Mistletoe Wishes: The Billionaire's Christmas GiftOne Christmas Night in VeniceSnowbound With the Millionaire

by Carole Mortimer

  Diane didn’t know why Domenico hadn’t prepared his sister for the shock, but she hugged Juliana back. “It’s good to see you,” she said. “I’ve missed you.”

  “We’ve missed you!” Juliana cried, as Adriano ran to his father, and threw himself into Domenico’s arms.

  “Papa! Papa!”

  Domenico scooped him up, kissed him on each cheek. “Comme vanno le cose? How’s my boy?”

  “Buono! Good. I can ski!”

  Domenico grinned and kissed him again, before setting him back on his feet. “Next time you and I can ski.”

  Juliana gestured toward the door. “We’re just going to go and unpack. Settle in. That is if we’re still welcome for Christmas?”

  “Of course,” Dom answered firmly, his hand still resting lightly on Adriano’s dark head. “We’ll see you at dinner?”

  “Yes.” Juliana shot Diane a brief, curious glance before herding her family out of the sitting room.

  Diane heard the doors quietly close. She looked at Domenico and Adriano. They looked so alike. Definitely father and son.

  “How are you, Adriano?” she asked, speaking Italian for her son’s benefit.

  “Good, thank you,” he answered in perfect English.

  She blinked in surprise. Her Italian was fluent, her accent flawless. “How did you know I spoke English?”

  “You are my angel.” He tipped his head, studying her intently. “I have your picture next to my bed.”

  Domenico cleared his throat. “This is your mother,” he said.

  “I know,” Adriano answered with a hint of impatience. He shook free of his father to approach her, his striking eyes searching her face. “Are you real? Or are you still an angel?”

  Diane’s eyes stung, and her throat felt thick, but she smiled down at him and extended a hand toward him. “I’m real. You can touch me if you want. Just an ordinary person like you.”

  Adriano tucked his own hands behind his back, but he looked closely at her outstretched hand before looking up into her face. “Why aren’t you an angel?”

  She gazed into her son’s eyes and struggled to think of an appropriate answer, but nothing came to mind.

  “Because God had so many angels,” Domenico said after a moment, filling the silence, “and even though your mamma was one of God’s favorites, I think He knew we needed her more.”

  Adriano had been very serious, his expression almost grim as he looked from her to his father and back again. But then little by little he began to smile, until his eyes danced. “Because it’s Christmas?” he whispered happily.

  Diane blinked hard to hold back tears. “Exactly.”

  She moved toward Adriano at the same time as he came toward her, and, shifting her cane, she carefully crouched down and wrapped her arms around her son. He was warm and small and fit against her perfectly.

  My baby. My boy. Finally. After all this time. Who would have thought such a thing was possible?

  Destiny, she thought, overcome by joy even as Domenico’s word echoed in her head. Destiny. Had to be.

  CHAPTER TEN

  THE rest of the afternoon was spent with Adriano and Diane, getting acquainted. Domenico stayed with them for the first hour, and Diane glanced at him now and then, wondering what he was thinking, wondering what he was feeling. But before she could ask him anything he slipped away, leaving her and Adriano to spend some time alone.

  After Domenico left Adriano wanted to show her his favorite room—the kitchen—where the cook spoiled him with freshly baked biscuits and hot chocolate and whipped cream. Diane shared his snack as they sat at the vast kitchen counter, and then they went to Adriano’s bedroom.

  They sat facing each other on his small bed as he told her about his toys at home in Rome, his favorite books, and his favorite sport—which of course was football. He did like skiing, but next time he wanted to try snow-boarding.

  “Do you have an electronic game you like?” she asked him, entranced by this bright, curious little boy. Domenico was obviously a devoted father. Adriano clearly felt confident and loved.

  “I do, but I actually like reading better. You can get better pictures in your head.”

  Diane smiled down at him. “I think so, too.”

  He snuggled closer to her then, resting his head on her chest. He sat that way for several minutes, quiet. Diane didn’t try to fill the silence. It was nice to just sit with him, be with him, be there for him.

  “My birthday’s almost here,” he said after a moment.

  “January first. New Year’s Day.”

  The morning following the accident. She hadn’t even been aware that they were delivering him. But she would keep that from him. It wasn’t something he ever needed to know.

  “You’ll be five, won’t you?” she said, reaching up to touch his head. His dark hair, so like Dom’s, was soft and cool beneath her fingertips. Gently, gently, she stroked the hair back from his brow. “You’re so big and smart. I’m very proud of you.”

  Adriano fell silent again for another moment. When he spoke again his voice was low, uncertain. “Do you think God will let you stay here with us until my birthday?”

  How honest. How innocent. He really was just a baby.

  Diane briefly closed her eyes against the whip of pain and the lash of emotion. They’d all suffered so much. Too much. “I’m not going anywhere, Adriano,” she said huskily. “I’ve come home. I’m here to stay.”

  “What if God wants you back?”

  Her heart squeezed again. Carefully she ran her hand over his hair, feeling his warmth, cherishing his honesty and innocence. “He will someday, but not for a long, long time.”

  “How long?” he asked, turning his head to see her face.

  “At least seventy years,” she answered, wrinkling her nose at him to make him smile. Of course she didn’t know how long—but she could hope, couldn’t she?

  “Seventy years?” He laughed. “That’s forever!”

  Agreeing, she held out her hand to him, and together they went off in search of his cousins.

  And soon it was time to dress for dinner.

  Knowing that Adriano was happily playing, Diane slipped off to her room to change. In her suite, she took a quick shower, and then dressed in an elegant black beaded top and a slim-fitting black skirt that skimmed her knees. The skirt was a tad conservative, but the longer hem hid the scar running down her right thigh.

  Standing before the mirror, she gave her auburn hair a good brushing before pulling it into a high ponytail to keep it off her neck. With small diamonds at her ears and a little mascara and lipstick she knew she looked well, and with a deep breath for courage she headed downstairs to join the Coducci family for dinner.

  Diane glanced at Domenico as they took their places at the elegant dinner table. They were seated at opposite ends of the table. He at the head, she at the foot, just as they’d always done at dinner parties during their marriage.

  He looked impossibly handsome tonight, in a hand-tailored dark suit and one of the crisp white Egyptian cotton dress shirts he’d always favored. His dark hair was slicked back and he wore no tie. Instead he wore his collar open at the throat, giving her a glimpse of his gleaming olive skin. That glimpse of skin reminded her of the scar he’d flashed her earlier, the one above his heart.

  She loved him.

  It was that simple and that complex. She didn’t want to live without him, had never wanted to live without him, and yet now she didn’t know how to live with him. But she knew this. She had to try. Couldn’t quit. Couldn’t accept failure. Not when so many people’s happiness was at stake.

  She glanced at Adriano, who was laughing at something his cousin Sophia had said, his eyes crinkling with good humor, then back at Domenico, whose eyes had used to crinkle when he laughed, too.

  But, ah, there she went again, going to the past, remembering how it had been, comparing Domenico then to the man before her now.

  How fair was that?

  Not
at all.

  Domenico suddenly looked down the table at her, his gaze meeting hers over the yellow glow of candlelight. He’d been so distant ever since their fight. She understood why.

  She’d hurt him. Even though she hadn’t meant to. But she had hurt him and that gave her pain now. He was such an extraordinary man—so brave, so strong—and he’d wanted to please her. Had thought he was pleasing her.

  I’m sorry, she mouthed, genuinely contrite.

  Dom looked at her, his dark eyes fringed by those dense black lashes, his expression somber. And then, little by little, he smiled, until her breath caught in her throat.

  He was still so beautiful. The scar, the burn—it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except that they were together, and they were a family again.

  IT SEEMED LIKE FOREVER BEFORE dinner ended, and then there was coffee in the sitting room, but finally Juliana, Leo and the children said goodnight. Adriano wanted to sleep near his cousins, so Juliana took him off with her to their rooms on the fourth floor, leaving Domenico and Diane alone together.

  “I thought they’d never go to bed,” Domenico said, walking toward Diane.

  There was something in his voice and expression that made her pulse quicken. “Were you bored?” she teased breathlessly, feeling that sizzle inside her again. Attraction. Curiosity. Desire.

  Desire for Domenico—the lover who had loved her, possessed her, so completely.

  He’d known her body.

  He’d known her mind.

  He’d known her heart.

  “You and I have a few things to settle between us,” he said, leaning over her chair, his face just inches from her own. “Quite a few, as a matter of fact.”

  She could smell the heady scent of his cologne and skin, and it made everything inside her turn inside out. “Such as?” she murmured, trying to hold his gaze even as her senses swam and her skin felt hot, electric.

  He wasn’t touching her, and yet she felt him anyway, felt his strength, felt his intensity. Despite all they’d been through, the physical attraction, that powerful connection, remained. That spark of desire had been there that first day they’d met at the library, and it still hummed between them now.

  “Apparently I can’t please you,” he continued.

  “Now, Dom—”

  “But I intend to prove you wrong.”

  “Not necessary.”

  “Very necessary. You pricked my male pride.”

  She laughed softly, blushing. “Considerable, is it?”

  “Of course. I am a man.”

  Her heart beat harder, blood drumming in her veins. “And Italian.”

  “A noble man.”

  “Handsome.”

  He grimaced. “I would have said wealthy.”

  She smiled up into his eyes, absolutely delighted that he’d play with her. She so loved this side of him. He’d always been both lover and best friend. “And how will we know when you’ve proved your point? Is there something I’ll do…something I’ll say?”

  “You’ll cry surrender.”

  “Will I?”

  His leisurely gaze swept her face, moving from her eyes down to her mouth. “Mmm, you will.”

  She pressed her knees together, her body so warm she felt as though she was melting. Oh, she wanted him. She’d wanted him earlier, but then she’d got scared. Panicked. Insecurity getting the best of her. What if he didn’t love her? What if he couldn’t?

  But what ridiculous doubts. He’d always loved her. He’d always protected her. No one would ever love her more.

  Diane’s hand shook as she reached out for him. She wanted him. Wanted him to touch her. But even more she wanted to find him, explore him for herself.

  To rediscover the body she’d loved so well.

  To learn the new scars.

  To cherish the burns.

  “Then maybe it’s time you proved your point,” she murmured, reaching up to run her finger across his lips.

  He carried her up the stairs to his suite, the master suite, with its high ceiling and enormous canopy bed. He locked the door behind him and then turned around to face her where she stood in front of the fire, her cane clutched in nerveless fingers.

  “Nervous?” he asked, moving toward her.

  “A little. But also excited.”

  “Why are you nervous?”

  She felt herself blush. “If I remember correctly, you’re very well endowed.”

  He laughed quietly, his dark eyes gleaming. “That shouldn’t scare you. It’s supposed to give you pleasure.”

  Her blush deepened. “It’s been a long time.”

  He began unbuttoning his shirt as he approached. “Yes, five years.”

  His shirt fell open, revealing that hard chest with the thick plane of muscle and the whittled torso. He was in phenomenal shape, and she flashed to the masquerade party where she’d first seen him in the winged lion costume. His body had dazzled her then, too, and she hadn’t even known it was him.

  “I didn’t see your scar at the party,” she said as he slid an arm around her waist.

  “Valeria had me cover it up,” he answered, dipping his head to kiss the side of her neck. “She thought it detracted from the costume.”

  “I think it would have added to the effect,” she said, sighing helplessly as he kissed her again, setting off every nerve-ending, making her come alive. Oh, how she wanted him. Wanted his hands, his skin, his skill at making her feel. Feel loved.

  She blinked, and was surprised to discover that her lashes were wet.

  Dom reached out to wipe the tears from beneath her eyes. “Why are you crying?”

  “Because I never thought I’d be here, with you, again.”

  “It’s been hard, hasn’t it?”

  She bit her bottom lip and nodded.

  “But it’s over now. That was a different life. A different world.”

  It had been a different world, too. A darker world, a harsher world, a world empty of light and warmth and love. “I couldn’t go through that again,” she whispered. “I can’t lose you again—”

  “You won’t.”

  “You can’t say that. I could lose you. I might. Everyone dies. We’re mortal, after all. You and I know that better than anyone—”

  He cut her off with a kiss, his cool lips covering hers, silencing her painful words. He kissed her until her head spun and her legs went weak.

  Domenico undressed her as he kissed her. He unhooked the beaded top, slid it off her shoulders, and then unzipped the skirt, sending it pooling to her feet. But he stopped there, leaving her in her heels and black lace bra and panties.

  “Is this what you want?” he asked, pushing a heavy wave of hair back from her face. “Because I love you too much to have you uncomfortable, or to have you do something you don’t want.”

  “You don’t think I want to be with you?” she replied, even as her heart repeated his words—he loved her too much.

  He loved her.

  Of course he loved her. But still…still…

  She rose up on tiptoe, holding on to his arms for support, and kissed his chin and then his mouth and then his mouth again. “There’s nothing I want more. You own me, Domenico. Heart, mind, body and soul.”

  She reached for his belt buckle while talking, and unfastened the belt and then unzipped his pants. With his pants falling to his feet, she put her hand on the front of his briefs and freed him from the fabric.

  He was indeed large, and she stroked him, delighting in the silken feel of his hard thick shaft and the soft knob at its tip. He had the perfect body, she thought, tightening her palm around the tip and stroking down more firmly than before.

  Domenico inhaled sharply as she caressed the length of him, and Diane smiled wickedly, delighting that she could bring him pleasure. Knowing that he was so very hard and very aroused made her hotter, wetter, and she felt her womb clench, empty, aching—aching to be filled by him.

  With a muffled oath Dom scooped her into his arms and
carried her to the bed, where he peeled her lacy black bra off, and then the matching panties, before stripping off his own briefs.

  She watched him as he joined her on the bed, his thick shaft jutting out. He was so very impressive that she couldn’t help a shiver of anticipation. Five years without him. Five years of missing him.

  Dom caressed the length of her, his palm molding her body, shaping her flat tummy and then up to her full breasts, over the taut rosy peaks, before stroking down again, this time over her hips to the juncture of her thighs.

  He dropped his head to kiss her as his palm rested against the dark curls. She closed her eyes as he pressed down through the curls, the heel of his hand rubbing ever so lightly over her clitoris, wakening every nerve.

  He was very good at what he did, too. The lighter he touched her, the more she needed him.

  “Dom,” she protested hoarsely, skin flushed, prickling, her pulse absolutely wild as he used the pad of his fingertip to circle the tiny sensitive bud, teasing, rubbing, pinching until she wanted to scream for relief.

  He kissed her deeply, making her head spin, and stroked lower, caressing the slick silken skin before slipping his finger inside her.

  She nearly gasped at the pleasure of it. “Make love to me, please,” she panted, her thoughts close to splintering as he drew his finger out and then pressed in again, a deep, steady rhythm that had her writhing against his hand.

  “Diane, you forget my injured pride,” he murmured, kissing her again as buried his finger even deeper inside her. She was hot, wet, and desperate.

  Desperate.

  “You want me to surrender?” she choked, skin hot, glowing, body on fire. She’d never needed anything as much as Dom on her, in her, filling her, making them one again.

  “I think I recall that I said you’d cry surrender,” he answered, parting her knees and shifting his weight. He replaced his fingers with his mouth.

  Diane whimpered at the feel of his warm wet mouth against her tenderness, and when he ran his tongue over the nub once, twice, she gripped the sheet, put a foot to his shoulder and gritted her teeth against the exquisite sensation which was equal parts pleasure and pain.