Santo paced across the rug in the study with the phone pressed to his ear as he waited for Caleb, his second-in-command, to come back on line. It had been over an hour since he’d received the emergency call from New York and been forced to leave a sexually playful Elena alone in the kitchen while he’d dealt with the crisis.
The timing couldn’t have been worse.
His man on site at New York Fashion Week had informed him of a breach in security, and Santo had made phone call after phone call collecting information, following leads, and reassuring the Director that everyone—from the models to the designers to the celebrities—were safe from fashion spies, protesters, and terrorists everywhere.
He could not, however, guarantee they were safe from bad fashion.
A break-in at one of the designer’s stations had resulted in thousands of dollars worth of clothes, shoes and accessories being stolen. The designer insisted it was an outside job, but Santo was certain that wasn’t possible. Someone from the inside had facilitated the theft, and he needed to prove it if he had any chance of winning the security contract for the upcoming Fall Fashion Week, too.
“Santo?”
“I’m here,” he said, as Caleb came back on line.
“We’re tracking down one of the dressers. She was a last minute addition by the designer, and the background check that came through on her was sketchy. Apparently she was a disaster. The stylist was livid she’d been placed on his team.”
“I’ll update the police. Call me when you’ve located the dresser.”
“Okay.”
Two hours later, Santo clicked off the phone with a sigh, crisis averted. For him, anyway. It turned out the young designer needed cash to pay off gambling debts and had arranged the theft for insurance money as well as the underground sale of the goods.
Opening the study door, he listened for any sound of Elena. The house was quiet, causing frustration to burn in his belly. He glanced at his watch—just after ten. Maybe she was still up.
He strode first to the kitchen, wanting to make sure the left-over pasta had been refrigerated. It had, plus Elena had cleared the dishes and wiped down the table and counter. It pleased him she hadn’t left the mess for Louise to clean up in the morning.
He opened the dishwasher to place his coffee mug on the rack and was amused to see the plates stacked awkwardly down below. He arranged them in an orderly fashion and shut the door with a grin. Obviously his heiress had never loaded a dishwasher before.
But she’d tried, which showed her intentions were good.
Making his way back along the arched hallway and up the marble stairs, he barely restrained himself from breaking into a run. Upon reaching her bedroom, hope rose as he saw a light shining beneath the door. He knocked quietly. When she didn’t respond, he pushed through and found her asleep with the baby book open beside her on the bed.
He swallowed another curse and reined in his rising desire—a nearly impossible task. Crossing toward her, he picked up the book, marked her spot, and placed it on the bedside table. After checking her packet of crackers to ensure she had enough for the morning, he carried her half-empty glass of water into the bathroom, filled it, and returned it to her nightstand.
She wore the same pale yellow top as last night, making Santo wonder what she had on down below. Was it the white, cotton panties from this morning that had driven him wild with their virginal simplicity, or the red, silk, crotchless panties she’d teased him about earlier?
Damn. Thinking about that did nothing to soften his body. About the only thing that could help now, besides taking himself in hand, was a cold shower.
Switching off the lamp, he retreated to her bathroom. His travel bag still sat on the vanity, and it pleased him she hadn’t removed it. Almost as if her subconscious wanted him to stay.
He turned the water to freezing, stepped in, and lasted just long enough to wash the day away. His desire had cooled, but only rose again as he approached Elena sleeping in the bed. Hell, he wanted to crawl in with her, but she hadn’t asked him to stay.
With a sigh, he left and moved carefully through the dark to the bedroom next door. Removing the towel from his hips, he slipped between the unwelcoming sheets and tried not to think how soft and warm Elena would be. He squeezed his eyes shut, then popped them open when his door squeaked. Rising onto his elbow, he saw her walk toward him through the darkened bedroom.
Any dampening effect the shower had had on his libido disappeared as she pulled back the quilt and crawled in beside him, turning on her side and drawing his arm over her middle so they spooned. His erection pressed into her soft, cotton-covered bottom, and he dropped his head to the crook of her neck with a groan.
Finding the edge of her shirt, he slipped his hand underneath in search of warm skin, but she stopped him by linking their fingers and returning their hands to the other side of her shirt. “I’m not here for sex. Or comfort. I’m just…cold.” Her voice was thick with sleep.
He bit the pillow beneath him in frustration, knowing it would be another long night, but at the same time pleasure rose at her words.
“Are you out of extra blankets?” he asked.
A moment of silence greeted his question. “No…but Max was in a mood. He bit my foot.”
“I didn’t see him there.”
“He was under the covers.”
Santo tucked her even closer and smiled into her hair. “Okay.” His thumb stroked the back of her hand, content knowing she just wanted him beside her. “I didn’t realize you were awake, or I would have asked if I could stay.”
“Well, don’t get used to it. This will be the last time.”
He could hear the ambivalence in her tone despite the cool words and decided to let her sleep while he kept her warm…and comforted.
He gently nipped the top of her ear. “We’ll see.”
* * *
“I can’t believe you let me sleep in!” Elena said for the fourth time, as she tried to apply mascara without stabbing the wand into her eye every time the car hit a bump—which was often along the windy road they traveled.
She used the mirror on the passenger seat visor in Santo’s car. After finishing the delicate procedure, she returned the mascara to her purse, stuffed another cracker in her mouth, then applied lip gloss as she chewed.
“Really, sweetheart. How was I to know you had a meeting?” Santo asked, his voice soothing, which only aggravated her further.
She swallowed the cracker, then said, “The alarm went off. You must have heard it.”
“I’ve already told you I was in the office. Maybe Louise stopped it since you weren’t in your bedroom.”
He sounded a little smug, and she mentally kicked herself for following him to his room last night. She’d woken to the sound of the shower running and had sleepily anticipated him crawling into bed beside her. When he’d walked away, an ache had blossomed inside, and without thinking, she’d trailed after him.
Looking back at the mirror, she wiped at her gloss to even it out. Her eyes looked a little frantic, which didn’t surprise her as she’d only had ten minutes to clean up, drag her hair into a clip, and throw on a black pant suit before leaving for her meeting with Sarika and a new client.
Tapping her leopard print high heel against the car’s floor, she huffed. “I can’t believe you didn’t wake me.”
He sighed, long and loud, making her lips quirk.
Really, he was insufferable.
“We’re here, with five minutes to spare.” He stopped the car at a gated entrance and waited for it to open. The car following them parked on the street outside.
A long, paved driveway took them up a gentle slope past tiered gardens and lemon trees. The impressive home that appeared at the top was a restored Mediterranean-style villa elaborately decorated with columns, arched windows, and stone corbels supporting wide balconies. An external staircase swept up in a semi circle on both sides toward the inset, wooden door. On the east side of the house, a Belvedere tower reached toward the sky.
Another vehicle sat in the driveway, and as they approached, one of Santo’s men exited and opened the back door. Sarika stepped out wearing an elegant, cashmere poncho around her shoulders. The style and dark color hid her growing belly while matching her high-heeled brown boots.
As usual, she was stunning, and Elena had a moment of envy as she looked at her. Sarika glowed with contentment. She had a new husband, whom she’d loved forever and who adored her, a much anticipated baby on the way, and a happy, settled home.
Plus, she was tall.
It really wasn’t fair that some people had it all.
Elena caught Santo’s arm as he turned off the vehicle. He looked at her with a raised brow.
“Please, don’t tell Sarika about the baby,” she said. “I’m not ready yet.”
He grazed his knuckles down her cheek. “We can keep it to ourselves for now.”
After exiting the vehicle, he came around to open her door. Sarika approached and hugged them both.
“Look at you,” she said to Elena. “So sexy in those shoes.” She turned to Santo with a wicked smile. “I bet you think so, too.”
He gave Elena a look that made her toes curl inside her shoes. “All the time.”
Sarika hooked her arm around Elena as they walked toward the villa and up the stairs. “It’s your tiny waist. Men love petite women. It makes them feel big and powerful. Right Santo?”
Glancing over her shoulder, Elena wondered if he was thinking the same thing she was: her waist wouldn’t be small for long. But his eyes were glued to the sway of her hips.
“They love other things as well.” He hurried past them, caressing her backside along the way. Reaching the door, he rang the bell and scanned the area for danger.
“I know that look,” Sarika said as they reached the top. “Who’s he guarding, you or me? I swear Rafe is extra cautious since the baby.”
“Both of you,” Santo answered without elaborating.
Elena was happy not to explain to Sarika about Lorenzo’s brush with the crazy woman in L.A. If it had actually happened. Although, why he’d make up such a story was beyond her.
Santo came inside with them and waited in the hallway as Elena and Sarika sat down with Zelda Myers who’d hired them to plan her parents’ fiftieth wedding anniversary party. According to her, theirs was a love story of epic proportions. Elena sincerely doubted that, but when she saw a picture of the elderly couple holding hands and staring at each other in that special way, her heart caught in her chest.
Maybe it could happen for some people.
An hour later, Sarika and Elena sat at a round, granite table in their favorite café on State Street. They’d both ordered decaf lattes, and when Sarika had raised a questioning brow, Elena had shrugged and said her stomach was still a little queasy. She didn’t want to risk the caffeine. Which was true. She’d also ordered a grilled chicken sandwich and an almond biscotti.
Upon hearing that, Sarika had ordered the same. “I’m pregnant,” she said as the food was laid out in front of them. “What’s your excuse?”
Elena concentrated on stirring sugar into her drink. “I didn’t eat breakfast this morning, all I had were some crackers. For some reason my alarm didn’t go off.”
“You’re lucky Santo was there to drive you. Did he spend the night?”
The question sounded casual, but Elena knew it was just the tip of the iceberg. Sarika had been pumping her for information about her relationship with Santo the entire time they’d been together. It didn’t help that Sarika was blissfully happy and wanted everyone else to be the same. Especially since she loved them both and would be ecstatic if her best friend married Rafe’s best friend.
Elena was pretty sure that wouldn’t happen.
Pretty sure? When the hell had she gone from never to pretty sure?
She glanced over her shoulder and saw Santo sitting by the door drinking his own coffee and talking on his cell phone. Sarika had asked him to join them, but he’d declined, saying he had some business to attend to, and he was certain the women would enjoy some time alone.
Looking up, he caught her gaze. Elena felt like the world stopped for a moment, and all that existed was the two of them. Warmth bloomed in her chest.
“You love him,” Sarika said, awe in her voice.
Elena gasped as if her friend had just accused her of murder. “I do not.”
“You do, too! You should have seen the look on your face as you stared at him.”
“You’re delusional.” She stirred her coffee so hard it slopped onto the table.
“Then why did you let him stay over? You were always adamant about keeping him out of your bed. How many times have I heard you say the only male you’d let in was Max?”
Sopping up the spilt latte, Elena tried to think of a simple explanation that didn’t involve kidnapping or babies or…love. “It wasn’t like that. We didn’t have sex, so technically it doesn’t count. We just slept together. That’s all. And last night wasn’t even in my bed.”
Sarika’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped. “He slept over twice? In a row? And no sex, he just held you?” Tipping her head back, she laughed. “That’s even worse. You are so in love.”
“I am not.” Elena glared at her, daring her to say anything else.
Sarika just smiled. “Should I start planning the wedding?”
“No!”
“Why not?”
The familiar panic surged inside. Sarika must have seen it in Elena’s face because she leaned forward and squeezed her friend’s hand. “Elena, you are an amazing, wonderful woman, and you deserve a man like Santo. He’s strong, giving, and caring.”
She rolled her eyes. “He’s dominant, demanding, and pushy.”
Sarika grinned. “That, too. But you have to admit it’s pretty nice having someone you can lean on who will catch you if you fall—or just rub your feet at night. Someone who’ll keep you safe.”
“I don’t want that.”
“Yes, you do. We all do. It doesn’t make us less, it makes us more because they give us their strength and make us stronger. We do the same for them. Santo is someone you can trust. He would do his best for you no matter what.”
“What he thought was best, not what I thought was best.”
“Okay, so you fight it out and find a compromise. Rafe and I do that all the time.”
“I’m not interested in fighting. I had enough of that growing up.”
“That’s a different kind of fighting. That was fighting to hurt one another and get as many hits in as possible. This is arguing when you know the other person loves you and would never do or say anything to hurt you. Like me and you. We argue all the time, but I trust you never to say anything spiteful or deliberately mean. You would never tear me down just to make yourself feel better.”
“Of course I wouldn’t. I love you.” The idea shocked her. Then she saw where Sarika was going and shook her head. “That’s different.”
“Why?”
“Because…because…” Elena stared at her, at a loss for words. “You’re my friend. You care about me in a different way. Once people marry, things fall apart.”
“Rafe and I haven’t fallen apart.”
“Well, you’re the exception to the rule. Besides, I’m not wife material. What do I have to offer Santo?”
Sarika’s jaw dropped for the second time. “My God, Elena. You don’t really believe that, do you? You have so much to offer. Your warmth, your humor. Your loyalty and caring. You’re one of the most loving people I know. I would trust you with anything. If something ever happened to me and Rafe, I would want you to raise our child.”
The words touched Elena deeply and her throat tightened. “Nothing is going to happen to you,” she said fiercely.
“I know. I’m just saying.”
“Well don’t. I’d be lost if I didn’t have you to drive me crazy.”
Sarika scooted her chair over and pulled Elena into a hug. “Me, too.”
Elena squeezed back. “No, you wouldn’t. You’d have Rafe.”
“Yeah, well, you’d have Santo. And I’m going to get up there at your wedding and tell everyone how you refused to admit you were in love with him.”
“I am not in love with him.”
“Yes, you are.”
* * *
Santo watched the women hug and wondered what they were talking about. Maybe Elena had told Sarika about the baby. He hoped so. He wanted to shout it from the roof top. It was all he could do not to call his mother, sisters, and Rafe.
But he’d wait for Elena. They were in this together.
He hoped.
No, he knew. Last night, she’d come to him. No pressure, no extraordinary circumstances or sexual need. Well, not on her side, anyway. Santo had woken repeatedly throughout the night hard as a rock. But it didn’t matter because she’d come to him.
And he intended to keep her there.
Forever.
“Santo D’amici, as I live and breathe.”
Santo looked up to see a smiling Rafe standing beside him. Rising from his chair, he returned the smile and greeted his friend with a warm embrace. “What are you doing here?” he asked. “It’s not even noon. You can’t let Sarika out of your sight for more than a few hours?”
They sat at the granite table, and Rafe shifted his chair so he could watch his wife. A self-deprecating grin tilted his lips. “It gets harder and harder. Wait until you have a child. You can’t imagine how protective you feel of your wife and the baby she carries.”
Santo did know, and he wanted to share it with Rafe, but he held his tongue. “How do you get any work done?”
“I’ve become good at delegating.” A young woman in an apron approached Rafe with an espresso. He thanked her, then continued, “My meeting finished early. I thought I’d take Sarika home for a nap and some lunch.”
“Is that what you’re calling it these days?”
Rafe laughed. “As I said before, wait until your wife carries your child. Pregnancy can do wonderful things for a woman’s libido.”
“I’m working on it.”
Rafe stared at him, then over to the women. “I love Elena, you know that, but…she’s not the kind of woman I imagined you with. She doesn’t want marriage or a family. She resists your attempts to take the relationship to the next level. Is she really the right choice for you? Sex is one thing, but having a woman to love, who loves you back, is so much more.”
The ferocity of Santo’s anger surprised him, and he briefly closed his eyes to contain it. Rafe hadn’t said anything Santo hadn’t considered himself.
“Yes. She’s the right choice.” He couldn’t—wouldn’t—say anything more.
His friend hesitated, then leaned forward and plunged ahead. “It’s just that I recognize myself in her, Santo—before Sarika made me face my own screwed up childhood and warped perspective. Elena’s…damaged in some way.”
“She’s not damaged. She’s frightened and protecting herself.” His words were sharp. “Would you have had Sarika give up on you?”
“No. But do you really think Elena has it in her to change? I wanted Sarika desperately even though I was running scared. And I loved her—I had for years. I had no choice but to change. If I couldn’t do it for myself, I had to do it for her.”
“Elena will do it. I believe in her. She’s stronger than you think. She’s stronger than she thinks.” He looked across the café at the woman who carried his child—who would become his wife—and prayed his words were true. “Nothing will make me walk away.”
Rafe nodded and sat back, once again watching the women. “So, you’ll marry her then.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Yes.”
His fingers tapped the table, the only sign of his agitation. When he lifted his hand to rub his jaw, Santo knew something big was coming. He braced himself.
“You can’t save her, Santo. Or fix her. I saw what you went through when your dad died. The shock and pain. The anger and helplessness that such a thing could have happened. You did your best to take his place with your sisters, and to some extent your mom, even though she fought to keep that burden off your shoulders.”
“What does that have to do with Elena?”
“Your sisters love you, but they chafe at your…direction. Elena may not see things the same way you do. In fact, I know she doesn’t. You do what you think is best. You see what needs to be done and you fix it. It’s how you care for people. But not everyone wants or needs to be fixed.”
“If you believe I could force Elena into doing anything she doesn’t want to do, then you don’t know her as well as you think you do. Believe me, she’ll make her own decisions. Just as I have made mine.”
Their eyes met, and after a moment, Rafe nodded, indicating he knew the topic was closed. Shortly afterward, they joined the women. Sarika was surprised to see her husband but her eyes lit up at the suggestion of lunch and a nap. “We’ll rest first, though, because I just ate. I’m sure I’ll be hungry afterward.”
“I’m sure you will,” he agreed, then glanced at Elena and Santo. “She’s eating me out of house and home.”
Sarika looked guilty. “It’s true. I swear I’m hungry all the time.”
“Hungry and horny,” Elena said.
Sarika smacked Elena’s shoulder as the men laughed. Rafe wrapped his arm around his wife and kissed the side of her neck. “I don’t mind.”
“Of course you don’t,” Sarika said, palming his cheek.
The couple left a few minutes later, fingers entwined as they weaved between the other patrons. When they reached the exit, Rafe helped her with her poncho then kissed her forehead before opening the door. Sarika turned and waved as they headed into the bright, cool day.
Santo swung back to Elena. Her chin was propped on the heel of her hand and a longing had entered her eyes as she watched Sarika and Rafe through the window. The vulnerable expression made his heart contract. It was as if a window had opened to her soul and every abandoned dream came pouring out.
He trailed his fingers across her cheek, and she returned her gaze to his—still open, unguarded. “We could have that, Elena. You just have to let me in.”
Her lips parted, and he knew she’d caught her breath. He could feel the importance of the moment, something hanging in the balance. Then she closed her eyes and sat back. When she raised a hand to cover her mouth, it trembled.
He gently clasped her fingers, raised them to his lips, and kissed each one. Her eyes opened, swimming with tears.
“Ah, Kitten,” he crooned. “Have faith in yourself. In us. We’re almost there.”
They left soon afterward, and she clung to his hand on the way to the car. He knew it put him at a disadvantage if he needed to protect her, but he’d have to rely on his men for that. She was fragile, and he wouldn’t disrupt their connection for anything.
Tossing the car keys to one of his men, he climbed into the back seat with her. After making sure she’d belted herself in, he wrapped his arm around her shoulder. She leaned against him with a shudder, and her hand squeezed his thigh, causing his breath to catch.
The twenty minute drive home took them into the hills above Santa Barbara where vast estates had spectacular views of the city and ocean below. She rested her head against his chest the entire time. Occasionally he bent forward and nuzzled her hair, or she pressed her lips to his shirt.
Neither one of them said anything, but at the same time, they said everything. Caring, dependence, and trust were being woven between them at a new level—a heart level—slowly blossoming in unique and beautiful ways.
The car drove through a security gate and sped past manicured lawns and gardens. A Renaissance-inspired fountain splashed at the top of the driveway in front of a sprawling, Spanish-style home with terracotta roof tiles, arched doors and windows. Wrought iron railings surrounded the balconies held up by elaborate columns.
Elena titled her chin and gazed at him. “Make love to me,” she whispered.
He lifted his hand and held her head while he pressed their lips together. A promise of everything to come—and more.
“I would love to.” His voice wavered with the intensity of his emotions. Another kiss, then he opened the car door and helped her out.
They rushed up the wide stone steps toward the house, arm in arm, and were almost there when the door swung open. A striking, blonde woman dressed in a figure-hugging, green silk dress filled the entryway with her hands on her hips and a disapproving frown on her face.
“There you are. We’ve been waiting.”
Elena gasped and came to a halt. Her pliant body turned rigid as she stared at the woman in disbelief. “Amanda…?”
Then an older, Italian man came into view behind the woman and placed a hand on her shoulder. Elena’s eyes widened even further as her jaw dropped. She released Santo and took a step back. “Dad?”