Postcards From…Verses Brides Babies And Billionaires. Rebecca Winters

arrival of their daughters, the love the four of them shared, had changed her husband. The darkness was gone, replaced by a man who embraced the moment. There were still times when she could tell he was remembering, a sadness would come over him that would perhaps never leave him completely, but those times were few and far between.

      “Festa?” Liliana said hopefully, turning her big blue eyes on her father.

      “No. This party is for big people. But perhaps you can take your gift to bed with you.”

      Liliana spotted the brightly colored packages Lorenzo had left on the table. “Regali,” she crowed.

      Lorenzo handed a package to each of them. Her chubby hands moving as fast as she could maneuver them, Liliana ripped open her gift to find a beautiful, dark-haired doll inside that looked exactly like her. Abelie did the same in a more sedate fashion, as was her personality, discovering an identical doll. A deliberate choice, Angie knew, to avoid the inevitable meltdown if one choice was more popular than another.

      The girls oohed and aahed over their dolls. Angie observed her eldest’s quieter admiration. It had been Angie’s suggestion to name Abelie after Lucia. She’d wanted to honor her memory, to honor her husband’s memories, to make it clear Lucia would never be forgotten. Lorenzo, in a very emotional acceptance, had agreed.

      Abelie, sharp as a tack, noticed a third present on the table, wrapped in a different paper. “Mamma?” she asked.

       “Sì.”

      “Can I open it now?”

      Her husband turned to face her, a warm glint filling his dark eyes, the one he reserved exclusively for her. He picked up the gift, prowled toward her and bent and kissed her soundly. The girls devolved into another fit of giggles.

      Lorenzo’s mouth curved as he set her away from him. “Off to the bath,” he commanded the girls. “I will come in and give you a kiss good-night when you’re done.”

      “E bambole?” Abelie said.

      “And your dolls,” he agreed. “You,” he said, handing the package to Angie, “put this on and meet me downstairs when you’re ready. I need to find your brother before the guests arrive.”

      He was still giving orders, she noted. But tonight she didn’t mind. She was too excited to have him home.

      She showered while the girls had their bath, applied a light dusting of makeup in her dressing room and slipped on some naughty lingerie as a “welcome home” present for her husband. Opening his gift, she found a sparkly, beaded dress lying in the tissue, an Italian designer label attached.

      Her heart contracted. She slid the dress over her head. The material settled over her curves in a whisper of silk, falling to just above her knee, its fit perfect. Exquisitely crafted, it hugged her body like a second skin, a plunging neckline offering a tantalizing glimpse of cleavage. A very sexy dress.

      She left her hair loose as it had been that magical night she’d met her husband, slipped on high-heeled sandals and spritzed herself with perfume. After kissing the girls good-night, she made her way down the circular stairway to the main floor, the house ablaze with light and the chatter of hundreds of guests.

      The Carmichael winter party, never an occasion to be missed, attracted friends and acquaintances from every corner of the globe. Tonight was no exception. Even the Bavaros were here, the two families having formed a close friendship.

      Where before there would have been dread in her veins as she stepped out onto the terrace, a rejection of everything this represented, tonight there was only an all-encompassing glow. Her mother was stable and happy. Four years sober, Angie was cautiously optimistic this time her mother would stay healthy. But she’d accepted it was beyond her control. She had her own family now and they were her priority.

      She sought out her husband in the thick crowd. It didn’t take long because he was exactly where she’d figured he would be—leaning against the bar at the far end of the pool where the band was playing.

      Just that little bit aloof, more than a bit untouchable, he looked dazzling in a black tux, his hair slicked back from his face. Her breath caught in her chest. Would she always react to him this way? As if her world had turned on its axis?

      She took the last few steps toward him, his dark gaze tracking her. Coming to a stop in front of him, she rested a hand on the bar and looked up into his arresting face. “That’s an awfully serious look for a party.”

      The forbidding line of his mouth softened. “Maybe I’m a serious man.”

      “Maybe you should stop brooding,” she suggested huskily, “and ask me to dance. Unless, of course, you intend on holding up that bar all night.”

      A sensual glitter entered his gaze. “I think that’s an offer I can’t refuse, Mrs. Ricci.”

      Reaching behind him, he produced two glasses of champagne. Glasses in their hands, they took to the dance floor, soaking up a perfect Bahamian night, the scent of a dozen tropical blooms in the air.

      Eventually they drifted off into the gardens, majestic palm trees swaying overhead. “I do believe you have dishonorable intentions,” she teased when her husband drew back and set her empty glass on the stone wall beside his.

      “Certo,” he agreed, a heated promise in his eyes. “But first I have something for you.”

      He slid his hand in his pocket and pulled out a ring. A platinum eternity band set with blazing canary yellow diamonds, it was jaw-droppingly beautiful.

      She lifted her gaze to his, heart thumping in her chest. “A circle of fire,” her husband murmured, eyes trained on hers. “What we are, Angelina. What you’ve always been to me. The woman who gave me my life back…the woman who has given me two beautiful daughters who remind me every day what love is.”

      Her stomach plunged. Their anniversary! She opened her mouth to apologize for forgetting, to tell him how crazy it had been with him away, but her husband shook his head, pressed his fingers to her lips.

      “I know how you feel. I’ve always known how you feel. I want you to know what you are to me so there can be no doubt as to how I feel.” He pressed her palm to his chest. “This is where you are, mi amore. Always here.”

      A lump in her throat grew until it was too big to get any words around it. She stood on tiptoe and kissed him instead. Passionate, reverential, it spoke of a million forevers.

      They danced under the stars then, the party forgotten, a brilliant blanket of light their only witness.

       Sometimes you caught the elusive corporate raider.

       Sometimes you even captured his heart.

       A Dangerously Sexy Secret

      Stefanie London

      Siren…or Sinner?

      With her long blond hair and flowy skirts, Rhys Glover’s new neighbor is the sexiest woman he’s ever seen. He quickly learns she’s also free-spirited and impulsive—the total opposite of his own personality. They should be like oil and water. Instead, the chemistry between them is like oxygen and flame.

      But when Rhys’s next assignment for Cobalt & Dane security leads him right back to Wren, Rhys begins to walk a very fine line between ethics and desire. He believes he can trust Wren, but can he trust himself when he’s with her? And if she is keeping her own dangerous secrets, will he be able to walk away?

      To Dad,

      for