Married for His One-Night Heir

by Jennifer Hayward

  “Good to hear.” Lazzero tipped back a mouthful of Scotch. Pointed his glass at him. “I bumped into Gervasio Delgado in the airport in Madrid. We’re having dinner with him on Saturday night.”

  Santo blinked. Gervasio Delgado, the Spanish retail czar, had reinvented the way fashion was delivered to the masses with his on-demand manufacturing model. He also commanded the world’s most popular clothing store chain, Divertido.

  He arched an eyebrow at his brother. “Delgado is a notorious introvert. How did you manage that?”

  His brother shrugged. “He asked me what we were up to. I told him about Elevate. His curiosity was piqued.”

  Santo’s blood fizzled at the possibilities. “You think there’s potential there?”

  “He needs a shoe for the first wave of his spring campaign. It could be a massive win for us.”

  He got why Lazzero was tempering his enthusiasm. Gervasio Delgado was a passionate, creative personality whose whims changed with the wind. It could turn out to be nothing. Or everything.

  “Delgado is bringing his wife,” Lazzero continued. “Chiara almost fell off her chair when I told her who we’re having dinner with. Which could be a problem,” he observed, a wry note in his voice. “I might have to muzzle her. Gia, on the other hand, could be an asset. Delgado mentioned Alicia, his wife, is remodeling their house in Marbella. They can talk shop.”

  Which was perfect. His wife was a brilliant designer, the sketches she was putting together for the house in the Hamptons fantastic. She would be the perfect complement to Alicia Delgado. But right now, he allowed, all he wanted to do was take her home, strip that dress off her and avail himself of every inch of her beautiful body.

  * * *

  Dinner was served alfresco in the Cuxa Cloister Garden. It was a spectacular setting, mirrored banquets set alongside rose-pink marble columns, the candlelight flickering in the night as black-coated servers flitted here and there in an effort to get everything just right. By the time the elegant, sumptuous dinner had been served and Gia had consumed a couple of glasses of the delicious sparkling wine that accompanied it, she was feeling a bit light-headed.

  Maybe it was the way Santo kept finding excuses to touch her. The hand he kept on her thigh throughout dinner, his warm palm burning a seductive brand into her skin. The looks he kept throwing her in between conversations. It was impossible to ignore the electricity that ran between them.

  They moved back inside to enjoy the musical entertainment in the moody, spectacular Fuentidueña Chapel. Reconstructed from pieces of a Romanesque-era Spanish church, the lights of the chapel had been lowered to a mysterious blue to focus attention on the magnificent dome and its beautiful Byzantine frescoes.

  “I think,” Santo murmured, catching her hand in his, “we should dance.”

  She couldn’t actually find any reason to object, except the thought of it made her palms go damp and her knees weak. In the dark blue shirt that stretched across the rippling muscle of his shoulders, his jacket somehow having been lost along the way, he was the thing stretching her nerves over tenterhooks. Which wasn’t a reason she could actually verbalize, so she followed him to the packed dance floor instead.

  They had almost made it there when they were intercepted by the stunningly beautiful Abigail Wright and her big, wide-shouldered, square-jawed quarterback, Carl O’Brien. A tawny-haired Southern belle with a heart-shaped face and sparkling blue eyes, Abigail was, quite literally, perfection. Her sexy drawl when she greeted Santo only added to her devastating charm.

  “Good news travels fast,” Abigail murmured, with a wounded look in her eyes she almost, but not quite, smothered. “Your PR team reached out to me last week to emcee the event in Munich,” she informed Santo. “I almost couldn’t believe my ears when they told me the news. Congratulations.”

  Santo kissed her on both cheeks. “Thank you. And thank you for agreeing to do the event on such short notice. A conflict in schedules. I know they appreciate it. And you will be amazing. Carl,” he said, turning to greet the quarterback, “good to see you. When are you going to come over from the dark side and join us?”

  The quarterback, who was extremely handsome in a rough, rugged kind of way, gave a lazy shrug of his shoulder. “My contract is up next month. We were just about to renegotiate. I might be persuaded to switch if the offer is right.”

  Santo’s eyes glittered with opportunity. “Good to know. We will talk.”

  They chatted about the youth leadership conference Supersonic was sponsoring in Munich in several weeks, the event Santo’s PR team had asked Abigail to emcee, at which Santo was also apparently speaking. Which unearthed a curl of jealousy in Gia. He and Abigail would be in Germany together. Sharing a luxury hotel, no doubt. Perhaps an intimate dinner together?

  The claws of jealousy sank deep. Abigail asked all the right questions about the event. It was the platform she’d built her winning state title on, after all—the future of today’s youth as the driving force of global change. It was impressive. She was impressive.

  Gia wanted to hate her, but found that she couldn’t. Abigail was clearly a serious and passionate supporter of the cause she’d chosen to embrace. She would have been the perfect wife for Santo. They would have been the ultimate power couple. Taken Manhattan by storm. Abigail would not have been causing waves by her mere presence at Santo’s side.

  Her stomach sank to the floor. She tried to push aside her thoughts as the conversation ended and Santo led her onto the dance floor.

  Santo, ever perceptive, tipped up her chin with his fingers. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  His mouth curved at the lone word, imbued with far more emotion than she’d intended. “You’re jealous.”

  “She would have been the perfect wife for you, Santo.”

  “Perhaps on paper,” he conceded. “She is beautiful, talented and smart. She ticks all the boxes. But there was something missing.”

  “Which was?” It felt dangerous to ask the question. To expose more of herself to him. To find out what the breach in perfection had been, but she couldn’t resist the need to know.

  “Fire,” he murmured, eyes on hers, “spark. Although,” he added huskily, “I like that you are jealous, cara. That you care. It shows that you are invested in this relationship. That I am not the only one intent on making this work.”

  There was no hint of amusement in his gaze now, only a quiet message that the next step was hers as he tightened his fingers around hers and drew her close. She was terrified to let him in. Scared she was halfway to falling in love with him again. That maybe, she’d never stopped.

  His palm spread against the small of her back to keep her from bumping into the other dancers in the packed space. They were close, his hard-packed body brushing against hers so she could feel every muscle and tendon of his powerful thighs pressed against hers. The faint abrasion of his stubble against her cheek.

  Her pulse quickened as he slid a hand into her hair and tilted her face up to his. She felt the warm caress of his breath right before he claimed her mouth in a slow, deep kiss that was perfection. Everything faded to the background—the music, the other dancers, the spectacular setting—and each languorous slide of his mouth over hers pulled her deeper into the abyss.

  She melted into him. Felt the thick, hard length of his arousal pressing against her thigh.

  Her eyes flew open. Santo lifted his head to look at her, the potent sensual awareness that had been building between them all night exploding into flames that licked at his velvet, dark eyes.

  “We are leaving.”

  * * *

  They sought out the other Di Fiores to say good-night. Gia made a quick trip to the powder room while Santo filled in Lazzero on the opportunity with Carl O’Brien. She had repaired her lipstick and powdered her nose and was on her way through the main hall, walking toward the
exit to meet Santo, when a voice hailed her from behind.

  She turned to find Nina Ferrone, a hotelier who owned several boutique properties in the city, bearing down on her like the dynamic force of nature that she was. A sophisticated blonde in her early fifties, she was covered from head to toe in designer couture.

  “I’m so glad I caught you.” Nina brushed a brisk kiss to both of her cheeks. “I saw you earlier, but I couldn’t get across the room. You know how these things are.”

  She introduced her daughter, who’d accompanied her to the event, then got straight to business. “Delilah mentioned you were back in New York. I need some help freshening up The Billiards Room on the Upper East Side. Delilah mentioned you’d done the work on the Rothchild Nassau I loved. Would you be interested in doing the work on The Billiards Room for me?”

  Gia’s heart jumped. The Billiards Room was one of Manhattan’s funkiest, most exclusive hotels. It had a fantastic Regency vibe to it that transported you back to another time and place, complete with a gorgeous, hand-carved wood library Nina had brought over from England. She had always loved the place. But New York was New York and Nina would likely want the work done yesterday.

  She swallowed back a pang of regret. “I don’t think I can do it. My son, Leo, is only three. He takes priority. I had a very flexible work schedule with Delilah.”

  “She mentioned that.” Nina shrugged a shoulder. “It isn’t a job I can give to just anyone. It has to be the right fit. Delilah says your work is flawless. I’m happy to be flexible with your schedule, my only stipulation being,” she qualified, “that the work needs to be done by the spring. I can’t miss the summer season.”

  Gia’s pulse quickened. That would give her plenty of time to do it if she had the right team. Which Nina assured her she would.

  Excitement began to build. Chloe had mentioned a friend who had an excellent nanny who would soon be looking for work. If she could arrange the same sort of schedule she’d had in Nassau this could work. She would feel less like the disenfranchised version of herself she’d been these last few weeks, she could have her career back and still be there for Leo.

  Nina handed over her card. They agreed to meet for lunch when the hotelier returned to town the following week, said their goodbyes, then Gia tucked her purse under her arm and headed off to meet Santo, her steps as light as air.

  Maybe everything was going to come together in this new life of hers. Maybe it was going to be everything she’d never thought it could be.

  * * *

  They ended up dropping off Lazzero and Chiara on the way home, the two Di Fiore men immersed in a heated discussion about a number for Carl O’Brien in the car. Her exciting news percolating in her head, Gia had to wait until they were back at the penthouse before she could tell Santo. Alone in the private confines of their plush, luxurious dressing-room space, the tension that had been building all night between them swirled against an impressive backdrop of Manhattan.

  Santo’s fingers paused on the knot of his tie. “Why don’t you come over here?” he murmured. “You’re much too far away.”

  His eyes an intense, unfathomable black, she felt the look all the way to her toes. “I haven’t told you my good news yet,” she murmured, dangling a shoe from her finger. “I bumped into Nina Ferrone on the way out tonight. She needs someone to freshen up the decor at The Billiards Room on the Upper East Side. She wants me to do it.”

  Santo froze in midmovement. “When?”

  “Next month,” she said happily. “She’s willing to be flexible with my work hours, too. The only caveat is that the job needs to be done by the spring, which shouldn’t be a problem at all given the team I’d have.”

  He stripped off his tie and tossed it on a chair. “Why mess with a good thing?” he said casually. “Leo is doing great. Everything is good between us.”

  Something about the careful tone of his voice made her pause. “Because I love what I do,” she said evenly. “Because this is the perfect opportunity to get my name out there. To have an influential client like Nina to get things jump-started for me in New York. It’s an amazing opportunity.”

  “You don’t need to get your name out there.” He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the dresser. “My wife doesn’t need to work, Gia. Leo is just getting settled. He doesn’t need any more changes to his routine right now. He needs all of you.”

  Heat singed her veins. She wasn’t sure which inflamed her more. That he was questioning her priorities after she’d spent the last three years putting Leo first, or that he was sweeping her career under the rug, as if it was the insignificant entity it clearly was to him. Exactly as Franco had done.

  She came crashing down from her high with a resounding thump. Tossed the shoe on the floor. “I am aware of that,” she said tersely. “Leo’s welfare has always been my priority, Santo, and always will be. Working and caring for him, however, are not mutually exclusive. I don’t need to work. I want to work.”

  “So find yourself some smaller projects,” he suggested calmly. “Go nuts with the house in Southampton. My boathouse in Maine needs an update. So does my office. Both are sorely overdue.”

  “I see,” she said, bringing her back teeth together. “And when I’m done with that, perhaps I can start on your new walk-in closet? Figure out a better arrangement for those flashy suits of yours? Devise a more economical space solution for your expensive shoes?”

  He shot her a warning look. “Gia—”

  She reached down and undid the strap of her other shoe, fingers shaking with anger. She slid it off, picked up both shoes, stalked past him to the elegantly appointed footwear closet and tossed the sandals onto a shelf, missing with her aim, the shoes tumbling to the floor.

  Santo shot out an arm and barred her exit, a set look on his face. “What is your problem?” he murmured, in a voice too deadly to be soft. “I am giving everything here, Gia. The new house, this marriage, the patience I am exhibiting with you. Is it too much to expect that you could be agreeable on this point?”

  “Yes,” she stormed, heat flaring her cheeks. “I had a life in Nassau, Santo. A dream. A career. I was happy. And now I am back in New York, where I don’t want to be, I am married to you, which was also not my decision, and now you are trying to take away the one thing that gives my life meaning.”

  “I am not asking you to give up your career. I am asking you to take a breather. To take a step back from ramping things up until Leo is in school, at least. Then, you can arrange your schedule so that you’re home when he’s finished at the end of the day.”

  “It’s funny,” she observed, the anger fizzling her veins threatening to spill over. “The only one who seems to be compromising here is me. You and your impressive career trajectory remain untouched.”

  He gave a shrug of his shoulder. “I am a CEO. I run a multibillion-dollar company. I spend every moment I can with Leo. I’m with him every morning and night. I think this arrangement works perfectly for us.”

  “I’ll bet you do.” Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “This is all suiting you, perfectly, Santo. But not me.”

  “Then how about you try focusing your attention on me?” he murmured. “Maybe that will distract you. Leo is three. He’s waited long enough for a sibling. Maybe we should get on that.”

  Her breath caught in her chest. The heat that had been smoldering between them all evening smoked to life. He was so gorgeous in his beautiful suit and sky-blue shirt that molded to every powerful inch of him, it was almost impossible to keep her head on straight. “You don’t distract me,” she said, biting out the words. “You irritate me with your antiquated, chauvinistic, close-minded opinions, Santo. With your dishonest, bull-in-a-china-shop approach.”

  “I didn’t lie to you,” he countered. “I was clear about how I felt about Leo being in any type of care. If anything,” he drawled, “it was
a sin of omission.”

  A haze of red enveloped her, her nails digging hard into the soft skin of her palms. “And that night we stood here and I reinforced the fact that I wanted to work? And you said, ‘of course,’ to me?”

  Not a flicker of self-recrimination on his hard-boned face. “I do think it’s okay. Just not now.”

  She caught her breath at the hard glint in his eyes. The deliberation. He had married her knowing he was never going to let her work. Had done it with calculated precision so that once she was married to him, she would have no choice in the matter. Because who else in the city was going to hire her? Who, other than Nina, had the guts to do it?

  He took a step closer. Ran a thumb down her cheek. “Come on, baby. You knew my feelings on this. Don’t mess this up when we finally have something good. When I am too damn busy to think.”

  It was the last comment that did it. That his work was so important it obliterated her need to be happy. The red surging in her head consumed her brain. She took a step back. Picked up the first thing that came to hand, a bright red stiletto, and threw it at him. He caught it with those high-octane reflexes of his before it could make contact with the rock-hard muscle of his chest. But it felt so good, so satisfying, she did it again.

  It still wasn’t enough. Frustration and fear, fury consuming her in a mad red haze, she scooped up another shoe and took aim. And then another, until she had emptied a whole row. One sole shoe remaining, she clutched it with shaking hands. Santo gave her a hard look, a glitter in his dark, beautiful eyes that promised retribution. “One more shoe, Gia,” he murmured. “One. More. Shoe. And all bets are off. Do it at your own peril.”

  A combination of fear and excitement clenched her stomach tight. Eyes pinned on his, her chest heaving, she took aim, aware of exactly what line she was crossing if she did it, and doing it, anyway.

  He moved fast like a cat, like the superior athlete that he was, catching the shoe midstride before he tossed it aside, strode toward her and scooped her off her feet. Stalking through the dressing room, he walked into the bedroom and deposited her on the huge, king-sized bed. He came down over her, his powerful body caging hers.