Page 12 of Sex, Love & Lingerie

CHAPTER 8

Gloria

Another razor-sharp contraction attacked me. I’d been shot once in the chest—the unforgettable pain excruciating—but nothing compared to the white-hot pain of the contractions I was experiencing now. At least with Boris’s gunshot, I’d passed out, but these contractions were like sharp knives jabbing at my core, and each brutal stab was more agonizing than the one before. They were coming faster and faster, just mere seconds apart.

The only thing that kept me from falling apart was Jaime’s hand. My lifeline.

“Don’t leave me,” I pleaded again, squeezing it hard.

“Angel, I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Tell me you love me.”

“I love you, angel with my heart, my body, and my soul.”

“I love you too,” I whispered before another excruciating push.

Another person—an attractive, well-dressed, middle-aged woman joined us. She was carrying a large Chanel shopping bag. She squatted down beside me and smoothed my hair.

“I work down the street at Chanel; I’m the new manager. When one of our customers told me about what was happening, I grabbed two cashmere shawls…they’re brand new, right out of the stock room…you can use them to wrap up the babies.” She lifted the two shawls—one pale pink, the other pale blue—out of the bag and placed them on her lap.

For the first time since this ordeal had begun, a smile ghosted on my face. “Thank you,” I rasped, my throat parched. Well, at least, our babies were going to start their lives off in style. Chanel was my favorite designer.

My peace of mind was short-lived. Another fierce pain tore through me as I grunted and gave one more hard push. Tears leaked from my eyes. The officer looked again at Jaime.

“Sir, she really needs to relax,” he repeated, tension now thick in his voice and etched on his face.

My eyes searched Jaime’s. My poor baby looked so lost, so helpless, so desperate. And then suddenly his eyes lit up. I knew that look. It was the telltale sign of my creative genius coming up with a brilliant idea.

“Gloria, look at me.” His voice was virile, velvety, and deep. The yummy voice I fell in love with the minute I’d met him on the elevator of The Walden. “Let me help you” were his very first words. Please help me now, baby! Trying to breathe away the pain and still gripping his hand, I bore my eyes into his.

With his other hand, my beautiful husband lovingly brushed the sweat off my forehead and then dusted the tip of my now damp braid across my chin.

“Angel, I want you to think about our honeymoon. That afternoon…”

Leaning into my ear, he began to sing to me in Italian in his sexy, raspy voice…

“Gloria, manchi tu nell’aria

Manchi ad una mano

Che lavora a piano

Manchi a questa bocca

Che piu no tocca…”

The original Italian version of my song, “Gloria.” As Jaime’s soft sexy voice drifted into my ears, I closed my eyes, half because of the pain, half because I needed to transport myself to that place, that time, that moment. Relive it.

We’re in Tuscany. I thought we were going back to Paris, but I should have known better. My creative genius would never do the same thing twice. He’s rented a private villa—stocked to the gills with the finest Italian gourmet foods and a full-time staff—that sits amongst the hills, overlooking endless green pastures, olive groves, and grapevines. When the sun rises and sets, it’s like God creating the world before my eyes. And a sex god is the divine man with whom I’m sharing this dream. This dream that is reality. Mine.

We haven’t stopped making love since our arrival last night. After sharing a delectable dinner on the candlelit terrace, he swept me into his arms and carried me off to the bedroom where we fucked every way we could on the plush four-poster bed that’s fit for royalty—and Jaime’s royal cock.

“Come on, Mrs. Zander, let’s go for a drive in the countryside,” he breathes into my ear after a late breakfast. My heart thuds at the words, Mrs. Zander. It’s all so new to me yet it feels so right. He gives me a passionate, all-consuming kiss that warms my blood.

A short fifteen minutes later after one more quick fuck, we’re ready for our outing. The early September weather is mild, so we’ve dressed accordingly. I’m wearing a floral sundress that gently flows over my little baby bump and a pair of sparkly flip-flops. My hair cascades over my belly in a loose, long braid. Mr. Sexy is clad in one of his casual, panty-melting uniforms—a hip-hugging perfectly ripped pair of jeans, a soft white V-neck T-shirt, and a pair of expensive Italian loafers. As usual, no socks. Just as usual, a tingly rush of heat coils through me at the sight of his sexy bare feet. They always have that effect on me. Perhaps, because his sockless feet were the very first part of him I set my eyes on during our first fateful elevator encounter.

Three months pregnant with our twins, I pack a healthy basketful of assorted cheeses, a loaf of freshly baked bread, and a bucket of the biggest, most gorgeous strawberries I’ve ever seen. Clutching a plaid blanket, Jaime throws in a chilled bottle of Prosecco. Selfish, self-centered husband! He knows damn well I can’t have any of the Italian sparkling wine. But I love him anyway. More than life itself. Grinning fiendishly, he grabs my hand and whisks me away.

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