Red Hot Lovers: 18 Contemporary Romance Books of Love, Passion, and Sexy Heroes by Your Favorite Top-Selling Authors

by Milly Taiden

  A hard-running tremor coursed beneath his exterior.

  Something was very wrong. Submerged in growing anxiety, she forced a feeble smile taking the phone. “That’s my sister, JC.”

  “Your sister?” Features sharp with anger, visible in the shadow of his averted profile.

  Tracy tried to keep her voice steady, but calmness had already turned to catastrophe. “Please don’t tell me you’ve slept with my sister?”

  A slow look of disgust burned across his face. His head moved from side-to-side indicating no however his eyes pierced straight through her. Tracy moved toward him, but he backed away, crushing her heart into pieces.

  His cold stare, stifled in disbelief, hit her in full force. The phone rang singing Blurred Lines, flashing a different picture of JC, indicating a call not a text.

  “Your sister is calling,” he said flatly.

  “What is it, Vincent? What’s wrong?” Tracy felt the color bleach from her face.

  “I have to go.”

  Concern transitioned to anguish as the nightmare unfolded in slow motion, watching him walk out the door without looking back. Emotions strangled in her throat wanting to call out for him, but it wouldn’t have mattered. Tracy didn’t need to ask about their evening, she knew it was over. She just didn’t know why.

  *

  By the next morning, Tracy teetered on delusional, asking herself repeatedly, “What the fuck happened?”

  JC assured Tracy that she had never slept with a Vincent, however her little sister made no promises about kissing a man by that name. Her head was a mess. Tracy needed answers. She didn’t want to see him, yet she wanted to see him. But one thing was certain, she was going to look damn good the next time he laid eyes on her.

  Tracy obsessed over what she planned to wear to work, huffily littering the floor with every article of clothing hanging in the closet. Eventually, after ten wardrobe changes, she opted for a slim-fitting charcoal pencil skirt and chic, white silky blouse, paired with black peek-a-boo pumps.

  “Fuck!” She snapped reading 7:04am. “I am not going over there this early.”

  Sitting in front of the mirror, she perfected her hair and makeup with loose wavy curls and shimmering nude lip gloss.

  7:32am

  She groaned.

  Without thinking or reasoning, she climbed into the Range Rover, driving past the Castlello Giovanni sign heading straight to the villa on the hill. Sneaking through the back door, she roamed the halls overwhelmed by feelings of foolishness.

  The connection she felt with the property surpassed appreciation and wonder. The castle had an endless amount of potential. Secretly, she envisioned them together, as a couple, in every scenario. Dreams that stretched far beyond the bedroom, intimate desires, she imagined a future with Vincent. A fairytale ending with the man of her dreams. The perfect someday.

  Tracy cared for him, deeper than she had previously admitted to herself. She saw herself settled there with Vincent, raising a family and growing old together. Even at that very moment, she wished he would walk through the door and tell her he loved her.

  Tears and sadness turned to anger and resentment by the time she made it to her office. Tracy looked for Vincent from the moment she started down the lane, taking an extra long measure of time walking from the parking lot to the office.

  A piece of unlined paper addressed her when she walked in. The handwritten note read:

  We need to talk

  Meet me after work in my office

  6:00pm

  Vincent

  The idea of being summonsed to his office infuriated her. He had some nerve walking out of her office the night before without uttering an explanation, simply staring at her like she had two heads, a tail and flames shooting out her nose.

  It pissed her off beyond belief, yet she stood at his door at exactly 6:00pm. Tracy wanted answers and it took every morsel of self-control she possessed to wait until the end of the day to get them.

  Daring to step over the threshold she vowed never to cross, Tracy was greeted by the waiting silence of his office. Her thrashing pulse slowed, realizing Vincent wasn’t there.

  Peering around the large office, she exhaled the breath she’d been holding, taking in the stylish yet minimal furnishings. Each piece a direct reflection of his personality. Three high-back chairs, creased and worn, circled around a one of kind table covered in glass bearing the Castlello Giovanni name. A large antique desk, stained rich dark walnut, took up the far corner capitalizing on the optimum view of the vineyard.

  Tracy rolled her shoulders trying to rid the growing tension in her neck and shoulders. A large panoramic image of the Tuscan starscape hanging on the stone-covered wall captured her attention.

  Butterflies danced in her stomach.

  Ambling toward a large picture window, her fingers trailed along the hand carved rope edging of the desk. Tracy wondered if it was his father’s. With each deep inhale, she relaxed a little into the surroundings, appreciating the warm sunny scents of Vincent permeating the air.

  Tracy moved toward the wall-to-wall built-in bookcase at the far side of the room. Glimpses of used red brick that covered the wall stood out behind honey-stained shelves. She curiously inspected the vineyards prestigious awards and trophies of recognition from over the years. Her head slanted reading the titles scrolled onto the old bindings. Book after book on winemaking, astronomy, and mythology.

  Several picture frames dotted the shelves between books and what she assumed was a collection of rare vintage wine. Her stomach fluttered subconsciously.

  A photo on the center shelf, framed in silver, caught her attention. Tracy’s brows puckered in confusion. In a trance, she moved toward it holding onto the shelf to keep her from falling.

  “No. No, it can’t be.” Her mournful cry of disbelief filled the stillness of his office. Burning heat tingled her nose. Wetness pricked her eyes reaching for a photo.

  Each tiny muscle in her face crumpled in despair reaching for the frame. Her hands trembled holding a photo of Vincent and three other men dressed in suits and masks, raising their glasses in a toast.

  “Giovanni?” she choked. Her fingers covering her lips, holding back the sickening feeling climbing up her throat. He looked thinner and younger, missing the seasoned attributes he carried now. The thick dark waves of hair that brushed against his collar today were cut short and tight to the nape of his neck. She’d been so adamant about forgetting each and every one of The Italian’s attributes, wiping them from her memory, she never dreamed he would ever be right in front of her.

  A cold numbness hollowed in her chest, consuming her body like a frigid winter storm. She could barely breathe staring at the picture of the man she’d tried so hard to forget. Hot tears rolled freely down her face and dripped from her nose onto the glass, blurring Giovanni’s gorgeous smile. The smile she fell for that night in Greece so long ago. Her thumb etched over the picture smearing the drops of wetness.

  The sound of his approaching footsteps were deceptively soft, nearly vanishing behind the sound of her pounding heartbeat. Tracy sensed his presence standing behind her. Shock, devastation, anger and betrayal came crashing over her. She refused to turn and look at him. Her chest heaved with each labored breathe.

  “How could you?” Hysteria frayed like torn paper at the edge of her voice. She wanted to scream at him, but her throat constricted, deeming her words nearly inaudible.

  Unshed tears gathered, blurring her vision. She shifted to the left, trying to move away, but he moved in sync blocking her escape. His breath came in ragged pants, rustling through the air. Tremors surged through her, silently willing away the provocative memory of that night. Tracy let her head fall, integrity beaten down, she dropped her eyes to the floor. She could barely make out his powerful frame standing behind her over to one side, his arms unyielding and fingers rigid.

  “You broke my fucking heart!” she screeched. Angered by his silence she continued in an emotional outburst. �
��I waited and waited and waited for you to call me. For months I waited. For over a year! And now…you’re here. I feel like an idiot! You’ve known all this time that it was me? How could you?”

  Vincent reached for her arm, but Tracy shrugged away from the grasp of his fingers. Stepping around his desk, she only made it as far as the window before he cut her off. Shame crawled over her flesh like the shadow of darkness creeping over the vineyard in the distance.

  “Amore—“

  “Don’t you dare call me that!” The razor edges of her hair swung against her fiery cheeks, clinging to the wetness as she furiously shook her head.

  Vincent gripped her shoulders, curling his fingers over the tips. Emotions coursed beneath the surface of his touch. He struggled to speak. Her shattered heart slammed erratically, drowning out any sound of his voice. Memories of that night trampled feverishly through her heart, sparking fire to her skin.

  “You…you stole something from me and I fucking want it back!” Her voice cracked, escalating into loud sobs as she slapped her palm against the window. “You took a moment, an intimate unforgettable moment in my life, a night that I was supposed to cherish and remember forever, and you ruined it! You turned what should’ve been one of the happiest nights in my life into a fucking living nightmare.”

  Tears scorched the back of her throat as he squeezed, bringing the blades of her shoulders closer to his chest.

  “Do you know why I was so angry when you first arrived here?” he whispered, his voice miserable.

  A dozen reasons sifted through her thoughts as she stood there paralyzed, shaking from head to toe. His hands which had once felt like heaven now seemed like living handcuffs. She didn’t bother to answer only nodded.

  “Because of your hair.” His voice dissolved to a painful murmur, struggling to continue as he worked his fingers into her hair, stroking a wavy lock gently between his fingers. “It is the same color as a woman I met in Greece. A woman named Maggie who broke my heart after giving me the most amazing night of my life.”

  Tracy started to negate, but startled when he abruptly spun her to face him. She cut him a sharp look fisting her hands together to fill the space between them.

  “You didn’t give me your number that night.” Vincent’s face was etched in sorrow. His eyes were bloodshot and the thin skin beneath looked bruised and hallow. “I searched every hotel on the island, but no one had any record of a Maggie or May. I’ve been a miserable asshole for nearly two years and just when I think I’m over her…you show up. Why did you lie about your name?”

  She shook her head adamantly. “I gave you my number. You never called. I waited–“

  “No! You left me nothing! Why did you lie?” he asked again seizing her arms. “Was I just a game to you that night?”

  “No!” Tracy’s chin crumpled talking in fits of huffy frantic breaths. “I waited and waited for you to call me.”

  “You left me half a phone number.”

  “No. I gave you my number. I swear I did. I entered into your phone.” Her gaze fell to his shirt collar remembering the exact moment she pushed the numbers into his cell phone…and then slipped it into his pants pocket.

  He shook his head adamantly. “Why did you go by Maggie that night?”

  “JC gave you the names. After my mom married Tom we were followed everywhere by paparazzi. It was a hard adjustment. We lost our privacy and sometimes she throws out a different name so people don’t hound her.” She sniffled in a shaky inhalation. “We were crashing a wedding, she thought it was funny.”

  A look of surprised awareness softened the creases of his brow.

  “I started to tell you when we were standing on the cliff, but we started kissing and…”

  Vincent brought his arms around her, holding her against him. Their chests lifting together with labored breaths as hard running reactions began to resolve. She clung to him, curling her fingers tightly around the collar of his shirt.

  “You’re such a good kisser and I hadn’t ever felt like that before. And then—“

  Unable to continue, Tracy found the courage to look up at him. Vincent wiped the sides of her tear streaked face with the palms of his hands. The rims of his red eyes brimmed with emotions as he made another pass over her wet cheeks with the pads of his thumbs.

  “It wasn’t funny. I’ve been going out of my mind.”

  “Why did your friends call you by your last name?” Tracy asked.

  “My friends, everyone who knows me from my childhood, they all call me Giovanni.” Frustration and anger dispelled, his touch now turned affectionate. “My friends all told me I was crazy searching for a woman who left me with no number, but I couldn’t stop looking for you. I even bribed a ticket agent at the airport.”

  “All this time it was my fault?” No matter how deep a breath of air she drew in, it wouldn’t fill her lungs. He held her carefully, coasting his hands down her back and arms soothing the tenseness from her limbs. “Day after day I hoped you would call. I prayed nothing bad happened to you.”

  “Shh it’s okay. Don’t cry, Amore—” he hesitated studying her reaction.

  Raising to her toes, Tracy’s fingers keyed up his collar pulling him close. “God, yes. Please say it. I’ve been dying to hear those words for far too long.”

  “Amore Mio.” His voice, an aching rasp, curled through her, leaving behind a sense of desire she’d never known. The moist heat of his breath sent a shiver down her spine as he nibbled the sensitive slope behind her ear. She eagerly sought his mouth, twisting and lifting, until her lips caught his. He kissed her softly, unhurriedly tasting with his lips, parting her mouth with wicked slowness.

  The slow burn of his kiss was driving her to near madness. Her hands came to the back of his neck, anxiously pulling him closer, wanting more. His arm came around her, drawing an arch from the small of her back, pressing her against the hard confines of his body. He deepened the kiss, taking her mouth with long hard searching kisses. Tracy writhed against him, urging upward, desperately craving to feel him.

  Vincent resisted her anxious needs, slowing the kiss, controlling her rush. She felt a tremor of humor rumble in his chest. Ripe with need, she groaned in a voice verging on pleading, “Make love to me, Vincent.”

  Carefully, he thread his fingers into her hair avoiding her injury. He tugged, gently tilting her head back to fully expose her face. A pleasurable moan slipped from her parted lips.

  “Vincent? Or Giovanni?” His tone was chiding, but candidness riddled his question.

  “I’ll call you whatever you’d like.” Her head list to the side snuggling into the palm of his hand. “I just want you.”

  In one easy movement he swooped her into his arms, heading for a narrow stairway at the far corner. Tracy circled her arms around his neck, kissing his neck and inhaling the familiar scent of him. Words full of longing and apologies tumbled from her mouth.

  “I’m so sorry. The numbers must’ve erased when I dropped the phone into your pocket. All this time—”

  The calm restraint he managed earlier now vanished, silencing her regrets with a ravenous kiss as they made their way up the stairs.

  Reaching the top step, he tore his mouth away and lowered her feet to the floor. Light from the rising full moon beamed through three elongated windows, shadowing the loft style apartment in muted grey. Tracy could easily make out a small full kitchen, two sofas and a large bed with vintage wooden headboard with open scrolls.

  Vincent kneaded small circles at her nape. His tender touch trailed down her arm. The warmth of his hand curled around her fingers leading her to the windows near the foot of his bed. The beam of the moon caught in the irises of his grey eyes, vivid in their brilliance.

  She didn’t know how much time had passed, but it felt like an hour of silent ravishing.

  Moments passed as they simply stared at one another, gently stroking, taking in the impossible twist of fate. The two years that had separated them, full of resentment and lonel
iness, drifted away like a faraway dream.

  Each soft caress sent a shivering sensation over her skin until she trembled all over. His prolonged stare sent a rush of desire coiling through her stomach and below. Her heartbeat turned unruly wondering what to do next. She wanted to touch every inch of him, to taste him, to feel the weight of him, to…

  “I have dreamt of having you here.” She heard him say. He jiggled her fingers pressing a kiss to her knuckles, pulling her out of a lust-filled daze.

  He guided her toward the window. Heat pooled in her center, spreading over her like spilled water on a flat surface. Visions of Vincent had played through her dreams nightly, but not even her best fantasy was going to measure up to this moment. He was going to far exceed her prior sexual experiences, which weren’t many. Excitement trampled through every nerve ending she possessed making it hard to concentrate.

  She swallowed hard. “What have you dreamt?”

  A deep laugh simmered in his throat, an erotic indication of what was to come. A thin layer of moisture broke over her skin. Standing behind her, Vincent enclosed his arms around her, nuzzling a sensitive spot on her neck as they swayed together in the darkness.

  “I think of you while I lay in bed at night—” He pointed to a cluster of stars, small but bright with illumination in the darkening sky. He continued in a somber voice full of yearning, “—wishing it was your hands on me instead of my own.”

  Hormones flashed. Her eyes fluttered at the naked images sifting through her mind, his tan skin dark against the white bedding. The idea of him pleasuring himself, muscles flexed and straining, tipped her over the edge. She eased back a half a step, arching her back. Ignoring the discomfort, she pressed her ass to his hips, reveling in the galvanizing pressure.

  His fingers inched across her shoulder, slipping into the collar of her blouse. She felt one hand working at the buttons of her shirt as his other pulled the silky material from her shoulder. The tender flesh of her breasts ached, constricting into tight points. Vincent lowered his mouth to her ear, nipping and kissing, brushing his tongue along the side of her neck. The intimate pressure made her tremble, shaking with need. His hand slipped into her bra cupping the full weight of her breast and releasing it from the confines of lace. The tips of his fingers delicately circled her nipple, rolling the taut tip, as he gently bit into the flesh of her shoulder.