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Authors: Sarah Morgan
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probably their fault. Christy’s hand fell to her side. ‘On top of everything else, I suppose it isn’t exactly fair for her to have to share with her brother. She is getting to an age where privacy is important,’ she murmured, and Alessandro nodded agreement.
‘You can use our bedroom. I’ll take the sofa downstairs.’
Christy felt the heavy punch of disappointment deep inside her but smiled. ‘That’s very decent of you. Thanks.’
She didn’t care, she told herself. She didn’t care that he obviously couldn’t face the thought of sharing a room with her, let alone a bed. She didn’t care that he’d rather sleep on the sofa than be with her.
Once, they hadn’t been able to keep their hands off each other. They’d been like greedy, naughty teenagers seizing every opportunity to rip each other’s clothes off and feast. Now it seemed as if they couldn’t create enough distance.
‘How will Father Christmas come if Daddy’s sleeping downstairs?’ Ben’s anxious voice interrupted her thoughts. ‘We all know that he can’t come if anyone is there to see him.’ The sweet innocence of his question made her heart twist.
‘I… er… He…’ Christy fumbled for an answer that might work, casting a desperate look at Alessandro.
‘I’ll keep my eyes tightly shut for the whole night?’
Ben shook his head, his expression solemn. ‘That won’t work. If you’re awake, he knows.’
‘Well, Daddy’s under a lot of strain at the moment,’ Alessandro growled, ‘so I’m sure I’ll be asleep.’
Was he under strain? He always looked infuriatingly cool and relaxed, Christy mused as she studied his handsome face for clues. Perhaps those dark, brooding eyes were a little more shadowed than usual and the sexy mouth a little more grimly set.
The strain of having her to stay, she thought miserably.
He was only tolerating her because of the children. Everything he did was because of the children.
‘That’s settled, then,’ Christy said brightly. ‘Daddy will sleep on the sofa. Now, let’s get you into bed. It’s getting late.’
She woke early to the sound of clattering and thumping in the kitchen, accompanied by harsh masculine curses. Trying to ignore the fact that she’d had less than four hours’ sleep, she slipped on her dressing-gown and went downstairs to investigate.
Bare-chested and wearing only a pair of old jeans, Alessandro was muttering to himself in Spanish as he smashed his way around the kitchen.
Her Spanish was by no means fluent, but she’d lived with him for long enough to understand that he was in a foul temper.
‘What’s the matter with you?’
Alessandro shot her a stormy look as he made himself a large espresso. ‘It’s morning. I hate mornings. Especially after a night spent in the equivalent of a shoebox.’
She tried not to look at that tempting expanse of muscular chest. He had an incredible physique. Hard. Strong. Male. ‘That sofa was expensive.’
He made a sound that was close to a snarl. ‘Believe me,you’d never guess by sleeping on it. I’m aching in parts of my body that I never even knew I had before now.’
He looked so cross that she felt a smile coming and lifted a hand to her mouth to cover it.
He paused with the cup halfway to his lips, his smouldering gaze hooded. ‘Are you laughing at me?’ He rolled the ‘r’, sounding more and more Spanish as he always did when he was angry.
‘I’m not laughing at you.’
Slowly, he placed the cup back on the work surface, his eyes glittering dark and dangerous as he moved purposefully towards her. ‘Because if you’re laughing at me, querida , you can spend the night on the sofa tonight.’
Her heart started to thump hard against her ribs and she found herself backing away. ‘Alessandro, I wasn’t laughing.’ It was ridiculous that he could still have this effect on her, she told herself firmly. They’d been together for twelve years. It wasn’t possible for a man to make a woman
‘You can use our bedroom. I’ll take the sofa downstairs.’
Christy felt the heavy punch of disappointment deep inside her but smiled. ‘That’s very decent of you. Thanks.’
She didn’t care, she told herself. She didn’t care that he obviously couldn’t face the thought of sharing a room with her, let alone a bed. She didn’t care that he’d rather sleep on the sofa than be with her.
Once, they hadn’t been able to keep their hands off each other. They’d been like greedy, naughty teenagers seizing every opportunity to rip each other’s clothes off and feast. Now it seemed as if they couldn’t create enough distance.
‘How will Father Christmas come if Daddy’s sleeping downstairs?’ Ben’s anxious voice interrupted her thoughts. ‘We all know that he can’t come if anyone is there to see him.’ The sweet innocence of his question made her heart twist.
‘I… er… He…’ Christy fumbled for an answer that might work, casting a desperate look at Alessandro.
‘I’ll keep my eyes tightly shut for the whole night?’
Ben shook his head, his expression solemn. ‘That won’t work. If you’re awake, he knows.’
‘Well, Daddy’s under a lot of strain at the moment,’ Alessandro growled, ‘so I’m sure I’ll be asleep.’
Was he under strain? He always looked infuriatingly cool and relaxed, Christy mused as she studied his handsome face for clues. Perhaps those dark, brooding eyes were a little more shadowed than usual and the sexy mouth a little more grimly set.
The strain of having her to stay, she thought miserably.
He was only tolerating her because of the children. Everything he did was because of the children.
‘That’s settled, then,’ Christy said brightly. ‘Daddy will sleep on the sofa. Now, let’s get you into bed. It’s getting late.’
She woke early to the sound of clattering and thumping in the kitchen, accompanied by harsh masculine curses. Trying to ignore the fact that she’d had less than four hours’ sleep, she slipped on her dressing-gown and went downstairs to investigate.
Bare-chested and wearing only a pair of old jeans, Alessandro was muttering to himself in Spanish as he smashed his way around the kitchen.
Her Spanish was by no means fluent, but she’d lived with him for long enough to understand that he was in a foul temper.
‘What’s the matter with you?’
Alessandro shot her a stormy look as he made himself a large espresso. ‘It’s morning. I hate mornings. Especially after a night spent in the equivalent of a shoebox.’
She tried not to look at that tempting expanse of muscular chest. He had an incredible physique. Hard. Strong. Male. ‘That sofa was expensive.’
He made a sound that was close to a snarl. ‘Believe me,you’d never guess by sleeping on it. I’m aching in parts of my body that I never even knew I had before now.’
He looked so cross that she felt a smile coming and lifted a hand to her mouth to cover it.
He paused with the cup halfway to his lips, his smouldering gaze hooded. ‘Are you laughing at me?’ He rolled the ‘r’, sounding more and more Spanish as he always did when he was angry.
‘I’m not laughing at you.’
Slowly, he placed the cup back on the work surface, his eyes glittering dark and dangerous as he moved purposefully towards her. ‘Because if you’re laughing at me, querida , you can spend the night on the sofa tonight.’
Her heart started to thump hard against her ribs and she found herself backing away. ‘Alessandro, I wasn’t laughing.’ It was ridiculous that he could still have this effect on her, she told herself firmly. They’d been together for twelve years. It wasn’t possible for a man to make a woman
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