The Marker: Book One in the Bridge Series

by Howes, Ann

  Marco glances at Gianni, gives him a chin tip and rubs the top of my head. “I’ll see you downstairs in a bit and we can catch up. I’ve a few things to take care of.”

  The vista of the Pacific Ocean suffused in silvery light is stunning, although the water’s choppy from the recent storm. To the right is the western span of the Golden Gate Bridge. A fully loaded tanker, riding low in the water, glides beneath, steering into the bay presumably on its way to the Port of Oakland.

  “Will this room work for you?” Gianni’s eyeing me, and I’m struck by how much this house suits him. It should, considering he was born here. “If not I can have Connie fix up one of the other guest rooms but this one has the best view.”

  I let out a puff of air and glance around the spacious bedroom, beautifully decorated in warm, rich desert tones.

  “How could I not be happy here?” I cut a glance at him. “This is…was Joey’s room, right?”

  He acknowledges with a sad smile.

  Though Joey had long since moved to his own apartment, I could still sense his presence. Almost as if the furniture had absorbed, and then re-emitted his energy.

  “It’s so surreal to be back here. I feel like I’m in a dream, almost like the last ten years didn’t happen.”

  I step outside and walk to the edge of the wrap-around balcony, which is decorated with tall terracotta pots. They overflow with orange and white impatiens and deep blue lobelia. At the southern end is another set of double French doors.

  Gianni follows me and sits on the white balustrade with his back to the ocean, palms curled over the edges on either side of him.

  “I forgot how amazing this view is,” I say. “You’re fortunate to have grown up here.”

  “Wasn’t without its challenges.” There’s a touch of melancholy in his voice and, curious, I turn to look at him.

  “I bet. Growing up in your father’s shadow, being groomed to take over must have been difficult, to say the least. Especially if that wasn’t what you wanted.”

  “That too.” He murmurs, then holds my gaze for several heartbeats and something about how his eyes have gone dark then drop to my mouth makes me feel dazed, like I’ve overdosed on Vicodin. Then they drop further and linger on my nipples. It’s almost physical, that look, as if his hands and not his eyes are touching me.

  It’s exciting and nerve-wracking all at once. I force myself to look away.

  Those fucking mixed messages again…I’m not going to fall into this trap, having made a fool of myself twice already. Though my breasts, the little traitors, still tingling from our earlier encounter by the truck, disagree.

  “Is that your mom’s room?” I point to the balcony above our heads hoping to steer the conversation in another, safer direction.

  He lifts his gaze and nods.

  “I’d like to say hello if she’s available.”

  He stands with that easy, lazy grace I’ve come to associate with him and takes a step away from the edge, bringing him closer to me. “She’s not here.”

  “Um…what?”

  “She’s in Italy, with family. This thing with Joey…I want to make sure she’s safe and out of the way should anything happen.”

  My first thought is what is he expecting to happen? Then another one occurs to me. “When were you going to tell me I’d be here alone?”

  He exhales on a grunt that could be also be construed as a swallowed laugh. “You’re not gonna be alone, woman. I’ll be here and so will Marco. And Connie, the housekeeper, the gardener, the dogs and…”

  “Okay, I get it.” I laugh, grateful I’ve managed to divert a situation where perhaps I’d make a fool of myself again and turn to face him. But stop short at his expression.

  “You shouldn’t laugh, De Luca,” he says softly.

  Uh-oh.

  “And why is that?”

  “It makes you far too irresistible.”

  Irresistible? After he’s rejected me twice?

  I’m not sure due to the blood suddenly buzzing through my head. That crackly thing begins, the way it does when he gets intense, making my breath catch in my throat and my belly tighten. And then his hand comes up slowly and circles behind my neck.

  “And right about now, I’m thinking you owe me a kiss.” This is said low and a little raspy as he pulls me to him.

  “I do?” I whisper back. A thrill of anticipation rushes through me at the same time as fear. Fear I’ll be irretrievably lost if he does kiss me, for there’ll be no going back for me once I’ve tasted him.

  “I’m done waiting.” Fingers slip into my hair, grabbing a handful and tugging, while the other hand slides around my waist and crushes me to his torso. “And I’m done with your teasing.”

  “My teasing?” I repeat, not sure why my brain is finding his words so hard to process.

  “Yeah.”

  “I think you’re mistaken…I never…ah.”

  My mind goes blank when his lips touch my neck and that bristly stubble grazes my skin. Goosebumps prickle all the way down to my nipples, making them ache and I pull in a quick breath. I allow myself this one tiny moment.

  Because it feels good.

  So, so good.

  Liquid desire pools between my legs with an intensity that thrills me way too much, and when I feel him hardening my insides quiver. And I capitulate. Because I have no willpower to do anything else.

  When my head drops back, he groans softly deep in his throat, trailing kisses up my neck, along my jaw and to the corner of my mouth. Each one, combined with his scent, the heat of his breath, his heart thundering next to mine, makes me want more. Then his mouth moves over mine, demanding…sucking on my lower lip…coaxing my mouth open. His tongue begins a slow, sensual slide across my lip that deepens, getting wilder, hungrier and hotter.

  I’m lost.

  Years of pent-up want and yearning, every fantasy I ever had I realize now is wrapped up in some version of this man. And he’s kissing me.

  More than that.

  He’s devouring me, like he’s wanted this too. Like he’s craved this too.

  His taste, his touch, everything about him I absorb. Aware I’m stepping off a cliff, about to fall into the deep abyss. But I don’t care. His hand moves under my top, sliding over my skin, over my ribs sending electricity coursing outward. When that big, rough palm captures my skimpy breast and scrapes over my nipple, it hits me.

  Miss fucking Double Ds.

  Fuck.

  Fuck!

  That’s when I begin to fight, like I should have before. Gathering the very last vestige of control, I turn my head and break the kiss.

  “No!”

  I’m panting and aroused and it’s the last thing I want, but I have to. I refuse to be just another one of his conquests. One of his women he can tap anytime. I can’t deal with that so I push against him.

  “What’s your game, Gianni?” My voice is thick and breathy and I’m terrified of what he’ll say, but I need to hear him say it, setting whatever illusions aside.

  “My game?” His brow creases and he pulls back, but keeps one arm locked around me, though the hand on my breast drops. He blows out a shaky breath.

  “I’m not one of your toys.”

  He blinks and clears his throat. “Toy? What’re you on about? That was no game.”

  “What about the woman who came to your house, your girlfriend?”

  “Gina?”

  I push again, harder, using the back of my forearms. He releases me and takes a step back.

  “Yes, Gianni,” I snap. “Her.”

  “What about her?” He reaches for me, but I take another step back. “She’s nothing.”

  “Nothing? Is that how you think of women you sleep with?”

  “Jesus…no. That’s not what I meant.”

  “So, you have slept with her?”

  “Shit.” He closes his eyes and runs a hand through his hair. “Yes, but…that’s got nothing to do with this.”

  My stomach plummets
. Is he going to lie to me? Does he lie to women in general? “She can’t be nothing, Gianni. A woman who comes to a funeral with a man isn’t nothing.”

  “That wasn’t what you think, De Luca. Her car died. We picked her up on the way.”

  “She has her own key, explain that.”

  He doesn’t, instead he stares at me intently, looking for what, I couldn’t say. “We’re not together. Don’t overthink this.”

  “Overthink it? Despite the fact that you think I use men for money, which, by the way I don’t. You should also know, unequivocally, I don’t poach another woman’s man.”

  “Were you listening? I said we’re not together.” Something moves across his face, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say it was resignation. But that’s also when I realize I’m making way to big a deal, giving him too much power over a kiss that means nothing. To him.

  It’s not his fault I responded the way I did, wanting more than I should expect. But it’s my feelings getting crushed, my heart that will undoubtedly get broken.

  So I dig deep, searching for my inner mafia princess, that lazy bitch, and summon her the fuck up.

  “You’re right.” How my voice doesn’t waver is beyond me. “I am overthinking. You’re a player, looking for someone to play with. But I’m not it.”

  “Shelley…” He reaches for my wrist.

  “Don’t.” I jerk away and get a small sense of satisfaction when something washes over him. Something that almost looks like pain when he swallows, but then I remind myself who I’m confronting. Gianni-fucking-Cadora.

  “Uh…you two.” Marco steps out onto the balcony, with a look that says he probably saw more than he should have. “I hate to interrupt, but…” He stops.

  “What?” we both say at the same time when he doesn’t continue.

  He grins, then shakes his head at Gianni. “Smooth, man.”

  “Fuck off.” Gianni glares back.

  I glare at them both. “Well?”

  “There’s a really hot blonde here to see you, Shelley.”

  “Oh…Cass.”

  Thank God.

  “Give us a second,” Gianni says to Marco, with a pointed look that would make lesser men scurry away. But Marco tips his chin and winks at me before turning to walk through the French doors.

  My face turns hot.

  Gianni cages my jaw with his big palm before I can move out of his way, his eyes boring deep into mine. I can tell he’s searching for something.

  “We’re not done here, Shelley.”

  “Yeah, we are. There’s nothing more to say.”

  “The hell there isn’t.”

  Before I can argue further a tornado in the form of a blonde with flashing green eyes sweeps through the door.

  “Oh, my God!” Cass cries, marching her curvy form, followed by Marco, into my new bedroom, dropping her purse on the bed. “Why didn’t you call me sooner?”

  She grabs my wrists and studies my hands before focusing on my face. “And what the hell happened to your eye?”

  I embarrass myself by bursting into tears.

  “What is going on?” She turns her stare to Gianni and Marco. Mostly at Gianni. “Why’s my girl crying?”

  Neither man answers her but both stare back, looking like they’re not sure what to do with her.

  “Okay, enough.” Cass takes charge. “I don’t mean to be rude in your home, but Shelley needs girl time.” Through my fingers I catch a glimpse of her waving her hands, shooing them.

  “Out…out. Let me handle this.”

  If I wasn’t so messed up, I’d find it funny. Two alphas shepherded by a bossy blonde, followed by three dogs.

  Dog number four, the overweight bulldog, plonks himself down on the floor at my feet, legs splayed, panting and almost looking like he’s grinning with that pink tongue protruding from a slightly askew under bite. Now that I’ve had a chance to really look at him, I’d swear on a stack of hair foils he’s Truman Capote reincarnated.

  Marco shuts the door, but not before smiling at Cass. Though I’m not sure she notices as she’s rushing back to me, wrapping her arms around me, pulling me close.

  “I’m so pissed at you,” she says, rubbing circles on my back. “Why didn’t you call me? What are girlfriends supposed to be for?”

  She steps back, keeping a hold on my upper arms. Her gorgeous green eyes shimmer with worry.

  “I’m sorry,” I mumble. “I was embarrassed and couldn’t deal with all the questions.”

  “Tell me that glorious-looking man with those sexy blue eyes isn’t responsible for any of this?”

  “God, no! This is all Dean.”

  “That motherfucker,” she yells. “If he comes near you again, I’ll sit on him while you use your hair-clippers on his balls.”

  Trust Cass, she always knows what to say. We stare at each for a heartbeat, then we both burst into giggles.

  When we finally get it together, she asks, “So, what’s the story with those two?” She points her chin in the direction of my bedroom door.

  “Gianni’s helping me.”

  “And who is this Gianni and why haven’t I heard about him before?”

  “Long story.”

  “I have time. I’m here for you baby…tell Momma.”

  “Okay.”

  “Excellent. Because I brought wine.” She points a finger at me. “I want every lurid, dirty detail.” A bottle of Chardonnay and a corkscrew appear out of her thousand-dollar, mint green designer bag. “Start at the very beginning.” After popping the cork and pouring the wine into glasses she found in the bathroom, she toes one shoe off at a time and hops onto the bed.

  Careful not to spill the wine, I lower myself into a plush, over-sized armchair upholstered in velour the color of burnt sienna.

  As I sip and unload, I realize I’m an idiot for not telling her.

  “I’m gonna need some time off,” I say when I’m done. “You know…while my hands heal.”

  “No worries, hon.” She shakes her head and brushes angular bangs from her face. “Take as long as you need. Your clients will miss you but they’ll be fine. However, I’m still trying to wrap my head around this mafia thing. How come you never told me?”

  “That my father hid money from the government?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Well, it’s not exactly something you speak openly of. I loved my dad, but I’m not exactly proud of what he did.”

  “Yeah, I can see that.” Cass swirls her wine, takes a sip, then peeks at me through her lashes. “And you and this Gianni?”

  “What about us?” I ask warily, wondering how much to divulge. Not that there is much to divulge.

  “There’s gotta be something there and I don’t mean because you dated his brother.”

  “He thought of me as an annoying pain in his ass, not worthy of his brother.”

  “That was then. What about now?”

  “Now he wants to play. Thinks I’m a toy.”

  There’s a skeptical slant to her beautiful cat eyes. “Mmm…not buying it. I had about two seconds to examine him, but that’s not the vibe I was getting. Not the way he was looking at you. He’s got an agenda beyond playing, hon.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  “You’re gonna be all right? You can always stay with me.”

  “Thanks,” I murmur, thinking I might need to take her offer.

  “And Dean, that bastard. He’s fine-looking, dammit, but I knew there was a reason I didn’t trust him. He was always so damn possessive. He came to the salon looking for you.”

  “I suspected he might.”

  Cass pulls her lips in between her teeth and nods. “He got this really odd look on his face when I told him you had called in sick. I couldn’t understand why, I mean”—she throws out a hand—“wouldn’t he know you were sick? Anyway, I should have figured something was up and checked on you. I’m sorry, Shelley, I’m not a very good friend, am I?”

  “Don’t you do that. You’r
e the best I’ve got. Anyway, I don’t want to talk about him anymore. Will you help me wash my hair?”

  “Of course, on one condition.” She slides her bottom off the edge of the bed. “Damn, these wood floors are beautiful. I need to ask that man of yours who did them.”

  “He’s not my man, Cass. What condition?”

  “You have to tell me about baldy. Is he single?”

  “Say what?” My eyebrows shoot straight up.

  “He’s kinda hot in that bad boy, biker sort of way.” She blushes and fans herself as she pulls up a chair to the bathroom sink. “I’d love to get a closer look at all that ink.”

  “Cassandra Jones!” My face splits into a grin. “Marco? Really? You’re stepping out of your fancy white-bread-Wall-Street comfort zone?” I smirk as I get comfortable in the chair.

  “I know,” she giggles. “There’s a lot yummy about him, all those muscles and tats. If I dated him, my parents would die.” She fills up a decorative pitcher with warm water. “Tip your head back.”

  “Mmm,” I groan as the warm water saturates my scalp. “That feels good.” She pours a dollop of shampoo onto her palm. I get a familiar whiff of green apples as she massages it into my scalp working up a thick, foamy lather. I smile thinking it must be the same stuff Gianni uses.

  Suddenly a more pungent odor breaks through.

  “Ugh!” Cass wrinkles her nose and sniffs the bottle.

  “God. What’s that smell?” I ask, almost gagging.

  “Well, it’s not this…OH! Jesus. That fucking ugly-ass dog just farted.”

  Gak.

  I push myself out of my chair, ignoring the pain shooting through my palms. Must. Get. Outside!

  “Open the window,” I yell, hitting the fan switch and scrambling to get out of Cass’s way. We do one of those move to the left, move to the right things before she holds me still and steps past me, then flings the window wide. I shuffle out of the bathroom, covering my nose and wiping shampoo from my eyes. Almost tripping over the damn dog in question, who’s running circles around my legs probably thinking it’s a game.

  Cass is right behind me waving hands in front of her face when we spill out onto the balcony.

  We gulp lungfuls of ocean air, then look at each other. For the second time since she got here, and this time fueled by wine, we burst into giggles.