His expression is stark with need as he nears the bedside. “Fall in love with you? How could I fall in love with you when I loved you with every breath, every heartbeat, every lash of the fucking whip? When you invaded my dreams, my hallucinations. I can’t stop loving you, bella. I’ve tried. God help me, I’ve tried.”
Tears blur the vision in front of me, the haggard man, the fallen knight. “Gio.”
He clasps my hand between his and rests his forehead on my unharmed shoulder. “I didn’t know how to have you. I didn’t believe I deserved you. So I took you, and you…God, you were shot. Because of me.”
“No one said marriage was easy.”
His laugh is unsteady. “I know I don’t deserve you, but I’ll keep you. If you want to stay, I won’t be able to let you go.”
I close my eyes, knowing that my demons have fought alongside his. We have our own battles, the both of us, but we can fight them together. “The mansion had so many memories. So many monsters. But you vanquished them, one by one. Only you could have turned this place into a home, Giovanni.”
“We can leave here. We can run away together, you and me.”
That was what I’d always wanted. Running away together. It sounds romantic, but the truth is, it’s really just running away. “We’ll stay here,” I say softly. “So you can look for your mother.”
It wouldn’t be easy, dealing with the violence of the life.
Another battle we would fight together.
He kneels beside the bed. “Ti amo, bella. Mi vuoi sposare?”
Tears stream down my face. I don’t know Italian like he did, but I know enough. “We’re already married.”
“Di nuovo,” he says. “Again. For real this time.”
I run my fingers through his hair, a wild mane now. “It was always real.”
He bows his head over my hand, his voice low and fervent. “I know, bella. Always.”
Epilogue
The mirror has blackened at the edges, turned misty in the center. How many brides have looked at themselves in this pane of glass? How many of them lived happily ever after?
My sister sniffles from behind me, her brown eyes glossy with tears. “You’re so beautiful.”
This ceremony is more for her than for me. For all of our family and friends who didn’t get to attend the first one. I don’t have any of the fear, the nerves that I had before.
I give her a soft smile. “If I am, it’s because of you.”
She applied my makeup, somehow making it both subtle and glittering. I don’t know how she does it, but I’m grateful to have her. Now she’s forming a wide braid with loose curls, twining strands of pearls and crystals that remind me of water droplets. Combined with the full skirt of my dress and the antique engagement ring on my finger, I feel more like a princess than ever.
Flowers spill over every pew and surface in the chapel—and also the small dressing room.
A knock on the vestibule door. Maria peeks inside. “Are you ready?”
“Almost,” I tell her, picking up the sweeping bouquet of calla lilies.
“You’d better hurry,” she says, her voice dry. “I think the groom is going to pass out soon.”
That makes me laugh. “Cold feet? We’re already married.”
The past few months have brought us closer than I could have imagined. My recovery at the mansion, the birth of my nephew, Alessandro. We spend every day together, talking and laughing and dreaming. And every night, he explores new ways to make me shiver and moan.
Before I wanted to sculpt the counterpoint to the angel at the Grand, but only now I realize that isn’t the archangel. It’s a phoenix, rising from the ashes. The perfect use for the red alabaster stone.
Maria shakes her head, expression rueful. “I think he’s worried you’ll get cold feet.”
I stare after her as the old wooden door shuts. “Silly man.”
“Smart man,” Honor says. “He knows what you’re worth.”
A small, plaintive cry comes from the corner. “Shhh,” she soothes Alessandro, picking him up from the carrier. “Are you hungry, little one?”
He grasps at the silvery material of her dress, impatient.
“Oh, but they’re ready for you,” she says, biting her lip. “I think he could wait until after.”
“Don’t be silly. No nephew of mine is going hungry.” I fight a smile and lose. “Besides, maybe five minutes will give Giovanni a little scare. It’s nothing he doesn’t deserve.”
Honor laughs. “You really are his perfect match.”
It turns out to be fifteen minutes instead, but I’m not worried. The afternoon is cool, the wind light enough to leave the chapel doors open. Only people who love us are in attendance—Candy and Hannah from the Grand, Amy from school. Giovanni’s cousin Lorenzo returned as well, looking very relieved to have my consent this time. He also couldn’t stop looking at Amy throughout last night’s dinner.
Even Romero attended, having been given the green light to resume normal activity last week. His health has returned to normal, but his spirits remain subdued after Juliette’s arrest. She took the fall for everything, with Javier Markam missing. But we knew the truth about what happened, and Giovanni was looking for him.
Men in suits and sunglasses are tucked into every corner. Security is high, but we’re in the mafia. Security will always be high.
Maria waits at the foot of the aisle with Lupo, who looks disgruntled at the flowers she’s looped around his collar. I laugh softly and give him a soft pat as I pass him.
The small chapel hums with conversation. Giovanni stands in front of the room, anxious energy vibrating around him. Maria wasn’t exaggerating. He looks ready to tear into somebody.
He grows still, and I know he’s spotted me. The entire crowd quiets.
Giovanni has a natural command of the room. The son of a foot soldier, he was never expected to lead. But he assumes his position with a grace and control that are enviable—and an innate respect for humanity that my father never had. He still hasn’t found his mother, but I know he’ll never stop searching, never stop until she’s found or, at the very least, laid to rest.
The touching refrain of the wedding march fills the air, and I walk down the aisle. Flower petals catch at my dress. Friends and family watch me, some stoic, some with tears in their eyes. Everyone here wishes the best for me, and it feels a little bit like floating.
Giovanni’s jaw is clenched hard when I reach him. He takes my hand in a firm grip, and I feel the tremors run through him. He looks like a man pushed to the brink. You wouldn’t know we just had wild marathon sex this morning, not four hours ago.
The priest welcomes everyone and begins the ceremony, his droning voice booming through the rafters.
“You came,” Giovanni says low enough that only I can hear.
“Did you think I wouldn’t?” I whisper.
There’s a pause. “Thought you might pay me back.”
I bite my lip, holding in a laugh. “I thought about it.”
His hands tighten, almost reflexively, before loosening. “I would have found you.”
Only he could make a threat sound romantic. “I came, didn’t I? I decided you were worth marrying.”
The corner of his lip quirks up in that reserved way I’ve come to love. “Thanks.”
When I was younger, I longed for freedom as if it were a place. I longed for love as if it were a person. In the end I found both back where I started, with the man who loved me all along. “And plus…this baby will need her father.”
His gaze snaps to mine. “What did you just say?”
“I mean, I don’t know if it’s a girl. It could be a boy.” With the hand not holding my bouquet, I run a palm over my stomach. I haven’t started to show, but I knew I was pregnant before I took the test. “I have this feeling, though.”
Giovanni’s hands shake in mine, and I grasp them firmly. He looks at me, his eyes dark and completely, utterly open. I can see deep into every
dream, every hope he hardly dared. I can see the way it shatters him, having everything he ever wanted.
I walked into this church calm and confident. I comforted my sister and smiled at my friends. I could have withstood almost anything except the way this strong man’s eyes glisten with tears.
“No, Gio,” I whisper, my eyes pricked with heat. “Don’t be sad.”
He doesn’t say the obvious answer: I am happy. When you’ve been through what he has, when you’ve experienced that kind of loss, everything is tinged with sadness.
“I can’t…I can’t lose you, bella.” He’s gone completely pale, eyes stark with pain.
He’s faced torture and violence, but the thought of losing me is tearing him apart. And it’s breaking my heart. “You won’t lose me. Or this baby, Gio. We’re here forever. For always.”
The priest’s booming voice cuts in on us. “Do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
I do. That’s his line, but he’s fighting something deep and dark right now. A lifetime of denial, of grief. That horrible pleasure of having something you know you can’t live without.
There will be more violence in his future, more suffering, because that’s the condition of being human. And of being the head of the Las Vegas mafia operation. But he’ll face that with me by his side, every step of the way. Including here, now.
Without waiting for him to answer, I throw my arms around him. He catches me and holds me to him without hesitation, as if this is where I belong. His lips move over mine, hungry and hard.
“I do,” he murmurs between scorching kisses, between nips and licks that make my knees weak.
The priest sputters beside us, having finally realized that we’ve derailed off course. I pull back long enough to tell him, “I do too.”
Then Giovanni drags me back, one hand at my hip, the other cupping my face, this kiss full of possessive intensity too raw for a church. And definitely too sensual for an audience. I start to pull away, but he holds me closer while Lupo barks circles around us.
My lips curve into a smile beneath his. “We’re making a scene.”
“I’m not letting you go, bella.”
“Not even to take the dress off me?”
He presses his forehead against mine. “The dress definitely stays on this time.”
My laugh rings out when he sweeps me into his arms. He carries me over the lawn and across the threshold of a mansion made new with heart, with family. There are a hundred walls to paint, a thousand dark memories to wash away. And we’ll face them together.
* * *
Thank you for reading Hold You Against Me…
I hope you loved Giovanni and Clara’s story as much as I do! If you love dangerous and possessive alpha heroes and strong heroines, you’ll love OVERTURE.
Forbidden fruit never tasted this sweet…
“Swoon-worthy, forbidden, and sexy, Liam North is my new obsession.”
—New York Times bestselling author Claire Contreras
The world knows Samantha Brooks as the violin prodigy. She guards her secret truth—the desire she harbors for her guardian.
Liam North got custody of her six years ago. She’s all grown up now, but he still treats her like a child. No matter how much he wants her.
No matter how bad he aches for one taste.
ONE CLICK OVERTURE NOW >
“Overture is a beautiful composition of forbidden love and undeniable desire. Skye has crafted a gripping, sensual, and intense story that left me breathless. Get ready to be hooked!”
—USA Today bestselling author Nikki Sloane
And here’s a short excerpt from OVERTURE…
* * *
Rest, Liam told me.
He’s right about a lot of things. Maybe he’s right about this. I climb onto the cool pink sheets, hoping that a nap will suddenly make me content with this quiet little life.
Even though I know it won’t.
Besides, I’m too wired to actually sleep. The white lace coverlet is both delicate and comfy. It’s actually what I would have picked out for myself, except I didn’t pick it out. I’ve been incapable of picking anything, of choosing anything, of deciding anything as part of some deep-seated fear that I’ll be abandoned.
The coverlet, like everything else in my life, simply appeared.
And the person responsible for its appearance? Liam North.
I climb under the blanket and stare at the ceiling. My body feels overly warm, but it still feels good to be tucked into the blankets. The blankets he picked out for me.
It’s really so wrong to think of him in a sexual way. He’s my guardian, literally. Legally. And he has never done anything to make me think he sees me in a sexual way.
This is it. This is the answer.
I don’t need to go skinny dipping in the lake down the hill. Thinking about Liam North in a sexual way is my fast car. My parachute out of a plane.
My eyes squeeze shut.
That’s all it takes to see Liam’s stern expression, those fathomless green eyes and the glint of dark blond whiskers that are always there by late afternoon. And then there’s the way he touched me. My forehead, sure, but it’s more than he’s done before. That broad palm on my sensitive skin.
My thighs press together. They want something between them, and I give them a pillow. Even the way I masturbate is small and timid, never making a sound, barely moving at all, but I can’t change it now. I can’t moan or throw back my head even for the sake of rebellion.
But I can push my hips against the pillow, rocking my whole body as I imagine Liam doing more than touching my forehead. He would trail his hand down my cheek, my neck, my shoulder.
Repressed. I’m so repressed it’s hard to imagine more than that.
I make myself do it, make myself trail my hand down between my breasts, where it’s warm and velvety soft, where I imagine Liam would know exactly how to touch me.
You’re so beautiful, he would say. Your breasts are perfect.
Because Imaginary Liam wouldn’t care about big breasts. He would like them small and soft with pale nipples. That would be the absolute perfect pair of breasts for him.
And he would probably do something obscene and rude. Like lick them.
My hips press against the pillow, almost pushing it down to the mattress, rocking and rocking. There’s not anything sexy or graceful about what I’m doing. It’s pure instinct. Pure need.
The beginning of a climax wraps itself around me. Claws sink into my skin. There’s almost certain death, and I’m fighting, fighting, fighting for it with the pillow clenched hard.
“Oh fuck.”
The words come soft enough someone else might not hear them. They’re more exhalation of breath, the consonants a faint break in the sound. I have excellent hearing. Ridiculous, crazy good hearing that had me tuning instruments before I could ride a bike.
My eyes snap open, and there’s Liam, standing there, frozen. Those green eyes locked on mine. His body clenched tight only three feet away from me. He doesn’t come closer, but he doesn’t leave.
Orgasm breaks me apart, and I cry out in surprise and denial and relief. “Liam.”
It goes on and on, the terrible pleasure of it. The wrenching embarrassment of coming while looking into the eyes of the man who raised me for the past six years.
Want more? Click here to read OVERTURE now!
CHEEKY ROYAL
Nana Malone
I never wanted the throne…
I have a plan: find my long-lost brother & make him the prince so I don’t have to rule.
The last thing I have time for is my sexy new neighbor. She’s everything I don’t want, sassy, funny and…not available.
That’s okay—I’m amazing best-guy-friend material. Friends? Sure. Anything more? Definitely not.
All I have to do is not touch her, kiss her or fantasize about…never mind…
It’s not like I have a choice. I can’t let her find out who I reall
y am. And she’s got secrets of her own.
Chapter One
Penny
“Do not embarrass me in front of the king.”
I glared at my father as he frog-marched me down the enormous gilded hallway leading to the king’s personal office. My heels made a clop-clop sound that echoed right along with the sound of my father’s making a similar click-clack sound on the polished marble.
I’d been summoned by King Cassius.
I’d never been summoned by the king before.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Dad.”
“Sweetheart, stop. You know I believe you can do anything. But this is important. This is His Majesty. Do not embarrass the family. Keep your mouth shut. Try not to twitch too much. Don’t fidget. Stand there, listen, and nod your head. You can handle that?”
I nodded slowly. “Yes. Keep my mouth shut, show no personality, and act like a robot. Done.”
As we passed the Fountain Garden, I gasped. I’d forgotten that this part of the palace had floor to ceiling windows looking out on the garden. Outside the birds of paradise were in full bloom. The colors of the Hibiscus and Bougainville, and the Caribbean Lilies should have clashed, but the gardens were done so elegantly that the different flowers wove together and told a story. As the palace sat on top of the hill, the azure-blue waters of the Caribbean were visible.
If I had this view I might never get any work done. Not that you do anyway.
The question was, just how much trouble was I in?
Had Kind Cassius possibly heard that I was the worst Royal Guard in the history of man? But if that were the case, he wouldn’t have sent for me, right? Or was he calling me to fire me personally? But why not have my father do it?
Was he pissed about the ball? That was months ago. I hadn’t set any dukes on fire since then. Honestly, it wasn’t my fault the Duke of Essex caught on fire. And I’d had to tackle him to put him out. Besides, he was fine. Maybe a little scared, and sure, the flames had gotten rather close to him. Again, not my fault…entirely.
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