They moved through the crowd to the dance floor. Vincente gripped her closer to him, as if to keep her from being jostled around. His lean body pressed near hers gave her an all-too-familiar hot, tingling and thought-killing sensation. She had to stay sharp, focused.
Before she had time to gather her wits, he slid his arm around her waist and grasped her right hand, maneuvering her into a dance. She had no choice but to place her left hand on his shoulder. His muscles hardened under her touch. She licked her lips, the image of something else on him getting hard in her hand. With a quick shrug of her shoulders, she dismissed the unwelcome thoughts that made her throb.
Vincente cocked his head at her odd movement. “Uncomfortable?” he said. He moved her around with the grace of an athletic dancer, like Gene Kelly appeared in those old movies she used to watch with Grandma Celeste.
“Not really.” She was, though. From her mask to the heat and sensations his touch produced, she was about ready to crawl out of her skin like she’d have to peel herself out of her dress later. Or he could ease it off, undoing the zipper, his strong hands exploring her, his lips following…She turned her face to the side and blew out a breath.
“So, you left your life down south?”
“Yes, my mom asked me to come home and help save the family business.” That wasn’t strictly true. Her mom had been asking her to move home since college graduation, and she was ready to hand the business to the DeGrazias without even knowing it. This evening Gina was stretching a lot of truths.
He raised his eyebrows. “And your dad?”
Typical Italian-American man—expecting the man to be running the business. Dismissing her business sense just like her father did. “Refreshing to meet a man who lives up to the stereotype.” Vincente made her hot, all right. Anger was preferred to arousal. Something in her frayed, ready to snap.
He shook his head. “Guess you don’t want to talk about your dad.”
“No. I want an answer to my question.”
“What question?” He shifted his hand higher on her back.
“About what your family is planning.” Gina shimmied slightly, the heat from Vincente’s palm making her squirmy.
“You trying to live a stereotype too?” His deadpan expression made her throat constrict.
“What do you mean?” Gina lifted her hand off his shoulder slightly. Too much contact with him threw her off her game.
“A businesswoman with a set of brass balls.” He smirked.
She fisted her hand then dropped it to her side. “Who’d still be standing if each of us took a fist where it counts?”
“I never hit a lady.” He smiled, a brief flash of mirth.
She forced herself to frown. He was too damn sexy and dangerous. Clearly there was a reason he’d been known as his family’s personal enforcer. One-on-one, he was powerful, strong, confident. How was she going to get herself back on target?
Chapter Two
Vincente struggled not to laugh. But he sensed that if he did, this woman might just pop him one, and that wasn’t the kind of touch he wanted from her. Don’t go there. But she excited him. Holding her curvy body near his, feeling the subtle dip of her lower back, guiding her in the slow movements of the dance…
But clearly she had issues. He wanted simple, a woman who wanted to settle down, have a family, not a driven career woman. He respected all women, but he’d gone down that road with his first wife, who’d decided she didn’t want children after all and devoted herself to her career. It had been a major factor in the destruction of their marriage. Maybe he was old-fashioned, but he figured it was better to be honest with yourself and other people rather than devote yourself to something doomed from the start.
“So, you’d never hit a woman. I hear you’ve hit plenty of men. You’re a real gentleman, huh?” she said, snapping him back into the moment. Her tone was laced with bitter sarcasm.
He smiled but his shoulders tightened. “You hear a lot. I’ve got no criminal record. Try some of your other senses, and maybe you’ll find out the truth about me.” Like touching him, tasting him…What the hell? He wasn’t into hook-ups, and that’s all this woman could be. Though even that was a big leap, thinking she’d want to. But the way her body responded to his touch, inching closer, heating, and her sexy scent drawing him in, her too-annoyed tone, tipped him off that she was interested. Like him, she probably didn’t want to be.
The song ended. She pulled away from him. “I could use a drink,” she said over her shoulder as she walked off the dance floor.
He followed. Her ass was fine. Well-rounded and defined in that tight white dress of hers, the low back showing her smooth olive skin. “Yeah.” He needed a shot of something strong to burn away the wolf-dog salivation her body brought on.
They got to the bar. She ordered a mojito and he a Glenlivet. Vincente motioned her to put away her money. He paid and she gave him a grudging-sounding “Thank you.” They found a small table by the door and slid into the too-close-together chairs. He sipped his drink, while she drank half of hers in a few gulps.
“Thirsty?” He leaned forward. Her scent excited him, like the ocean on a stormy day at the family villa in Italy, the whipping breeze shaking the lemon trees.
Her cheeks colored a deepish pink. She’d probably glow like that everywhere when she was aroused. He shifted in his chair. It was too crowded to cross his legs, so he leaned back and crossed his arms instead. Images of her naked and all over him flashed into his mind. He took a swig of his drink, willing the images to stop.
“It’s hot in here.” She fingered her glass.
He inclined his head in agreement. Only stupid lines entered his mind, like not as hot as you. Only a charming player like his cousin Gianni could make tired lines like that work.
She folded her little paper napkin into a tiny square. Maybe she was nervous too. He’d knocked back a couple of drinks earlier to get him relaxed enough to put himself in this damn suit. He centered his drink on his napkin. Then he tugged at his tie, which became too tight as she leaned forward, her full breasts perilously close to falling out the top of her low-cut dress. Then she pressed her hands together and her cleavage squeezed in…He closed his eyes for a moment and then made sure he kept them on the bar area once he opened them again.
“So, there’s no truth to the rumors?”
Damn, she was back on that crap again. He cut his eyes at her. She stared at him. He glanced at her drink, almost empty. “Want another?”
“Sure,” she said, sitting up.
He got up so fast he almost knocked over his chair. With a tug, he pushed the chair in, so it lined up neatly against the table. He pressed his hand on his slacks as he approached the bar. With quick swivels, he checked the table to make sure she hadn’t bolted. Shit, his tie was tight. He could barely wait to get home and change. Too bad she wouldn’t come with him. Her hands could slide his tie off, her long, nimble fingers popping the buttons off his shirt and pants…He cleared his throat and stepped up to the bar, ordering her another mojito.
“Anything else, sir?” the bartender said.
Vincente rolled his shoulders. “A Glenlivet.” Why not? He wasn’t driving—he and Grandpop had a limo for the night. The bartender passed him the drinks. Vincente paid and thanked him.
He didn’t look at his “date” as he sat and handed her drink to her. With a gulp, he swigged the last of his first drink—or make that third.
“Thanks,” she said.
He shrugged and tugged at his tie again. It was way too hot. He ran his finger under his collar. Someone placed a hand on his shoulder. He tensed, reacting as if he was still the family bodyguard. Grandpop stood behind him, a broad smile on his face, his date on his arm. Another woman in Grandpop’s quasi-harem.
“Vincente, I see we’ve both been won by two discerning, beautiful women.” He bowed slightly to Vincente’s date.
She smiled, a guarded expression. Grandpop’s date, an older, bubbly, petite woman, giggled.
�
��We’re going, nipote,” Grandpop said. “Connie here has offered to get me home.” Grandpop winked at Vincente.
Vincente shook his head. Leave it to Grandpop. His love life was vigorous, where Vincente’s was lifeless. “Okay. Pete still waiting with the limo?”
“You know your cousin—reliable. Text him, and he’ll be outside when you’re ready.”
“Right.” Vincente shook his head, hoping to dissipate the fog settling in his brain. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Vincente managed to keep a serious face.
Grandpop laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “I can’t oblige you. You don’t do anything I wouldn’t.” Grandpop waved and bowed again, still laughing. He and Connie, close together, strolled out.
Vincente smiled and tapped the table with his finger. His date touched his hand. He froze and drew himself taller, to prevent the jolt he felt at her touch from manifesting itself in some embarrassing way. He turned his palm up to meet hers and ran his finger along the inside of her wrist. Her pulse quickened—or maybe that was his own. He locked his eyes on hers. Something electric passed between them. She returned his touch and leaned in closer.
“You live with your grandfather?” she said in a quiet, breathy voice.
He nodded. His arms ached like he’d spent an hour in his home gym, lifting weights and punching the bag. God, what she’d feel like in his arms, close against him…
“I miss my grandpas,” she whispered.
He clasped her hand. If he could hold her…He understood about loss, the sudden sadness, even years later, the empty place. “Let’s take a drive.”
She didn’t answer. He pulled out his phone, still holding her hand with one of his. He texted Pete, who responded almost immediately that he’d be out front. Vincente squeezed her hand and rose. She teetered a bit. Their glasses stood empty on the table. He threw down a five and steadied her next to him. They walked out of the ballroom, into the lobby and down the old stone steps. Pete’s limo waited a few yards away.
***
Gina leaned into Vincente. His hard body warmed her, and his arm around her soothed her in a way she hadn’t been in a long time. His manly scent increased her yearning to snuggle into his arms and…Those drinks had hit her. The cool night air snapped at her. She jerked away from Vincente when they reached the limo. This wasn’t part of her plan. He knocked the sense out of her. She couldn’t do this.
His cousin Pete, she guessed, a thin, friendly-looking guy, held the door for them. Gina tried to swivel away but tottered into Vincente’s arms instead. She licked her lips. Holding her for a moment, his gaze blasted away her thoughts again. She placed a hand on his chest, feeling for his heart. All she wanted was to cuddle on his naked body and listen to his heartbeat, feel him…
“Come on,” Vincente said, his low tone urgent. He turned her and helped her into the limo.
She sat pressed against the far side. Vincente sat near, but not too close. The limo interior was very warm after being outside. Perspiration beaded under her mask. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes.
“Where to?” a voice said from the front.
Vincente touched her arm. She sat up with a jump. Crap, she couldn’t let him drive her home, or he’d know who she was, since she was staying at her parents’ flat above the family store and bakery. And she couldn’t let her family see her this way either. Ever since she’d been hospitalized in high school for that one stupid time she’d mixed anti-depressants and alcohol, her parents freaked if she so much as had a glass of wine.
She exhaled. With each relationship disaster, she’d tried to close herself off a bit more. But it was like kneading bread, turning in on itself, always exposed, never getting to the resting stage.
“Mind if we get coffee somewhere first?” she said, glancing out the tinted window at the muted lights of Nob Hill, the sidewalks bustling with people, the store windows bright, mannequins dressed in stylish clothes and handbags, shoes, and jewelry on display.
“I make a great cup,” he said.
“Okay.” She shrugged, ignoring the far-away inner voice screaming at her not to. Her inner voice wasn’t reliable. He wouldn’t hurt her, not from what she’d heard about his way with women. Her mom said he was a respectful young man, and Mom was a harsh critic of most men. But Vincente’s family was dangerous to hers, and Vincente’s body and persona were too much temptation. Still, she could resist. She knew better than to fall for a guy like him again. He may be respectful, but she knew his type. Sexist, macho, corrupt.
“Just home, thanks, Pete,” Vincente said. The glass divider slid shut. Vincente glanced at her.
Gina pressed herself closer to the unyielding side of the limo. His presence seemed to occupy the space. She tried to watch out the window as the limo pulled away and started toward North Beach, but she couldn’t. Closing her eyes, she tried to shut out the uncomfortable yet thrilling sensations being near Vincente produced. But all she could see were images of them naked and rolling around a bed together, their hands touching and exploring…She shifted. She hadn’t been this turned on in a long time. And he hadn’t even kissed her.
She cleared her throat, sat up, and opened her eyes. Oh, great, her nipples were hard. She crossed her arms and locked her knees together. That just made her notice how moist her panties had become.
“You okay?” Vincente placed his hand on her shoulder.
His touch scorched through her. She bit her lip. He edged closer, his leg next to hers. His fingers brushed through her hair. She glanced at him. Fine lines of concern crinkled around his deep brown eyes. She parted her lips. He leaned in, his warm breath caressed her cheek. Then his lips pressed gently. His fingers rubbed on her other cheek, tilting her head to meet his exploration. Tracing a path across to her lips, he left a blazing sensation in the wake of his gentle kisses. Gina wrapped her arms around his neck. Their kiss melted her, softened every inch of her.
Their legs entwined. Vincente slid her mask off and ran his fingers through her hair, further tangling them together.
The limo stopped and Gina drew back, inhaling deeply, trying to catch her breath. She turned away and smoothed her hair to drape on the side of her face, not wanting Vincente to see her.
Vincente leaned forward, knocking on the glass divider. It slid open.
“I’ve got the door, Pete. Thanks,” Vincente said, his tone strained.
He opened the door and got out, holding the door for her. Gina slid out, taking his offered hand. Their palms fit easily together, and she couldn’t help smiling as she followed him up a side path. The large, old cream-colored house, a mansion, really, was lit with soft lights, illuminating the Spanish-style architecture and lush California landscaping: citrus trees, palms, low grasses and flowers popping bright against the mellow color of the exterior. Jasmine scented the air. Vincente unlocked a gate and led her up an interior path to a side door, also cream-colored, speaking of old money and understated opulence.
They entered a dimly lit room—the kitchen. Gina almost stopped to admire the large Viking range gleaming in the long, clean room. Stainless steel appliances and vast counters and cabinets appealed to her baker’s heart. This kitchen was twice the size of the tiny commercial kitchen in the back of her family’s store, where she and Grandma Celeste used to turn out batch upon batch of breads and cookies.
Vincente led her into a small, enclosed hall, where stairs led up. She hesitated. He pulled her into him, finally studying her face. Her face heated, as did her body. She glanced down, worried he might recognize her. He cupped her chin and forced her to look at him.
“You seem familiar,” he whispered.
Her shoulders tensed. She swallowed. She had to distract him, or he’d figure out who she was, and all this would have been for nothing. She kissed him, at first gentle, but then he responded and her body sizzled and shot off like a sparkler on a warm Fourth of July night. They embraced, hands exploring, somehow making their way upstairs.
Gina faltered and
Vincente lifted her, still holding her tight in his arms, their bodies pressed together. He pushed open the door behind her with his foot and walked them into the room. Giving her a lingering kiss as he set her down, he released her.
She rubbed her arms and unzipped her dress. Her skin tingled with the need to feel him on her—have their warmth meld, erasing all worries and thoughts. Vincente peeled his clothes off. Gina’s dress pooled at her feet. She stepped out of it and slid off her heels. The intense need for him made her hesitate, her body on alert, every pore oversensitized with heat and touch.
When he turned to her, she exhaled, almost in a whistle. Even in the darkened room, his tall, muscular build, tanned skin, his muscles shifting and flexing as he walked to her dazzled her. He caressed her sides, tracing her curves. She quivered with a moan and tugged at his boxers. He unhooked her bra and explored her body without hesitation, as she did his, until they were pressed together, nothing separating them. She coursed with heat. Their breath panted. He eased her to the bed, moving over her as she slid herself into its cool softness. Reaching into his nightstand, he fumbled for something. She caressed his arm, the bulge of his muscles making her tingle. He slid on a condom and moved over her again.
She arched to meet him, his warmth, his solid body, his gentle power all she’d hoped for and more. They moved together as one, all the while kissing and caressing each other, silent except for the sounds of their breathing, touching, and the swishing of the sheets under them. She gripped his hard length, wanting him inside her. Moving her hand aside, he kissed her. With a powerful movement, he filled her. He rocked inside her, each movement causing her to pant, until she gasped for air. Gina shuddered with pleasure and let out another moan, louder than the first.
He made a deep sound of pleasure. Wrapping her legs around him, she synced her movements with his. Her mouth found his again and she darted her tongue against his lips, into his mouth. He moaned and pushed into her. Tightening her legs around him, she wriggled then stilled, wanting to feel his release. They both exhaled.
Always (San Francisco Brides Series Book 1) Page 2