Postcards From…Verses Brides Babies And Billionaires. Rebecca Winters

same time she did. Jamming his palm against the wood, he looked down at his very beautiful, very angry wife.

      “We aren’t done talking.”

      “Oh, yes, we are.”

      “No,” he said deliberately, “we aren’t.”

      She crossed her arms over her chest. “What else would you like to say?”

      “I’d like to say I’m sorry again. I sincerely feel badly that I did not check to see what it was you were working on. If I’d known, I would have come by myself.”

      Her stormy blue gaze softened.

      “I would also like to know how I am being emotionally unaware.”

      She pursed her lips. “You’re kidding, right?”

      “No.” He frowned. “I thought we had the pregnancy thing out in the open. We’re dealing with it.”

      “It’s not that.” She shook her head. “Women cannot stand when a man plays the hormone card, Lorenzo. It’s like waving a red flag in front of a bull.”

      “Oh. Certo,” he said, nodding. “I will remember that for the future. I had no idea. I thought pregnancy hormones were a documented thing.”

      “Lorenzo.” She glared at him. “I’d stop while you’re ahead.”

      “Bene.” He snagged an arm around her waist and pulled her close. “Is there anything else you would like to tell me? Why you are so upset?”

      Her gaze dropped away from his. “You haven’t been emotionally present the last few weeks. I don’t know where your head is. I don’t know where we are. I miss you.”

      Guilt tied a knot in his chest. In trying to pull back, to not lead them down a path he couldn’t go, he’d hurt her.

      “I’m sorry.” He bent his head and buried his mouth in the curve of her neck. Drank in her irresistible scent. “Things have been crazy. I will do better.”

      “It’s… I—” She sighed. “We should go. Find Marc and Penny.”

      “Not until you say you’re not angry with me anymore.” He slid his hands down over her bottom and pulled her closer. “I hate it when you’re angry with me.”

      Tracing the line of her neck with his lips, he sank his teeth into the cord of her throat where it throbbed against her skin. Her breath hitched. “Fine. I’m not angry at you anymore.”

      “I’m not convinced.” He dragged his mouth up to hers. Pushed his fingers into her hair and kissed her. Dominant, persuasive, he sought to fix whatever was going on with her. To fix them in the only way he knew how.

      She melted beneath his hands. “Okay,” she whispered against his lips. “You’re forgiven.”

      But he was too far gone now, his body pulsing with the need to restore the natural balance of things. Denying himself Angelina was carving a hole inside of him he didn’t know how to fill.

      He backed her into the wall, pushed his thigh between hers, imprinting her with the throbbing evidence of his need. She gasped. “Lorenzo.”

      “What?”

       “We can’t do this here.”

      “Why not?” He slicked his tongue over her lush bottom lip, tasting her. “You liked it in Portofino. The element of risk…”

      “Yes, but—”

      He delved inside the sweetness of her mouth. Made love to her with his tongue like he wanted to do to her body. Her bag clattered to the floor, a low moan leaving her throat. Lust coursing through him, he nudged her legs farther apart and swept her dress up her thighs. She was damp when he cupped her between her legs, as turned on as he was.

      He ran his palm over the hot, wet silk that covered her. Moved it aside to find her slick and ready for him.

      “I need to have you,” he rasped.

      Her stormy blue gaze locked with his. “Yes.”

      He stroked her. Readied her. She made more of those sexy sounds at the back of her throat, arching into his hand. Shallow strokes of his fingers inside her tight channel to tease, insistent circles against the tight bundle of nerves at the heart of her with his thumb. Throwing her head back, she said his name in a broken voice that ripped right through him.

      Urging one of her legs around his waist, he released himself from his pants, pushed aside the wet silk and entered her with a hard, urgent thrust. She gasped, the sensation of her tight, velvet warmth gripping his swollen flesh indescribable. It had never been so good.

      “Okay?” he murmured.

       “Yes.”

      Bending his knees, he drove up inside of her with an urgent desire that annihilated anything but the need to have her. His erection pounded in time with his heartbeat, his control shredding. He captured her hand in his and brought her fingers to the hard nub that gave her pleasure.

      “Touch yourself,” he whispered. “Come with me, Angelina.”

      She closed her eyes. Rotated her fingers against her flesh. He kept his hand over hers, absorbing the tiny quakes that went through her. Held on to the very threads of his control while she pleasured herself. When she was close, when the deeper shudders came, moving from her through him, he gripped her hip tighter and stroked deeper, setting a hard, wild rhythm that blew his brain apart.

      His body tightened, swelled, his breathing hoarse in the silence of the room. In perfect sync, they came together in a soul-shaking release like none he’d ever experienced before.

      Mouth buried in her neck, he held her as her legs gave out. He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, wrapped around each other, before he recovered enough to straighten and push back.

      Bracing a palm against the wall, he leaned in to kiss her, to acknowledge what that had just been. His heart stopped in his chest at the tears streaming down her cheeks.

      “Angelina?” He cupped her face with his hands. “What is it?”

      She shook her head. Pushed away as she straightened her clothes. “It’s nothing. I’m emotional from the performance.”

      The bell sounded to end the intermission. He ignored it, focusing on his wife’s tear-streaked face as he zipped himself up. “It’s a hell of a lot more than that.”

      She swiped the tears from her face with the backs of her hands.

      “Angelina,” he roared. “Out with it.”

      She bent and scooped her purse off the floor. Straightening, she rested her blue gaze on his. “I’m in love with you, Lorenzo. Silly me, I forgot the rules.”

       Chapter Thirteen

      LORENZO’S JAW DROPPED. “Angie—”

      The bell rang again. His wife turned, unlocked the door and walked out. Blood pounding at his temples, he straightened his shirt and followed her out.

      How he sat through the last act, he wasn’t sure. It was like someone was driving nails into his head in some kind of ancient torture. When it was finally, mercifully over, they bid Marc and Penny a good night and acquired the car from the valet. Neither of them spoke in the loaded silence of the car.

      The penthouse was in shadows as they entered, Manhattan spread out before them in all its glory. He threw his jacket on a chair and headed straight for the bar and a stiff shot of whiskey.

      Angelina kicked off her shoes. When she headed for the bedroom, he pointed to the sofa. “Sit.”

      She