A Ring for Vincenzo's Heir

by Jennie Lucas

  After Nico was safely asleep, she went into her luxurious master bathroom and started a bath. She groomed herself as carefully as a bride on her wedding night—the wedding night they’d never actually had, since she’d gone into labor on her wedding day—and moisturized her body with lotion to make her skin soft as silk. She brushed out her long red hair until it gleamed.

  She didn’t get dressed. Following the advice she’d read online, she left off her clothes entirely, for maximum visual impact. Not even lingerie. Not even panties. She just covered her naked body with only an old-fashioned pinafore apron.

  Then Scarlett waited, terrified and breathless, for Vin to come home from work.

  Tonight, she would tell him she loved him.

  And then he’d tell her he loved her, too, and their lifetime of happiness would begin.

  Either that, or...

  She shuddered, caught between longing and terror as she waited for the door to open.

  * * *

  As Vin stepped out of his chauffeured Bentley into the frosted darkness of his street, he felt bone-weary.

  It was late on Christmas Eve night, almost ten o’clock. He gave a low curse as he looked at his expensive watch. “I’m sorry, Leonardo,” he told his driver in Italian. “I’ve kept you from your family. Thank you for staying.”

  “No problem, Mr. Borgia.” His driver beamed at him. “The Christmas bonus you sent is sending our whole family on vacation to the Caribbean next month. My wife also appreciated the delicious homemade panettone from Mrs. Borgia.” He kissed his fingertips expressively. “Delizioso.”

  Vin stared at him blankly.

  “I need to thank you, too, boss,” Beppe, his bodyguard on duty, interrupted. The hulking man actually blushed. “I used the bonus to buy an engagement ring for my girlfriend. I’m giving it to her tomorrow morning. And Mrs. Borgia’s panettone was delicious. I ate the whole cake watching last night’s game.”

  Vin was shocked. Scarlett had learned how to bake? She’d arranged Christmas gifts for his staff? And not just the practical gift of money, but a personal gift of homemade Christmas cake? “Oh. Yes.” He cleared his throat. “I’m glad you liked it.”

  He hadn’t even known. Hadn’t realized.

  But then, he’d been distracted lately. As his bodyguard raced ahead to enter the security code, Vin trudged to the door. He’d really thought he’d be able to convince Salvatore Calabrese to sell him Mediterranean Airlines. But the man still wouldn’t talk to him. Through his skinny assistant, he’d sent Vin a single cold message: “I’m interested in selling to sharks, not minnows.” And no amount of corporate diplomacy could now convince him Vin was a shark. Not since he’d put his family’s needs over a business deal.

  Vin felt like he was failing. At his company. At home. Working such long hours, he barely saw his baby son an hour a day. As for his wife...

  Vin shivered.

  He wanted to see more of her.

  Much more.

  They hadn’t made love since Nico’s birth, and at this point, all Vin could think about when he was around her was that he wanted to throw her against the wall and take her.

  But he couldn’t.

  After what he’d seen Scarlett go through in the hospital, he didn’t know when—or even if—she’d ever want him to touch her again. He didn’t even know how to broach the subject. He’d never had to struggle with this before. So rather than constantly feel sexually on edge around her, like a mindless beast with only the barest thread of self-control, it was almost easier to avoid her entirely.

  Looking up at the four-story elegant villa that had become a palace beneath her magical touch, and his wife the untouchable princess living inside it, Vin felt weary.

  “Go home,” he told his bodyguard. “We’ll be fine tonight.”

  Beppe looked doubtful. “That’s not protocol. Especially when there’s the danger of—”

  “It’s Christmas Eve,” Vin cut him off. He didn’t want to think about Blaise Falkner tonight, or the fact that the man had disappeared from New York two weeks ago and couldn’t be found. Another arena in which things hadn’t gone to plan. “Go home. We have the security alarm. I saw Larson in the gatehouse. He’ll call you if he needs you.”

  “If you’re sure...”

  “Go home to your girlfriend.”

  Beppe’s eyes lit up. “Thank you, Signor Borgia. Buon Natale!”

  “Merry Christmas,” Vin replied dully. Alone, he pushed open the tall oak door of the villa. He went into the foyer.

  Yawning, he closed the door securely behind him, turning on the security alarm. Tossing his briefcase on a table, he hung up his long black coat. Wondering if Scarlett had already gone to bed, he walked into the great room.

  And he stopped.

  An enormous Christmas tree, twenty feet tall, now stood in the great room by the blazing fireplace, lit up with thousands of brilliant lights like stars beneath the wood beams of the high ceiling.

  Beneath the tree, he saw something even more dazzling.

  “Welcome home,” his wife murmured, smiling as she held out a martini on a silver tray.

  She was wearing a pretty, ruffled pinafore apron tied around her waist. And beneath that...

  Vin suddenly couldn’t breathe.

  She wasn’t wearing anything under the apron.

  Nothing at all.

  Eyes wide, he stared at her as all the blood rushed south from his head. He couldn’t think. He gaped at her.

  Scarlett tilted her head, looking up at him mischievously beneath her dark eyelashes. “Don’t you want the martini? It’s eggnog-flavored.”

  He stared at her, frozen, drinking in the vision of Scarlett’s long red hair tumbling down her shoulders, to the tops of her full breasts, just visible above the ruffled top of the apron. He could see the pale curve of her naked hips around the edge of the fabric.

  “No? Pity.” Turning, she set the silver tray down on a nearby table. He almost fell to his knees as he got the first view of her naked backside, her lush flesh swaying, each mound perfectly shaped for his palms to cup roughly in his hands. He licked his lips.

  “Where’s—where’s Nico?” he said hoarsely.

  “Sleeping upstairs.”

  “And Mrs. Stone?”

  “It’s Christmas Eve, darling. I told her to take some time off. Gave her a first-class ticket back to see her family in Atlanta.”

  Vin stood in the great room, surrounded by shadows and light, dumbfounded by the vision of his wife, half-naked below the enormous, brilliantly lit Christmas tree, like the gift he’d waited for all his life.

  A wicked smile traced her lips as she started to walk toward him, slowly, deliberately, her hips swaying. She stopped directly in front of him, without touching him. He could smell the faint cherry blossom of her hair, the soft floral of her perfume.

  His heart was pounding. He was afraid if he touched her, he would explode.

  He was afraid he would explode if he didn’t touch her.

  “I made dinner,” she murmured. “Pasta. I’m keeping it warm for you.” She looked at him demurely, beneath the sweep of her black eyelashes, and tilted her hip, putting a hand on her bare, creamy skin thrusting out from the edge of her apron.

  Vin didn’t speak. Looking down at her, he deliberately started pulling off his tie.

  Scarlett’s expression, which had been flirtatious and saucy, turned wide like a deer’s. She took a nervous step back.

  But Vin had no intention of letting her flee. It was too late for that.

  Sweeping her into his arms, he pushed her roughly against the wall, gripping her wrists and holding them firmly against the cool stone. “What else have you been keeping warm?”

  “Vin,” she breathed, searching his gaze. “There’s something I’ve wanted to tell you...”

  But more talking was the last thing he wanted. Cutting her off, he lowered his head, plundering her mouth in a ruthless kiss. He felt her soft, plump lips part beneath his own. Rele
asing her wrists, he tangled his hands in her hair, tilting her head backward to deepen the kiss.

  She gave a sound like a sigh as her arms wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him closer. He stroked the sides of her body, her bare skin that wasn’t covered by the prim apron. He shuddered as his fingertips and palms touched the warm, silky flesh of her hips, her tiny waist beneath the apron tie, the side curve of her voluptuous breasts. She stood on her tiptoes, straining to match the hunger in the kiss. He cupped his hands over the fleshy globes of her naked backside, feeling her sensuality, her heat—

  With a low growl, he lifted her up, pushing her back against the wall, wrapping her bare legs around his hips. His rock-hard erection strained between them, with only his trousers and her thin apron separating them.

  Bracing her against the wall, he held her sweet backside with one spread hand—nearly gasping with the pleasure of holding her there—and yanked open the tie of the apron. Pulling the fabric off her, he tossed it to the flagstones.

  And just like that, he was holding his beautiful wife, in his arms, naked against the wall of their villa in Rome.

  The flicker of warm red firelight glowed against her creamy skin, against her huge breasts with taut red nipples, her long red hair. Her red lips, swollen from the force of his kiss. Red, so red. Scarlet, like her name.

  As he kissed her, Vin’s body shook with need. He struggled to hold himself back. It was the first time they’d made love as man and wife, the first time since the baby was born. He should go slow. Carry her upstairs to their elegant bedroom, to the perfectly appointed king-size bed. Take his time. Be gentle. Make it last...

  She pulled away from his kiss. With her naked legs wrapped around his trouser-clad hips, she leaned forward. He felt the warmth of her breath, the faint brush of her lips against the sensitive flesh of his earlobe as she whispered three little words.

  He realized what she’d just said. With an intake of breath, he looked down at her.

  They were alone in the great room, beneath the lights of the enormous Christmas tree that stretched toward the forty-foot ceiling. But even brighter than the lights of the tree, brighter than the orange and red flames of the fire, was the blazing glory of Scarlett’s eyes.

  “I love you,” she repeated, as if the words had been building up so long that she could no longer keep them inside. Reaching out, she cupped his jawline, the rough bristles of his five-o’clock shadow. His whole body was shaking.

  I love you.

  He lost his last tendril of self-control, yanking his tailored trousers so violently that a button popped to the floor. He ripped his zipper roughly apart, tearing the fabric to shove his trousers down his taut hips.

  Holding her backside with both hands, he spread her wide, and with one thrust, he pushed his thick, rock-hard length inside her, filling her hard and deep.

  She gasped, clinging to him. He thrust into her again, holding her roughly against the wall, stretching her to the hilt. She gripped his shoulders, head tilted back, eyes closed in fervent need.

  He watched her face as he pushed inside her a third time, slowly now, his own pleasure building as he saw the ecstasy on her face. A whimper escaped his own lips. Going slow was agony, sheer masochism, when he ached to rut into her, to explode. Her fingertips gripped deeper into his tailored white shirt, into the flesh of his shoulders. Her nails cut wickedly into his skin.

  I love you. The soft hush of her words still rang through his ears. Through his heart. I love you.

  He forced himself to be still inside her. He was so close to exploding, hard and thick and aching with need. Drawing back, he filled her again, inch by rock-hard inch. He felt her hips move against him, sucking him deeper inside her, as her full, heavy breasts swayed forward. She held her breath, her muscles tense. She suddenly threw back her head, crying out his name—

  As he heard her scream her pleasure, he could no longer hold himself back. He rammed into her, fast and rough, crushing her soft breasts against his hard chest. His growl rose to a shout as he exploded inside her in pleasure so violent that, as he poured into her, for a single second his vision went black.

  When he regained consciousness, emotion rose in his heart, emotion stronger than he’d ever felt, emotion that would not be repressed or denied.

  “I love you.”

  The whisper was low, guttural, achingly vulnerable. For a moment, he didn’t recognize the voice. Then Scarlett, still gripping his shoulders, looked at him with the most pure joy he’d ever seen on any human face.

  And Vin realized with equal parts joy and horror that the voice had been his own.

  CHAPTER TEN

  HE LOVED HER.

  The rhythm of those words was like the beat of Scarlett’s heart, the rush of her blood.

  He loved her.

  She’d been terrified, waiting for him to come home. More than once, she’d changed her mind and started to get dressed. What if he rejected her? What if he laughed? What if one of the bodyguards walked in first?

  But that hadn’t even been her biggest fear.

  What if her blatant gamble to seduce her husband back into her bed, and more important, to confess her love to him, was a total humiliating failure?

  Growing up as she had, Scarlett had needed to be invisible for most of her life. But somehow, loving Vin gave her the courage to be outrageous enough to reach for her dreams.

  Now they’d all come true.

  Christmas morning, Scarlett woke with a smile on her face, hearing her baby’s soft hungry whimper from the nursery next door. She looked at her husband sleeping beside her, and her smile became a beam of pure joy.

  She loved him. And he loved her.

  She blessed the internet. The crazy advice had worked better than she’d ever dreamed. After he’d taken her body so roughly against the wall, after he’d told her he loved her, Vin had wrapped her shivering body tenderly in his black jacket, and they’d gone into the enormous new kitchen to eat the dinner she’d prepared, homemade bread and fettuccine alla carbonara. Sitting together in the shadowy kitchen, he’d smoothed a bit of sauce off her cheek, looking at her with dark unreadable eyes, and all she could think was that she’d never been so happy.

  He loved her.

  Vin actually loved her.

  After dinner, he’d held out his hand and led her upstairs. In their dark bedroom, he’d silently taken off his clothes and pulled her into the big bed, where he made love to her again, this time with aching gentleness. This time, as he pushed into her, their eyes locked, soul to soul. No separation. No secrets.

  He loved her.

  Now Scarlett shaped her lips silently into the words, tasting their sweetness again and again.

  Creeping out of bed quietly, so as not to wake him, she wrapped her body in a white robe and went to the en suite nursery, where she lovingly swept their two-month-old baby into her arms. Cuddling him in the nearby glider, she fed him and rocked him back to sleep in the darkness. Once he was full and drowsy, she tucked him back in his crib.

  Straightening, she looked out the window at the dark frosty dawn breaking over Rome.

  She’d never been so happy. She didn’t know what she’d done to deserve such happiness. Her heart was almost breaking with joy. Padding back on the soft rugs over the hardwood floor, she returned to the master bedroom, into the enormous bed that she shared with her husband. Closing her eyes, she pressed her cheek against his naked back and fell asleep.

  A noise woke her.

  Opening her eyes, Scarlett saw by the golden light filtering through the shades that it was midmorning. She blinked dreamily, smiling. “Merry Christmas.” Then she blinked. Her eyes focused on Vin across the bedroom. “What are you doing?”

  “Packing,” he said tersely, tossing more clothes into the open suitcase. He was already dressed, in black tailored trousers, white shirt, a black vest and red tie. His dark hair was wet from the shower.

  “Yes, I see that, but packing for what?”

  Vin stop
ped, looking at her. His dark eyes were cold, and the gorgeous mouth that had kissed her into such uncontrollable spirals of pleasure just hours before was now pressed into a severe line. “I’m leaving on a business trip.”

  “When?”

  “Immediately.”

  “What?” She sat up straight in bed. “But your parents are expecting us to drive up to Tuscany with the baby—”

  “Impossible,” he said flatly. “I just learned Salvatore Calabrese is in Tokyo to make a deal with another company. It’s my last chance to make him sell to me instead.”

  “But you can’t leave!” Scarlett struggled to calm her voice. She sounded like a whiny child, even to her own ears. “It’s Christmas Day!”

  He turned on her fiercely. “What do you expect me to do, Scarlett?” His tone was scathing. “Sacrifice my company, our son’s future, just to stay here and play happy family with you over the holidays?”

  Yes, that was exactly what she expected. She drew back, hurt and bewildered.

  Vin stared at her for a long moment. Then he turned away to pack. “I’m not sure how long negotiations might last. It could be days. Even weeks.”

  “You might be gone through New Year’s?”

  “You’ll be busy anyway. Packing for you and the baby.”

  “Packing for what?”

  “We’re moving to New York.”

  Scarlett’s jaw dropped. Was she dreaming? She stared at her husband in the bedroom she’d personally decorated, in the villa that, after all her devoted work, felt like home. “What are you talking about? We live here! In Rome!”

  “And once we’re back in New York,” he continued relentlessly, “I want the baby to have another paternity test.”

  Scarlett sucked in her breath, feeling like he’d just punched the air out of her, falling back against the pillows. “Why would you ask that?”

  He shrugged. “I want to be sure.”

  “Why?” Scarlett, who was not a violent woman, barely contained the impulse to leap out of bed and slap his face. “How many tests do you need? How many men do you think I’ve slept with? How big of a liar do you think I am?”