by Day Leclaire
“And you promised not to touch me,” she shot back. “It looks like we were both disappointed.”
Instead of rousing his anger, her comment provoked a laugh. “You gave me permission to break that agreement. And I wasn’t the least disappointed.” He took a step closer. And then he did something totally unfair. He swept his hand along the side of her face. Just that. Just that single touch. So gentle. So tender. Sincere regret darkened his eyes. “But I’m sorry if you were, especially considering it was your first time. I’d like to change that, if you’ll let me.”
She stared at him in desperate silence. She couldn’t have answered him if her life depended on it. Her first time hadn’t been a disappointment. Far from it. It had been the most incredible night in her life, one she wanted to relive as often as possible. But that would mean surrendering. And surrender meant heartache.
“Tell me, sweetheart. Tell me what you want.” He reached for the sheet and loosened the knot. “Do you want me to kiss you more? Touch you in a different way? Would you prefer I go slower? Go faster?”
“Not again,” she managed to say. “We’re not having sex again.”
Something slammed through his gaze, something fierce and determined. “Then we won’t.” He snatched her free of the sheet and swept her into his arms. “What happened in that bed…What’s going to happen again, is something far more than sex.”
“But it’s not love.” She groaned when his mouth closed over her throat, his teeth scraping the sensitive skin just beneath her ear. “This isn’t The Inferno.”
He tumbled to the bed with her. “There’s no such thing as The Inferno,” he insisted. Even as he spoke the words, he interlaced their hands until the heat erupted palm against palm. “And we’ve only known each other mere days. How could it be love?”
He slid over top of her, mating their bodies in one delicious stroke. She groaned, coherent thought fast becoming an impossibility. “Then what is this?” The words escaped in a choked gasp.
“I don’t know. But I never want it to stop.”
His movements escalated and he drove into her, hard and fast, racing toward that incredible peak he’d shown her earlier. How could the passion they shared be so strong and relentless, consuming them in great greedy gulps, and not last for all eternity? He didn’t believe, and yet she felt the fire within him. He burned for her just as she burned for him, her body like dry tinder to his scorching touch.
They’d been together such a short time, and yet to be with him, surrounding him, inhaling him, inflamed for him, had become as vital to her as the air she breathed. Her feelings terrified her. They seemed to melt her down to her bare essence and reform her into something infinitely more.
Her climax caught her by surprise, slamming into her and threatening to shatter her to the core. It ripped her apart, leaving her utterly exposed, every thought, every feeling there for him to see. And he must have seen, because he closed his eyes and covered her mouth with his, as though to keep the words unspoken.
And yet the kiss they shared said far more than any words could have expressed. The tenderness. The joy. The helpless want. The undeniable connection that existed between them. It was all there in that gentle benediction. Perhaps he sensed it, as well.
“We’ll return home tomorrow,” he told her again. “But we definitely won’t be going our separate ways.”
“So, how’s married life treating you? You’re celebrating your…what? Three-week anniversary?”
“To the day.” Lazz flipped open the menu the waitress handed him and glanced across it at his brother. “And married life is fine.”
“Fine,” Sev repeated. “That’s it…fine? Most men who’ve been married so short a time would describe it a bit differently. Incredible, maybe. Fantastic.”
Lazz dropped the menu to the linen-draped tabletop. “My marriage to Ariana isn’t real, as you damn well know.” And wasn’t that the biggest crock of manure he’d ever attempted to shovel.
“But you are still planning to keep that fact from Primo and Nonna, right?”
“Yes.” Impatience edged Lazz’s voice. “Penelope, too. Why the inquisition? What’s going on?”
Sev turned to the waitress hovering at his elbow and placed his order, then waited while Lazz placed his, before answering. “No inquisition. I just wondered why you chose to have lunch with me instead of your beautiful wife.”
“Ariana made plans with friends. In fact, she asked me which restaurant would afford the most privacy and best view, and I suggested Fruits de Mer. I expect she’s around here someplace.”
In fact, he knew it. He’d sensed his wife’s presence the moment he’d walked in. The need to go in search of her had been nearly overwhelming, which was why he’d done just the opposite and taken a chair that kept his back to temptation. Not that he’d confess that small detail to his brother. It irritated Lazz enough that he had such a strong awareness of Ariana. He wasn’t about to give Sev the opportunity to go off on one of his Inferno rants.
“You know, I brought Francesca to Fruits de Mer on our first official date.” Humor drifted through Sev’s eyes, turning them a burnished gold. “I think we lasted an entire five minutes before we went tearing over to my Pacific Heights place. We couldn’t control ourselves.”
“I assume you’re going to blame that on The Inferno?”
“It was definitely a contributing factor.” Sev’s gaze dropped to Lazz’s hands. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
Lazz froze, suddenly aware that he was kneading his palm the same way his brothers and grandfather did. They’d always claimed it was one of the side effects of The Inferno, that when the connection formed during that first touch, it caused the bone-deep itch he’d been unable to suppress. Without a word, he picked up his glass of beer and took a long swallow.
To Lazz’s relief, Sev changed the subject. “You didn’t say who Ariana was lunching with.”
“Maybe because I don’t know. Friends.” He shot his brother an inquiring glance. “Is she with Francesca?”
“Ariana isn’t with any of the wives.”
Lazz struggled to shove back a wave of irritation. “And you know this…how?”
“Because she’s a half dozen tables behind you by the window. And her luncheon companion definitely isn’t female.”
Lazz stiffened and slowly turned. Ariana sat in a snug table for two close to a window perched above the Marina District. The sun plunged into the dense darkness of her hair, just as his hands had plunged into that silken mass during their time in Verdonia. She tilted her head in a way he’d seen countless times on their honeymoon, and the days since, and shards of ruby erupted from the ebony of her hair. From the back, her trim figure was showcased in a formfitting blaze of red that sculpted to her slender waist before cupping the curves of her hips and backside.
Oh, yeah. The woman was definitely Ariana. Which begged the question…Who the holy hell was the man with her?
The view from the window beside the two was one of the most incredible in the world, offering a stunning panorama of San Francisco Bay extending from the Golden Gate Bridge to Alcatraz. Not that either his wife or the man who so thoroughly held her attention noticed. Lazz caught the sound of her quick, husky laugh and watched as she reached out and squeezed the man’s hand.
He heard a low, dangerous growl and didn’t even realize he’d made the sound, any more than he remembered shooting to his feet. His hands collapsed into fists, and it took every ounce of self-control to keep them at his side. His focus narrowed, centering on his wife’s back. Without a word to Sev, he stalked toward her table.
Seven
From: [email protected]
Date: 2008, August 06 08:36 PDST
To: [email protected]
Subject: Marriage Contract, Premarital Conditions…Ad Nauseum
It occurs to me that I never asked whether you were romantically involved with someone else. In case you are…
Condition #5: We will both ho
nor our vows for the duration of our marriage.
L.
From: [email protected]
Date: 2008, August 06 17:45 CEST
To: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Marriage Contract, Premarital Conditions…Ad Nauseam
Oh, Lazz. Allow me to ease your mind. I’m not currently involved with anyone. Are you?? Your fifth condition is not necessary. I would never cheat on my husband, even if he’s a husband in name only. So no need to worry on that account or have an attack of the male jealousies.
Ciao! Ariana
From: [email protected]
Date: 2008, August 06 08:49 PDST
To: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Marriage Contract, Premarital Conditions…Ad Nauseum
No, I’m not involved with anyone, either. And FYI, I don’t have male jealousies. It’s not in my nature.
L.
“I’m serious, Ariana,” the man said as Lazz approached. “You’re going to have to make some changes or this won’t work. I told you what I want, and you refuse to give it to me.”
“You don’t understand, Aaron. I can’t. It’s not who I am.”
The man flicked a glance in Lazz’s direction, the casual look changing to curiosity when Lazz paused beside their table. His wife glanced up at him, alarm blossoming in her widened eyes.
“Lazz? What are you doing here?”
He opened his mouth, planning to give his caveman impulses a voice. To his relief, he managed a more civilized response. “I’m having lunch with Sev.” He kept his gaze fixed on her lunch companion as he addressed him. “Lazzaro Dante. I’m Ariana’s husband.”
The man climbed to his feet and offered his hand. “I’m Aaron Talbot. I’m—” Ariana gave a tiny shake of her head, and after a telling hesitation, he continued with barely a hitch. “I’m an old family friend. My father and Ariana’s grandmother go way back.”
If Sev hadn’t chosen that moment to approach, Lazz didn’t have any doubt that he’d have done or said something he’d have thoroughly enjoyed in the short term and eventually regretted given time. A lot of time.
“Hello, Ariana. Good to see you.” Sev greeted his sister-in-law with a cool smile. He dropped a heavy hand on Lazz’s shoulders. “Our lunch just arrived. You’re coming, aren’t you?”
Lazz resisted the pull for a full ten seconds. His attention switched to his wife. “Later,” he promised.
Gathering up his self-control, he returned to their table. Sev motioned to the waitress, and a moment later she showed up with a tumbler containing two fingers of Jack Daniel’s. She set it down in front of Sev, who shoved the glass across the table toward Lazz.
“Drink. Then tell me again that you don’t believe in The Inferno.”
“My reaction is perfectly logical,” Lazz gritted out.
“And I’ll testify to that at your murder trial.” Sev speared a scallop. “Interesting.”
Lazz closed his eyes. “I know I’m going to regret asking…What’s interesting?”
“I didn’t think The Inferno could only go in one direction. I guess I was wrong.”
Lazz downed his drink in a single swallow, welcoming the burning heat as it shot straight to his stomach and poured through his veins. “I’m going to say this one last time. Ariana and I have not, nor will we ever, experience The Inferno. And there’s an excellent reason for that.”
“You’re an idiot?”
The tumbler hit the table with a dull thud. “It doesn’t exist. And what you’ve mistaken for jealousy is irritation that Ariana would conduct her…friendships—” and how the word scalded his tongue “—with such flagrant disregard. I’ll suggest she be more discreet in the future so our marriage isn’t exposed for the sham it’s clearly become.”
Sev leaned forward. “You might want to make that suggestion in a quieter voice than you’re currently using and well outside of your wife’s throwing range.”
“This isn’t a joke.”
“No, marriage isn’t. Nor is it a business proposition. I wish Dad had lived long enough to explain that fact to you. Since he didn’t, I guess I’m stuck with the job.”
Lazz frowned. Maybe he shouldn’t have downed that whiskey quite so fast. “Now what are you talking about?”
“Haven’t you ever wondered why Dad entered into that contract with Vittorio?”
Actually, he had. But with all the rush to slip the wedding in before Ariana turned twenty-five, he hadn’t had time to pursue that aspect of the whole business. “The Romanos are broke, right? I assumed this was Dad’s odd way of offering them a helping hand.”
Skepticism swept across Sev’s face. “A helping hand that’s delayed for twenty years? A helping hand that’s dependent on you and Ariana marrying?”
“No, you’re right,” Lazz said. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“And why make Brimstone a part of the contract? Hell, why make a contract at all?” Sev pressed. “Just give Romano the damn stone.”
Lazz shook his head. “I doubt Vittorio would have taken it. He may not have money, but he has more than his fair share of the Romano pride.”
“And yet he sold his daughter to Dad. Why?”
Lazz winced at the harsh description. “I have no idea why he signed that contract. Ariana doesn’t know, either. She said that Vittorio claimed it was Dad’s idea, that he couldn’t be talked out of it.”
“Dad was so determined to have Vittorio sign that contract that he made Brimstone part of the deal. He was so determined to see you two married, that if you didn’t marry, Brimstone would be disposed of. Why, Lazz?”
“How the hell should I know? Dad’s gone.”
“But Vittorio isn’t. He must have some clue as to what Dad was thinking.” Satisfied that he’d made his point, Sev leaned back in his seat. “I suggest you look into it.”
Lazz studied his brother. He knew something—something he wasn’t telling. “Why are you bringing this up now, after the fact? Why didn’t you ask me to pursue it before Ariana and I married?” Understanding hit. “You know why Dad did it, don’t you?”
“I have my suspicions. But since you’re Mr. Facts and Figures, I’d rather you investigate this in your own meticulous fashion. Just be careful that when you add one and one together, that you don’t come up with three.”
“I’d rather you just told—”
Lazz caught a flash of red out of the corner of his eyes and turned. Ariana and Talbot had finished their lunch and were departing. As they wended their way through the tables, they spoke in low, furious voices, their heads close together. Not once did she look his way. Based on the intensity of her conversation, there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that she’d forgotten all about him.
Time to remind her.
“Take care of the bill, will you?” Lazz shoved back his chair and stood. “And let them know at the office that I won’t be in for the rest of the day.”
Laughter glittered in Sev’s eyes. “Last-minute change in plans?”
“A business meeting I forgot to attend,” he corrected coolly. “A few contractual obligations I’ve neglected to address.”
“Or undress?”
“Stuff it, Sev.”
His wife and Talbot stood in the foyer where they exchanged a few final words. Then Talbot inclined his head and left the restaurant. Ariana stood there watching him, looking utterly devastated. Lazz came up behind her. Cupping her elbow, he ushered her outside into the brilliant early fall sunshine. Since they’d driven to the restaurant in Sev’s car, he was without a vehicle, so he lifted an arm to summon a cab.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded in Italian.
A cab pulled up and Lazz opened the door. “I’m escorting my wife home.”
“What if I don’t want to go home?”
“I’d say that’s too damn bad,” he answered, switching to Italian.
He rattled off the address to the driver as he helped Ariana into t
he backseat. To his relief, she didn’t fight him, possibly because she didn’t want to cause a scene. Fumbling in her purse, she yanked out a pair of sunglasses and perched them on the end of her nose. Turning her head to look out the window, she didn’t say another word until they reached an elegant apartment building.
They took the elevator to the penthouse, again in silence. Although the floor had originally housed two apartments, he’d taken them both over when he’d purchased the building and remodeled the space to better suit his needs. Unlocking the door, he stepped to one side. Ariana swept in ahead of him. Tossing her purse and sunglasses onto the foyer table, she swiveled to confront him.
“You are rude.”
“And you, wife, are keeping secrets. Who is Talbot?”
She lifted a shoulder in a careless shrug. “Like he told you. He’s an old family friend.”
“So, if I pick up the phone and ask Vittorio or Constantine about Talbot, they’d describe him that way, too?” Her split-second hesitation gave her away. “I gather that would be a no.”
“He’s a family friend of Grandmother Penelope’s. And yes, she would describe him just that way. Or rather, she’d describe his father that way.”
His questions came rapid-fire. “You met the son through the father?”
“Yes.”
“Is it serious between you?”
“We’re not personally involved.”
“Funny. You looked personally involved. In fact, you looked like you were having a lover’s spat.”
“Funny. That’s what I thought we were doing.” She turned on her heel with a graceful swing of her hips and crossed to the living room, affording him an exquisite view of a derriere lovingly outlined in red silk.
“This isn’t a lover’s spat,” he replied, following her. “This is a termination discussion. As in, termination of our contract.”
That caught her attention. She spun around to face him. “You wouldn’t. The contract our parents signed requires that we remain together for three months. If you leave now, we lose the diamond. After all we’ve been through in order to preserve Brimstone, why would you throw it away at this late date?”