But after a long study through narrowed eyes, she simply said, “We’re taking the Ferrari?”
“No, the Ducati.”
Her eyes widened satisfyingly. “That explains the leather pants in my closet.”
And didn’t she look like a badass, strutting out of the villa in them? With the matching jacket, they fit like a second skin. She’d slicked on lipstick too, dead-sexy red.
He settled the helmet over her head. “I want your hands on my waist at all times.”
“Afraid I’ll fall off?”
“No. I’m afraid you’ll get into mischief. I need my mind on the road, not on my cock.”
He started off slow—like sex—to give her time to adjust. Then opened the throttle and they blasted off like a missile, the winding road vanishing in their slipstream.
He bypassed Genoa, weaving through the hills, past silvery olive groves, and grapevines laid out in lines straight and true, baking under blue skies and summer sun.
This was freedom. Behind the visor he was anonymous, just a man on a bike leaning into the wind, with his woman at his back and the world by the balls.
When his own vineyard came into view, he considered blowing past it, streaking north into the Alps, out of Italy, through Switzerland. Just driving, driving with her arms around him.
But he missed her face. That was the downside of the bike. They couldn’t talk. He couldn’t see her smile.
So he slowed, took the turn, and when they stood on solid ground again, helmets off, her eyes sparkling like diamonds, he lifted her in a testosterone-fueled hug that squeezed a squeal from her.
“That was amazing!” She couldn’t stop laughing.
His arms around her tiny waist held her at eye level. “You’re a speed junkie. So am I.”
“Did my hair turn white? Because you took ten years off my life.”
“Not white, but you do have helmet head.”
“So do you.” She poked her fingers through his hair.
“Unavoidable. But please don’t stop.”
“That’s my line.” Her wicked grin went straight to his balls.
Twisting her fingers in his hair, she leaned in, bit his lip. Turned it into a kiss. His arms tightened. She angled her head, deepened the kiss. And he heard it, the humming in her throat. It vibrated through him, sapping his sanity.
When she pulled back, glassy-eyed, puffy-lipped, his breath shuddered. “Christ Jesus, Maddie, I can’t get enough of you.”
She managed a laugh. “So we’re sex fiends and speed junkies. What does that say about us?”
“There’s more between us than that.” He wanted her to admit it.
“Yeah, two pricey layers of cowhide.” She slapped his shoulders. “Put me down, King Kong.”
He wanted her to speak the truth he saw in her eyes when he was inside her. But she wasn’t ready yet, and making an issue would only harden her asinine resolve.
He let her slide down his chest. Released her reluctantly.
She peeled off her jacket, down to a silk tank. “This rig’s too hot when we’re not moving at light speed.”
He tossed her jacket on the seat with his own. “I’m afraid we outpaced Fredo. He should be here shortly with a change of clothes.”
“You’re kidding.”
“You said it yourself. Leather’s too hot for a summer luncheon. Besides”—he did the knuckle kiss that predictably put stars in her eyes—“by the time we’ve sampled the wines of which I’m now the proud vintner, we’ll be too drunk for the Ducati. Fredo will drive us home.”
SHE COULD GET used to this. Not the obsequious butt-kissing by every member of the staff, but the awesomeness of hanging out with Richie Rich, tooling around on his Ducati Streetfighter, wining and dining in the hot Italian sun.
Not to mention screwing their brains out in the back of a stretch limo with a mellow Barolo buzz.
No question, the man knew all the secrets of a woman’s body. And he had The Best Toys money could buy.
And damn it, he made her laugh. At him, at herself. That shit was addictive.
So maybe it wasn’t surprising that with all their screwing and laughing and having fun, he was getting The Wrong Idea about them. She’d have to set him straight.
She tapped his chest. He opened sleepy eyes, looked up at her from a sea of blue, and shifted his head slightly where it lay cradled on her lap.
“You sticking with your story that this was a business trip? Getting drunk in the sun and laid in the limo?”
He smiled, lazily, curled a warm palm around her wrist where it rested on his chest. “The latter part was the highlight, but I’d call it a successful day all around. We toured the facility, met the staff, sampled the wares, and enjoyed a pleasant luncheon with the key players, establishing a relationship and impressing upon them that I’m not a mere hobbyist, but a knowledgeable businessman with my eye on the bottom line.”
He dug in his pocket, came out with a flash drive. “On here are the latest financials and, of particular interest to you, the most recent contracts with suppliers, insurers, and distributors.” He tucked it into her cleavage. “Let me know what needs changing.”
He was slick. She liked that about him.
In fact, she liked too damn many things about him. Like the annoying softness of his hair between her fingers. The stupid sexy bristles stippling his jaw. And the warm, melty look in his eyes.
It all brought on a bad case of the warm fuzzies.
She shook off his hand and crabbed at him. “Sit up, will you? You’re as bad as John, always begging to be petted.”
He grinned his mind-reading grin, the one that kicked up a little higher on the left side and made a roguish dimple on his suavely handsome face.
She got sort of light-headed gazing down at that grin.
Or maybe she was carsick.
Then he said, “I thought we’d have dinner with Dom tonight.”
That really warmed up her fuzzies.
But it was sure to give him The Wrong Idea, so she shook her head. “You should have father-and-son time without me in the mix.”
His eyes went soulful. “I need you in the mix. Dom and I both need you. Things are still awkward between us. I take full responsibility for that, but for now, it helps having you there.” He linked his fingers through hers. “It’s important to me, Maddie. Please.”
The warm fuzzies snuggled around her heart. “Well, jeez, when you put it like that.”
So maybe he’d get The Wrong Idea about it. She’d disabuse him of it later.
For now, she went for his zipper.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Vicky: I promise to walk with you through
the light and the dark,
the good times and the bad.
Maddie: Unless there are zombies,
then you’re on your own.
LEANING BACK AGAINST the headboard, Maddie crossed her arms over her naked breasts. “All this sex is fucking things up.”
Adam stroked a hand up her leg from ankle to apex. “An eloquent observation. Almost Shakespearean in its depth and complexity.” He kissed the side of her knee. How could a knee be so appealing?
“Don’t sweet-talk me. You know what I mean. Before we started screwing, everything was black and white. You magnate, me minion. I liked that.”
“Darling, you hated that.”
“I hated you. There’s a difference.”
He propped himself on an elbow, studied her troubled pout in the light of a new day. “And how do you feel now?” He knew how he felt. Like a lovesick puppy.
Her forehead furrowed. She didn’t look lovesick. She looked annoyed.
“I feel like I should be earning the dough you’re forking over to Cruella instead of fucking the boss blind.”
“I see.” He traced a random pattern on her thigh. “Would you feel better about fucking me if I fired you?”
She stuck out her lip. “If you fire me, I’ll have to go home.”
“And you’d rather stay h
ere with me?” He wanted her to say it.
She shrugged. “This has been okay, but I have to get back to work sometime.”
Stubborn woman. Why wouldn’t she admit they were neck-deep in a red-hot affair that neither was nearly finished with?
He rolled out of bed, did the best Adam the Magnate he could manage with his junk hanging out.
“If it’s work you want, Madeline, get your lazy ass out of bed. I’ll keep your shoulder to the wheel all morning. But prepare to suffer a trip to the beach this afternoon. I promised Dom, so there’ll be no wiggling out of it.”
That got her attention. “You’re taking him out in public?”
“It’s my private beach. Gerard will secure it before we go.” He lifted a hand before she could follow up. “I have to consider his security before going public. Gerard’s working on it.”
The subject made him edgy. He pushed a hand through his hair. “We’ll bring Dom to New York with us next week, but we’ll need more bodyguards. I’ve made do with Fredo because I can take care of myself. But Dom will need protection. So will you when our relationship gets out.”
“Whoa.” Maddie had her mule face on. “I don’t need a bodyguard, because we don’t have a relationship.”
He stared at her, hard. Then, deliberately, he moved his gaze over the rumpled sheets, the scattered pillows. And back to her.
“It’s just sex,” she said, lamely. “Anyway. Is Maribelle okay with you taking Dom to New York?”
A neat change of subject. “She’ll come along with us, to be at the press conference. Dyan’s arranging it for a week from today.”
“That’s fast work, Adam. Two days ago you barely acknowledged the kid, and next week he’ll be on TV? Are you sure you’re not rushing it?”
“It’s years overdue, as you so delicately pointed out.” He pinched her toe. “As for you and me, you can’t deny there’s something between us. I knew it five years ago. Under different circumstances, we’d have gotten together then.”
“Yeah, different circumstances. Like you not being a crook.”
He let some smugness seep into his smile. “If I was a crook five years ago, then I’m still a crook. It doesn’t seem to bother you now.”
“That’s because it’s just sex.” She gave him a bland smile. “Thanks for proving my point.”
There was no winning an argument with Maddie.
THEY BROKE FOR lunch at noon, served by Henry at a poolside table shaded by an oversized umbrella.
Maddie spread a napkin on the lap of her turquoise sundress. Not exactly business attire, but as Adam loved to point out, this was the Riviera.
“I have to admit, you’re okay at this magnate thing.” The man held more information in his head than she could fit on a flash drive, and he accessed it as quickly as a computer. He never forgot a name, a date, or a detail, and when he said jump, people reached for the sky.
Adam put his tongue in cheek. “Don’t gush, darling, it embarrasses me.”
He poured a Barolo they’d brought back from the vineyard. She sipped. Delicious.
“Okay,” she let on, softened up by the wine, “you’re good at this. Not that you need me to tell you. You can look at your balance sheet.” She stabbed lettuce with her fork and asked something she’d wondered five years ago. “When is enough enough?”
His brows inched up. His eyes couldn’t be bluer. “Enough what?”
“Enough everything.” She motioned with her fork. “You own all this. Hell, you own half the free world. But you’re still buying stuff up. When will you have enough?”
He leaned back in his chair, looked around as if seeing it all anew, the villa, the lawn, Portofino below.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I never thought about it.”
“Seriously? No goal, like richest son of a bitch in the universe?”
He shook his head. “It’s not about money. Not anymore, though that was the root of it.” He shrugged. “I suppose it’s the power now. Knowing I can change the world for better or worse. Mostly better, I hope.”
“Yeah,” she admitted, “your foundation changes lives.” Thousands of them daily. It was vast, effective and amply funded, like everything in Adam’s world.
“I’ve plans to do more,” he said, “and could use the help of a smart lawyer, if you know one who’s interested.”
“Not my area.”
“You’re a quick study. You proved it this morning. And I trust you. I don’t trust many people.”
For a moment, she was tempted. Working with Adam when he was in high gear was an adrenaline-charged roller-coaster ride. But, “Things are messy enough now. We don’t need more complications.”
“Ah, yes. All that sex fucking things up.”
She raised her glass in salute. “Kidding aside, all magnates should be as generous.”
“Yes, they should. But don’t change your dour opinion of me just yet.” He dropped his eyes to his glass, twirled the stem. “The unvarnished truth is that I grew up homeless and there were plenty who rubbed my nose in it. I had something to prove to them, and to myself as well.”
He gave a short laugh. “You could say I’ve spent my life nursing my wounded ego. Not quite so heroic, is it?”
Oddly moved by his honesty, she touched his hand. “There’s nothing wrong with proving you’re not a victim anymore. But haven’t you proved it by now?”
He met her eyes, and his were too knowing, too perceptive. “I’d ask you the same, Maddie darling.”
She pulled back. “Listen, I don’t . . . I’m not . . .”
He laid a hand on her thigh. Its warmth soaked through the thin linen, into her skin. “No one can hurt you anymore.” His voice was a balm. “You’re a grown woman, smart and savvy. You’re nobody’s victim, Maddie.”
Of course she wasn’t. She’d figured out long ago how to protect herself, and she didn’t need a pat on the head from her friendly neighborhood felon.
She opened her mouth to snap him back, but the words didn’t come. The anger that flashed so hot and bright had cooled under the stroke of his hand.
She searched his face for inspiration, a reason to rant. All she saw was kindness.
Kindness and love.
In her breast, emotions of another type surged up in response, a blast of feelings she didn’t understand and couldn’t control. The blue of his eyes pressed on her chest, the curve of his lips closed her throat.
Suddenly, desperately, she yearned to share her secret with him. Share the burden. She reached out, grasped his sleeve. Tried to force the words out.
But shame tied her tongue. Tears welled up, spilled over. Frustration and anguish.
“Oh, darling, forgive me.” His voice cracked. Going down on one knee, he gathered her in his arms. John horned in too, pushing his head onto her lap. Kindness and love surrounded her. John slobbered it on her hands; Adam folded it around her.
Unable to resist it, she let her head rest on his broad shoulder, let her tears soak his shirt. When they petered out and she’d quieted, he brushed a kiss over her hair.
“We’re two of a kind, Maddie St. Clair, though I’m sure it pains you to hear it.”
She sponged her nose with her napkin. “Kick me while I’m down, why don’t you.”
He let out a laugh. “Darling, I adore you.”
FLOPPING ON HIS towel, Adam closed his eyes against the brilliant sun. Even in triathlon condition, he was no match for a nine-year-old. If he’d lifted and tossed the boy once, he’d done it a hundred times.
Over the sound of the waves, he tuned in to Dom’s hooting laughter as he boogie-boarded with Maddie. His son was a strong swimmer, a natural athlete. Why hadn’t he known that before now? Why had he been so determined to shut Dom out?
For all the obvious reasons, of course, the ones he’d relied on since the boy was conceived. But now he had to admit to at least one more.
Parenthood terrified him. He was certain he’d fuck it up, and he’d proved himself right
by ignoring Dom for nine years. He’d be ignoring him still if Maddie hadn’t come along and opened his eyes.
And how had he thanked her? By making her cry. Oh, he hadn’t intended to hurt her. But that’s when he did his best work, when he was too busy making his point to consider how sharp that point might be, and how it might hurt the person he jabbed with it.
“Papa!” Dom’s panicky voice snapped him out of his brooding. “Papa, John’s drowning! He’s drowning!”
Adam was off the sand in an instant, tearing into the surf, cursing himself. He should have kept an eye on John. The dog had worn himself out romping in the waves, chasing Dom, chasing all of them.
Now the undertow had sucked him out. He was paddling, but no match for the current.
Maddie was already in the water, swimming hard, slowed by towing Dom’s board. Adam dove through a wave, surfaced. But John had disappeared.
“Over there!” Dom bounced on his toes, pointing. Adam went into a crawl. His training was paying off now.
John bobbed up, briefly, and Adam swam harder, adrenaline powering his muscles past anything he’d asked of them before.
He passed Maddie, dove where John had gone down, breaststroked in a circle, squinting through the murk.
Spotting John’s motionless body, drifting, sinking, he dove deeper, came up under the dog. Shouldered him and kicked hard for daylight, surfacing as Maddie reached them with the board.
“Get him on,” she said. They wrestled the slack body, dead weight, then Adam stroked hard for the shore, towing the board, the limp dog’s feet trailing.
Dom met them at the water’s edge. “Papa, can we give him CPR? I learned how to do it on a person. Is it the same on a dog?”
“I don’t know.” He laid John on his side in the sand.
Maddie ran out of the surf, breathing hard. “Check his mouth, make sure nothing’s blocking his throat. Now straighten his neck. Hold his mouth closed and blow into his nose.”
Adam did it all without question as she knelt beside John, started chest compressions on his rib cage.
Circling them, Dom called John’s name, fighting tears.
A minute passed, a lifetime while Adam huffed air up John’s nostrils and Maddie pumped his lungs. No response.
The Wedding Vow Page 24