what Brooke knew she could.
Finally, her frozen fingers began to move once more.
His groan sounded like a protest, but she stubbornly ignored it, using her acquired knowledge of his body to arouse him. After all, hadn’t Leo tutored her personally in what he liked during the first few weeks of their relationship, spending long evenings and even longer nights in extending her sexual education, showing her at the same time that her previous lovers had been total ignoramuses?
All they’d wanted were quickies.
But his flesh was depressingly slow to respond, its lack-lustre performance very telling. Her normally responsive and very virile husband must have been making love all day to be like this!
Brooke refused to give up. He would respond, she vowed with an icy resolve, her heart hardening against any distracting or distressing emotions.
‘This isn’t like you, Leo,’ she murmured, all the while caressing him intimately.
‘I thought you were asleep,’ he muttered through obviously gritted teeth. ‘I’ve just had a very long, very cold shower.’
In truth, his skin was cold. But she didn’t believe his lengthy shower had anything to do with consideration for her.
‘Then maybe you need a little extra help,’ she said, and, sliding down his body, boldly took the evidence of his recent betrayal between her lips.
This wasn’t something Brooke ever did off her own bat. Only at Leo’s behest. Even then, it wasn’t something he asked for much nowadays. In fact she couldn’t remember the last time. Probably last summer, here, in this very room. But in the past it had unfailingly aroused him, no matter how many times he’d already made love to her.
It aroused him now, his flesh swelling quickly. Brooke was merciless, her only aim to make him so excited that he would lose control. She wanted to seduce him so totally that he would forget everything else…and everyone else. Especially Francesca.
At the back of her mind Brooke knew she was acting out of sheer desperation, but she couldn’t stop for the life of her. One part of her was almost horrified by what she was doing. Another part remained coldly detached, driving her on to do everything she could think of. And more. Her hands joined her lips in the fray, finding all sorts of erotic areas to torment and tantalise. She was more adventurous than she’d ever been before.
Dimly, she heard him moan, felt his own fingers splay shakily into her hair. When they tightened, she thought for one awful moment he was going to drag her away, make her stop.
But he didn’t.
He muttered something in Italian at one stage, his voice low and shaking.
She stopped momentarily to glance up at him. His handsome face was etched clearly in the moonlight, his hooded eyes almost shut, his mouth grimacing.
‘Do you want me to stop?’ she purred.
When a violent shudder shook his head from side to side, she smiled an amazingly cool smile, dipped her head, and continued.
His breath began coming in raw, panting gasps. He was erect now, all right. More than he’d ever been, his flesh almost cruelly stretched. And straining.
A wave of dark triumph flooded Brooke, bringing its own brand of excitement and satisfaction. For at that moment Leo was hers, totally. He had no will of his own. No ability to think, let alone stop her.
Or so she’d thought.
Brooke was so caught up in her own dizzying sense of power that she didn’t notice Leo’s hands abandon her hair. When they slid under her arms and pulled her up off him, her cry of shock and frustration was very real.
Ignoring her protest, Leo pushed the satin nightie up to her waist, grasped her buttocks in an iron grip and lifted her till she was kneeling high above him. Before she knew it, his titanic erection was between her thighs and she was being forcibly drawn downwards onto it.
Her lips gasped wide at the swiftness of this turnaround, plus the stunning pleasure as her husband slid, hard and huge, into her. She hadn’t realised till that moment how turned on she was.
So much for being removed from the experience!
So much for being the one in control!
Suddenly, all she wanted was to move, to feel him filling and refilling her. But he was holding her too tightly for the riding motion she craved. In desperation, she swayed back and forth, wriggling her hips and squeezing her insides to create some friction, to ease the craven need which was suddenly driving her wild.
‘Be still!’ Leo commanded, his thumbs and fingertips digging into her flesh.
‘But I don’t want to be still,’ she choked out.
‘I can see that,’ he growled, then smiled the wickedest smile up at her. ‘But I need a little time to compose myself before we continue. Still…maybe I can help you out in the meantime.’
His black eyes glittered in the moonlight as he reached up to brush her tangled hair back off her flushed face, pushing it right back off her shoulders before slowly sliding the thin straps off her shoulders, peeling the nightie downwards till her breasts were totally exposed.
Brooke knew, without looking at them, that they were cruelly swollen, and her nipples as hard as rocks. She had nice breasts. Big, without being too big. Breastfeeding had made them drop only a little, and her nipples were much larger than before.
‘I should neglect you in the bedroom more often,’ Leo muttered thickly, ‘if this is the result.’ Reaching up, he took both nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, and gave them both a sharp tug.
Shock—and something else—quivered down Brooke’s spine. Leo had never done anything remotely like that to her nipples before. He was usually so gentle and tender with her breasts, using his mouth and tongue more than his hands.
When he did it again, Brooke wasn’t sure if the sensation was pleasure, or pain. All she knew was it left her nipples with the most delicious burning feeling.
She stared downwards and saw they looked longer and harder than she’d ever seen them, brazenly standing out from her breasts, eager for more of the same. Leo took possession of them again, none too gently once more, rolling the still burning flesh between his fingers in a slow, twisting motion, bringing not a cry, but a moan. Of the most amazing pleasure.
‘Do you want me to stop?’ he murmured, echoing what she’d said to him earlier.
Excitement rendered her speechless. He laughed a low, sexy laugh and then continued the delicious torment.
In the end she could not bear his eyes upon her, watching her gasp and squirm.
‘Leo…please…’
‘Please, what?’ he drawled, obviously enjoying her breathless arousal. ‘Stop? More? Tell me, mi micetta. I’ll do anything you want. Though you’re hardly a kitten tonight. More of a tiger. I think you’d have eaten me alive if I’d let you.’
‘Leo, please,’ she repeated huskily, her face flaming with both embarrassment and excitement.
‘What is it you want me to do? Touch you down here…is that it? Like this?’
She stiffened, then groaned. No, no, not there, she agonised. And not like that.
Leo sometimes made her come first by touching her there. But never before when her body was displayed in such a vulnerable and exposed fashion, never with him watching her responses so blatantly.
Her stomach curled over at the thought.
But he kept touching her in exactly the right spot, and soon she just didn’t care.
‘Oh God,’ she moaned, stiffening and squirming as she tried to hold on, not wanting the magic—or the madness—to end.

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