Oh, no. Not again. The slightest little thing and down came the tears.
“Damn it, Vann,” she snapped. “This isn’t fair.”
“No, it wasn’t. None of it. You were treated so badly. And it just kills me.”
“Well.” She sniffed back her tears with a sharp laugh. “Please, don’t die. God only knows what they’d accuse me of then.”
A smile flashed across his face, but he just stood there with that look on his face. Like she was supposed to pass judgment, make some sort of declaration to him.
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” she said. “I accept your apology. Satisfied?”
He was silent for a long moment. “No,” he said.
Tension buzzed between them. He was doing it again. Playing her, with his seductive energy. After everything, he still had the nerve. It made her furious.
“I hope that doesn’t mean you’re hoping to get your sexual privileges reinstated,” she said. “Because you’ll be very disappointed.”
“I want more than that,” he said.
She stared at him, her heart racing. “Um...”
“What would it take to make you trust me again?” he asked.
Sophie pressed her hand to her shaking mouth. “I have no idea. I’ve never been hurt this badly. It’s uncharted ground.”
“Then let’s start the journey of exploration.” He sank down onto one knee. “Sophie Valente, I love you. I want to be your man. I want to marry you, have children with you, explore the world with you, grow old with you. You’re the most beautiful, fascinating, desirable woman I have ever known. You excite me on every level of my being. Please be my bride, and I promise, I will try to be worthy of your trust until the day I die.”
Her mouth was a helpless O of shock.
“Wait,” he said, digging into his pocket. “Damn. Important detail.” He pulled out a small, flat box covered with gray silk and tied with a gray silk bow. He pulled the bow loose, and opened it. “Here.”
It was a stunning square-cut emerald ring, in a classic, gorgeous design, flanked by pearls and tiny diamonds, fit for a duchess or a queen.
“Oh, God, Vann,” she whispered.
“I remember you saying something on the beach, about making choices, coming to conclusions,” he said. “I’ve made my choice. I’m sure. I want you.”
“But I...” Her voice trailed off. She pressed her hand over her shaking mouth.
“After I finished in New York and Singapore, I headed to Florence and staked out the Palazzo Valente for about a week,” he said. “So I was walking over the Ponte Vecchio with all its jewelry shops twice a day, going to and from my pensione. All those jewelers on the bridge knew me by first name by the end of that week. I know it’s risky, buying something so personal without getting your input, but I felt like I couldn’t come here without a ring in my hand. I had to demonstrate commitment on every level. We could always get you something else if you prefer a different style or stone.”
“It’s...it’s incredibly beautiful,” she whispered. “But... I just can’t...”
“Can’t what? Can’t trust me?” He grabbed her hand and kissed it. “Then I’ll be patient. And persistent. I’ll just hang around until you can. Years, if that’s what it takes.”
Her face crumpled.
Vann placed a tissue in her hand, but he stayed on his knees, patiently waiting. This was embarrassing. She needed so badly to be tough, and here she was, melting down.
“I’m a mass of bruises inside,” she said. “I just...don’t know if I can.”
“I’ll wait as long as it takes,” he said. “My mind’s made up. You’re the only one for me. You’re everything I could ever need or want. I’m a goner.”
She laughed through her tears and tugged on his hand. “Get up, you. It makes me nervous, having you down there.”
Vann rose to his feet, and without thinking, she was suddenly touching him. His arms wrapped around her, and, oh, God, it felt wonderful. A flash flood of feelings, tearing through her. It was so intense it hurt. In a good way.
After a while, she leaned against his chest, which by now was rather soggy. She felt emptied out, but not embarrassed anymore. If Vann was going to make all those fancy promises about forever, he could start proving himself by seeing her when she ugly-cried.
When the tears eased off, she felt so soft inside. Buoyant. Like she could waft up into the sky like one of those floating lanterns. Lit up, lighter than air.
She wiped her eyes again. “Got another tissue?”
Vann whipped out the pack. “As many as you need.”
“Big talk, mister,” she said, mopping up the mess. “I hate crying in front of people. Now you’ve seen me lose it, what, three times now? A record only my mom could beat.”
“It’s a privilege,” he said solemnly. “An honor. I’ll try to be worthy.”
Her face crumpled again, and she covered it with the tissue. “Oh, damn.”
“What? What is it?” he asked.
“Mentioning my mom,” she said. “It set me off. I’ve been thinking so much about how she must have felt after Malcolm left her. But she had to raise a kid alone on top of it, while feeling all of that. It must have been so hard. She had to be so strong for me.”
“I’m so sorry, baby.” He kissed her hand again.
She blew her nose. “That day in Malcolm’s office, I thought it was like a curse, and I got caught in it somehow.”
“Malcolm did, too,” he said. “So did I. But we broke the spell. I’ve been thinking about my father these last weeks. He was so defensive he alienated his wife and kid. He died like that. Cold, hard and alone. I want better than that for myself. I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ll learn, I’ll grow. Whatever I need to do.”
“Hmph.” She mopped away her tears, and looked up. “Well. That’s lovely to hear. I’m glad for you. I want to grow, too. But I’m not sure I’m ready to forgive Malcolm yet.”
“Never mind Malcolm,” Vann said. “How about me?”
She straightened up, gazing straight into his eyes. “Swear to me,” she said. “Never, ever leave me in the dark about something important. Ever again. Not to protect my feelings, or to spare me hurt, or pain, or embarrassment, or fear. Not to avoid a fight. Not for any reason. You have to promise to be brave. Swear to me. On your honor.”
His eyes burned with intensity. “I swear it,” he said. “I’ll be brave for you. But you have to swear the same thing right back to me. We’ll learn to be brave for each other.”
She nodded. “I swear.”
Vann pulled the ring out of the box. “So you’ll wear my ring? You’ll marry me?”
She tried to speak, but her voice broke. She just nodded.
He slid the ring onto her finger. It fit perfectly. He kissed her hand, his lips lingering, reverent. “My love,” he whispered. “My bride. Damn, Sophie. I’m so happy right now I’m scared. I mean, out of my mind scared. Like this can’t possibly be true, and I’m going to wake up.”
She laughed through her tears. “Aw. Do you want me to pinch you?”
The wind gusted, and wisteria blossoms swirled around them in a pale purple cloud, fluttering gently down to kiss the pavement stones around them.
“Oh, please,” Vann said. “Just stop it. A shower of flower petals? That’s total overkill, and it’s not helping me believe that this is not a dream.”
She laughed. “You have no idea what you’re in for, Vann. Wait until I get you up to the bedroom with the Juliet balconies overlooking the sea and the vaulted ceilings frescoed with naked pink cherubs and chubby shepherdesses. I will show you overkill like you never imagined. Get ready, big guy.”
His grin was radiant. “Cherubs, shepherdesses, angels, rainbows, unicorns, I don’t care. Bring ’em on. Have at it.”
“Ah...you mean now?”
> He shrugged. “Anytime, anywhere. I’m all yours. Lead the way.”
“Well. In that case...” She took his hand and tugged him toward the wide marble staircase that led to the upper floors. “Follow me.”
“To the ends of the earth,” he told her.
“How about just my bed for now? The ends of the earth can wait.”
* * *
Their time in the bedroom left them exhausted and famished, which turned Sophie’s thoughts to the goodies she’d procured on her shopping trip.
Delicious tender mozzarella knots. A wedge of aged pecorino cheese. Salt-cured smoked ham. Spicy olives. Delicious crusty bread. Ripe plum tomatoes still on the vine. Freshly grilled artichokes drenched in lemon and olive oil. Cherries, those fat shiny deep red ones. A bottle of good red wine. And Signora Ippolita’s thick Florentine beef steak.
By the time the wine was poured and the table laden with the rest of their meal, Vann had finished grilling the steak. It was resting on a platter, seared to perfection. Vann served them each a big, juicy pink-tinged chunk of it, and they fell to. Food had never tasted so wonderful.
They were just starting to slow down when she heard a rhythmic buzzing sound. A text message notification. Not her phone. It came from under the table.
Vann fished his phone out from the pocket of his cargo pants. “Sorry, I’ll turn it off. Just let me see if—whoa, wait. It’s Malcolm.”
Sophie was startled. “But didn’t he fire you? Why is he texting you?”
“He did fire me, but he...wait. Hold on.” He read the text. “Oh, God, he’s here.”
“Here meaning...where?”
“In Italy,” Vann said glumly. “On his way down from Rome to Positano right now. To see you.”
“Me?” Her voice broke off into a squeak.
“Yes. Evidently Drew and Zack have been passing along my progress reports. I can hardly blame the old man for wanting to see you, but his timing sucks. I wanted you all to myself for a while.”
Sophie wiped her mouth, her heart thudding. “What does he say?”
“Oh, he’s just busting my balls.” He held his phone out. “Here, read it. Be entertained.”
Sophie scrolled through the long message.
Vann. Twelve hours of silence means one of two things. A) You found Sophie, she spit in your eye and you have thrown yourself off the sea cliff in despair, or B) You found Sophie, she fell prey to your slick line and you are taking advantage of the situation like the dirty dog that you are. Ava and I will soon arrive in Positano. In the case of option A, we will make arrangements for your broken body to be sent home for burial. Otherwise, you and Sophie will join us for dinner tomorrow at eight, at Buca di Bacco.
I await confirmation.
Sophie blew out a sharp breath. “Oh, my God.”
“And so it begins,” Vann grumbled. “Ball-breaking of monumental proportions. My own fault for losing my temper. He asked me to tell you that he hoped you’d give him a second chance, but I was so pissed I told him I wasn’t his errand boy and he could tell you himself. So that’s exactly what he did. Now here he is.”
She couldn’t help laughing at the chagrin on Vann’s face. “Well, wow,” she murmured. “I’m touched that he cared enough to come all this way.”
“Oh, yes,” Vann said. “He cares. But he used me first. Shamelessly. He bided his time and monitored my progress while I hauled ass all over the globe, the sneaky old bastard. You wanted family? You’ve got it now, by the truckload. You will now have the unique pleasure of Malcolm’s advice, opinions and judgment about every single aspect of your life going forward. Lucky, lucky you.” Then his eyes widened.
“What?” she demanded. “What’s that face all about? Is something wrong?”
“It just hit me,” he said, his voice hollow. “Malcolm Maddox is going to be my father-in-law. God give me strength.”
“Oh, you poor thing. How will you manage, I wonder.” She set down her wineglass and selected a plump, gleaming cherry. He watched, fascinated, as she slowly ate it.
“Sophie Valente, you are a dangerous woman,” he said, his voice a sensual rasp.
“Probably,” she said. “But if you’re afraid...if you just can’t face it...it’s not too late to reconsider.”
He shook his head. “You’re wrong,” he said. “It was too late from the first moment I saw you. My fate was sealed in a heartbeat.”
The energy between them made her face heat up.
Vann reached for the phone without breaking eye contact. “Let’s wrap this up so I can turn this thing off. So? Do you forgive Malcolm? Your call. No judgment either way from me.”
Sophie pondered the question. “Tonight, I think I could forgive just about anything of just about anybody.”
“Lucky Malcolm,” he said. “So. I’m confirming the dinner reservation?”
“Yes.”
Vann tapped the screen. Okay. Option B, duly confirmed, he typed. He thumbed the phone off, and placed it facedown on the table. “And now, I’ve got you all to myself until eight o’clock tomorrow evening. Malcolm can’t bother us until then.”
Sophie pushed her chair back, and rose to her feet, licking the cherry juice off her fingers, then slowly running her hand down the front of her dressing gown until the pressure loosened the knot of the silken tie. She spread it open, displaying herself to him.
“We should use the time well,” she said. “So? Take advantage of the situation. Make me fall prey to your slick line. Lay it on me, you bad, seductive bastard.”
“Oh, man,” he said hoarsely, staring at her naked body. “You’re so gorgeous. I still can’t believe this is real.”
She held out her arms. “Then get over here right now, and let me prove it to you.”
* * *
If you liked
Vann and Sophie’s story,
you won’t want to miss the next installment in
the Men of Maddox Hill series
by New York Times bestselling author
Shannon McKenna.
Available January 2022,
exclusively from Harlequin Desire.
Keep reading for an excerpt from Texas Tough by Janice Maynard.
WE HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS BOOK FROM
Luxury, scandal, desire—welcome to the lives of the American elite.
Be transported to the worlds of oil barons, family dynasties, moguls and celebrities. Get ready for juicy plot twists, delicious sensuality and intriguing scandal.
6 NEW BOOKS AVAILABLE EVERY MONTH!
Texas Tough
by Janice Maynard
One
Abby Carmichael was a Starbucks and bright-city-lights kind of girl. What was she doing out here in this godforsaken section of Texas? Maverick County was flat. So flat. And the town of Royal, though charming enough with its wealthy ranchers and rough-edged cowboys, didn’t even have a storefront for her usual caffeine fix.
So far, she’d been in Royal less than a day, and already she was regretting her current life choice. That was the trouble with being a documentary filmmaker. You had to go where the stories took you. Unfortunately, this particular assignment was smack-dab in the middle of the old Western movies her grandpa used to make her watch.
She pulled off onto a small gravel side road, dazzled by the glorious sunset despite her cranky mood. Flying did that to her. Not to mention having to drive a rental car where all the buttons and knobs were in different places.
Taking a deep breath, she concentrated on losing herself in the moment. All she needed was a hot bath and a good night’s sleep. Then she’d be good as new.
Grudgingly, she admired the stunning display of colors painting the evening sky. The orangey reds and golds caught the tips of prairie grasses and made them flame with faux fire. New York City had sunsets, but not like this.
At least the heat didn’t bother her. Gradually, the peaceful scene smoothed her ragged edges. She’d left her cameras back at the hotel. This excursion was about relaxation and mental health, not work.
Suddenly, she noticed a lone figure far-off on the horizon, silhouetted against the glow of the quickly plummeting sun. The phantom drew closer, taking on shape and form, moving fast, paralleling the road. It was a rider, a horseman. With the sun in her eyes, Abby could make out nothing about the cowboy’s features, but she was struck by the grace of man and beast and by the beauty of day’s end.
As the horse drew closer, Abby could hear the distinctive thud, ka-thud of hooves striking the raw dirt. Something inside her quivered in anticipation.
Grabbing her phone, she jumped out of the car, ran down the road to get closer and began videoing with her cell. That was often how she processed information. Give her a lens, even a phone lens, and she was happy.
The man’s posture was regal, yet easy in the saddle. As if he and the animal were one. Soon, they would be past her.
But without warning, the rider pulled on the reins abruptly. The horse whinnied in protest, reared on its hind legs and settled into a restless halt.
A deep, masculine voice called out across the distance, “You’re on private property. Can I help you?”
For the first time, it occurred to Abby that she was entirely alone and far from civilization. Vulnerable. A frisson of caution slid down her spine, and some atavistic instinct told her to run. “I have Mace,” she warned over her shoulder as she walked rapidly back toward her car.
The man’s laugh, a sexy amused chuckle, carried on the breeze. “Mace is good, but it’s no match for a Texas shotgun.”
Corner Office Secrets Page 17
