Always (San Francisco Brides Series Book 1)

by Juliano, Celia

  When Vincente had gazed into her eyes last night while they’d had sex—that was the last time she’d felt sure. She grimaced, her mouth open, the impulse to laugh squashed by the whirl of feelings churning in her. What was wrong with her? How could she feel sure of herself, of her choices, with some guy she barely knew, when that kind of behavior was part of what had added up over the years to make her feel confused? The water stung her eyes as she leaned forward. She placed a hand on the wall and rose. And how could a corrupt thug make her feel sure…unless she was mistaken about Vincente—maybe he was a gentleman, honest and true.

  She turned off the water and grabbed a towel from the bar. Its soft folds snugged around her, like the blanket in Vincente’s bed had. Couldn’t she just climb back in there? It’d be better than going home, where no doubt her parents would grill her on where she’d been last night and why she hadn’t called. Had she been thinking at all, she would’ve called and made up some story about where she was. But she hadn’t been thinking, not clearly, anyway.

  She wrapped herself in the towel and found a comb. She ran it through her hair. Slowly, she opened the door to the bedroom. Vincente sat up in the bed, pillows propped behind him. She held the towel around her, gripped tightly in her hand. A tray with coffee cups, fruit, and toast was also on the bed.

  “How’d you get that so fast?” she said, walking to the edge of the bed.

  “I didn’t. We have a couple who works for us—Marcella and Rudy.”

  Of course they did. Growing up, everyone in the neighborhood knew the DeGrazias had made their fortune illegally—they’d just been too clever to get caught. Like clichés, rumors invariably had a core of truth.

  Gina glanced around, looking for where her clothes had landed. Vincente—or the maid—must have picked them up, because they were now folded neatly on the armchair. The clock shone six-thirty.

  “Shouldn’t you be getting ready for work?” she said.

  “Nice of you to be concerned about my schedule.” His deadpan expression was overridden by the sarcastic acid in his tone. “Let’s eat something and then we can figure out what you’re going to tell your parents.”

  “We? There is no we.” Gina walked to the chair and picked up her clothes. When she turned to go back into the bathroom, Vincente slid from the bed and intercepted her. He blocked her way. She stepped to the side, but he was quicker. He grabbed her arm.

  “I know you can handle things yourself. But you don’t have to. Let’s not get into a stubborn contest, because I’ll win.”

  His touch burned through her. His words cut to her core. He knew she could handle things, but offered help. Acceptance, of herself, and of help, tested her. She wanted to be softer, strong but tender, but she remained stiff, stuck.

  Pinning her against him, he picked her up and carried her to the bed. He was strong, his muscles flexed as he walked, carrying her like she’d heft a bag of flour. He set her on the bed. He’d moved her, not just physically.

  She flopped backward onto the bed and pressed her palms into her eyes. No crying.

  Vincente pulled her up and held her against his bare chest. His breathing was steady. After a few minutes, her thoughts fled, leaving her free to be in the moment. She wrapped her arms around his waist. She took in a deep breath, shuddering on the exhale. His scent—sex and sweat and man—made her tingle again. She rolled her eyes. Hadn’t she had enough last night? She closed her eyes. What she really wanted right now was to be held. And Vincente was giving that to her. He smoothed her hair.

  “Sit up there and we’ll eat,” he said.

  Gina scooted back and leaned against the propped-up pillows. She kept her eyes off Vincente. His nakedness was too enticing. She caught a flash of his hard body as he hopped back in the bed. If only he was truly as kind as he was hot. But he couldn’t be. No man could live up to that, not in her experience.

  “How do you like your coffee?”

  “Black,” Gina said.

  “Me too.” He handed her a mug and a plate of toast and fruit.

  Gina bit into the toast—cold. That’s what she got for her hot head—cold toast. She dropped it to the plate and chuckled.

  “What’s funny?” He glanced at her and popped a slice of strawberry into his mouth.

  “Me.” She shrugged.

  “I didn’t want to say anything…” He smiled.

  Cold toast was unimportant next to the warmth of his smile. She pushed at his shoulder, this time gently, not in anger, as she had before.

  “What’d I tell you about that?” He sipped his coffee.

  “You gonna do something about it?” Gina chewed a few grapes.

  “Might.”

  “You should’ve asked for a bigger breakfast, then.”

  “That can be arranged.”

  “I thought you had to go to work.”

  “I’m the boss. I can take the day off. You need more attention than our current project.”

  “And what would that be?” She wanted him to show he wasn’t who she’d thought he was, that his family was in a legitimate business.

  “Don’t start that again.”

  Gina crossed her arms. She cut her eyes at Vincente. He gulped some coffee, hopped up, slid on dark blue boxer briefs, and stood in front of her. Gina blinked. Thank goodness her arms were covering her boobs, or he’d see how excited he was making her. He was quite a sight—muscular, tall, but well-filled out. She liked bigger men—she wasn’t tiny herself—because they made her feel more feminine, sheltered somehow. And she wanted shelter, from the world she’d made for herself.

  Vincente stared at her. He rubbed the side of his face. He strode to the door and pressed a button. She hadn’t noticed an intercom there.

  “Marcella,” he said in response to a crackly hello, “can you please make some eggs?”

  “The scramble you like?” the voice, heavily accented, said.

  “Yes, thanks. And orange juice.” He released the button. Then he picked up his cell from the night stand and dialed. “Hey, Juan, it’s Vincente. How’s it going?”

  He was a manager, that much was certain from the quick way he made decisions and gave orders. She picked at the blanket.

  “Great. I’ll be in later, after lunch. Call me if there’re any problems.” He ended the call and set the phone down. He brought over her purse. “You might want to check your phone.”

  Gina grabbed her clutch and reached for her cell. There were three messages, all from home. Her stomach flip-flopped as she checked the messages. All her dad, asking where she was, why wasn’t she answering, they were going to call her cousin Joey or Jim or Uncle Max—all cops—if she didn’t call by eight that morning.

  She blew out a breath and punched the end button on her phone, letting it slide from her hand. She had been gone almost twelve hours with no word. They had reason to be upset. Still, what about those times she was in high school and her dad would disappear for the day, or the night, with no word, leaving her mom frantic and short-handed at the store? And then, he’d left, for over a month. That’s when she’d seen him, followed him one day after spotting him downtown. His bullshit excuses played through her mind—“I had to be alone, my dad just died,” or “I need time,” or “I’m the father. What I do isn’t your business.” As if he was the only one affected by Grandpa Frank’s death? They’d all been grieving, Grandma Celeste most of all, and where had her dad been? Off screwing Carolina DeGrazia, that’s where.

  Gina pulled her knees into her chest and nestled her head on her arms.

  “You have a lot on your mind.” Vincente said. Gina couldn’t tell if he was asking her or just stating his observation. He sat on the bed near her and placed his hand on her arm. “Tell me. Maybe I can help.”

  “I can’t. You can’t.” Gina’s voice was muffled by her arm.

  “You won’t.” The exasperation in his tone was obvious.

  Gina faced him. “No, I can’t. Your bitch of an aunt…” Gina sucked in a breath. What the
hell was she doing? She was going to get herself and her family thrown from the proofing oven to a five-hundred-degree pizza hearth if she said anything.

  Vincente’s hand dropped onto the bed. “What does my Aunt Carolina have to do with anything? She and her husband moved to D.C. years ago. I haven’t seen her since I was in high school.”

  Gina shook her head. “Forget it.” Maybe Vincente didn’t know. He’d been gone, back east, by the time she’d been in high school.

  “No. You obviously have some serious problems with my family. I want to know why.”

  “It doesn’t matter. You said what happens here is between us. So let’s keep it that way.” She was afraid if she asked about his family’s business now, when she felt so close to him, that she’d spill what’d happened with Carolina those years ago.

  Vincente shook his head and stood. He paced the room a couple of times.

  Get up and leave. Her body seemed to weigh too much to move. “You act like I shouldn’t be suspicious of your family. But your father left. You left. But you went to high school here. You must’ve heard the rumors, same as I did.”

  “That was a long time ago. You better call home.” Vincente’s heat radiated next to her. He reached over her and placed the phone next to her.

  He’d avoided her question. He’d asked her what the problem was and then wouldn’t answer her. She pushed out a breath. She’d deal with that later. She needed help with what to tell her parents first. “What am I supposed to say?”

  “Tell them you’re at a friend’s.”

  “They know none of my friends live here anymore.” Just family, and Paolo. She really needed to call him. He’d been a good friend, and she’d been lax about keeping in touch.

  “Do you have a key to your Uncle Carlo’s?”

  “Yeah, Aunt Sophia gave me one when we all had dinner there last week.”

  “So say you went there to be alone. They’re out of town for the weekend.”

  “Thanks.” She called home. Luckily, her mom answered.

  “Gina! Where are you? We’ve been so worried. Your dad’s been frantic.”

  “I’m okay. I needed to be alone so I went to Uncle Carlo’s.”

  “Oh. I wish you would’ve just told us.”

  Dad was exclaiming in the background. Rustling—he must’ve grabbed the phone.

  “Gina, what’s wrong with you? You have no respect. Your mother was up half the night.”

  “I’m twenty-five, I don’t answer to you.”

  “You do when you live at my house.”

  She bit her tongue. There was no point talking to him when he got like that. She could get her own place, when she found a job. Course, Michael lived rent-free in the third-floor flat over the market, yet she was expected to help at the store and rescue the business and live under her parents rules…for what?

  “Gina!”

  “Okay, I hear you. I’ll be home for lunch.”

  “Good. We have a lot to discuss.”

  The store was closed Mondays. Great, she’d have all day and night to argue with her parents.

  “Sorry for worrying you. See you later. Love to Grandma and Michael.”

  He snorted. She hung up.

  “He sounded pleased,” Vincente said sarcastically.

  She threw her phone at Vincente. He caught it and set it next to his. She hunched up, ready for retaliation, but a knock sounded. She flopped back and pulled the blanket over her head.

  “Thanks, Marcella,” Vincente said. “You’re a wonder. Have you heard from Grandpop?”

  “He’ll be home today for lunch. He say to tell you be here to talk.”

  The door closed. Gina popped her head out from under the covers. The savory smell of eggs and vegetables greeted her. Her stomach rumbled.

  Vincente set the tray in front of her. He’d removed the other one. He took a plate. “Buon appetito.”

  “Thank you,” Gina said. She eased the other plate off the tray and ate as daintily as she could with the plate propped on her knees. The eggs, mixed with spinach, peppers, onions, and some herbs, was tastier with each bite. She’d soon finished. She placed the plate back and sipped the glass of orange juice. Fresh-squeezed.

  “Feel better?” Vincente said as he moved the tray outside the door.

  “It’s better than a hotel here,” Gina said in a teasing tone.

  “A lot quieter.” His voice was low, edged with a hard, lonely sharpness.

  She slid from the bed and met Vincente. She wrapped her arms around him. He rubbed his hands down her back, stopping above her ass. Squirming, she smiled up at him. Her smile faded on seeing his serious, stern expression. He dropped his hands.

  “You said you needed to leave.” He turned. “Do you want me to drive you home?”

  No man had ever rejected her when she’d been standing naked in his arms. Then again, no man had consistently treated her with the respect Vincente did. Taking someone at their word, that was a value Grandpa Frank had taught her, one she’d tended to forget as she’d grown up. She’d gotten used to men—in business and personal life—who played games, manipulated, not men who could be trusted. She’d learned to question every statement, consider the angles, the hidden meanings and agendas.

  “No thanks. I can walk. It’s all downhill from here.”

  “In those shoes?” He pointed to her three-inch red heels. “I’ll give you a ride. It’s on my way to work.”

  He shrugged on a shirt. The fun was over. Gina hunched and picked up her dress and underwear. They both dressed in silence.

  Chapter Six

  Vincente shoved on his workboots. He turned to Gina. Tensing his body, he ignored the shooting heat blasting through him. Her red dress brought out some sort of sparkle in her skin and hair, which were, alone, enough to make him lose his mind. And he had, the way he’d been acting. Get it together.

  “Ready?” he said.

  She nodded, pouting a little. She must be used to getting her own way. Though not with her family, it seemed. But she’d been out on her own for years, and she could bring a man to his knees with a flip of her hair. He swallowed and held the door for her. Her ass switched back and forth in a mesmerizing dance. He shook his head and moved his gaze to the long hall. Paintings of the family villa and the surrounding town hung along the yellowy-cream walls. Plush Mediterranean blue carpet lined the floors, all the colors echoing those in the paintings.

  “Pretty paintings.” Gina waved a hand. “They look like the ones in Enzo’s living room and foyer. Is it somewhere significant?”

  “Uncle Enzo and Grandpop grew up there.” She must know that, since Gina’s late grandfather and his generation of D’Angelos had been from a neighboring town.

  “Have you been?” Gina turned at the landing and started down the stairs.

  “Just once.” After his late wife, Marie, had died, he’d needed to get away. He’d gotten away all right, retreated into a safe, if sedate, dwelling, his own private shelter in his mind, and heart…He used to think it was a respite, a retreat, but now…what he thought had sheltered him from emotional storms had closed him off to the excitement, the pleasure found in a woman like Gina. And not just the pleasure of her body, but her spontaneity, her passion. She made him feel…revitalized, energized.

  “Is that where Enzo’s great-nephew Lorenzo is?”

  “Yeah.” Was she keeping tabs on everyone in his family? He shook his head. Her suspiciousness was affecting him. Probably Celeste or Sophia had mentioned it to her.

  “Must be nice.”

  She didn’t sound nice, so Vincente didn’t comment. Gina couldn’t be the one for him. He didn’t need a woman who had a problem with his family, and who seemed to just be using him for sex, and maybe information. That wasn’t the kind of relationship he was looking for. But he hurt for the possibility of a chance with her even though his mind told him she was all wrong for him. Something in him wanted to keep seeing her, keep feeling this new energy in him. His body felt light, but
grounded, like at the beginning of a great workout. But better than that.

  She waited at the bottom of the stairs. Clattering—probably Marcella doing dishes—came from the kitchen.

  “Stay here,” Vincente said, knowing Gina didn’t want anyone to see her. He opened the door to the main part of the house and checked down the front hall. “Come on,” he called. She hurried down the hall, her curves jiggling. He really had to get to work. A distraction from Gina, and the feelings she conjured in him, was needed.

  He held the front door for her. Then he led her to where his truck was parked. He helped her up, trying not to actually touch her. Hopping into the driver’s seat, he started up the truck, pressed the automatic gate, and pulled out.

  The sun was obscured by grey clouds and low-lying fog. He could barely even see the trees lining the street as he drove down toward D’Angelo’s Market. As they approached the busy intersection of Columbus and Green, Gina slid next to him.

  “Thanks again, for everything. I wish…things could be different.” She kissed his cheek, her lips warm and gentle. An angel’s kiss. He gripped the steering wheel harder.

  She edged away. “Can you just drop me after you pass the light?”

  Of course she didn’t want anyone to see him drop her off. She wished things could be different? Then why didn’t she do something about it? He nodded to her. The light turned green. He drove through and pulled up to the curb. Gina jumped out, waving as she slammed the door. He watched for a moment as she wove her way through the other pedestrians and café tables and chairs.

  He rolled his shoulders and drove on. He wished things could be different too. But it was best—they both saw that—if he and Gina stayed apart.

  ***

  Vincente rubbed his shoulder and stepped out of the trailer on the second job site. He’d already checked in at the first earlier. It was close to lunch and Grandpop had texted, insisting Vincente come home. Nothing had loosened the tension, the ache, that had consumed him since this morning.