Читать книгу Postcards From…Verses Brides Babies And Billionaires - Rebecca Winters - Страница 79

“DAMN.” ANGIE SCOOPED the bracelet off the bedroom floor and attempted to refasten it around her wrist. She had been late coming home from the studio, where she’d been putting the final touches on Faggini’s collection, which would debut at Fashion Week next week, not an ideal night to be running behind with Lorenzo’s parents coming for dinner.

The clasp slipped from her fingers again. She grimaced. Was she that unnerved by the thought of a visit from Octavia the Great or did it have more to do with the fact she’d agreed to give her marriage a real shot? She suspected it was a combination of both.

“Need help?” Lorenzo emerged from the dressing area, rolling up the sleeves of the crisp white shirt he’d put on.

“Yes.” She handed him the bracelet. “Please.”

He slid it around her wrist, making quick work of the clasp. His gaze met hers. “Are you stressing about tonight? You have to stop doing that. Everyone wants us to work, including my parents.”

“I’m not stressed, I’m late.”

“You’re not late. They’re not even here yet.”

He slid an arm around her waist and tugged her close. Smoking hot in dark pants and the white shirt, he made her heart thud in her chest. “I appreciate the fact that they are late, however,” he drawled, “since I have not had time to greet you properly.”

Her stomach clenched, heat radiating through her insides. He had a distinctly predatory look in his eyes tonight, one that suggested their adjustment period was officially over.

“Your parents will be arriving any minute,”

“Plenty of time.” He slid his fingers into her hair, cupped her scalp and kissed her. A long, slow shimmer of a connection, it was leisurely and easy, a magic dancing in the air between them that stole her breath. Her palms settled on his chest, grabbed handfuls of shirt as her knees melted beneath her.

“Lorenzo,” she murmured when they came up for air, “you are ruining my hair, not to mention my lipstick.”

“Mmm.” He slid his mouth across her jaw, down to the hollow of her throat. Pressed his lips to her pulse. It was racing like a jackhammer, revealing every bit of the tumult raging inside of her. He flicked his tongue across the frantic beat, his palms clamping on her hips to draw her closer.

He was all hard, solid muscle beneath her hands. The most exciting man on earth to her—always had been. She swayed closer, molding herself to his hard contours. He returned his attention to her mouth, each nip countered by a soothing lave of his tongue over tender flesh.

Drowning. She was drowning.

The doorbell rang. Jolted out of her pheromone-induced haze, Angie stiffened and dragged herself out of his arms. Lorenzo watched her with a satisfied look as he straightened his shirt. “Now you look like a proper wife.”

She ignored him, walked to the mirror to straighten her hair and reapply her lipstick. It took several deep pulls of air to get her breath back. Her equilibrium.

Hand at her back, he guided her out to the foyer, where Constanza was greeting his parents. Lorenzo shook his father’s hand, kissed his mother’s cheeks, then drew Angie forward. She opted for the less threatening target first, Lorenzo’s father, Salvatore.

Graying at the temples, shorter than his son by a couple of inches and stockier in middle age, Salvatore Ricci had always been much more approachable than his wife despite his fearsome business reputation.

“Buonasera, Angelina,” he murmured, bending to brush a kiss against both of her cheeks. “È bello rivederti.”

It’s good to see you again. She forced a smile to her lips. “Altrettanto.”

She turned to Lorenzo’s mother, perfectly turned out as usual in an eggplant silk wrap dress that came to the knee and sleek Italian heels on her dainty feet. With her short, silver hair and her son’s dark, dark eyes, she was still a stunningly beautiful woman. “Buonasera, Octavia.”

“Buonasera.” Octavia brushed a kiss to both her cheeks. “Thank you for having us.”

“It’s so lovely you are in town.” Angie summoned the perfect manners she’d been taught since birth as she ushered Lorenzo’s parents into the salon and offered them a drink. She had bemoaned all those social niceties as a teenager, finding them false and disingenuous, but right now, in this moment, she was exceedingly glad to have them to fall back upon.

It seemed everyone was on their best behavior as they enjoyed a cocktail before dinner. Lorenzo kept a palm to her back, a protective gesture Angie welcomed. Octavia didn’t miss it, her shrewd dark eyes moving between the two of them every so often as if to assess what the real truth of them was.

Angie told herself she wasn’t that twenty-two-year-old girl who’d been hopelessly intimidated by her mother-in-law. She was a successful business owner, every bit a match for Octavia Ricci. The thought settled her nerves as she sat beside Lorenzo at the table on the terrace Constanza had set with an elegant candelabra blazing in the final, hazy light of day. Lorenzo’s parents sat opposite them, the humidity-free night a perfect choice for dinner outside.

The wine flowed freely, as did the conversation. By the time their salad plates were cleared, Angie had begun to relax, if not enjoy herself.

Octavia set her gaze on her daughter-in-law. “Lorenzo tells me you’re partnering with Alexander Faggini on his show. That’s impressive.”

“Providing the jewelry,” Angie amended carefully. “Alexander is the star. But yes, thank you, it’s very exciting. Would you like to come?”

Octavia frowned. “We have dinner plans.” She turned to her husband. “We could move them, couldn’t we?”

“I’m sure that won’t be a problem. It would be fun for you.”

“Bene.” Octavia flashed one of her queen-like smiles. “I would love to, then. Is your mother coming?”

Her heart skipped a beat. “I’m afraid not. She’s out of town.”

“Oh, that’s too bad.” Her mother-in-law looked anything but sad. “Where is she?”

“The south of France with family.” She gave the cover she and Abigail had agreed on.

Octavia wrinkled her nose. “Isn’t it hot there this time of year? I can’t wait to escape the heat in the summer.”

“We have a house there. She loves the flowers in the summer.”

“I see.”

“You must come with Lorenzo the next time he’s in Italy,” Salvatore inserted. “It would be nice for you to reconnect with the family.”

“That would be lovely.” She had no intention, however, of putting herself in the midst of Lorenzo’s big, gregarious family until she and her husband had proven they could make this work. “It may be next year, I’m afraid. As soon as Fashion Week is over I’ll be ramping up for the Christmas season. Things will be crazy right through January.”

“I expect,” Octavia interjected smoothly, “you will have to scale back once you and Lorenzo are expecting. My son tells me the pace you’ve been working at. That can’t be good for a pregnancy.”

Angie stiffened. Shot a sideways look at her husband. “Lorenzo and I are taking our time with that. But I see no reason not to keep working. I think it’s healthier for a woman to stick to her usual lifestyle.”

“Yes,” said Octavia, “but it’s common knowledge women who work too much have more difficulty conceiving. They are more stressed and the process doesn’t happen so easily.”

The process hadn’t even happened between her and Lorenzo yet… How dare Octavia interfere like this? Lips pursed, she picked up her wine and took a sip. Lorenzo set a palm on her thigh.

“Give us time, Mamma. Angie and I have just reconciled. There will be plenty of opportunities to make babies.”

“Angie is approaching twenty-six,” Octavia countered. “You may need time.”

Blood rushed to her cheeks. They were discussing her like she was a broodmare. Completely disregarding the fact that she wasn’t ready to get pregnant, as her career was at a critical juncture. Or that she had miscarried the last time she had carried Lorenzo’s baby, a soul-clawing experience she never wanted to repeat again. Not to mention the fact that her husband had shut down emotionally afterward, the impetus to the end of their marriage.

Lorenzo set a hard stare on his mother. “We had no problems conceiving before. We’re not in any rush.”

His mother lifted an elegant shoulder. “Angie was young then—at the prime of her fertility. I’m simply giving you my advice. Women think they can wait forever these days and it just doesn’t happen that way.”

Angie drew in a breath. Lorenzo’s fingers tightened around her thigh. He gave his mother a look that said that was enough and changed the subject.

She tried to shake it off as the meal wore on, but couldn’t. Of all the things she and Lorenzo were battling through right now, a baby was not a priority.

Unable to do justice to the delicious chicken dish Constanza had cooked because her stomach had coiled up into a tight little ball, she set down her fork. By the time the elder Riccis got up to make their departure just after ten, she was fuming. She managed a few more minutes of civility, discussing the current theater runs with Octavia while Salvatore pulled his son aside in the study.

“Maledizione, Lorenzo, who the hell leaked this deal?”

Lorenzo leaned against his desk and crossed his arms over his chest. He’d been hoping to avoid this discussion, had almost managed it, until his father had pulled him aside.

“I have no idea,” he said flatly. “There’s only been high-level people involved. But you know what it’s like—when there’s a juicy story waiting in the wings, someone is always willing to spill.”

“And if we don’t close it?” his father countered. “This is Ricci’s reputation you are gambling with. It’s one thing to pursue a company that wants to dance, another thing entirely to drag it kicking and screaming onto the floor.”

“I will close it,” Lorenzo growled. “We will dance the final waltz, Papà. But I am not a magician. I cannot summon Mark Bavaro back from South America with a snap of my fingers. You need to give me time.”

“I have given you time. A year this has been dragging on, figliolo. This needs to be done before the next board meeting. Before they start wondering if we know what we’re doing in the corner office or not.”

Lorenzo scowled. “They are a bunch of overreactors with too much time on their hands.”

“Who can make our lives hell if they choose to.” His father crossed his arms over his chest, mirroring his pose. “I am beginning to think your ambition has got the best of you on this one.”

His back stiffened. Bavaro’s disappearance was raising his blood pressure. He didn’t need the added pressure of his father trying to control everything around him even though he was no longer in charge of Ricci. But going head-to-head with Salvatore, he reminded himself, was like two stags locked in a fight to the finish. It never ended well.

“I am CEO of this company,” he said, eyeing his father. “I will get the deal done. Back off and let me do my job.”

His father gave a haughty tilt of his head. “October, Lorenzo. This needs to be signed and sealed.”

Too riled up to sleep, Angie put on a swimsuit and headed for the hot tub on the terrace while her husband returned a phone call. Maybe it would unwind the Octavia-induced knots in her shoulders.

Built into the deck, with a sensational view of the Manhattan skyline, it was her favorite way to relax after a long day. She dropped her towel on the deck, set her half-finished glass of wine beside the tub and stepped into the hot, bubbling water, immersing herself up to her shoulders.

A sigh left her. Closing her eyes, she let the jets unwind the knots, ease the band of tension encircling her skull.

“In a better mood?”

Her eyes fluttered open. Her husband stood on the deck in navy trunks, a perfect male specimen in the prime of his life. Her heart rate skyrocketed as he tossed a towel over the railing. He was leaner than he’d been before, muscle and sinew arranged in a spectacular grid pattern across his pecs and abdomen. The perfect symmetry of it made her stomach curl.

She swallowed past a suddenly dry mouth. “I thought you had to make a call.”

“It was a quick one.” He lowered himself into the water, taking the seat opposite her. Her heartbeat calmed. His slow inventory of her, however, sent it ratcheting back up again. The bikini she had on, a halter top and briefs, wasn’t overly revealing by any means, but her husband’s thorough perusal made her feel as if there wasn’t enough material to it. Not nearly enough.

“What happened with your father?” she blurted out, needing to distract herself from that…heat.

His dark gaze slid up to hers. “He is anxious about the Belmont deal. He is used to swallowing up tiny fish to build his empire. He doesn’t have the patience to stalk a bigger prey, one that might not be quite so willing.”

“You still haven’t been able to tie down Marc Bavaro?”

“No.” He exhaled a long breath and laid his head back against the tub. “He is MIA.”

She studied the intensity that came off him like smoke. “What?” he asked, brow raised.

“I’m just wondering where this all-consuming drive comes from? This never-ending need for more.”

He lifted a shoulder. “I was born with it. It’s in my blood. Franco’s, too.”

“Franco has a sense of balance. A safety valve. You don’t.”

His gaze narrowed. “I am not my brother.”

“No,” she agreed. “But you weren’t always like this. Franco told me that before Lucia you knew your limits. You knew how to live.”

The glint in his eyes took on a dangerous edge. “My brother likes to play amateur psychologist. My ambition is strictly my own sin, cara, recognized and owned.”

“It’s not a badge of honor,” she countered. “You push yourself to unsustainable levels, Lorenzo. You are going to drive yourself into the ground someday if you don’t watch it. Maybe you should take a page out of your brother’s book and allow yourself to be human once in a while.”

“And maybe you should tell me what happened tonight.” He raised a brow. “You knew my mother was going to bring up babies. It was a foregone conclusion. Why the overreaction?”

Heat seared her belly, her concern for him dissipating on a wave of antagonism. “It was not a foregone conclusion your mother would hammer me to the wall about a subject you know I am sensitive about. Knowing that, you should have diverted her. We haven’t even discussed it yet.”

He inclined his head. “Perhaps I should have. But you know you and I having a baby is a reality with Franco unable to conceive.”

She lifted her chin. “It’s not going to happen if you keep putting this pressure on me. We’ve promised to try this again, Lorenzo, and I will put my heart and soul in it, as you are asking. But I need time to adjust to us before we think about a baby. Not to mention the fact that I need to take advantage of the career opportunities in front of me. Now is not a good time for a baby. You said so yourself, we have time.”

“We do,” he agreed. “I’m not sure I’d say we have lots of it because my mother is right, it could take us time to conceive. Also—” He stopped in midsentence, a wary look in his eyes.

Her stomach bottomed out. “Also what?”

“We miscarried last time. It could happen again. Which is why we need to give ourselves time.”

Fear and anger balled up inside of her. “I am not ready to have this discussion.”

“Because you’re scared?” he countered softly. “I understand if you are, Angie. I am, too. But we have to talk about it. We can’t push it away as if it doesn’t exist.”

She pinned her gaze on his. “I’m saying I’m not ready. That we need to work on us before we start talking babies.”

“Bene.” His eyes glittered in the moonlight. “I am in full agreement on that point. So why don’t you come over here? You’re much too far away.”

Her heart slammed against her ribs. “I don’t think so.”

“Oh, I think so,” he murmured. “The only question is if you are coming over here or I’m coming over there. You make the choice.”

Her blood pulsed through her veins in a restless purr. That kiss earlier, his hands on her all evening, had stirred her senses. But she was angry, too—furious about that baby conversation and being treated like a…vessel for the Ricci family.

“Time’s up.” He pushed away from the side of the tub, snared an arm around her waist and pulled her onto his lap, wrapping her legs around his hips.

Her breath caught in her throat, heart slamming against her ribs. “What are you doing?”

“Getting to know each other again. Just like you suggested…” He shot her a look filled with sensual heat, his throaty tone arcing straight between her thighs. “Relax, mia cara. I intend only to kiss you. A lot.” He lifted a brow. “What do you Americans call it? Making out? Necking?”

“Lorenzo,” she said faintly, overwhelmed by all that heat and muscle singeing her skin, “stop playing with me.”

“I don’t think so,” he murmured, laughter dancing in his eyes. “Isn’t kissing the universal language? Maybe it will work for us, too.”

She opened her mouth to tell him she was still angry with him. He lowered his head and caught her lips with his before she could get the words out. She set her palms on his shoulders to reject him, to tell him absolutely not. But his soft, seductive kisses seduced, persuaded. He nipped her bottom lip, sucking gently on her top one, sliding under her defenses like warm, sweet honey.

Melting from the inside out, she dug her nails into his muscular, sinewy shoulders. Hard.

“What?”

“I’m still mad at you. You can’t avoid the baby issue by kissing me. I need time, Lorenzo. You have to give me that.”

“Okay.” He brushed his thumb over the pulse pounding at the base of her neck. “I’ll give you time.”

She blinked. “You will?”

“Sì.”

Not expecting such an easy capitulation, she was momentarily silenced. He tucked a wisp of her hair behind her ear, dark eyes on hers. “What else is going on in that beautiful head of yours? It’s like smoke coming out of your ears.”

She shook her head.

“Angelina.” His low, sensual tone promised retribution if she didn’t spill.

“I’m scared,” she said finally. “Terrified.”

“Of what?”

Of letting herself want him again, need him again. Of letting herself feel the things she hadn’t let herself feel since she’d left him because she could get hurt, because he would see beneath her skin as he always had. Of letting him make her whole again, then shatter her apart, because this time she wasn’t sure she’d be able to pick up the pieces.

She closed her eyes. Pulled in a breath. “We were so good together. Then it all fell apart. I’m afraid of letting myself go there again only to have you shut down.”

He shook his head. “I am not perfect. I have my moods, you know that. But I promise you it will not be the same. We will talk through our stumbles, work through them together. This is not about what was, Angelina, it is about what we are building together.”

She swallowed past the fear bubbling up inside of her. The trust they’d built over these last emotional weeks together made her think they might be able to do it.

He tilted her chin up with his fingers. “We decide where this goes. But you have to commit. You have to trust. You have to believe we can do this.”

“I do,” she said quietly. “But we need to take it slow.”

That wicked gleam in his eyes reappeared. “What do you think I’m doing?”

She didn’t protest when he slid his palm to the nape of her neck and brought her back to him, his beautiful mouth claiming hers. Delivered on the leisurely, sensual make-out session he’d promised until her toes curled with pleasure. Full of heat and oh, so much promise, sweetness and play devolved into a deeper, fiery need.

She opened to his demand, his tongue stroking and licking while his hands kept her in place for his delectation. She curled her fingers in his hair, sighed his name and pulled him closer still. It had been too long, far too long since he’d touched her like this. It was like returning to heaven—a most dangerous paradise, she knew, but she couldn’t deny she wanted it…wanted to revel in it.

Her husband shifted beneath her, his highly aroused body brushing against her thighs. Shock waves coursed through her nerve endings, lighting her on fire.

He lifted his mouth from hers, a wry smile curving his mouth. “This would be where the make-out session ends and something else entirely begins. Unless,” he drawled, “you’ve changed your mind?”

Heat claimed her cheeks. All it would take was one more kiss, one sign from her she was ready and she could have him. But unleashing that kind of intimacy with her husband would bring all her walls tumbling down—it always had. And she wasn’t ready for that. Not yet.

“I can wait,” he murmured, tracing a knuckle down her cheek. “But be prepared, Angelina. When this does happen, one tame roll in that bed in there will not be enough.”