Would he pull back? Was it too much to ask after only a few days, especially when he planned to return to New York? Her heart pounded in an uneven rhythm while she waited for his answer.
"Yeah, it scares me. But no, I'm not walking away. How's that for an answer?"
She smiled. "It's perfect."
"Just one important thing."
She frowned. "What?"
"You still didn't mention hot."
She leaned in and kissed the delicious, sulky pout of his mouth. "Not just hot. Smoking hot. Blistering. Call a fireman sexy hot."
"Better. Let's eat."
She pulled out the chunk of hard parmesan, pears, and fresh honey. They cut off pieces of food and ate in the grass under the hot sun, fingers sticky, the fruity, dry wine chilling their tongues. Kids raced across the field, throwing rocks in the pond. Fat clouds floated by. Birds swooped in and out of the branches above and screeched in song.
"So how are you spending your time here in Italy?" he asked curiously.
"Are you asking me if I have a job?" she asked teasingly.
He laughed. "Do you?"
She popped a sliver of pear in her mouth drizzled with honey. "I've been thinking about launching my own purse line."
His brow arched. "I didn't know you were a designer."
"I'm not. I just got the idea recently to try something new. I've been taking some courses at Style Design college. I tried being a stylist for a while, then got into the marketing aspect of fashion but it didn't seem like the right fit. Design always intrigued me, so I decided to try and launch my own purse line. I got a job working a few hours at a local boutique. Sophia--the owner--introduced me to a few designers who were nice enough to answer some questions, so I'm slowly building some contacts. Once I have a solid line of samples, Sophia told me she'd let me try them out in her boutique."
"Sounds like a solid plan."
She blew out a breath. "It does, right? I feel like I should be further along, though. I worked hard my entire life, but when I came and settled in Italy, I had no idea what I wanted to do for work. It's harder when you have more choices."
"Definitely." He studied her intently. "Maybe you haven't found what you really wanted yet because you're meant to end up back where you started. Making wine. Maybe that's your true talent."
She wrinkled her nose. "I doubt it. But eventually, I have to do something. I tapped into my savings to finance this past year and a half, but the money is running out. I can't ask my father for more."
He looked away, and she wondered if he looked down at her for not having to work for so long. For being taken care of by her father, like a little girl. But she wouldn't be ashamed. She'd worked for that money just as hard, standing by her father night and day to learn and run the business. She had no regrets using the money to see more of the world and gain new experiences.
"I thought you'd be different."
Startled, she stared at him. "What do you mean?"
He waved a hand in the air. "I meant you're different from other women. You're very...honest."
"One of my downfalls. Why? Aren't you?"
He jerked and began stuffing the trash back into the bag. "I'm honest with myself. Here, let me get rid of this." He unfurled his long legs and walked across the lawn to dump the trash. She watched him walk with graceful strides, still giving off that air of isolation that was a part of who he was. Curiosity burned. She knew he was still hiding things from her, but he'd promised to tell her more very soon. Cat analyzed his last statement, sifting through the nuances, and finally caught a sudden realization.
"You're honest with yourself but not others?"
"Huh?"
She shifted onto her knees and faced him. "You said you're honest with yourself. Does that mean you lie to others?"
He shook his head. "No. There's just not a lot of people in my life to talk to. But I made that choice and I've been happy about it."
She studied the clench of his jaw, and the defensive gleam in his eyes. "Tell me a secret," she said.
"What?"
"A secret. We all have stuff we're keeping from others--the stuff that scares us. We drink or sleep or fall into bed with strangers or cry or make a love spell to avoid the consequences of our fear."
"Love spell?"
She pushed on. "It's a sunny spring afternoon. We're safe and happy and having a beautiful day together. Tell me one secret you've never told anyone else."
He looked at her like she was a creature from an alien species. "Why?"
A smile touched her lips. "Because we can." He didn't speak, so she figured he'd opt out on her game. "Want me to go first?"
He took another sip of wine. "Okay."
Cat thought long and hard about which one to pick before she spoke. "I let my father push me toward a man he thought I should marry, a man I learned to love, but not with passion, not like a wife should love her husband. Even with the promise of owning my dad's winery, I wasn't enough to hold his interest. Will I ever meet the one who is meant to be mine? Will he love me for me? Will I be enough? So yeah, those fears are mine."
His stunned silence made her uncomfortable. Damn, she should have made a light-hearted joke afterward. She just wanted a way to connect on a deeper level with him, and he seemed so guarded about his past. About who he really was. Instead, he thought she was lame and kind of desperate and sad.
Oh, my God. What a stupid game to play.
Surprise hit when he grabbed her shoulders and looked into her face as if memorizing every feature and angle to bring into his dreams. "You are enough," he tore out raggedly. "You're amazing. Beautiful. Sweet. You're...everything. For a man. To love. One day. Do you understand?" He shook her slightly. "Caterina?"
Her eyes widened and she choked back sudden tears. Where had this man come from? She swallowed hard and nodded. "Yeah. I understand."
His hands dropped away like he'd been burned. He turned and muttered something under his breath. "Maybe we should go." He moved and this time, she grabbed at his arm. "I'm sorry, Lee. I shared too much, too soon. You don't have to tell me anything at all. This was a perfect day."
She pressed a kiss to his rough cheek, and got up from the ground. Brushing the grass from her jeans, she folded the blanket and turned to go.
"My father once beat me because I got straight As in school." He spoke casually, as if this was a normal conversation. She stilled, clutching the blanket to her chest, and waited. "Said I was a fucking show off. Told me to never forget where I came from, because I could study in a fancy school, and get a fancy job, and a fancy girlfriend, but inside, I was trash and it would always come out. I'd never be good enough for the life I wanted."
The horror hit her, but before she could respond he went on. "At first, I didn't want to believe him. I figured the harder I worked, the more I accomplished, I'd leave everything behind and show him good. One day, he'd beg me to acknowledge him as my father. I'd have money and success and all the things he'd warned me I couldn't get. But he died before I graduated. He died before I could prove it to him. That's one of my biggest regrets. That I couldn't look the son of a bitch in the eye and show him who I was."
Instinct made her reach out to take his hand, entwining her fingers with his. She waited, sensing there was more. "What about your mom?" she asked.
"Ran out on me when I was ten. Heard she got a nice new family with a husband who doesn't beat her. Probably doesn't need me to remind her of the crap she left behind." He stared at the ground. "The funny thing is I think that asshole was right. I watched others snatch up internships from high family and political connections. I watched cliques form at the country club that had always made me feel fake and uncomfortable. And I've always felt like an outsider, no matter what success I've accomplished. So that's my stuff. The demons, as you'd term them."
She looked into his eyes and realized there were no words of comfort to ease a past that had hurt him so deeply. So, instead, she stepped into his arms and offered him the comfort
of her body, then told him the only truth she knew, right here and now.
"It doesn't matter what happened before," she said softly. "You're enough, too."
He hugged her back, tentatively at first, then allowing himself to relax into the embrace. They held each other for a while under the warm sun, until they slowly broke apart, leaving their hands still clasped.
They walked out of the park and back toward their bikes in silence, but something had shifted again between them, piercing the thick wall of secrecy surrounding him, exposing a few shards of truth to the light.
For Caterina, it was enough for now.
Later that night, Rip shot out of bed, his lungs gasping for air.
Fighting back a shudder, he rolled off the mattress, his skin damp with sweat. He glanced at the clock.
Midnight.
Fuck.
He hated when the nightmares came. Occasionally, they'd rise up from his subconscious, like gleeful little devils reminding him he hadn't outrun them. Whenever he'd begun to succeed and build confidence in his abilities, his father's voice danced in his head in its familiar, taunting tone. Whenever he hoped someone would spot worthiness for love in his soul, her mocking laughter would drag him back down to the pits of hell.
The conversation with Caterina had let them loose.
He hadn't been able to stop thinking about her.
You're enough, too.
He got up and shrugged on jeans and a T-shirt. Went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face; brushed his teeth. He'd never had a more perfect day. After the park, they'd gone to dinner, and on to La Dolce Famiglia for dessert. Instinct had pushed him to tell her the truth that night, but she'd cited a morning appointment with a purse designer, and Rip sensed it would be better to leave. The kiss at her front door promised much more, very soon. He'd quickly texted Edward when he got back to the hotel and asked for a few more days. He still hadn't heard back.
Rip looked in the mirror and wondered what Caterina saw in him. Eventually, she'd realize he was a fraud, a man who'd lied about his identity. A man who'd never loved or been loved in return. A man who wanted things with her he'd never thought possible.
His lungs tight, he couldn't breathe; he needed air. Stumbling out the door, he headed down to the lobby, through the doors, and took to the streets.
His life had been a long string of successes and failures, but he'd never questioned if he was happy. Growing up with a father who hated him had taught him never to seek such a luxury. No, life had been about survival, pure and simple. He'd learned early any type of reaction incited more attention from his father--usually left in black and blue marks. It hadn't taken long for him to master masking his feelings and remaining distant, cold, untouchable. But inside, the mass of raw emotion simmered dangerously. School was his ticket out, and he'd taken the violence until he graduated and left before he exploded into a rage of hate that would destroy him.
He remembered the first time he'd met Alicia. She'd been the first woman he'd fallen in love with--a woman with class and breeding--from her expensive sports car, designer clothes, to the wicked restlessness gleaming in her hard blue eyes. She'd brought him home to the family vineyard and announced her intention to marry him.
Rip saw his job as a new opportunity to prove himself. His enraged future father-in-law cut him down at first, but grudgingly found that he had a raw talent with the grapes, a rare palate and skill with blending that quickly had him moving ahead.
His boots ate up the uneven pavement and he fought with the memories. That first job had taken patience. Timing. He'd sought comfort in the endless acres of vines that needed constant care and attention. Under delusions he had found a family, he'd bought a ring and proposed under a moonlit sky, in the vineyard, on bended knee.
And she'd laughed. Told him she'd never intended to marry him. She'd just been looking for some fun, intending to piss off her father in the process. She'd craved his body, his brooding savagery, but not the man he was inside.
Once again, Rip had learned the lesson.
He was alone.
When he began working for Winsor Winery, Edward offered him hope. Over the months, they'd bonded, and Rip believed he'd finally found a home. He'd dreamed of running the business with Edward's full support and approval, never expecting to be pushed to marry his daughter. Once again, he'd allowed himself to believe he could be part of a family. Once again, he would be turned away. Never enough.
His body shook. A low, animal groan ripped from his lips. He stopped and looked up.
Moonlight spilled over her window, illuminating the endless flowers bursting from the wrought iron balcony. Was that a light burning inside or his imagination? It didn't matter. Somehow, he'd ended up here, his subconscious pushing him where his heart wanted to be.
With Caterina Winsor.
He needed to bury himself inside her tight, wet heat. Feel her cool fingers travel over his body. Needed one night of raw, honest passion before he told her the truth; before she turned away from him and put her walls up. He wanted her open and sweet, surrendering to everything he could do to her and give her.
He stumbled forward as if in a drunken haze. Rang the bell. Waited.
The light over her door flicked on. Footsteps echoed. The chain of a door released, and she peeked through the crack. Her eyes widened. He heard a quick intake of breath.
The door opened wider.
He stood before her, hands out, and gave her the only truth he could.
"I need you tonight, Caterina." His voice was both a plea and a fierce demand. "The demons are here."
Seconds ticked by. The air seethed with savage emotion.
Slowly, she stepped aside and let him enter.
Chapter Seven
One look at the depth of emotion in his eyes and Caterina knew that tonight she would become his.
He needed her. The jagged, sharp edge of hunger and pain carved out the lines of his face. A haunting agony gleamed in those inky dark eyes, urging her to reach for him and soothe away the ache. It was time to take a leap with her heart and hope Lee would catch her.
The door shut behind him. They stood in her entryway, both of them silent, a need-filled energy pulsing around them. His eyes locked on hers and he reached out his hand, asking for her complete surrender. Without hesitation, Cat slid her hand into his.
With a low groan, he enfolded her in his embrace. His hard, heated length cradled her curves. The sensual energy crackled and churned between them. Then his mouth crashed down on hers and staked his claim.
She needed no urging this time to part her lips for him, allowing him full access. She met each silky thrust of his tongue with her own demand as he dove in and out of her mouth, as if starving for her taste. Her fingernails bit into his muscled shoulders and she arched upward for more, losing herself within the intensity of the soul-stirring, demanding kiss.
He tore his mouth from hers, breathing hard. "Bedroom?"
She swayed on her feet and jerked her head toward the right. "There."
He lifted her into his arms and strode through. The quilt was covered with roses, and her sanctuary spoke to the most deeply feminine part of her, from the antique four poster bed, pearl encrusted mini chandelier, to the make-up and vanity mirror with the beveled silver mirror. He pressed her onto the mattress and stared down at her like a conquering warrior. Heat surged between her thighs. His hand trembled slightly as he reached out and caressed the length of her body. Usually shy, she suddenly felt sexy and empowered to make such a powerful man tremble.
With one easy motion, he pulled off his T-shirt and threw it on the floor. Her mouth dried up as she stared at his gorgeous build, jeans hanging low on his hips, a virtual painting of lean sculpted muscles and smooth olive skin, of dark whorls of hair dusting his chest and disappearing into the waistband of his jeans. Never taking his gaze from her face, he flicked open the button and pushed the denim down, leaving him clad in black briefs. He removed a package from his pocket and thr
ew it on the bed. Then he paused briefly before stripping naked and kicking his underwear to the side.
Dear God, he was beautiful. He radiated a masculine grace evident in his carriage and the proud tilt of his jaw. She drank him in, every sloping muscle and hard angle, every inch of his throbbing cock that was hard and ready for her. Then he put one knee on the bed, dipping the mattress, and loomed above her.
"I've wanted you from the very first night," he murmured, tugging his fingers through her hair, touching her cheek, his touch as gentle as his voice. "There's a connection between us. Do you feel it?"
"Yes." She caught his hand and dragged it to her breasts, arching upward. "I've wanted this, too."
He tugged down the spaghetti straps of her black slip. Cool air hit her flushed skin, tightening her nipples, and his eyes glittered as he slid a palm over the peaks, rubbing back and forth to wring a moan from her lips. "Oh, the things I want to do to you," he said in a husky voice. "Things that make you moan. Things that make you scream. Things that make you beg for more."
She shuddered, gripping his wrists as he pulled the fabric down until it was bunched around her waist. Her skin burned, and the aching, wet need pulsed between her thighs. "I want you to do them all. It's just that--" She broke off, embarrassed to tell him the truth.
"What is it?" His voice gentled even as his eyes blazed like lit coals. "Too fast?"
"No, I just don't--I just don't want you to be disappointed." Oh, God, that was a humiliating admission to utter. She craved to duck her head and hide from her lack of experience, but forced herself to continue looking into his face. They'd come too far to pretend now.
He stiffened. "You're not a--?"
"No! But I've only been with one man, and he felt it necessary to cheat on me with another woman. And now I'm going to die of humiliation." Her face felt hot, thinking of all his experience in the art of seduction, and how little she really knew. Her ex had treated her like a delicate doll, and they'd never had a robust sex life. Another reason his betrayal had rocked her world--believing she hadn't been enough for him in bed.
"Don't." The command blasted from his lips and made her gasp. He leaned over and pressed his forehead to hers, his hands cupping her breasts. "He was a weak asshole who never deserved you. And I'm glad there have been no others. I can't wait to show you all the delicious things you've been missing. I'm glad I'm the man to watch you shake and shatter beneath me. Capisce?"
The Marriage Arrangement Page 8