Postcards From…Verses Brides Babies And Billionaires. Rebecca Winters

Читать онлайн.
Название Postcards From…Verses Brides Babies And Billionaires
Автор произведения Rebecca Winters
Жанр Короткие любовные романы
Серия Mills & Boon e-Book Collections
Издательство Короткие любовные романы
Год выпуска 0
isbn 9781474098991



Скачать книгу

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