Postcards From…Verses Brides Babies And Billionaires. Rebecca Winters

To tell you your collection was impressive. And, yes,” he added, a wry smile twisting his mouth, “she meant it.”

      Angie blinked. “Well, that’s…nice. Did she have a good time?”

      “She was in her element. Who knows,” he murmured, lifting a brow, “there might be hope for the two of you yet.”

      “Don’t get too hopeful.”

      He brushed a thumb across the delicate line of her jaw. “Positivity, cara. That’s what we need here.”

      Her lashes lowered. “We should circulate if you don’t mind.”

      He nodded. Kept a possessive hand at the small of her back as they made a couple of passes of the room. By the time the lights came down and the apparently wildly popular band Lorenzo had never heard of took the stage, he could feel his wife’s energy level fading, her reservoir of small talk emptied out.

      Tugging her into one of the intimate lounge areas, he plucked the wineglass out of her hand and pulled her onto his lap.

      “Lorenzo,” she murmured, “we are in public.”

      “At a party in full gear where no one is paying any attention to us.” Setting a palm on her thigh, he pulled her closer, absorbing the tantalizing feel of her lush curves plastered against him. She looked insanely beautiful in Alexander’s black dress with no back to it. Had turned every male head in the room. The need to have his hands on her was like a fire in his blood.

      Bending his head, he traced the shell of her ear with his lips in a feather-light caress. His wife shivered. He moved lower, capturing her lobe between his teeth, scoring it lightly. “You are lit up tonight, mia cara. This is the woman I appreciate. The woman I was looking for.”

      She pulled back, eyes on his. “I needed this. For you to understand how important my work is to me.”

      “I do now.” His voice was sandpaper-rough. “I am listening now, Angelina. Better late than never.”

      Needing to protect, to possess her in a way he couldn’t even begin to articulate, he cupped the back of her head and kissed her. Passionate, infinite, it was a connection between them on an entirely different level than before, as if they were finally beginning to understand each other.

      She slid her palm to his nape and kissed him back, the kiss turning hot and fiery. Needy. He moved his hand higher on her thigh, fingers tightening around the sleek, satiny skin he discovered. A primal heat consumed him, his body pulsing to life beneath her bottom. She shifted against him, a low moan leaving her throat.

      “I want inside you,” he whispered. “Inside this sweet, hot body of yours. Until you feel nothing but me, cara.”

      Blood roared in Angie’s head. Light exploded in her eyes. She blinked against the sudden onslaught. It took her several seconds to realize it was a photographer’s flash.

      Lorenzo brushed a knuckle against her cheek, a wry twist to his mouth. “That must be our cue to leave.”

      Her legs felt like spaghetti as he set her on her feet. He kept a firm hand on her waist as he guided her through the thick crowd, stopping to say good-night to Alexander before they exited into the cool night air.

      Wrapped in a sensual haze, she curled her arms around herself as Lorenzo retrieved the car. The sports car was deposited purring at the sidewalk moments later. Lorenzo tucked her into the passenger seat, then took the wheel to drive them home.

      Her pulse hummed, her blood fizzled amidst the cacophony of sirens and honking horns that was New York, all of it blanking in her head as her senses focused on the man beside her. His quiet intensity as he controlled the powerful car and the hand he kept on her bare thigh were all she could register.

       When this does happen, one tame roll in that bed will not be enough.

      Her pulse jolted faster, her cheeks heated with anticipation. Her head might be wary about them, but her body was not. It wanted to experience the hunger he had promised. To feel alive again in the way only Lorenzo could make her feel.

      Finally they were home. Parking the car in the garage, he helped her out, ushered her into the lift that arrived in a whir of expensive machinery. Up they went to the penthouse, where she threw her purse on a chair, legs shaking. Walking to the bank of windows that looked out on the roughly drawn skyline of Manhattan, she took a deep breath, attempted to center herself.

      The soft thud of her husband’s jacket hitting the chair reverberated through the room. The tread of his footsteps across the hardwood floor sent a quiver up her spine.

      “You are so damn beautiful,” he murmured, setting his hands on her hips. “You make my heart stop in my chest.”

      Her breath caught in her lungs. Frozen, paralyzed, she couldn’t move, her fears, her anticipation, blanketing her in a cloud of emotion. But this wasn’t about the past, she reminded herself, it was about the future. And right now, it felt like they had one. A bright, shining light she was terrified to touch.

      She did it anyway. Twisting around in his arms, she took in the dark, sometimes brooding man who’d stolen her heart once and threatened to do it again. His eyes tracked her, hot and focused. Her stomach contracted. Lifting her hand, she traced the sexy stubble shadowing his jaw. It was too tempting not to touch. She pressed a kiss to the abrasive canvas, sliding over the hard line of his jaw, knowing him again.

      He let her play, drink her fill. Then impatience won out as he slid his fingers into her hair, tilted her head back and closed his mouth over hers. Greedy, laced with sensual purpose, his carnal kiss telegraphed his intent to know all of her tonight. To erase the pain.

      She curled her fingers into the thick muscles of his shoulders, opened to his stark demand. The slow, erotic strokes of his tongue against hers coiled the muscles in her abdomen tight, his dark, sensual taste filling her senses, seducing her with its rich male flavor.

      Fingers digging into his shoulders, she hung on tight. Lorenzo slipped a hand lower to her bottom, shaping her against him. The hard thrust of his desire, a thick, pulsing heat beneath his trousers, pulled a low sound from the back of her throat. She pressed closer, drunk on the feel of him. He rocked against her, slid his steely heat against her most sensitive flesh, scoring her through the thin material of her dress. “Feel how much I want you,” he murmured against her mouth. “You make me crazy, Angelina.”

      A shudder went through her, her knees nearly buckling beneath her. He backed her up against the windowsill, kneed her legs apart so he could stand between them. Supported by the wall, she welcomed the hot press of his flesh. Allowed him to tease her, play with her until she thought she might go up in flames.

      Her hands moved to his belt, greedy, desperate for him. Yanking the leather free of the buckle, she undid it, unbuttoned his trousers and slid down the zipper. Pushing her hands inside his pants, she cupped the thick length of him in her palms.

      Lorenzo cursed low and hard. Removed her hands from him. “Mi bellissima. You need warming up or I will hurt you.”

      “No,” she said, trying to free her hands. “I need you inside me.”

      “Sì.” Hard, uncompromising. He captured her hands, placed them palms-down on the sill. “Keep them there.”

      Eyes on hers, he sank his fingers into the knot of his tie, pulled it loose and stripped it off. Tossing it on the floor, he reached for the top buttons of his shirt and pulled them free. Her heart thrummed the frantic beat of a bird trapped in a cage as he dropped to his knees in front of her.

      Reaching for her foot, he worked the delicate clasp of her shoe open, slid her foot out and tossed the stiletto aside. He did the same with the other. Setting his hands on her ankles, he trailed them up her calves to her knees. Pushed them apart with a deliberate, firm motion that had her sucking in a