“Hey.” Amy reeled around on him, stepping forward in those sky-high heels. He didn’t need to inhale to know that she smelled like warm vanilla, a scent that haunted him at night.
She wobbled a little, and instinct brought his hand to her waist. He’d held Amy in his arms a million times, comforting her when she was sad, carrying her when she was a little too drunk to be steady on her feet. He’d cared for her when she was sick and sat up with her after each of her girlfriends had fallen in love, when she simply couldn’t handle being alone. He had a feeling those nights were their little secrets, because he’d never heard Bella, Jenna, or Leanna ever make reference to them, and those girls talked about everything. Now, as she stepped closer and touched his stomach with one finger and looked at him like she had years ago, not like the sweet, too-good-to-be-true Amy that she never strayed from around him unless she was drinking, he found himself struggling to remain detached enough to keep his feelings in check.
He forced himself to act casual. “What’s up, Ames?”
She trapped that lower lip of hers again, and his body warmed.
Amy stumbled on her heels and caught herself against his chest. She slid her hands up the front of his shirt, and his body responded like Pavlov’s dog. Amy had that effect on him, but he’d always been good about keeping it under wraps. What was happening to him? Was it the romance of the impending wedding? Watching his best buddies whisper and nuzzle their fiancées while he had walls so thick around his heart that he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to move forward and love anyone else again?
She gazed up at him with naive curiosity in her eyes, and it was that innocence that threatened his steely resolve. It almost did him in every time they were alone together. Only this time she had the whole hips-swaying, breasts-pushing-against-him thing going on.
Christ. He covered her hands with his and breathed deeply. With those heels, they were much closer in height. A bow of his head and he could finally taste her sweet mouth again.
With that selfish thought, he pressed her hands to his chest to keep them from roaming and to keep himself from becoming any more aroused. She gazed up at him, looking a little confused and so damn sexy it was all he could do to squelch his desire to take her in his arms and devour her.
“What do you need, Ames?”
“I’m pretty sure you know what I need,” she said in a husky voice as she pressed her hips to his.
You don’t mean that. You’re just drunk. He clenched his jaw against his mounting desire. She was all he ever wanted, and she was the one person he knew he should walk away from.
“Amy.”
“Tony.” Her voice was thin and shaky.
“You’re drunk.” He peeled her hands from his chest. She got like this when she was drunk: sultry, sexier, eager. As adults, she’d never taken it this far. She’d made innuendos over the years, but more in jest than anything else. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew Amy cared about him, but he also knew she sometimes forgot things. Important things. Life-altering events that were less painful if forgotten. He was certain it was why she drank when they were together and why he’d spent years protecting her. Not that she needed protecting often. Drinking was a summer thing for Amy, and really, she rarely drank too much. She didn’t drink when she wasn’t at the Cape. He knew this because over recent years, after Amy had graduated from college and settled into her business, he’d begun texting her more often. He’d been unable to ignore his need for a connection to her any longer. He could count on one hand how many times she’d made reference to drinking.
“I might be a little drunk.” Her sweet lips curved into a nervous smile. “But I think I know what you want.”
What I want and what I’ll let myself have are two very different things.
He exhaled, took her hand, and turned toward the bed. “Sit down and let me help you get out of your heels and then I’ll go back to my room. I don’t want you to break your ankle.”
She swayed on her heels and attached herself to his side again. “I don’t want you to go to your room.”
Tony stepped back. The back of his legs met the dresser. “Amy—”
“Tony,” she said huskily, taking him by surprise.
“Ames,” he whispered. She was killing him. Any other man would have silenced her with a kiss, carried her to the bed, pushed that damn sexy-ass dress up to her neck, and given her what she wanted. But Tony had made a career out of resisting Amy, protecting her. He respected her too damn much to let her make a mistake she would only regret when she sobered up.
He gripped her forearms and held her at a safe distance.
She narrowed her eyes and reached for his crotch.
For a breath he closed his eyes and let himself enjoy the feel of her stroking him in ways he’d only dreamed of. Every muscle in his body corded tight as he reluctantly gripped her wrist.
“Amy, stop.” He’d learned his lesson with her when he was a teenager, and he was never letting either of them go back to that well of hurt. “We’re not doing this.”
The dark seductiveness that had filled her eyes when she was touching him was gone as quickly as it had appeared. Her shoulders rounded forward, and hurt filled her eyes.
“Why?”
He felt like a heel. A prick. A guy who should have taken her to bed, if only to love her as she deserved to be loved. Even if she might not remember or appreciate it in the morning. He draped an arm over her shoulder and pulled her into a hug.
“Come on, Amy. You’re drunk and you won’t remember any of this tomorrow. Let me help you get ready for bed.”
“Don’t you want me?”
Her broken voice nearly did him in, and when her arms went limp, he tightened his grip on her. “Amy,” he whispered again.
In the space of a few seconds she pushed away from him, determination written in the tension around her mouth and the fisting of her hands.
“Tell me why you don’t want me. What is it? Am I too flat-chested? Too unattractive?”
“No.” Fuck. You’re the sexiest woman I know. Anger felt so wrong coming from her that it momentarily numbed him.
“I know I suck at seduction, but don’t these fuck-me heels or this stupid dress turn you on? Even a little?”
“Your fuck-me heels? Boy, you are drunk. You don’t realize what you’re saying. Come on.” He reached for her hand and she shrugged him off again.
“Goddamn it, Amy. Let me help you.” Before I give in to what I really want and lay your vulnerable, gorgeous, sexy body beneath me and devour you.
“So that’s it. I don’t turn you on.” She paced the room on wobbly ankles, looking like she was playing dress up in her mother’s high heels—and it did crazy things to Tony’s body. He followed beside her in case she stumbled, fighting the urge to give in and show her just how much she turned him on.
“Maybe if I had bigger boobs, or if I were better at acting sexy, or if I were smarter, you’d want me.”
It surprised him that she avoided the secret they’d buried so long ago, but then again, after that summer, she’d never said another word about it. And he’d let her get away with that, believing it was the only way she could survive what had happened. Just like him.
“Amy, it’s none of those things.” He did not want to have this conversation with her. He wanted to fold her in his arms and kiss the worry away.
Tears slipped down her cheeks.
Hell. Tony could handle a lot of things, but Amy’s tears melted his heart, and that he’d caused them was further proof he wasn’t the right guy for her.
“Then why, Tony? Just tell me once and for all. Why don’t you want me? I need to know so I can decide about taking this job in Australia.”
Tony opened his mouth to answer, but his thoughts were jumbled as he processed what she’d said. “Australia? I thought you said you weren’t taking it.”
She crossed her arms, and he hated knowing it was to protect herself from his rejection. Tony felt like an asshole, but he knew
that taking Amy up on her seduction would only dredge up bad memories and lead to hurting her. They’d spent a lifetime denying the past between them existed, even to themselves.
“I said I wasn’t sure what I was going to do.” She dropped her eyes to the floor, and he slid a hand in hers, as he’d done a million times before. It was a natural reaction. Taking care of her. Protecting her. Helping her feel safe. He knew it could send her mixed messages, but he just couldn’t help himself. His hand had already claimed its spot with hers.
“You’d give up everything you’ve built to run Duke’s resort? You’d move to Australia?” He had nothing against Duke Ryder. But the idea that Amy would change her life to help him just pissed Tony off.
She sank down onto the bed and buried her face in her hands.
He wrapped an arm around her shoulder, and when she tried to pull away, he tightened his grip and kissed the top of her head.
“Amy, you’re sexy, smart, and everything a guy could want.”
She cocked her head to the side and narrowed her damp eyes. He felt like the biggest prick on earth, and at the same time, his own heart was fighting tooth and nail against the space he was trying to maintain between them.
“Christ.” He scrubbed his hand down his face. “You are all those things, Amy, and so much more, but…”
“But you like me as a friend.”
He’d never seen so much hurt concentrated in one person’s eyes, and even if he had, it wouldn’t have compared to seeing it in Amy’s. He touched his forehead to hers, and he did the only thing he knew how to do without doing irreparable damage to their friendship.
His lie came in a whisper. “No. I love you as a friend.”
He loved Bella, Caden, and the others, goddamn it. What he felt for Amy was so much bigger than friendship, it threatened to stop his fucking heart.
She didn’t say a word, just nodded, and Tony knew in that moment that she wasn’t drunk enough to forget what he’d said by the morning—and he almost wished she were.
(End of Sneak Peek)
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Dreaming of Love
The Bradens
Love in Bloom Series
Melissa Foster
Chapter One
LUSH. VERDANT. HILLY…Amazing. Emily stood on the covered balcony of the villa where she’d rented a room just outside of Florence, Italy, overlooking rolling countryside and the spectacular city below. The sun was kissing the last light of day goodbye, leaving chilled air in its wake. She sighed at the magnificent view, wrapped her arms around her body, and gave herself a big hug. She couldn’t believe she was finally here, staying at the villa that her favorite architect, Gabriela Bocelli, built.
Gabriela Bocelli wasn’t a very well-known architect, but her designs exuded simplicity and grace, which Emily had admired ever since she’d first come across this villa during her architecture studies. That felt like a hundred years ago. She’d dreamed of visiting Tuscany throughout school, but in the years since, she’d been too busy building her architecture business, which specialized in passive-house design, to take time off. If it weren’t for one of her older brothers, she might still be back in Trusty, Colorado, dreaming of Tuscany instead of standing on this loggia, losing her breath to the hilly terrain below.
She pulled her cell phone from the back pocket of her jeans and texted Wes.
You’re the best brother EVER! So happy to be here. Thank you! Xox.
Emily had five brothers, each of whom had hounded her about her safety while she was traveling. Or really, whenever they didn’t have their eyes on her. Pierce, her eldest brother, had wanted to use his own phone plan to buy her a second cell phone with international access. Just in case. She’d put her foot down. At thirty-one years old, she could handle a ten-day trip without needing her brothers to rescue her. It wasn’t like she ever needed saving, but her brothers had a thing about scrutinizing every man who came near her. Yet another reason why she didn’t date very often.
Still, she was glad they cared, because she adored each and every one of their overprotective asses.
Adelina Ambrosi appeared at the entrance to the balcony with a slightly less energetic smile than had been present throughout the day. Adelina had run the resort villa with her husband, Marcello, for more than twenty years. She was a short, stout woman with a friendly smile, eyes as blue-gray as a winter’s storm, and wiry gray hair that was currently pinned up in a messy bun. She must have mastered the art of walking quietly to keep from disturbing the guests.
“Good evening, Emily.” Adelina brushed lint from the curtains hanging beside the glass doors. Emily was glad they loved the property as much as she did. They rented out only two rooms of the six-bedroom villa in order to always have space available for family and friends. The villa was a home to them, not just a business, as was evident in the warm guest rooms.
“Good evening, Adelina. Any news on Serafina’s husband?”
Serafina was Adelina and Marcello’s daughter, who had recently moved back home with her eight-month-old son. They’d been living in the States when her husband, Dante, a United States Marine, had gone missing in Afghanistan while out on tour almost three months ago. Adelina had told Emily that she’d begged Serafina to come home and let her take care of her and baby Luca until her husband returned—and Adelina was adamant that he would return. Emily, on the other hand, wasn’t quite so sure.
“Not yet, but I have faith.” Adelina lowered her eyes, and with a friendly nod, she disappeared down the hall in the direction of her bedroom.
Emily turned back toward the evening sky, sending a silent prayer that Serafina’s husband would return unharmed.
“It’s a beautiful view, isn’t it?”
The rich, deep voice sent a shiver down Emily’s spine. She turned, and—holy smokes. Standing before her was more than six feet of deeply tanned, deliciously muscled male. His hair was the color of warm mocha and spilled over his eyes, hanging just an inch above the collar of his tight black T-shirt. She opened her mouth to greet him, but her mouth went dry and no words came. She reached for the stone rail of the archway she’d been gazing through and managed a smile.
His full lips quirked up, filling his deep brown eyes with amusement as he stepped closer.
“The view,” he repeated as his eyes swept over her, causing her insides to do a nervous dance. The amusement in his eyes gave way to something dark and sensual.
It had been so long since Emily had seen that look directed at her that it took her by surprise. She cleared her throat and reluctantly dragged her gaze back to the view below, which paled in comparison to the one right next to her.
Holy crap. Get a grip. It must be the Italian air or the evening sky that had her heart racing like she’d just run a marathon.
Or the fact that I haven’t had sex in…
“Awestruck. I hear Italy has that effect on people.” He leaned his forearms on the thick stone rail and bent over, clasping his large hands together.
“Yeah, right. Italy.” Emily’s eyes widened at the sarcasm in her voice. She clenched her mouth shut. She hadn’t meant to say that out loud. He probably had this crazy effect on all women, and here she was gushing over him. She didn’t gush. Ever. What the hell?
He cocked his head to the side and smiled up at her. Emily saw the spark of something wicked and playful in his eyes, like he could be either in a heartbeat. A hint of danger that Emily thought maybe he knew he possessed. A low laugh rumbled from his chest as he arched a brow.
Oh God. She felt her chest and face flush with heat and crossed her arms. A barrier between them. Yes, that’s what she needed, since apparently she couldn’t control her own freaking hormones.
“I’m sorry. I just got in this evening and it was a long trip. Eye fatigue.” Eye fatigue? She held her breath, ho
ping he’d pretend, as she was, that that was the real reason she was ogling him.
“I just arrived myself.” He held a hand out. “Dae Bray. Nice to meet you.”
Emily felt the tension in her neck ease as he accepted her explanation. “Emily Braden. Day? That’s an interesting name.” She shook his strong, warm hand, and he held hers a beat too long, bringing that tension right back to her body—and an entirely different type of tension to her lower belly.
“Maybe I’m an interesting guy. Dae. D. A. E.,” he said, as if he had to spell it often, which she imagined he did. “Is this your first time in Tuscany?”
How could he be so casual, speak so easily, when her heart was doing flips in her chest? He didn’t have an ounce of tension anywhere in his body. He was all ease and comfort, his body moving fluidly as he shifted his position and leaned his sexy hip, clad in low-slung jeans, against the rail. When he crossed one ankle over the other and set his palms on the stone, his T-shirt clung to his wide chest, then followed his rippled abs in a sexy vee and disappeared beneath the waist of his jeans. Her eyes lingered there, desperately fighting to drop a little lower. It took all of her focus to ignore the heat spreading through her limbs and drag her eyes away.
“Yes.” Why does my voice sound breathy? She drew her shoulders back and met his gaze, forcing a modicum of control into her voice. “How about you?”
He shook his head, and his shiny dark hair fell in front of his eyes. One quick flick of his chin sent it off his face, giving her another brief look at his deep-set eyes, his rugged features, and the peppering of whiskers on his square jaw.
“It’s the first for me, too.”
Emily’s phone vibrated and Wes’s name flashed on the screen. She reached for it and read Wes’s message, desperately needing a distraction.
Seaside Sunsets Page 27