by Caro LaFever
“Dio.” His hand swept through his tousled hair, sweeping it back over his broad shoulders. “Isn’t it apparent?” he gritted. “The baby.”
She still didn’t understand. Was he being overly cautious? Hadn’t he heard the doctor correctly? “The doctor said it was—”
“That is not the problem.” His words were filled with agony.
Without thinking, she stepped to the bed and sat by his side. Lifting her hand, she slowly slid her palm across the rasp of hair on his jaw. He flinched, as if her touch burned him, and she dropped her hand.
But the rejection didn’t hurt anymore. Now it made her curious. “Then what is the problem?”
A tense silence fell. Only his harsh breath filled the air. Finally, he lifted his head and met her gaze. His eyes were no longer brimming with lust for her. Nor were they wary of her. Regret and guilt dulled the golden glints, hazed the green glow.
“Vico.” She had to touch him again. Her hands lifted to smooth across his cheeks. Trying to comfort him even though she didn’t understand. “What is it?”
“What I did was wrong.”
“When?” She frowned in frustrated confusion.
“That day.” His mouth grew grim. “In my office.”
Her frown deepened. They’d had so many confrontations in his office, she found it hard to sort out which one pushed him to reject her. “What day?”
“The day before you almost lost the baby.”
The stark words cut through her confusion like a fine blade. This? This was why he’d treated her like a fragile piece of glass he had to guard rather than a woman he desired? Obviously, yes. This was why he’d touched her only when he had to and then only for brief moments. This guilt was what had kept him from acting on what was so vivid and vital between them.
“Vico.” Leaning in, almost touching her nose to his, she stared straight into his eyes. “Do you mean the sex we had?”
His lips twisted. “Sex? Is that what you’d call it?”
“Yes,” she whispered, wishing it was more, but willing to accept what he could give. “Passionate, amazing sex.”
Jerking back, he placed his hands on her arms and pushed her away. “No, it wasn’t.”
Her hands dropped from his face at the rebuff and instantly, her determination crumpled. He hadn’t thought it was great sex? Was she still the Ice Queen no man could want warming him, wanting him?
She yanked away, ready to slip off the bed. But before she could escape, his hands grasped her again, stopping her.
“I can’t trust myself around you,” he muttered. “I can’t control myself.”
His tortured words stopped the hurt inside her in a flash.
He wanted her desperately. The need flooded his voice.
Courage welled once more.
Not once had she thought of their passionate encounter as the reason for her near-miscarriage. She’d known exactly who to blame when she’d awakened in the hospital. Herself. Her stubborn pride and stupid need to prove herself. To prove he was wrong. That was why she’d almost lost her baby. Yet clearly her husband had been hauling around a load of guilt so large he’d managed to lose his mind under the weight of it.
Time for this to stop. “What happened that day was wonderful.”
His hands fell back onto the cashmere duvet with a wrench, as if the touch of her was all of a sudden too much for him to handle.
“It was.”
“I was an animal.” His gaze was now hot with anger at himself.
I loved it. I love you.
Why couldn’t she make herself say the words? Some of the old Lise lingered and held fast to her fear of giving everything of herself to him. She wrestled with herself, tried to push the confessions out, but they kept sticking in her throat.
“You see?” His hand flared out, expressing the disgust in his voice. “Your silence says it all. I was a savage.”
“I loved it.”
Finally, the first words were forced from her. The next line was at the tip of her tongue, but he stopped her.
“What?” His eyes widened in pure disbelief, his mouth falling open.
“I did.” She touched him again. A soft sweep of her palm across his shoulder and to the center of his chest. “Believe me. The sex had nothing to do with almost losing the baby.”
“You don’t—”
“I talked with the doctor before I left the hospital,” she confessed, her heart heavy and guilty because she hadn’t thought to tell him the news. “He told me it wasn’t the sex we’d had.”
His lips went slack and his expression went dark. “He told you?”
“I was being stubborn and stupid.” She met his fierce frown with all the sincerity in her soul. “I was driving myself into the ground. That is the only reason why it happened.”
Her hand drifted over him in a soothing gesture. His breath lurched and the heat of his skin suddenly burned. Her gaze followed her movement, watching her fingers weave into the dark curls of his chest hair. She watched as they slipped to his tightening nipples.
“Mia dolce.” His deep rasp brought her gaze to meet his. His eyes blazed with fiery need. Still, the guilt lingered. “I can’t—”
“You can.” She leaned over and nipped at his mouth before he could object. “And you will.”
“No.” He twisted from her kiss, grimacing. “I won’t.”
Her fortitude flickered. Never had she thought he’d make it this hard. But how could she possibly walk away now? Grabbing the last shred of courage left in her, she bent farther in and nuzzled his ear. “You want me.”
“Dio.” His chest lifted against her breasts. “Definitely.”
Sweet relief poured through her courage, lifting and growing it into a powerful determination. “I want you, too.”
His grip was strong and yet, tender. However, the force with which he pushed her back flung her hair into her eyes. By the time she’d smoothed it away, he had the book on his lap like a shield. A bleak determination shone in his eyes. “I made a promise to myself, to you, and to our son that night in the hospital and I will not break it.”
“I absolve you of the promise.”
“But I do not absolve myself.”
Frustration bubbled. The man was as stubborn as she. A tug of respect slipped around in her. And also a bit of amusement. Here she was, ready to release the old Lise for good, ready to seduce a man for only the second time in her life. Ready to jump all the way in and what did she find? A man determined on keeping her on the pedestal, the pedestal she was determined to climb down from forever. The next move was hers and she wasn’t willing to walk away until she’d won. This time she would win a battle between them and make them both happy.
Her gaze slid down his chest to the book as she tried to decide her next move.
Il Libro di Padri.
Not much knowledge of Italian was needed to translate the title.
“The Father’s Book?” She focused on his face. Was it slightly red?
“Si.” He shrugged as if it were of no importance.
Her heart melted into a puddle. The last little piece of anger she held against him misted and disintegrated. Love filled the hole inside her she’d held since childhood and healed the wounds he’d inadvertently given her. Because now she knew him. Knew that behind the impetuous, reckless man lay a kind, gentle soul. A man who jumped into situations, true, but only for the love of life, the love itself.
A man who stayed awake at night preparing to be a good father for their son.
He stared back at her, hands tight on the book. “I need you to leave.”
What was she going to do? Jump on him? Force him to make love to her against his will? If it were any other time or any other person, she’d laugh.
Lise moved her hand across her tummy, buying some time, trying to find an answer to her dilemma.
Her son supplied her with one.
The kick was a hard one, the hardest ever. She gasped and pressed her hand on her stomach.
“What?” The book dropped to the floor as he lunged to her side and wrapped her in his warm arms. “What is it? Shall I call a doctor?”
The kicks had been her little secret, one she’d wanted to share with him, except he’d been so distant, so determined not to touch her that she’d balked. But now was the perfect time to share.
“No.” She laughed through another kick. “Give me your hand and I’ll show you.”
His hand was large and broad and hot. It poured warmth into her belly as they waited. Waited for their son.
The next kick was even stronger.
“Ho!” he exclaimed as his hand slid across the small bump the foot made. “Does this happen all the time?”
“Lately, yes.”
Another kick as the father leaned down to kiss his son and her belly.
When he lifted his head, he met her gaze. The gold melted in his eyes, giving the green a gild of glory. Without thinking, without planning, she slanted closer and placed her lips on his. The kiss was mellow at first while his hand drifted across her now-silent belly. Yet when she slipped her tongue along the closed crease of his mouth, he gasped and let her in. The duel of their tongues escalated into a panting need to take and give.
Pushing him down, she rolled her body over his, keeping the kiss going. Her hands pushed the duvet down, all the way down, and then she stroked back up.
He was naked. Completely naked.
How delightful. How provident. How lucky could a girl get?
“Lise,” he groaned. “I don’t think—”
“Don’t think,” she husked on his mouth. “Feel.”
He was hard and hot in her hand. Like heated silk covering stone. Just as before, just as always with this man, the wanton creature lurking inside herself exploded and took control. Rubbing her thumb on the tip of him, she reveled in his cry.
With a sudden twist, he had her on her back as he hovered above her. His face was contorted with need and desire. His big body trembled, the muscles clenching with want. “Mia dolce. You destroy me.”
Her busy hands ran across his hot body, tweaking his nipples, sliding across his shuddering chest and stomach. “Vico, have sex with me.”
“Are you sure?” His eyes held lingering doubt.
“Positive.” She pulled him down, loving the weight and heat of him on her breasts and tummy.
“No.” He rolled sideways.
For a moment, she thought she would scream with frustration, but when she turned to give him a piece of her mind she was met with a wicked grin. His arm still lay firmly across her body, pinning her to the bed.
“What are you doing?”
“I am making love to my wife,” he said simply.
Her breath caught as they stared into each other’s eyes for a long, hushed moment. Then the moment tripped off the stage, swallowed by his kiss.
“This time,” he murmured on her skin, “this time is going to be very slow and very thorough.”
This time we’re going to make love.
The silent words hovered over their bodies as they moved in the ancient dance.
Chapter 16
“He must have stolen dozens of companies like ours in order to afford a place like this.”
Lise tried to focus on the late-October sun as it slanted across her face and shoulders. The warmth made her sleepy and happy. Unlike the voice beside her. The voice that hadn’t stopped complaining and harping for three days.
Her mother’s voice.
“Or he might be in the mafia. It would make sense since he’s a disgusting Italian.” Esther Helton’s irritated tone laced the words with malice. “He’s some kind of thief. I’m sure of it.”
She managed to hide a wry smile by leaning over from the lounge chair she lay on to take a sip of her lemonade. The thought of her sophisticated, intelligent, honorable husband in the mafia; she nearly snorted into her drink.
They’d come out to the terrace to catch the last of the afternoon sun and watch the boats glide across the blue waters of Lake Como. She’d hoped the enchanting view would soothe her mother’s mood. However, no matter what diversion Lise put in front of her, the conversation always came back to the same speculations, putdowns, complaints.
About Vico.
“There really should be some kind of investigation done on him.”
Esther Helton had arrived on the villa’s doorstep unannounced. Possibly she’d had a mother’s intuition that her daughter would have found some excuse to deny the visit. She had come, she announced in her usual stately manner, to check on her baby.
Her baby. Not her daughter’s.
Sliding her hand down her tummy, Lise consoled the child within. Because it was clear from her mother’s actions and words since she arrived that she’d never be a loving grandmother to this baby. Funny, she hadn’t noticed this attitude during the prelude to the wedding. Perhaps it had been the shock of all the changes in her life or the confusion of her emotions or the ever-present sickness that made her too distracted to notice. Maybe it had been because she’d been avoiding her mother and her scolds and rants. Whatever the reason, she’d missed this disgust.
Her mother’s disgust for her grandchild.
The realization had hurt. Still, not as much as she’d thought it would. The distance she’d always felt with her mother finally bore some dividends. The distance protected her from the disgust. She’d merely experienced a mild resignation.
“I will look into it when I get back to England.”
Which Lise fervently hoped would be soon. The hope was disloyal, she knew, yet her mother cast a shadow of anger and pain on her she’d shed during these last two months in Italy.
She wanted the joy back.
She wanted him back.
Though it was lucky he’d left on one of his infrequent business trips right before her mother had arrived. He’d been patient with Esther during the weeks before the wedding. But Lise highly doubted he’d want to share her company for three full days. Or longer.
He was due back tomorrow. She missed him. And as a bonus, maybe his arrival to his home would force her mother to leave for her own.
A girl could hope.
“I am sure there is something sleazy to find with all those businesses he owns.”
There was nothing sleazy about Vico or his business practices. None. During the last month, she’d seen more and more. Plus, he’d confided in her more and more. About this decision, or that decision. About HSF’s future and the future of many of his other businesses. The knowledge he valued her for her mind as well as her body added to the joy swimming inside her.
Did he value her heart too? Her love?
She moved restlessly, trying to ignore the niggling self-criticism lying in the back of her brain. Throughout this month, she’d reveled in the lovemaking, the delight, the happiness. In every area of her life, she’d embraced this new wonderful Lise she’d found with Vico’s help. The Lise who relished the nights in her husband’s bed and delighted in dancing in the moonlight with him as his family chuckled and applauded. The Lise who laughed and joked and dreamed and hoped. The Lise who cherished every look Vico gave her. Looks of tenderness, of contentment, of…
Only in one area of her new life had she still hid.
Hid her love, hid her confession of love.
The hiding wasn’t right. She knew it. He deserved the words. He deserved to know her heart.
He hasn’t admitted anything to you. He hasn’t spoken the words either.
She knew it was childish to think such things. Over and over, she chided herself for clinging to her confession. The new Lise was better than this.
She would tell him. Tell him as soon as he got home this time.
“Can you imagine the scandal that will erupt when one of his business secrets is revealed?” The older woman clucked. “The man breeds scandal wherever he goes.”
Not anymore. Not one tabloid picture in the entire time of their marriage. Pictures of their wedding had been
released to the press, but after that, nothing. Without a doubt, they’d been in semi-seclusion, though she had noticed how his security shielded instead of courted tabloid coverage.
No pictures of him with other women.
No photos of him attending parties without her.
No images of the playboy in the tabloids.
No, it appeared Vico was totally satisfied with settling into private married life.
A budding trust had built inside her. A budding hope for something she’d dreamed about forever. The flower of trust and hope bloomed deep within her heart.
The three words she’d hid were definitely going to be said as soon as she set eyes on him.
“However, what can you expect from a man who was raised in such squalor?”
His family had been poor, that was true. Yet pride in their heritage and the love they held for each other told her very clearly Vico had strong roots and traditions that guided him in his life. His enormous drive to succeed came from more than a wish to pull his relatives from poverty. The drive also came from his honor as a man, his belief in himself, his innate skills and intelligence.
“That juvenile delinquent is in him, mark my words.” Her mother huffed. “Once a scoundrel, always a scoundrel.”
Apparently, her mother had been doing some Googling and investigating of her own. Lise had run into a story reflecting badly on Vico during her search of his background, too. Some incident involving gangs and death. There hadn’t been much to work with, a few newspaper articles, a few mentions of jail time. Still, her vivid and vicious imagination had filled in the holes just as it appeared her mother’s had, too.
During the last two months, she had made her peace with whatever had happened. Childhood hijinks, not juvenile delinquency. Because the man who was her husband couldn’t have fallen that far from his honorable core.
His family never spoke of it. Neither did Vico.
She had wondered, but hadn’t wanted to poke into old pain. Not in these glorious months of pleasure. She’d wanted to wallow in the acceptance she received from her new family. She wanted to wade in the stream of bliss she experienced every time she saw her husband.