Believe (San Francisco Brides Series Book 2)

by Juliano, Celia

There was an implied “but” at the end. But she needed work. But she had no idea what she was doing. But…mmm. He slid over her and gave her a long, hard kiss, the kind that made her head tingle and her body find his.

  Though he hardened against her, he only kissed her for a long time. His tongue played with hers, circling and darting. They feasted on each other like they would a light, delectable chocolate mousse, complete with tiny sighs and groans of delight. Lita’s cheeks burned, her whole body suffused in a hot glow, almost like a sunburn, but no, the heat and calm from the sun before you later feel the burn. She parted her thighs and wriggled closer to him. He sucked her earlobe. She moaned and tried to arch into him, but he pressed himself firmly onto her.

  Caressing her arms, he whispered to her, “I love you, my sweet angel, my wife.”

  She tried to answer, but only a slight gurgle came out as he found her special spot with his fingers. He flicked it with his fingertip then rubbed around it before circling closer with increasing pressure. He smiled at her before she tilted her head back and gripped the hand which still held hers.

  Prickling moisture heated her and she threw her head forward when he joined his other hand in hers and entered her.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  She never wanted to be without him, without the feeling of him inside her. She sighed back further with his every movement, their movements, their pleasure, their love. Their breathing quickened while their bodies slowed.

  “I love you,” she breathed out as they gazed at each other.

  He brushed her hair back. He said nothing, but his touch, his eyes told her all she wanted: he loved her, she was enough.

  She smiled, her muscles relaxed. The sharp intake of her breath sounded when he tilted slightly and doubled his efforts. She gasped for air as he continued, holding her hands again. She moaned. She was the ocean, ebbing and flowing, powerful and beautiful, calm and sun kissed. She quaked and stilled. Lorenzo. She found his eyes again, they focused on each other. He closed his eyes and shuddered; she felt his release flowing in her. She hadn’t known that was possible, to feel each movement of him inside her like that. She wrapped her legs around him as they held each other.

  They kissed. She wanted to stay like this all night. But he pulled away. She pressed herself into his side after he rolled to his back. He put his arms around her.

  “Better?” he said.

  “The best.”

  “Yes,” he said.

  He yawned. She brushed her lips over his. His eyes closed, but he smiled. She made him smile. She beamed and melted into him. The best man, her man, her husband. Family, marriage, togetherness, a honeymoon in Italy, a lifetime, all miracles—she was blessed.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Good morning.” Lorenzo’s deep, ultra-sexy tone made even those simple words a pleasurable proposition.

  Lita opened her eyes fully. Lorenzo, propped on his hand, watched her. With his free hand, he caressed her hair, her forehead, tickled the bridge of her nose, brushed her lips, tweaked her chin. He kissed her. She sighed, satisfied and cozy. Her eyes roved the room, wanting to remember each detail, the light shafting in onto the pale carpet, the walls shadowed, the orderliness of the few accessories, the lamp, chair, clock…seven-thirty. Lorenzo kissed her neck.

  “Isn’t Nico arriving at eight?” she asked.

  He made a low noise.

  She pushed on him. “I need to shower. We’ve got a plane to catch.”

  She scooted away and hurried into the bathroom. Lorenzo’s solid body flopped on the bed as he groaned in frustration. A lot of sounds he made were still new to her, but she knew better those of his frustration. She smiled as she turned on the water, steam billowing out. But now she could make it up to him later, now she could give him what he wanted—what they both wanted.

  He snuck in a few kisses and pinches when he stepped into the shower as she got out. Fifteen minutes later, they sat at the kitchen table, eating a quick breakfast. Lita’s hair stuck to her neck, still wet underneath. Lorenzo caressed her thigh as they ate. Lita wriggled. The doorbell rang.

  Lorenzo stood and Lita hurriedly cleaned up, meeting them out in the town car.

  Lorenzo’s jaw flexed and he stared forward with one of his brooding looks. It wasn’t the angry brood, like he got when he mentioned his dad, or, to a lesser degree, events that bothered him, like when she’d asked about Lee yesterday. No, this one was intense but she didn’t understand what feeling caused it.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked him as Nico merged onto the freeway.

  “I can understand why some people don’t go far for their honeymoons. I want you alone. Now,” he whispered. He held her hands, tracing her fingers.

  “We will be.” She kissed his ear, his neck. That explained his look—he wanted her, but couldn’t have her. She exhaled. So many times over the last few years he’d looked at her like that, and she’d thought she’d done something to upset him, or that someone had. “By tomorrow we’ll be all alone. We just have to wait.”

  “I’m done with waiting.” He glanced at her.

  The wicked grin on his face made her giggle. “Aren’t I worth it?”

  “Yes.”

  She didn’t care that Nico was in the front seat—she kissed Lorenzo for the rest of the fifteen minute drive to the airport.

  ***

  Lita wore Lorenzo out with her nonstop talking on the flight to New York. He told her so before they landed. At least he said it with a laugh. She had to stop as they rushed across the terminal to catch their connecting flight to Naples.

  Once they settled into their oversized first class seats and the seatbelt light dimmed, Lita slipped off her heels and curled up next to Lorenzo. She tucked away the armrest and took his arm. Just when she got comfortable, she realized she had to use the ladies’ room. She tugged her shoes on and stood.

  “I’ll be right back,” she said.

  He pulled her to him. “Why don’t I meet you back there in a few minutes?” he whispered.

  Lita cringed and shook her head.

  “Come on, Lita.”

  She still bent over him. He brushed her breasts in a quick movement.

  She pushed his hands, even though part of her wanted to lean into his touch. But it was too public. “No.”

  She strode down the aisle. She wouldn’t even sit all the way on a seat in a public restroom much less have sex in the tiny, probably dirty, airplane bathroom. As she washed her hands, she tried to imagine how he could even accomplish such a thing, but she failed.

  When she returned to her seat, a tall Nordic-looking stewardess blocked the aisle with a drinks cart. And stood smiling at Lorenzo, whose deep chuckle made Lita clench her hands into fists.

  “Excuse me,” Lita said. The flight attendant glanced at her. Lee’s words reverberated in Lita’s head—“flight attendants in every city.” “I’d like to sit with my husband.”

  “Of course,” she said with a calm, cold smile. She inched the cart back so Lita could reach her seat. “Can I get you anything?”

  Lita pulled the armrest down. “A Sprite, thanks.”

  The flight attendant handed Lorenzo a tiny bottle. Lita didn’t look long enough to see what before the attendant handed Lita her soda.

  “Nice to see you again, Lorenzo,” the attendant said.

  “You too. Have a good time in Naples,” he said, his voice deep, as it was this morning.

  Lita stared at the bubbles clinging to the glass. That tone in his voice—oozing sexy—should be for her only, not every attractive woman who spoke to him.

  “I will, but we’ll miss you. Safe travels.” The cart clattered a few feet before her voice disturbed Lita again.

  Lita sipped her drink while Lorenzo poured his. She glanced over. Vodka and cranberry juice. Clouds obscured the window view. Lita’s ears hurt, but not from the altitude. Ice clinked in Lorenzo’s glass.

  “Why don’t you meet her in the bathroom?” Lita whispered.

  “I c
an’t help it if we run into women I’ve known.”

  She sighed. He was right. And she’d known how experienced he was before they’d ever kissed. And she’d sounded like the Lita she didn’t like. “I’m sorry.”

  He exhaled. Lita made herself see him. Her stomach dropped, as if the plane had lost altitude, at the hurt in his posture, his shoulders hunched, his face like a boy’s who wouldn’t cry even though his best friend hit him.

  She pushed the armrest up and snuggled into him. His arm tensed.

  “I....” She didn’t know how to explain why she said those bitchy things. She couldn’t explain it to herself. She smoothed a hand over his chest and he slid his arm around her. “I love you. I don’t want to fight.”

  “I love you, too,” he whispered.

  He kissed her on the top of her head, which was cradled on his chest. She caressed his arm until he relaxed into her touch.

  “Just us once we get to the house,” he said.

  Lita nodded and asked about the villa again. Soon, she dozed, relaxed in Lorenzo’s arms.

  The pilot’s voice woke her as they descended into Naples. Lita stretched, careful not to bump Lorenzo with a careless elbow or hand. She kissed him and he smiled. The swell of excitement took over as she stared out the window. So many memories of her father and their friends. But, like New York City, exploring Naples with Lorenzo would have to wait. Lorenzo had promised he would take her back to both someday, when they had time to devote to sightseeing. She knew for now he just wanted to see her. She grasped his hand.

  She kept a tight grip on him through the crowded airport, customs, and into the terminal, where Uncle Enzo’s cousin, Eduardo, would meet them. The tall guards with big guns dressed in khaki and dark red sent a shiver of fear through her and she clutched Lorenzo’s arm harder. He glanced at her.

  “I won’t let anything happen to you,” he said.

  She kissed him and smiled. “I know.”

  Eduardo guarded them as well when they walked out to his car, parked in a lot across from the terminal. Lita wondered again at the strength of Italian genes. She looked like Aunt Angela, while both Lorenzo and Eduardo strongly resembled both each other and Uncle Enzo. Eduardo’s hair, though, was salt and pepper, where Uncle Enzo’s was silver and Lorenzo’s still dark brown. Lita linked arms with the two men as they walked. Contentment floated through her, as when Lorenzo and Uncle Enzo escorted her somewhere, like to Sal’s for lunch.

  Eduardo insisted she and Lorenzo sit in the backseat together. Lita snuggled into his embrace while Eduardo sped through the city, talking as fast as he drove, gesturing to the landmarks. Lita blinked, unable to follow his quick words and pointing. She leaned her head on Lorenzo’s shoulder and gave up trying. She would see it all again another time.

  The drive to Sorrento was like cruising down the California coast, except the sky seemed more blue and clear, and the buildings distinctly Italian. Within the hour, they approached the family villa, which Lita had seen many pictures of, but still the sun-washed mellowness, the bright purple and yellow flowers against the eggshell walls popped, reminding her of her father’s house. She leaned closer to Lorenzo. The villa overlooked the sea, a unique deep turquoise blue. Low-growing leafy green lemon trees dotted the grounds. Off to the side stood a smaller house, where Eduardo and his wife, Philomena, lived. They took care of the property, since the villa sat unused many months of the year.

  A tiny, round woman ran down the steps to greet them, wiping her hands on her orange apron. She spoke too quickly, jumbled words of welcome, but the warm smile and bosomy hug were clear.

  She held Lita’s face a moment. “Ah, che bella, Lorenzo.”

  “Sí,” Lorenzo said.

  The air mingled citrus and fresh, warm sea breezes with Lorenzo’s scent. The two were similar, but his had a different edge. Mena, as she liked to be called, had a motherly air. Lita’s father had spoken briefly of Mena, a distant cousin, but they hadn’t met. Her father hadn’t liked to travel, even the short distance from Sorrento.

  Mena led her into the house, while the men followed with their bags. Mena showed Lita the kitchen, all the food she’d prepared for them, the downstairs bathroom, and the phone. The colors reflected the beach, worn light woods, blues, sandy white, as well as the bright lemon yellow and waxy dark green of the lemon trees. So similar to their home back in San Francisco, except the clear quality of the light, as if they were a step closer to heaven.

  “You and my father were cousins?” Lita asked as Mena dished up a chopped salad on two plates, the same as those at home.

  “Yes, Timo was my favorite. He was seven years my senior but always kind. He had so much love to give and how he missed Angela, who moved away with Enzo when Timo was seven, the year I was born.”

  Lorenzo walked in the room. He frowned and she thought he shook his head at Mena.

  “Thanks,” Lorenzo said.

  Mena nodded and took off her apron, which she hung in the closet by the back door.

  “Are you going?” Lita said.

  Mena nodded again.

  “The family’s giving us a party tomorrow evening at Aunt Arianna’s house in Vico Equense,” Lorenzo said.

  Lita smiled and thanked Mena and Eduardo, who waved goodbye in uncharacteristic silence as they closed the back door behind them.

  “I’m looking forward to meeting Uncle Enzo’s younger sister and the DeGrazia cousins. Will some of the Sabatinis be there too? Why didn’t you tell me before?”

  “Eduardo just told me. Yes, some of your dad’s family will be there, and probably some neighbors. Everyone will want to see you, no doubt.”

  “And I want to see them,” Lita said.

  She began to smile but stopped seeing Lorenzo’s frown. They sat and ate in silence. Lita listened to the unfamiliar quiet, the lapping of the sea on the beach, the low rustle of the breeze through the lemon trees, and the distant shouts.

  When they finished, Lorenzo stood and took their plates. He washed them and set them in the wooden dish drain. He gripped the sink edge and bowed his head. Lita rose and came up behind him. She wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed herself into him. He was strong, warm, his scent dizzied her. He turned and tipped her face up. She studied him. He had that angry brooding look now. She swallowed.

  He shook his head then kissed her. She sighed into him and soon she tingled in anticipation. He carried her upstairs and their honeymoon truly began.

  ***

  Lita shifted in bed. The afternoon sun spilled across the floor of the bedroom, where they’d been for the last twenty-four hours.

  “I guess we need to get ready soon,” Lita said. She loved the way her head nestled into Lorenzo’s chest, how he stroked her hair, and the quiet satisfaction they shared. This would be a good habit—addictive but good.

  “Unless you want me to call and cancel,” he said.

  “No, everyone’s probably gone to some trouble to arrange it. Besides, maybe you need a break.”

  He chuckled. “I have already broken my record, more than one, actually. The right woman was all it took.”

  She smiled. “What other record?” she asked. He’d told her he’d never had sex so many times in twenty-four hours.

  “Not a record, I guess. Didn’t you feel that, the last time?”

  “You mean when we…”

  “Simultaneous. Not very common.”

  “You’re uncommon, extraordinary, really.” Lita kissed him.

  “So are you, my angel,” he said.

  She warmed again then slid off him. “If I was, I’d pluck out every feather in my wings if it meant I could stay with you forever.”

  It was almost how she felt sometimes, not that she hurt, but that she gave him a little piece of herself every time they kissed, held each other, whispered “I love you,” or made love. Yet the giving didn’t diminish her, it filled her, grew her.

  “Don’t say that,” he said. His voice grated, low and jagged. He rose and began to dre
ss.

  She sat up, biting her lip. “Why? I only meant—”

  “We should get ready. Did you want to shower again? I’ll be downstairs. I should call Uncle Enzo and Sal to let them know we got here okay.”

  “But—”

  He was already halfway downstairs. She caressed the spot he’d occupied, still warm. She exhaled, her stomach tightening. She didn’t like it when he seemed upset, and left.

  An hour later, they arrived at Aunt Arianna’s house. Lorenzo was broodingly silent on the ten-minute drive over. Lita didn’t want to argue, so she faced the window and silently admired the landscape, lush yet subdued. Aunt Arianna’s house was similar to Uncle Enzo’s villa, only smaller. The street was lined with cars, from Mercedes sedans and Volvos to tiny Alpha Romeos and Fiats.

  Lita was soon passed from hug to hug among the relatives, who kissed her cheeks and exclaimed over the prize Lorenzo married. A few glanced at him with almost amazed expressions, but most smiled and laughed. Aunt Arianna, tall and regal, edgy and expressive, stood out from the others. She introduced Lita to the other guests, who included Eduardo and Mena, her older sister and husband, several generations of DeGrazia cousins, and some neighbors. All had little tidbits to share about themselves and her family and Lita spent the first hour absorbing as much as she could while Lorenzo stood quietly watching.

  They filed around the tables for the buffet dinner of salads, cold chicken, fish, ham, thin, crunchy breadsticks, and fruit. Lita sat by Lorenzo, her plate perched on her lap. Mena’s older sister told her a story about how she and Aunt Angela had scoured the beaches for glass pebbles as girls and thought they saw a mermaid. Lita smiled, reminded of when she herself had believed she’d seen a ring of fairies in a grove of redwoods near Aunt Cass’s Berkeley home when she was a girl.

  Aunt Arianna came over soon after to claim her. Lorenzo stood talking to Eduardo, so Lita followed her into the dining room, where she set her plate down.

  “A guest has arrived who particularly asked to meet you,” the older woman said. “She and her husband have a summer home nearby. She said you knew her son.”