by Laura Breck
“Valerie.” He didn’t look at her. “I want to tell you something.” His voice was quiet but determined.
“Okay.” Was she about to meet one of his demons?
He looked like a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders. Then he picked up the papers she left on the table. “What are these?”
Damn, she shouldn’t have left them sitting out.
She desperately needed to hear what he had to say, and she didn’t want anything to distract him. “Nothing urgent, Antonio. We can talk about it later.” She wanted him to get back to his disclosure.
He scanned through the photos. “What the hell. What are these pictures?”
This was going to be difficult to explain. “After the incident…” She tapped her cheek where he hit her. “The accident? Monica and Joe decided to hire a private investigator.”
He took a deep breath, let it out slowly. He repeated the process four more times before he looked at her with fire in his eyes. “You let them investigate me?”
Chapter Twenty Eight
“No. I didn’t know about it until today when Monica stopped by.” Valerie reached to touch him.
Antonio stood abruptly and bumped the coffee table, knocking his beer bottle off. They both ignored it. Walking to the fireplace, he flipped through the pages. “Who’s this man?”
“Do you recognize him? He’s following you.”
He looked at the pictures again. “Following me?” He stared at her. “You’d better explain.” His voice was low, angry.
“The PI didn’t find anything about you that you hadn’t already told me. But a couple nights a week, that man…” She pointed to the papers in his hand. “Follows you.”
“Shit.” His lips compressed. “God damn bullshit.”
Why didn’t he believe her? “Really, it’s true. He—”
“I don’t doubt that I’m being followed. I mean the PI.” He looked at her. “What the hell is wrong with your family? Why don’t they leave us alone?”
Her eyes filled with tears. “I know, Antonio. I feel the same way. I told Monica that she’d gone too far. That she needs to stay out of our lives. And as soon as the PI identifies that man—”
He looked at the picture. “You’ll tell me who he is.”
“Why? So you can race over there in a blind rage and beat the truth out of him?”
“It’s my life we’re talking about here.” He tossed the papers on the table then his icy glare shot to her face. “I want your sister out of this. And out of my private business. Permanently.”
She held her hands out, palms up. “I’ll talk to her again, but I can’t promise, Antonio. She said she did it because she was concerned for me, and that’s not going to change.”
He seemed to deflate. “Shit. I don’t blame her.” His mood swung back from angry to despondent. “I’m not good for you. I’m not even good enough for you.”
“Yes, you are.” She felt tears run down her face. “You’re just emotionally strained right now. Sit and talk to me. We’ll work through this.”
“Valerie, I’m sorry. I’m back to being an asshole again.”
He sat next to her, not touching her but looking as if he expected a reprimand.
She wanted him to open up to her, and this seemed like the opening she needed. “Please talk to me, Antonio. What is it you came here to tell me?”
He stared at her for a long while then stood. “I think I should leave.”
His tone said, “leave you,” and she felt a moment of panic. She shook her head. “No. I want you to stay…”
“Provided…” He looked down at her.
“No provisions. If you’re not ready to tell me, that’s fine.” She put her hand on his and urged him back down on the couch. “When you walked in here today, you were going to tell me, weren’t you?”
“I don’t know. Maybe there’s nothing to tell.” He looked defeated.
The moment was lost. She wouldn’t hear his secret tonight. Damn, he was the most frustrating man… She clenched her jaw. “Bullshit.” She couldn’t think of anything else to break the tension.
His eyebrow shot up. “What?”
“You heard me. I said bullshit.” She made a fist and punched him in the chest.
“Ow. What the hell are you doing?” He rubbed his chest. He seemed more startled than angry.
“I’m going to beat the crap out of you until you tell me.” She fought to keep from smiling.
“Really? My pretty-boy face?”
“No. But the rest of you is fair game.” She made a fist with her middle knuckle sticking out, the way Ryan had done when they were kids. She hit him in the thigh. Hard. The aggression felt kind of good.
“Ouch, jeez, Valerie. You’re not supposed to resort to violence to get people to do what you want.”
“Because why?” She kicked him in the shin with her bare foot, probably hurting herself more than she hurt him.
“I’ve never seen you…” He laughed. “Stop. Have you lost your mind?”
“Oh, right. Because I’m a professional therapist, I can’t let out my frustrations.”
He held up his hand, forestalling her next hit. “Yeah, damn it. Aren’t you supposed to hit pillows or something?”
She grabbed one of the accent pillows and threw it at him. When he caught it above his head in both hands, she gut-punched him, loving the sound of his breath leaving his lungs.
“That’s it, woman,” he choked. “Your ass is mine!” His eyes threatened retribution, but he had a smile on his face.
“Not if I can help it,” she whispered, baring her teeth and showing her claws.
“Hellcat.” He grabbed her wrists as she lunged at him.
“Bastard.”
He picked her up and, in seconds, plopped her down on the thick rug in front of the fireplace. His hands held her arms. “Baby, I like this. You’re bad today.”
She liked it a lot too, but she wasn’t ready to let him know just how much. “See if you like this, baby.” She jerked one of her knees up, coming close to his package. He twisted to the side just in time.
“Shit, now you’re getting personal.” He let go of her arms and rolled onto the floor, but she followed.
She landed on him and sat on his chest, knocking the wind out of him again. “You cry mercy, and I’ll stop. Otherwise, you’re in for a lot more.”
He smiled the silliest grin she’d ever seen on his gorgeous face. “No way in hell I’m going to cry mercy. Hit me with your best shot.”
She recalled an evil smile from a horror film and recreated it on her face. “Do you like this T-shirt?” She touched the Harley logo on his chest.
“Yeah, I got this in Germany—”
She grabbed the neckline with both hands and, mastering superhuman strength, ripped it halfway down the front. “Oh, sorry. You said you did like it?”
“Whoa, baby!” His face showed total amazement.
She ripped the shirt the rest of the way down. “Now you can use it to wax your bike.”
“Seriously, you’re like sexbitch all the sudden.” He laughed slowly.
“Get used to it. I’m going to be like this all night.”
“Yes. Thank you, God.”
She reached behind her and grabbed his belt, unfastened it while staring into his eyes. Unbuttoning his jeans, she unzipped them and boldly reached inside his underwear for his cock.
He jerked hard as she grabbed him, and he let out a growl. “Baby, do what you want to me.” His eyes closed in ecstasy.
She stood, one foot on each side of his chest. He reached for the hem of her sundress, and she slapped away his hand.
He smiled up at her, but she forced herself to remain serious. Damn, this was fun.
She pulled her dress over her head and tossed it on the couch. She wore a lavender bra and panties set, very lacy. The way she felt, it should be leather and whips. She looked down at him, watching the way his gaze traveled over every inch of her. He started to sit up,
and she put a bare foot on his chest. “No.” She pushed him back down.
“Oh, yeah, take control, baby.” His eyes were nearly black, his lids drooping with his need.
She turned around and bent over, giving him a sexy view of her bottom, then tugged his jeans and boxers down. She took off his boots then his pants, socks, and underwear followed into a pile. She turned and looked him slowly up and down.
He lay there, his T-shirt ripped down the middle, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his cock as stiff and pulsing as she’d ever seen it, his hands in fists at his sides. She moved to stand over his hips and stared into his eyes. White-hot passion in his gaze blazed back at her, daring her to keep it up. To be the aggressor.
Emboldened by his intense look, she grabbed the sides of her panties.
His nostrils flared, and his jaw clenched.
She ripped them off her body, watched him tense as if she’d punched him again.
She tossed them toward him. He caught them, brought them to his face, and took a deep, sexy smell of then, then, staring at her, he licked the crotch of her panties. The sight made her belly contract sharply, and she became so wet she felt herself drip down her leg. “Oh, God.” Her body raced toward a climax.
“Play with yourself.” He whispered it, his voice so low and sexy, it sounded like her own subconscious.
She touched her finger to her muff, slid it in, and cried out with pleasure.
“Your breasts,” he groaned.
She unfastened her bra, threw it then ran her fingers over her distended nipples. When she felt herself begin to float, she touched one finger to her clitoris and rubbed, the other hand tweaking her nipple. Within seconds she was flying, her head thrown back, her knees shaking, her lips quivering and so wet that he’d be able to see the moisture on her thighs.
She wanted to collapse but kept her eyes open, staring at him.
He was breathing hard, his jaw clenched, his eyes radiating desire. He needed her. Now.
She turned to face his feet and sank to her knees, grabbed his hard shaft, and poised herself over him. Waited a long moment then looked over her shoulder at him.
“Cry mercy.”
“Mercy. Please. Mercy, baby.”
She touched his manhood to her wet entry and dropped all her weight onto him, taking every inch of him.
“Valerie, amore mio!” His shout echoed to the ceiling.
She rode him hard, fast, her leg muscles aching, but loved every minute of the exquisite torture. She listened to him struggling for breath. Throwing her head forward, her hair brushed against his thighs. He groaned, cried out, stiffened, then she felt his release pulsing inside her. It was the loudest she ever heard him come. His shouts gave way to laughter, his body so rigid his leg muscles bulged, his toes curled.
When she took his last drop, he sat up and wrapped his arms around her and pulled her down next to him, tucked her into his arm, her head on his chest. She couldn’t tell which of them was more exhausted. They both panted like they’d run a marathon.
“Incredible,” he said between gulps of air. “Absolutely mind blowing.”
She loved to hear him say things like that. It made her feel powerful, sexy, and truly a woman.
“Where did you learn to do that?” His fingers traced the swell of her breast.
She smiled. “Cosmopolitan.”
“The magazine? Jeez, I’m going to get you a subscription.”
“Jules gets me one every year for Christmas.”
He laughed. “I wondered where you got all your sexy moves.”
“I hide the magazines under my bed.”
“So your mother doesn’t find them?”
“Yup. She’d make a fuss.”
“She’s a challenge.”
“Nice way to say she’s a pain in the ass.”
“Mm. Runs in the family.”
She popped her head up. “What?” He was calling her…
He laughed. “No, not you, sweet. Your sister.”
Laying her head back on his firm muscles, she sighed. “What can we do? Short of moving to Italy.”
He chuckled as he kissed the top of her head, brushed her hair away from her face, and smoothed it down her back. The motion made her sleepy. “We’ll deal with it.”
“Thank you for being so…” She yawned. Her voice came out groggy. “It’s only nine, and I’m tired already.”
He reached for the afghan on the side chair, covered them with it, and grabbed a pillow for under his head. “I’m done in, too. I haven’t slept well this weekend.”
She could guess why—worrying about telling her his secret. As she drifted off to sleep, she plotted ways to get it out of him.
****
“Ti amo con tutto il cuore.”
Valerie heard him whispering in her ear. They’d slept for hours in front of the fireplace. He was trying to wake her gently. He loved her with all his heart.
“Vuoi dirmelo ancora?” She whispered, asking him to repeat that.
“Si. Ti amo con tutto il cuore.”
“Antonio.” She responded in English. “I love you, with all my heart.”
“Ancora?” He wanted to hear it again.
She lifted her head from his chest, her neck stiff from sleeping in one position for so long. She touched his cheek. “Antonio, ti amo. Il mio cuore è tuo.”
“Bella mia.”
She heard his stomach rumble. “My lasagna!” She jerked her gaze toward the kitchen. The pan of lasagna was still in the oven on low. She jumped up and ran into the kitchen, pulled out the pan, and peeled off the foil. “Oh, crap.” She poked at it with a fork. The three inches on the outside were pretty well crust, but the middle was still soft and cheesy.
He came up behind her and put his arms around her. “I’m sorry I ruined your meal.”
“Do you think we should risk it?”
“Sure. Dish it up, and I’ll go clean up the beer spill.”
“Thanks.” She threw on a cover-up and fixed two plates and two glasses of ice water and set them on the island.
He came back into the kitchen wearing his boxers, carrying his empty beer bottle and wet paper towels. “Forgive me?”
“Yup.” He was continually asking. She was always forgiving. Would it ever get to be more than she could bear?
He must have sensed her uncertainty.
“I’m working on it, Valerie. I have a ways to go, but I know I’ll be able to beat the anger.”
“I know. And I’m willing to be here for you.”
He looked into her eyes for a long moment, seeming to search for the truth in them. Right now, at this moment, it was the truth. She was here for him. But she hated the feeling—that psychologist’s voice inside her head—that said she should set boundaries. Set expectations. Set deadlines.
“Antonio, I hate to bring it up again, but the private investigator?”
“Mm hm.”
“I was wondering about the man following you.”
“Yeah.” He rubbed her arms. “Would you get the name of Monica’s PI? I’ll have my investigator call him and get copies of those pictures to Betina. She might know him.”
“Good idea.” She turned to pick up her phone.
“Wait, I have something to say.” He took her hands in his. “What you did tonight was good for me. Good for us.”
“Beating you up? Or tricking you out of your bad mood?”
“I deserved the beating.” He kissed her knuckles. “The sex was amazing. But I’m sorry you had to see me like that.”
She put her arms around him. “It’s part of being a couple. We’re not always going to be happy and relaxed.”
“You always seem to be. You’ll have to teach me.”
“I’d be glad to. First lesson. Make love to me, slowly. And tell me you love me.”
****
Sunday evening, Joe cooked steaks and baked potatoes on the grill then they dressed in eveningwear for the show. He’d left his tux in the trunk, and Monica
laughed at how much planning he’d done to surprise her.
He let her drive his Porsche to The Strip but made her promise to let him drive her pickup someday. Only a couple hundred thousand dollar difference in price between the two vehicles, but he joked that he was getting the better end of the trade.
When they entered the showroom, they were escorted to a booth at the center front of the audience.
She leaned in to him. “How did you ever get these tickets?”
He helped her into the booth. “She’s a family friend.”
Monica rolled her eyes. “You are way out of my league.”
He smiled, a crooked smirk. “I am, but I love you anyway.”
She laughed and said a quick prayer of thanks for the miracle that was her life, her future.
The show began, and Joe lifted his champagne glass in a toast. “To an unforgettable evening.”
She touched her glass to his. How would a casino show make for an unforgettable night? He must be a big Cẻline fan. He didn’t look like the type—the radio in the Porsche always blared Maroon Five, which seemed more his style.
Cẻline was excellent, an unbelievably talented woman who put on a spectacular show.
Toward the end, she chatted with the audience but seemed surprised when a crew member stepped out on stage and handed her a note. She read it, her eyebrows furrowing.
Looking into the audience, she said, “I have to apologize, this is highly unusual. Is there a Dr. Monica, a cosmetic surgeon, in the room?”
Chapter Twenty Nine
A few people laughed, thinking it was a joke, but Monica was shocked, couldn’t move for a second.
“Dr. Monica?” Cẻline visored her hand over her eyes and looked around the room.
Monica let out a surprised squeak, but Joe spoke up for her.
“She’s right here.” Joe got up and pulled back the table.
Monica stood, her adrenaline level rising. Was this about her emergency patient? How would the hospital have known she was at a concert? She looked at Joe; he had a devious smile. Turning toward the stage, she saw Cẻline, Joe’s “family friend,” looking just as devious.
She grabbed Joe’s arm. “What the hell are you doing?”