Authors: Jennifer Probst
He reached the top of the hill, pulled up to the sprawling terra-cotta villa, and cut the engine. “We shall have a minute before they come running out.”
“It’s beautiful, but not the billionaire mansion I expected.”
He took in the simple lines of his family home through her eyes and sighed. “Mama refuses to leave. I planned to build her a castle worthy of what she accomplished, but she laughed at me. Said she refused to leave her family land and the home where Papa lived.”
“I like her already.”
“She even refused help. No maids or cooks for Mama. I have a woman who sneaks in to do deep cleaning when she’s in church.” He shook his head. “Ah, well. Are you ready?”
Her face was impassive and cool. Yet those jade-green eyes mirrored a tiny flare of uncertainty. He caught her hand within his and entwined their fingers. Her small gasp sang in his ears and stretched his pants more than a notch. God, she was so responsive to his touch. The low hum between them beckoned, promising a deep physical satisfaction he ached to experience but never would. Her hot-pink nails dug into his palm, and his thumb pressed the sensitive pulse point at her wrist to confirm her response. Yes. He turned her on. She refused to buckle, though, and tossed her head with a devil-may-care attitude.
“Let’s rock and roll,” she said.
She climbed out of the car the same moment the door flung open and his sisters came running down the stone pathway.
In perfect unison, they flung themselves into his arms. Joy exploded through him as he hugged them back, their excited chatter a familiar noise to his ears. He pressed kisses to the tops of their heads and studied their appearances.
“You are all more beautiful than I remembered.” A dual vision of thick black hair, strong features, and dark eyes stood before him. Venezia’s generous curves had caused him to interrogate many of her dates regarding their intentions, and Julietta’s independent streak gave him sleepless nights. These two sisters were bullheaded and full of sass, but they always bowed to his final orders as the family rules dictated. Carina at twenty-three was a late bloomer. He recognized instantly the awkward stooped posture as she tried to hide her height and curves under baggy clothes. Regret coursed through him at not being able to keep an eye on her at this tender age.
She giggled at his statement, but the older two only rolled their eyes.
“Is this how you wooed your bride?” Venezia demanded. “Corny compliments and sweet smiles in an effort to placate us? Though you don’t come to visit for months, and then spring a new wife on Mama without any buildup.”
Carina glanced back and forth between her sisters and Maggie, chewing on her lip with sudden unease.
“Watch your temper, Venezia,” he commanded. “Perhaps my wife understands better than you that I do what is best for the family.”
Maggie stalked away from the car, her hips swinging in the ancient rhythm of Eve. Her sleek hair swung past her shoulders, and she stopped beside him as if in full support. “I’m Maggie, by the way, your brother’s new wife. And no, he didn’t woo me with compliments. He did it the old-fashioned way.” She paused for dramatic effect and twisted those full lips in a mocking smile. “With great sex.”
The chirp of birds was the only sound that broke the deafening silence. Michael half closed his eyes in sheer horror. He was going to kill her. His older sisters stared at her with open mouths. Carina gasped.
Why did he think he’d be able to control her?
Venezia choked on a laugh. Julietta looked at her with a touch of admiration, and now Carina seemed as if she had met her new heroine.
Well versed in damage control, his mind spun with an appropriate response to make it all go away.
“Nothing wrong with sex to enslave a man.” A familiar voice echoed from the doorway, and a slight figure made her way down the path. “It’s what you do with him afterward that counts. At least you married him and made him honest.”
“Mama?”
Everyone swung around to watch the progression of the short woman with the carved wooden cane. With each step, the cane banged with an authoritative air that sent shivers down his spine. Her long, gray hair was held back in its usual bun, and her olive skin was heavily wrinkled from the sun and old-fashioned laugh lines. She bore four children who all towered over her and boasted their father’s genes, but the whiplash of her voice terrified anyone who got in her way or disappointed her. She wore comfortable slacks, sandals, and a simple white blouse with a cardigan wrapped around her shoulders.
She stopped in front of them. Her lips quirked, but her face showed no humor as she studied Maggie with sharp eyes. Long moments passed as they waited for her response.
Finally, Maggie broke the silence. “
Signora
Conte, I am honored to finally meet you.” Her tone held the highest respect as she met his mother’s gaze head-on. “Your son is an idiot for not telling you about our engagement sooner. I apologize for him.”
His mother nodded. “I accept your apology. Welcome to my family.” His mother kissed Maggie on each cheek, then frowned. “You are too thin. Always too thin these young girls. We shall fix that immediately.” Her head came around sharply. “Girls? Did you not greet your new sister?”
The tension dissolved as his sisters hugged and kissed Maggie. The breath he’d held whooshed out of his mouth and he hugged his mother. The delicacy of her frame contradicted her steely stare. “Hello, Mama.”
“Michael. I am angry with you but will make you pay later.”
He chuckled and ran a finger down her wrinkled cheek. “
Mi dispiace
. I promise to make it up to you.”
“
Si
. Come inside and get settled.”
His senses swam with the familiar sights and scents of his home. He took in the sloping terra-cotta roof, wrought-iron balconies, and the elaborate stone pillars flanking the front door. Bright yellow and red surfaces competed with masses of wildflowers in vivid colors. Set atop the peak of a hill, the three-tier home sprawled like a queen over her subjects, boasting more than five acres of grassy fields. The carved-stone pathways led to a private terrace and pool area surrounded by lush gardens and walkways. The Alps shimmered in the distance, their massive white-peaked tips visible from the balcony.
While his sisters buzzed over Maggie’s ring, he made his way through the doors and was assaulted with the smell of garlic, lemon, and basil. Ceramic tile gleamed clean and bright and set off the pine cabinets and heavy table. Massive counters surrounded the space that was covered with fresh herbs, tomatoes, and an array of pots and pans. This was his mother’s domain and heaven on earth when they were first introduced to the sweet lure of pastries and luscious fillings. She’d passed her talent down to each of her children, but none had her expert skill, and they relied mostly on the famous chefs chosen to run their bakery empire. Funny, they all seemed to favor their father’s genes for business, but Mama had never forced them to be someone they weren’t.
The memory of his own dreams teased the fringes of his memory, but he refused to linger on regrets. Not then. Not now.
Not ever.
He glanced over at Maggie. She chatted with his sisters and seemed smugly at ease after her shocking entrance. Obviously, she assumed he’d meekly accept her outrageous actions in gratitude for her agreement to the whole farce.
“Maggie, I need to speak with you for a moment.”
As if she sensed his irritation, she shot him a look and hiked up her brow. He smothered a chuckle.
“Bring your luggage up to your room,” his mama ordered. “I’ve gotten it ready for you. After you settle, we shall meet in the garden for some coffee and snacks.”
“
Si
.”
He retrieved the luggage from the car, walked back in the house, and motioned for Maggie to follow. She broke away from his sisters and they ascended the stairs toward their bedroom. He dropped the luggage, kicked the door closed with his heel, and faced her.
“A very amusing opening to our week,
la mia tigrotta
. But I think it’s time you realize who makes the rules here.” He took a step closer and towered over her. “Now.”
Chapter Four
M
ore than six feet of irritated man loomed before her. Though he didn’t touch her, her body stilled as if restrained. His usual relaxed charm disappeared and a dangerous aura crackled in the air. She’d seriously pissed him off. Unfortunately, instead of fear, excitement tingled along her nerve endings. Damn, what would he be like in bed? Naked and muscled and . . . demanding.
Usually, she stayed far away from men who had any dominance or control tendencies, but Michael didn’t scare her. At least, not in a bad way. Her lips parted in an unconscious invitation for him to take it a step further. Onyx eyes sharpened on her mouth and darkened. She ached to know how he tasted. Craved to experience his tongue claiming her mouth, his hips slamming against hers, without forcing her to make the choice.
A beat passed. Another.
The words slipped out of her mouth before she caught them. “What’s the matter, Count? Cat got your tongue?”
He turned away and a stream of colorful curses shot in the air. Her body relaxed from his retreat, but his threat caused a shiver to work down her spine. She ignored the flare of disappointment from a missed opportunity.
“Be careful,
cara
. Toying with me may be fun, but eventually I will tire and force your hand.”
Maggie snorted. “You sound like those erotic romances I love. But I’m no sub, baby, and you’re not my dom. My gamble paid off. I figured I’d challenge your family from the start so I don’t have to play a role I’m not comfortable with. Eventually they’d realize I’m not a great pleaser or traditional Italian wife.” She grinned. “Your mom’s a pisser.”
“She’s ill, so please be careful.”
“Oh, no, Michael. What’s wrong with her?”
He gave a deep sigh and rubbed his hands over his face. “Besides an arthritic knee, her heart is delicate. She needs to watch her stress and activity, so I intend to humor her this visit.” His brows lowered. “And I hope you will, too.”
“I can play nice for a week.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” he murmured. “Be sure you don’t try to deck me when I kiss you.” He looked thoughtful, and Maggie almost gulped with unease. “In fact, perhaps I should kiss you right here. Right now. For practice, of course.”
She hissed like a ticked-off snake. “I can manage not to jump when a man touches me.”
“I’m not convinced.” He stalked over and invaded her personal space. The heat of his skin pulled her in. “One slipup and this charade ends. I can’t afford it. Especially when a simple kiss beforehand may make the difference.”
“I’m real good at faking it.” She tossed him a mocking smile. The delicious scents of musk and man beckoned her to steal a sample. Her heart tripped at the thought of him calling her bluff, which only made her more obnoxious. “No one will ever know I’m not interested in kissing you. No need to put ourselves through a practice run.”
He studied her in silence and she began to relax. “Let’s test the theory, shall we?”
He grasped her shoulders and yanked her forward. She collided with a rock of carved muscle, and her arms came up in automatic protest to push against his chest. When she hit resistance, her fingers gripped the soft material of his T-shirt. His feet straddled hers and kept her off balance. His lips stopped inches from her own.
“Take your hands off of me.” Sweat beaded her brow. Oh, God, what if she melted and looked like an idiot? What if she moaned when those full lips slid over hers? She could not respond. She could not respond. She could not—
“What are you so nervous about?” Humor danced in his eyes. “You’ve done this a million times, remember?”
“I don’t like to be manhandled,” she shot back.
His lip quirked. He lowered his voice to a husky purr that promised her pure bodily pleasure. “Maybe you haven’t had the right man handling you.”
“Give me a break. Do women really fall for that line? Because if they do, they must come from the land of the stupid. Take your hands—”
His lips covered hers.
His warm, soft mouth stopped the angry flow of words and distracted her from any other thought she’d ever had except how this man kissed.
Her senses short-circuited. She liked kissing and had experienced her fair share, but with Michael everything seemed different. His body heat reminded her of a werewolf in those
Twilight
films she secretly loved. His tongue probed the seam of her lips, then dove in without apology. She could have fought him if he got greedy; instead, the slide of his tongue seduced and asked for her to come and play. His stubble rubbed the sensitive curve of her jaw. His hips slanted against hers as his arms came down and cupped her rear, bringing her up to meet the hard bulge between his thighs.
She moaned. He caught it and pressed a bit deeper, and Maggie opened her mouth and gave in.
He plundered and commanded in complete thrusts, reminding her of how he’d claim her body if she gave him a chance. She tried to surface and gain control of the kiss, but her mind crumbled and her body sang. He murmured her name, and her legs got shaky as she held on to him for dear life and kissed him back.
How long had passed? Minutes? An hour? He finally pulled away, slowly, as if he regretted ever breaking the contact. She hated herself in that moment. Instead of slapping him away, or coming up with a smart-aleck comment, she just stared helplessly. Her tongue ran over her swollen lower lip.
He groaned. Uneven breaths lifted his chest. “You’re right,” he said softly. “You fake it really well.”
She jerked back and prayed her cheeks didn’t look flushed. She forced out the words. “Told you.”
He turned and stacked the luggage in the corner of the room and opened the closet door. “There’s plenty of space for both of us. This will be our room for the week.”
Reality crashed over her. Rich details made the room comfortable yet masculine, from the royal-blue throw rugs, cherrywood furniture, and lack of frilly clutter. A deep red quilt finished off the polished look of the bed that took up the center of the room. Maggie stared at the bed, a bit smaller than what she expected, and realized there was no sofa or cushy rug. The knowledge they’d be squished together rattled her nerves. Dear God, she’d just melted from a lousy kiss. What if she rolled over in her sleep? What if her fingers accidentally hit one of those sleek pec muscles and she made a fool out of herself?
Irritation bit at her from the ridiculous situation so she did what she learned best. Go on the attack first. “Nice bed.”
He cleared his throat. “Is this acceptable? If not, I can always put a blanket on the floor.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m a big girl, Count, just stay on your side. I’ll take the left.”
“As you wish.”
“You don’t snore, do you?”
A twinkle of amusement glinted in his eyes. “I’ve never had anyone complain before.”
“Well, I’ll let you know for future reference if they’re lying.”
He gestured toward the bathroom and glass doors that led to a balcony. “Why don’t you take some time to freshen up and come downstairs when you’re ready? I’ll show you the property and the rest of the house then. When is your Milan shoot?”
“Tomorrow. I’ll be there most of the day.”
“Very well. I’ll meet you there in the afternoon so we can file our Atto Notorio and Nulla Osta at the consulate’s office. I’ve already arranged for witnesses. Don’t forget to bring all your papers—I had to pull some strings so Mama wouldn’t suspect we wish any delay.”
Maggie swallowed a gulp. “I thought you said it was impossible to get a priest to marry us?”
“It is quite difficult to get a priest to perform a ceremony last minute, and Mama will only accept this type of wedding. There’s no way they can be approved in a week.”
“Okay.”
They stared at each other for a few moments in silence. He shifted his weight, and the fabric of his jeans strained against the bulge dead center. His black T-shirt did nothing to hide the breadth of his shoulders and chest. Or the corded, sinewy length of his arms covered with dark hair. Her traitorous body responded to his confidence as heat burned between her thighs and her nipples tightened to achy points.
When was the last time she’d been so turned on by a man? Maybe it was the chase. Women always craved men who were off-limits. Especially if they obviously had it bad for another woman.
Right?
“Maggie? Are you okay?”
She shook off the reaction and blamed it on jet lag. “Sure. I’m going to shower. I’ll meet you downstairs.”
He nodded and shut the door behind him.
Maggie groaned and quickly rummaged through her suitcase for a change of clothes. All she had to do was get through seven days without making an ass of herself, and she’d be free of Michael Conte for good. She wouldn’t have to worry about bumping into him at Alexa’s home, and she’d have her family all to herself.
The bitterness of the image mocked her satisfaction and screamed she was a liar. She’d gotten used to him over the past year. Too much so. And every time she gazed into those wicked dark eyes, the thought of her humiliation flashed in her mind and made her squirm.
The bathroom was small but boasted a deep marble tub and a shower stall. She decided to keep it quick and have a long soak later. She stepped under the stinging jets and let the heat relax her knotted muscles. Accustomed to forced blind dates from many colleagues, Maggie hadn’t thought twice when Alexa swore she’d found the perfect man for her. She remembered entering the expensive, intimate Italian restaurant and expecting a certain sort of man. A little cocky. A little too smooth. A little too attractive.
She’d been wrong.
Except for the attractive part.
Maggie scrubbed her skin and tried to whisk the memory away. But the images flickered before her eyes. The instant connection when their hands touched, like lightning bottled up tight and released from the cap to scorch. She’d almost jerked back. Almost. The walls she’d built held firm, but his conversation pulled her in and wrapped her like a warm hug. Yes, he was smooth, and charming, and funny, but there was a sense of realness in his core that spoke to her.
When dessert came, for the first time in as long as she could remember, she didn’t want the evening to end. And she sensed that he didn’t, either.
She learned her one motto from experience. Control the date, control the result. For some strange reason, she opened up and gave him a peek of her inner soul. The sensual pull twisted between them, and a lightness spread through her body. Maybe she was finally ready for something more. Maybe Alexa had been right all along. Maybe she’d discover a rainbow or a waterfall on that hidden path, or something that could finally surprise her and fill the aching void inside.
“I enjoyed this,” she said softly. “Maybe we can do it again.” When the impulsive invitation stumbled out over the rich tiramisu, she almost bit her tongue in horror, but it was too late.
He studied her in silence. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Maggie.”
Her name drifted to her ears in a caress, but his words bit like the family dog gone mean. Rejection had never been considered.
“I’m sorry,
cara
. You’re a beautiful woman, and I’m extremely attracted to you. But I think this could end up a mess.”
The lightness shriveled and turned dim. Yes, she understood it was a sticky situation, but for the first time she had been willing to take a chance. She must have misjudged the situation. Or their connection. She almost laughed it off, but a strange fear glinted in those eyes and made her pause. He smiled, but she noted his discomfort by the way he shifted in his seat and grabbed his wineglass. Almost as if something held him back from taking her home. Almost as if . . .
The realization shook through her. The pieces of the puzzle slid and locked into place. Pain sliced deep into her core, and she barely managed to get the words out. “It’s Alexa, isn’t it?” she whispered. “You have feelings for her.”
“No! Alexa is my friend, nothing else.”
His denial screamed untruth as he looked away. Her skin flushed, and humiliation made her want to gag and run from the room. No wonder he didn’t want to date her. Her mind wandered over the conversation and found all the remarks he’d dropped along the way regarding Alexa. How wonderful she was. How caring. How smart. He’d even asked how they met, intrigued by her telling of their first encounter on the school bus when they’d gotten into a fight, then became best friends. He’d never been interested in her. This date revolved around gathering information on another woman.
He was in love with Alexa.
She choked back her shame and swore to get out with her pride. “I understand,” she said. Her words were laced with an icy distance. Her fingers didn’t shake as she pushed back her plate and slid out of her chair.
“Maggie, let’s talk about this. Please don’t go with the wrong impression.”
Her chuckle came out a bit brittle. “Don’t be ridiculous, Count. I’m a big girl—I can handle a little rejection. As long as you realize I’ll be keeping an eye on you. Especially around Alexa.”
He gasped, but Maggie saw right through him. “I told you—”
“Bullshit.” She grabbed her Coach purse and slung it over her shoulder. Her eyes narrowed. “See ya, Count.”
He called her name again but she ignored him and left the restaurant.
Maggie turned off the water and grabbed a towel. Even now his rejection hurt, as ridiculous as it sounded. He dragged her to the recurring nightmare of her youth.
Never good enough.
Angry with her thoughts and bad memories, she changed into a pair of jeans, green tank top, and leather sandals. No use going into the past. She controlled her relationships, her sexuality, and her own choices. And she sure as hell would never be sloppy seconds.
Especially not for Michael Conte.
She ran a brush through her damp hair and slicked on a coat of gloss. Then, pushing her disturbing thoughts to the back of her mind, she made her way downstairs to meet her new family.
Maggie stepped out in the back and found everyone gathered around the wrought-iron tables and matching bistro chairs. The alcove was surrounded by a walled garden of vivid blooms—a twist of yellows, bloodreds, and purples all screaming for attention. The sweet scent drifted on the warm breeze and tickled her nostrils. An elaborate fountain with a carved angel trickled water into a pond covered with floating moss. The sun washed over the rough terra-cotta cobblestones. Immediately, Maggie relaxed in the peaceful space. Her fingers itched for her camera in an effort to capture the almost mystical quality of quiet, even when invaded by the loud Italian family chattering at the table.