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Always and ever love.
If there was a greater legacy than love, Lionel did not wish to know it.
“Aren’t you lucky,” Geraldine would say when she found him in their bed at night, whether it was at home in Andalusia or in one of their places around the world, where they would stay whenever Lionel needed to travel for work, “that I decided to fall in love with you all those years ago?”
And Lionel knew that he was the luckiest.
But he also knew how to handle his wife. “The lucky one is you,mi media naranja,” he would tell her sternly. “And I will have you prove it tonight, I think. By saying only my name. Do you understand?”
She always smiled so wide, his Geraldine.
Then she would whisper his name, as commanded.
But what he heard waslove, so that was what he gave her. And that was what he got.
And that was what they made, until it was a life, and then it bloomed on into forever.
How the Italian Claimed Her
Jennifer Hayward
“Sorry,” Jensen breathed, the warmth of her breath skating across his cheek. “I got a bit dizzy. I haven’t slept much the past few days.”
Cristiano’s hand splayed across her bottom, holding her securely. And suddenly, those erotic images he’d envisioned waking up to replayed themselves in his head in vivid Technicolor detail. Except this time, he knew what she felt like, and he wasn’t certain it was an image he could get out of his head.
Moving his hand up to a more respectable position at her waist, he set her away from him. That inconvenient chemistry flared between them, dark eyes fixed on blue, smoking up the air between them for a long, infinitesimal second, before she slicked her tongue over her lips in a nervous movement and stepped back, his arm dropping away from her waist.
“Thank you,” she murmured in a husky voice. “That could have been a nasty fall.”
He doused the heat snaking through his body with a superhuman effort, becausethiswas not happening between them. He was here to enforce the rules. Nothing more.
This one is for you, Dottie Auletto. No one could have been a bigger Harlequin Presents fan or loved books more than you did. I’m heartbroken that you’re gone. I miss you so much. But your love of romance and your amazing spirit will always be with me as I write. xx
CHAPTER ONE
CRISTIANOVITALEHADjust consumed a fortifying, and more importantly eye-opening, sip of strong, dark espresso when his chief marketing officer appeared in his office, looking far more frazzled than the holder of such a position should be, just weeks out from the launch of the most important collection in Francesco Vitale’s storied history.
Founded over a half century ago by his late grandfather, Francesco Vitale, the legendary Italian fashion house he commanded was on the verge of a massive rebirth, a do-or-die moment for the company he’d spent a decade rebuilding. What had necessitated a 4:00 a.m. start to the morning that he was presently attempting to wake up from. Putting out another fire before he’d even gotten to his emails wasn’t how he particularly wanted to start the day. He was sure, however, from the frustration written across Antonio Braga’s inordinately stressed face that he had no choice in the matter.
He sat back in his chair, hands wrapped around his coffee cup, and motioned his CMO into the chair opposite him. “You have five minutes before I’m due in a meeting with the lawyers. Make it quick.”
Antonio ignored the chair he offered and paced to the window, where he stood, staring out at a magnificent view of Milan, every muscle in his perfectly groomed body tense, his shoulders practically up at his ears. “I need you to do me a favor.”
Cristiano hiked a brow. An interesting way to start the conversation, given the power differential between the two, and given that his CMO knew the weight he was presently carrying. But as he’d never seen Antonio this out of sorts before, he elected to play along. “Which is?”
Antonio turned and leaned a hip against the windowsill, his handsome face haggard and lined with the strain he’d been carrying for months. “You are in London tonight?”
“Si.”An in-and-out-in-a-night business trip he would prefer not to do, but one that was key. “Why?” he queried. “You need to tag along?”
“No.” Antonio raked a hand through his short dark hair, looking as if that idea horrified him. “I have an ad campaign to finish and a television commercial to shoot, and no time to do either.” A silence followed as he set his gaze on Cristiano. “It’s Jensen Davis.”
The hairs on the back of Cristiano’s neck rose. The wild-child face of his brand, American supermodel Jensen Davis, had been causing havoc for him for weeks, racking up headlines faster than the millions he paid her. Scandalous,salaciousheadlines with the power to sully the FV legacy at a time when it could least afford it.
A dark current of frustration sizzled up his spine. “What has she done now?” he growled.
Antonio deposited the entertainment section of one of London’s daily newspapers on his desk. Cristiano set his coffee cup down and pulled the newspaper toward him. The front page of the section featured a photo of the twenty-six-year-old Jensen stumbling out of a club, dressed in a jaw-dropping red dress, in what looked like the early hours of the morning.
Her luxurious chestnut-colored hair fell in a silken curtain over her shoulder; her stunning ebony eyes emphasized with dark, smoky makeup that made them look undeniably haunting, her sensational body encased in a body-hugging silk, she was the most unforgettably beautiful woman he’d ever set eyes on. The perfect canvas for the FV brand.
