She tried to clear her throat. It didn't work. "I guess you were right, then," she croaked, sounding so hoarse she was nearly inaudible.
He heard her, though. The power in him shifted, became like a predator, lying in wait. "I was right about what?"
Holding his eyes then was the hardest thing Sabrina had ever had to do. "About us meeting. Needing each other." She paused and tacked on the last bit. "How it was meant."
A faint twitch of his lips indicated approval. But he simply stood there, a good ten feet of ancient church air separating them. Sabrina wondered what he expected of her now. Hadn't she just come clean, hadn't she admitted he'd been right?
"Oh, yeah." Sabrina reached into her front pocket. "You lost this, I believe, in the airport in Miami." She walked over to him, a slim leather wallet in her hand.
The expression on his face finally turned surprised. He stared down at the wallet, purloined so many weeks ago. After a long, long moment he reached out and accepted it. "Thank you," he said stiffly.
"And I don't believe we've been properly introduced," Sabrina went on, as he carefully fit the wallet into his jacket pocket. "Maria." She held out a hand. "Maria Cicchini."
He raised an eyebrow at the name and looked down at her hand. After a brief hesitation, he took it.
In that instant Sabrina knew that everything was going to be all right. His touch felt the same as that first time. Right. Good. His warmth and strength went wrapping around her heart. Yes, it was strength. She finally recognized that. This emotion was strength, not weakness.
She clutched his hand tighter as her eyes went up to search his. "But I prefer Sabrina," she whispered.
"Good," he answered hoarsely. Using his hold on her hand, Vincenzo pulled her toward him. "So do I." And then she was in his arms.
Her eyes closed against the utter rapture of it, of his arms taut and trembling around her. "I missed you so much," Sabrina murmured, clinging. "I love you, Vincenzo. I lied before. I've always loved you." Funny, how easy it was now to say the words.
"Tesoro." But his lips were impatient with speech. They found her forehead and moved down the side of her face, hitting the corners of her eyes, the top of her cheeks, kissing away tears Sabrina hadn't realized she'd shed. "I couldn't believe it when I saw you here. Right after Luigi's wedding, too. Well, yes, I knew you would come one day—" He broke off to kiss her more. "I was lighting candles, after all."
"After all," Sabrina agreed, suppressing laughter with difficulty.
He kissed her cheek, the edge of her jaw, an ear lobe. "And you're ready now to marry me?"
"Yes." The word came out on a shivery breath as his tongue licked along her jaw.
"And trust me?"
It occurred to Sabrina that Vincenzo wasn't exactly playing fair as his mouth sucked at her neck. "Yes," she said anyway. It was just as true, whether or not he was playing fair.
"And you'll let me take care of you?" He nuzzled her ear.
"I don't see that I have a choice," Sabrina replied, laughing.
"Hmm?" His teeth halted around her delicate ear lobe.
"You see, my one suitcase with all my money, papers, and clothes set off for Milan about five minutes ago."
Vincenzo stopped nuzzling. He pulled his head back to look down at her. "What?"
"I left it on the bus. The driver warned me but I left it there anyway." Sabrina slid a finger under the strap of her halter top. "In other words, your new wife comes to you with literally nothing but the clothes on her back."
With his arms loosely holding her waist, Vincenzo drew in a sharp breath. "Sabrina," he exclaimed, "you know what this means?"
"Um..." She hesitated; she'd known he'd be pleased by her trust, but was thrown by his arrested expression. "...What?"
A wide smile spread over his face. "I get to buy you a whole new wardrobe!"
Sabrina started to laugh. She didn't get much of a chance to express her mirth, however, as Vincenzo kissed her soundly on the mouth.
She surrendered into the kiss, softly leaning into him, letting his soul into hers. That's how it had to be done, she figured. You had to feed them some bait.
But Vincenzo mumbled against her mouth. "Don't imagine you'll get away with it."
Sabrina pulled back to look up at him, making her kittenish face as guileless as she could. "Am I trying to get away with something?"
He smiled wryly down at her. "Remember, I know you."
"And?"
"And." He cuddled her cozily around the waist, dark eyes glinting. "And, at the present moment you're figuring a good location for getting me out of these clothes, and how long it might take you to do so."
Sabrina had a hard time covering a guilty grin. "Why, of all the arrogant, male assumptions—"
"And then," Vincenzo interrupted, his eyes going darker. "You're assuming I won't have anything so modern as a condom about me, and calculating just how fertile you might be."
Sabrina drew in an outraged gasp. He was right on the money, of course. In fact, she'd thought of little else on the plane over. Craig was not her child. She'd finally figured that out, and let go. So now she wanted one of her own—and Vincenzo's—badly. She let her gasp turn into a scowl. "Would that be so bad?"
"I would like to be married, first." There was a stiff pride in his voice, but his face expressed something else.
Sabrina observed it shrewdly. "You're scared," she accused.
"I—" He let the pretense drop. Anxiety clouded his brow. "Yes, of course I am."
"Oh, Vince." She was touched, but this really wasn't necessary. "Nothing's going to happen to me. I've done this before, remember. Passed with flying colors."
She could see the want, struggling to get through his fear. "Not with me you haven't."
Sabrina sighed. A deep, deep sigh. Then she pulled out of his arms. It seemed there was one more thing he needed from her. "All right," she muttered, then turned around.
The Madonna della Montagna waited in her place on the wall, watching. As Sabrina walked toward her, she dipped one hand into her front dress pocket. Yes, thank God, she still had a single coin left down there.
Sabrina came to a halt before the low rail. She dropped that last, lucky coin into the charity box and picked up a taper. It wasn't easy to find a candle that wasn't already lit, but she managed. She kindled one lonely wick way off to the side. Then her eyes went up to the lady.
"Sure, you laugh," Sabrina murmured. "But it's your fault he got this nuts to begin with." It was totally nuts, Sabrina assured herself, nothing more than that. At the same time, she couldn't dismiss the warm sensation of peace that came over her as she replaced the used taper.
Turning, she found Vincenzo right behind her. In his eyes she saw that old lunatic gleam.
"Bene." His voice was hoarse. "We'll go to my house."
Sabrina smiled. It was good to know she hadn't completely lost her touch. She wouldn't want the man getting too complacent, what with her loving him and all. "Don't worry, Vince. No one will be counting if the kid's a few weeks early."
He growled and grabbed her hand. They went sweeping out of the church so fast you'd have thought the place was on fire. She was laughing as they ran down the street hand in hand.
It was going to be all right to let Vincenzo buy her clothes, and it was going to be all right for Vincenzo to feed and shelter her. It would be all right to have him provide her with all of his warm love. Because she was going to take care of him, too. She could tell.
It was one of those instinctive things.
The End
About the Author
Alyssa Kress completed her first novel at age six, an unlikely romance between a lion and a jackal. Despite earning two degrees from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology and spending nearly a decade in the construction industry, she's yet to see her feet stay firmly on the ground. She now lives in Southern California, together with her husband and two children.
You can learn more about Alyssa Kress and her o
ther novels at http://www.alyssakress.com.
Other books by Alyssa Kress:
Marriage by Mistake
The Heart Heist
The Indiscreet Ladies of Green Ivy Way
Asking For It
Love and the Millionairess
Working on a Full House
Preview of I Gotta Feeling
"Is it supposed to do that?" The man in the pearl gray suit clasped his hands behind his back and peered at Aletheia's espresso machine, from which steam rose ominously.
"Ah, we call that our diva. Temperamental, but a great performer." Spin. Wasn't that the word? Aletheia Cooper wondered if the man in the Italian suit and charcoal silk tie was going to be the answer to her prayers, after all. Twenty minutes ago, he'd walked into her little café in Deer Creek all hard-edged and professional, looking like a man who was interested in making a deal. She'd latched onto him like a limpet to a rock. He was the first serious buyer to show up in the four weeks since she'd put Aletheia's Asylum, her pride and joy, on the market.
She'd guessed that with his European tailoring and the icy expression in his whiskey-colored eyes, Felix Roman was going to be a tough customer. He probably hadn't expected Deer Creek to be so rural. Aletheia had felt determined to prove that class and sophistication weren't restricted to the big cities. Just because she'd never finished college and had only spent two-and-a-half years of her life outside the town limits didn't mean she was a complete hick.
But everything had gone wrong during her enthusiastic sales pitch. Wanting to make sure her potential fish didn't cut line, Aletheia had drawn him in toward the back of the store. There they'd hit a barrier of boxes from the napkin supply company. Aletheia's part-timer, Patty, apparently hadn't had time to shelve them.
Roman hadn't said a word, but Aletheia could tell from his cool, impassive expression that he'd seen the space as cramped and inadequate.
Then, as they'd walked back toward the bar area, Brad had passed by in full tattoo and pierced jewelry regalia, with a whiff of interesting herbs to complete the picture.
Coughing, Aletheia had said, "We think of ourselves as universalists."
Roman's eyebrows had lifted.
And now this.
With a practiced wrench of one of the machine's many knobs, Brad managed to slow the stream of smoke.
Roman gazed at the calming machine meditatively.
By this time, Aletheia wasn't sure if it was more important to save the sale or simply preserve her pride.
"The important thing is over here," she claimed, gently turning her potential buyer from the malfunctioning espresso machine to look out toward the crowded customer area. "A restful oasis in the mountain town of Deer Creek, serving a healthy local population and a constant stream of tourists and skiers on their way from Los Angeles and San Bernardino up to Big Bear. With seating for thirty, we serve eight hundred fifty customers per day."
Roman looked out over the room of soft reds and browns. Original paintings hung on the walls—this month Aletheia was showing a local impressionist artist. Antique teapots and sprays of dried flowers completed the picture of a comfortable, eccentrically cultured living room. The people filling the padded seats and sprawled on the afghan-covered sofa were as much friends here as customers.
Could Felix Roman see that? Could he understand this place was as much lifestyle as business investment?
For a moment Aletheia thought he did. His gaze seemed to change, warming infinitesimally. The blunt edges of his not-quite-handsome face softened a miniscule amount.
But as if on cue to complete the ruination of her sales pitch, Jim Blodger swaggered in through the glass front door. Both his smile and the top of his high bald head looked oily. Gangly and loud, he seemed to fill the room.
"Thirty-eight days," he called from the door to Aletheia behind the counter. "Thirty-eight days, and you and your crazy relatives are out of Deer Creek."
While seething inside, Aletheia threw on her Patient Proprietor smile. "Yes, thank you, Jim. I am well aware of the time table." She took Roman by the elbow and tried to steer him back to her office area. Something told Aletheia that his knowledge of her desperate financial situation would not be advantageous to her in negotiating the sale price of the café.
"I'm planning to buy your family house, myself," Jim boasted, coming toward them while Roman became oddly immovable. "Once I get the deed there'll be no way you could buy it back, even if you won the state lottery."
Aletheia tried tugging Roman now, but he wasn't budging. He stared without expression at Jim Blodger. Drinking up every negotiable point, Aletheia feared.
"I'll boot you all outta this town the minute the deed is in my hand," Blodger went on, his smile twisting gleefully. "Your relatives will go to the various nuthouses where they all belong."
Aletheia's back stiffened. Unfortunately, Blodger wasn't exaggerating. If she lost the house, various government agencies would descend on her relatives, demanding they be found 'adequate' placement. The people who depended on her would find themselves institutionalized, or worse.
The years she'd spent holed away here in Deer Creek would come to nothing.
Deliberately relaxing her tensed muscles, Aletheia grabbed back her Proprietor smile. "Did you want something to drink, Jim? That is the reason most people come into my establishment, to order something."
Blodger scoffed. "I wouldn't touch your swill."
Despite her grand effort to remain calm, Aletheia lost it then. The years she'd spent researching the making of coffee, finding the best beans, learning the best techniques— Swill!
To her astonishment, Felix Roman spoke up before she had a chance to sail across the counter. "Excuse me, sir." He had a voice like a deep Italian roast, low and rough, yet smooth. Its subtle predatory quality, however, went way beyond Italian roast.
With a frown, Jim Blodger blinked at him.
Roman pulled a business card from an inside jacket pocket. "Felix Roman," he said, "with Morrison World Security Consultants." He handed the card Blodger's way.
Jim took the card and glanced from it to Felix Roman.
All Roman did was stand there and look at Blodger, but quiet power filled the space around him. It was the kind of space that might surround a good-sized wolf. Aletheia could hear the unspoken threat, empty as she knew it to be. Roman was making Blodger believe that he supplied security services for her.
And that Blodger had stepped over the line.
"All right, all right, I get the hint." His face reddening now, Blodger backed up. "You don't want me in your precious little café, but that doesn't change the facts." Blodger narrowed his eyes and pointed at Aletheia.
Roman, beside her, seemed to grow. With bared fangs.
Blodger hastily lowered his threatening finger. Licking his lips and backing away, he repeated, "Thirty-eight days," before hurrying out the front door.
Everyone in the room who'd looked up when Blodger had blathered in now relaxed. With swift glances toward Felix Roman, they went back to their previous activities.
As the door behind Blodger swung closed, a strange sensation hovered over Aletheia. Felix Roman had gotten rid of Blodger. He'd...championed her.
No one had ever done that for her.
A humming awareness of Roman, an awareness that had been buzzing under the surface since he'd walked through her door, splashed into the open.
Roman turned to look at her. Aletheia felt caught between apprehension and attraction, as if she were trapped in a cage with a handsome, but potentially dangerous, wild animal.
Slowly, because the awareness thing buzzed so loudly in her brain, the awful truth dawned on Aletheia. Morrison World Security? She nearly moaned. "You aren't looking to buy my café, are you, Mr. Roman?"
Gazing at her with his cool, calm eyes, Roman reached again toward his inside jacket pocket. "You didn't give me a chance to explain before." He handed her another business card. It was pearl gray, like his suit, with an elegant slash of a l
ogo. "And you seemed so eager to show me the place. But no, I'm afraid I'm not planning to buy a café."
Aletheia took his card and blinked a few times, feeling more than a little foolish. At least she hadn't counted on making the sale.
"Which is not to say," Felix went on in his deep, smooth-rough voice, "that there isn't another matter on which I would like to do business." He paused. "To our mutual benefit."
Really? She gave him a dubious look. "I'm not about to hire a security company. As you've no doubt figured out, I'm strapped for cash."
"Perhaps I can help you with that." Roman's dark lashes lowered. "You may have another commodity I'd like to purchase."
A strange shiver went through Aletheia. She was sure he didn't mean that the way it sounded if you had a nasty imagination, but neither was he talking about the café. This was something...unexpected.
She frowned, wondering what she could possibly own that some guy in a two-thousand dollar suit could want. The answer was: nothing. The guy had to be mistaken. Or perhaps he thought she was somebody else, a different Aletheia Cooper, one who lived in a far more fascinating and adventurous world than her own.
For a second, one ridiculous instant, she wished desperately she could be that Aletheia Cooper, unencumbered, daring, exciting...
Aletheia's moment of insanity ended with a buzz from the cell phone clipped to the waistband of her black pants. She looked down to see the house number, followed by a 911. "Oh, God," she muttered, unclipping the phone. Worried about the alarm signal, she asked, "What now?"
Aletheia's cousin Parker barked from the phone. "It's Aunt Rosa. She's on the roof."
"She's where? Never mind. On my way." Pressing off the phone, Aletheia glanced up at Felix Roman. His eyes were alert on her, watching carefully.
Aletheia paused as another wave of awareness passed over her. She wished she'd had a chance to find out who he really was and what he'd actually wanted from that other Aletheia Cooper. Instead she had to run off, and would probably never see Felix Roman again.
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