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“I’m glad you’re here,” he said huskily. “I’m glad you came now, so that I can be part of this. Thank you.”
Her heart squeezed and she felt more of that terrible pain—yearning coupled with fear, longing layered with anger. Feelings were messy business. She preferred order and structure.
As if he could read her mind, he tipped her chin up, studying her face in the soft light of the rising moon. “Neither of us has absolute control,” he said. “But then, no one has absolute control.”
And then he dropped his head, his mouth covering hers, and kissed her. She’d imagined that maybe his kiss now would feel platonic, or reassuring, but no, the kiss was just as shocking and scorching as it had been New Year’s Eve when his lips made her feel as if she’d touched a live wire, electricity coursing through her.
He must have felt her shuddering response because he drew her closer, his lips moving across hers, deepening the kiss. She thought she’d remembered the pleasure, but this was even more intense, more sensual, and she welcomed the pressure of his mouth, and his hand sliding from her waist down her hip. She leaned into him, giving herself over to him, and when he parted her lips, and his tongue swept the inside of her soft swollen bottom lip, she couldn’t contain her sigh, or the desire humming through her.
He caught her soft lip between his teeth, and then his tongue stroked the inside of her mouth, reminding her of how his hips had moved as he’d thrust into her, filling her, making her body come alive.
She was coming alive now, feverishly alive, and she clutched Brando, holding on, legs weak, heart pounding, veins full of honey and fire.
Then his head lifted and he gazed down into her eyes. “I suggest we marry as soon as possible.”
Charlotte staggered back a step, dazed, senses swimming. “What?”
“I’ll look into the paperwork tomorrow.”
“Brando, no.” She moved back another step, legs trembling, tension rippling through her. “Marriage isn’t the answer, it isn’t. There must be another way to make this work. I’ll get an apartment in Florence...something not far from yours.”
“We should be together, under one roof.”
“Then give me a suite of rooms in your house. We’ll be roommates.”
“That will never work. There’s too much chemistry between us. We’ll drive each other mad.”
“I’m not going to rush into anything. We have time. We have months.”
“Let’s not tempt fate.”
“Months,” she repeated firmly, smashing her panic, even as she turned around and started back to the castello, her gaze fixed on the tall, magnificent house glimmering with soft yellow light.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE MORNING SUN shone brightly, warming Brando’s back as he walked from the house to the vineyard. The dark soil beneath his feet smelled fresh, the air around him fragrant. Summer was coming, and then it’d be fall. Brando was glad to be back on his estate, and he never felt more peace than when he was here, close to the vineyards, able to walk amid the vines. He checked clusters of grapes as he walked between the tidy rows. It looked like an excellent crop this year and he anticipated a good harvest come September.
But that wasn’t all that would happen. By the time the grapes were harvested, he would be a father.
He hadn’t quite yet become accustomed to the thought. It was still exciting, surprising. Even a little overwhelming. He hadn’t been ready to settle down, hadn’t imagined starting a family for another few years. Because the Riccis didn’t divorce, they tended to marry late, and he was no exception. He’d planned on marrying in his mid to late thirties, but God had a different plan, and he was good with that.
Charlotte, he knew, wasn’t.
Charlotte saw obstacles where he saw solutions. He wasn’t worried, not yet. He’d find a way to make her understand, but it would mean he needed time, and there wasn’t much time, not if she intended to be on a flight to London tomorrow.
He paused at the next row, fingers lightly brushing a leaf, and then the cluster of grapes beneath.
Time together was what they needed. If she was determined to still go to London tomorrow, then he’d go with her.
Better yet, he’d fly her there himself.
None of Charlotte’s clients knew she was pregnant, and none of them knew she was in Italy, either. She woke up to dozens of new emails in her inbox, and her phone showed an alarming number of new texts and voice messages needing attention.
Work was good, she told herself, as she sat with her laptop at the breakfast table, responding to emails she could answer now, and making note of what she’d need to do to get back to people.
She had to survive only another day here, she told herself, and then she’d be in England, with her family—not that any of them knew she was coming, in part because she wasn’t sure where she should go. But she didn’t have to have that figured out yet. Tomorrow was tomorrow, today was today, and she’d devote the rest of her morning to work, and then eventually she’d have to face Brando, and hopefully by the time she did, she’d be more sanguine about the kiss.
The kiss.
Her fingers hovered over her keyboard as heat washed through her. The kiss...
Brando still had such an effect on her. There was something so elemental about him, them, and she couldn’t resist him, not physically. Emotionally, that was a different matter. Emotionally, all she had to do was remember Louisa at the door of his Florence house, practically naked, clearly having come to the door from his bed, and that memory still made her recoil.
She knew she couldn’t judge him for having others—there was no relationship between them. But how could she make the leap from “nothing” to wife?
It didn’t make sense. She couldn’t wrap her head around it...or her heart. And for marriage, she needed her heart.
She closed her laptop and pushed it away before crossing her arms over her chest, frustrated and indignant. It was a mistake coming to Florence to see Brando, and an even bigger mistake agreeing to come to this house in the country with him because everywhere she looked, it was his world. She didn’t belong here, and she felt trapped right now, trapped in his big, sprawling castello, trapped by the beautiful pastoral views, trapped in his world that was both seductive, and consuming.
Brando wasn’t like anyone else she had ever known, and she didn’t know how to deal with him. She felt hormonal, and restless, agitated and confused. She should have just stayed in California and gone to her yoga class and eaten her healthy salads and worked at her desk and sent him a message that they needed to talk, that she had something important to tell him.
He would have come to see her.
She could have stayed put and made him do the traveling. Why didn’t she?
That was easy. She’d secretly wanted the element of surprise. She’d wanted to discover for herself who he really was, not who she imagined him to be. She wanted facts. The truth. Because one night together wasn’t anything, one night of sex was just a fantasy. After she’d returned to Los Angeles, she’d built him up in her mind, too, made him special, and wonderful...almost mythic...and she knew it couldn’t all be true, that he couldn’t really be everything she’d made him out to be. And so, she’d arrived in his world unannounced, shown up on his doorstep to see what she would see—not the fantasy, but the man.
And the man had a famous model in his bed.
The man probably had famous models frequently in his bed. But, why shouldn’t he? He was ridiculously wealthy, and impossibly handsome, and he made love like a god.
He’d made her feel things she didn’t know she could feel, and he’d made her hope—as impossible as it was—that she was different. Special.
Seeing Louisa on his doorstep dispelled that hope. Charlotte wasn’t special, or unique. What they’d done...experienced... New Year’s Eve was no different from what he’d done, and sh
ared, with countless other women. Unwittingly she thought of her family, and the affairs—hushed as they were—and the lack of commitment. Both of her parents had been unfaithful. Both of them had found it impossible to honor their wedding vows. If she married Brando, she’d be living with someone who wasn’t that different from her father, and it filled her with pain.
But maybe pain was good. Maybe it was better this way, better to deal in facts.
Fact one: she was pregnant.
Fact two: the baby was due in three months.
Fact three: Brando Ricci, Italian tycoon, was the father.
Fact four: Brando didn’t love her, but she, Charlotte Parks, might just be a little in love with him...
Footsteps sounded and she glanced up, hoping it was the housekeeper with her cappuccino. She’d had one earlier with breakfast but still craved another cup. Instead it was Brando, and he was carrying a tall bottle of water and a glass.
He twisted off the cap on the bottle and filled the glass with sparkling water before placing the glass in front of her. “Too much caffeine isn’t good for the baby,” he said. “Water is better for both of you.”
“I didn’t sleep well. I can’t wake up.”
“Go for a swim. That will be far more refreshing, and healthier, too.”
“I’m not interested in squeezing myself into a bathing suit.”
“There is no one to see. You’ll have complete privacy.”
“I have too much work to do, and sadly, I didn’t bring a suit.”
He dropped into a chair at the table. “Is there anything I can help you with?”
“No. You’ve done quite enough, thank you.”
“Giving you water instead of coffee?”
