by Robyn Grady
What Tamara knew of De Luca Senior she didn’t like. Without fail, his steely-eyed portrait sent a shudder up her vertebrae whenever she passed. Still, her romantic side couldn’t deny a pang of sympathy. Perhaps Dante would have been less stern and uncompromising if his family life had been whole and happy. Bitterness could so easily grow from regret.
Armand’s grin was wry. “My father loved her ’til the day he died. But while Angela was a beautiful woman, she was also something of a free spirit. When she left, my father couldn’t convince her to return, no matter how hard he tried or what he threatened. He used to roar that her stubbornness would destroy him.”
Destroy the family, Armand seemed to say as he yanked another dandelion from its nest. Angela not only left her husband, she’d also, for whatever reason, left behind her oldest son. As lacking as her own childhood had been, Tamara hadn’t been abandoned, at least not by her mother.
She brought up her knees and hugged them. The more she learned about Armand, the more intrigued she became. “What were the circumstances surrounding your parents’ marriage?”
His chin kicked up, but his eyes remained on the sea. “Circumstances?”
“Did they date for years? Was it a speedy romance?” Her stomach pitched. “Was she already pregnant before saying I do?”
He didn’t move, not a lash. Armand was still but for his hair rumpling in the breeze.
Then he shifted his concentration back to the dandelions, waving a palm, like a magician, over their tops. “There’s a lot to be said for accepting responsibility. But a person must also stand by it or there are consequences. A promise is sacrosanct. My mother refused to recognize that.”
“She accepted your father’s proposal, but didn’t stand by their matrimonial vows. Is that what you mean?”
He gave a curt nod.
She hugged her legs tighter. His message was clear. Should they marry and it failed to work, Armand would fight to his last before agreeing to divorce. What an irony. Tamara couldn’t shake off a rich man if she’d wanted to and her mother hadn’t been able to keep or forget one.
Elaine Kendle had believed the man she loved would someday return and sweep her away from a life of drudgery. As Tamara’s birthdays passed, her lack of understanding had grown. Her mother would have done better to invest in herself, but she’d scoffed at the idea of going back to school or getting a better job. Tamara had been determined not to repeat those mistakes, the biggest of all—loving a man who couldn’t know the meaning of the word, for partner or for child.
Armand’s words broke into her thoughts. “I don’t want to discuss my parents, Tamara. I want to talk about us.”
When his hand reached out, an electrical current sped up her legs and sparked low in her tummy, but still she hesitated to accept his contact. Cords shifted down his neck as he reached higher, cupping her cheek. The sparks raced up to zap her brain and confuse her more. Giving in—leaning in—her eyes drifted closed as intense longing soaked through her bloodstream.
Armand made her feel so defenseless, uncertain, yet at the same time so incredibly safe.
“This can work, Tamara. I have no doubt.”
Her eyes opened to find his gaze dark and hot. Swallowing hard, she tried to think rationally, responsibly. She mustn’t make the same mistakes.
“We haven’t known each other even a month.”
The pad of his thumb brushed her chin. “You can’t be worried we won’t be compatible. You like my company and enjoy when we kiss.” The slant of his mouth was devilish. “I enjoy it, too.”
Suddenly, even with the wind blustering overhead, she couldn’t get enough air. She clasped her hands together in her lap and willed her muddled brain to work. “A kiss or two isn’t enough to build a marriage on.”
“Guess that depends on the kiss.” His smiling eyes sobered. “But you’re right. We need to be sure.”
With a liquid movement, he found her shoulders and brought her down to lie beside him. Runaway heartbeats exploding through her chest, Tamara gasped as he gathered her close, nestling her crown beneath his chin. His palm shaped her body to his while his deep voice vibrated through to her bones. “How’s the fit so far?”
When he nuzzled her brow and she absorbed more of his distinct male scent, her insides throbbed with an almost painful need. Unsure of what to say, only knowing she wanted to go forward, her hands carefully fanned between them to measure the solid frame of his chest. Pulse pounding in her ears, she peered up.
No warning. His mouth simply dropped over hers and she was lost, a victim of sensation, a slave to emotion. She’d waited for more of this contact—confirmation of her feelings, his desire—but until this moment, she hadn’t realized how much.
While he massaged her hip, his tongue coaxed hers out. He suckled the tip and a delicious compression kicked off in her womb. When he shifted, altering the angle to deepen the caress, she became weightless, detached, floating above the world and beyond all care.
She’d never been kissed the way Armand kissed, with understated skill and relish. He released parts of her she hadn’t realized existed but wanted so much to explore.
As the kiss eased off, her mouth shamelessly followed his. Rather than complying, he rolled her onto her back, shackling both wrists above her head while the waves crashed below and her body screamed out for more. Her core burned with want, beating a private rhythm her entire body ached to mime.
“Help me believe. Say you’ll marry me, Tamara. I can’t wait any longer.”
When Armand retracted a small jewelry box from his pocket and presented her with the most beautiful ring—an exquisite ruby, which appeared to be the feminine partner to his masculine setting—Tamara couldn’t speak.
“This ring is steeped in tradition,” Armand told her. “My paternal great-great grandfather had both rings made by the finest craftsman in Florence. The jewelry was handed down. Apparently a De Luca couple’s future happiness is foretold by the woman’s response when presented with this ring.”
Senses swirling, she focused inward. As much as she tried to play devil’s advocate and muddy it, the answer seemed clear. This intensity felt right. The ring was perfect. Destiny had brought them together. The sizzling through her veins, the passion and conviction in his voice…it must be the beginning. She believed in fate, in the way she felt cradled in his arms. How could she not believe in them?
Collecting all her courage, she slowly nodded.
“Yes.”
He shifted and drilled her eyes, questioning before a flicker of what must be relief, or happiness, sped across his face. He slipped the ring on her finger then kissed her again, ’til her toes curled, her body hummed and her thinking was reduced to molasses.
He growled softly as his lips slipped languidly back and forth over hers and he reluctantly drew away. His seductive smile wrapped around and squeezed her very soul. “We need to set a date. How’s a week from today.”
Her stomach muscles contracted with nerves. Was it possible to organize everything at such short notice? Not only that, “Next Saturday is Christmas Eve.”
He merely smiled. “So it is.”
Shaking from what felt like shock, she twined her arms around the thick column of his neck. “I’d like to wear white.”
A finger curled around a lock of her hair while his gaze embraced her. “You’ll look fabulous in a white gown.”
She imagined the endless list of guests who would hope for an invitation and felt a little overwhelmed. So shy in her early years, she’d always pictured her special day as a very private affair. “Can it be a small wedding?”
His grin tugged to one side. “Let’s say smallish.”
“Church weddings are beautiful….” She dragged her thoughts away from recent organ music and rushed on, “But can the ceremony be outside? I really like the idea of blue sky and the smell of summer roses.”
He seemed about to nod, before his brows fell together. Snatching a look at the time, he cursed. “We’ll discuss it tonig
ht.”
He sprang up, clasped her hand and eased her to unsteady feet. He folded the blanket as he strode toward the car. Realizing she hadn’t followed, he snapped a gaze over one broad shoulder.
“You okay?” Crossing back, he dropped the blanket, held her upper arms and searched her face. “Do you feel dizzy?”
Tamara blew out the breath she’d been holding. She didn’t feel dizzy or sick. More like…disappointed. These weeks had been such a buildup. Yet the moment she’d said yes, he had to rush off to a meeting. Maybe it was naive but she’d expected more.
Frowning, he scooped back the hair billowing like a dark veil over her head. The wind was stronger now, and cool.
He bent to swing her up. “I’ll carry you to the car.”
Pushing his shoulder, she stepped back. “I’m fine.”
He was a busy, important executive. She’d known that all along. This is the way it would be, and she’d better get used to it. Besides, she’d have her own schedule when the baby came, as well as later when she returned to the business world.
One hand holding her hair, the other clutching her flapping skirt, she found an accommodating smile. “I’m just looking forward to tonight.”
Grudgingly he accepted her excuse and collected the dropped blanket.
As they walked arm in arm to the Jag, chilly wind pushing at her back, she had a thought. “Can we go out to dinner?”
She wanted to celebrate and knew just the dress—long, elegant and dark. Armand would love it. And hopefully an evening alone would spark whatever was just lost.
“Excellent idea.” Still walking, he stooped to press a kiss to her brow. “I won’t be late.”
Five
Armand entered his house that night after 9:00 p.m., still reeling. The meeting had not gone to plan. In fact, it had gone belly-up. Then there was the news he’d received afterward regarding Tamara, something completely out of left field and more prickly than a cactus. All in all, one hell of a day.
After tossing his keys on the foyer’s antique centerpiece table—then tripping over one of its pain-in-the-butt colossal claw feet—he bit his lip, jammed a hand through his hair and tried to focus on the brighter side. Tamara had agreed to marry him. The baby would have the De Luca name, which, given the circumstances, was the best for all concerned.
As yet, no one outside this house knew about the pregnancy and he’d keep it that way ’til after the ceremony. The birth would occur within the time frame allotted by the will. He would win controlling interest of DLE without a hitch, despite the “Benedict Arnold” Matthew Mohill had slid in today.
Cursing, Armand strode toward his study. Extraordinary…until recently, when gut instinct had warned him otherwise, Matt had been the last person he would suspect of betrayal. He’d trusted his former confidant completely. But perhaps in some ways he should thank his father’s old friend. A hard lesson, but when all was said and done, who in heaven and hell could a man trust.
Tamara’s regal silhouette at the top of the stairs pulled Armand up short. His heart rate doubled at the sight of her. A pulse-beat later he drank in the incredible black sheath drawing his gaze down curves that had become increasingly tempting. A nanosecond after that, he remembered their date.
Damn!
Gaze bright with hurt, back straight, she began to descend. “I thought about phoning, but you were obviously tied up. I didn’t want to disturb you.”
Her tone was unclear. But contemptuous or sincere, nothing could be done. If his domestic memory had lapsed it was because he’d just endured one of the rockiest days of his life.
She reached him, that delicious dress and sway of ripening hips ridiculing him for keeping her waiting so long. Her dainty hand, jewelry-free, rested on the white balustrade. Her hair was swept to one side with a series of diamond and emerald clips he’d bought on a whim last week. The other side flowed like a satin river over a shoulder. Her fragrance was subtle yet intoxicating enough to almost make him forget the pack of problems nipping at his heels.
He shoved both hands in his pockets, felt that note buried at the bottom of one and smothered a cringe. “I was held up.”
Her glossy lips quaked as she attempted a smile. “Are you hungry? Would you like a sandwich? Ruth made a pile before she left—” she hesitated “—just in case.”
He wasn’t hungry. He needed a scotch, and some way to mend the gaping knife wound in his back. From the balustrade he took Tamara’s cool hand, which tonight felt as fragile as a sparrow’s wing, and led her down the wide, dimly lit hall.
The click-clacking of her heels on the marble floor echoed off the walls. “Want to talk about it?”
The sting eased a fraction at her commonsense attitude. Yes, she was a romantic, but now they’d made a commitment, it seemed he could rely on her support. His father had said many times that duty in a wife was a busy man’s best friend, and a willful woman a husband’s worst nightmare.
At the study door he paused, but continued on to their favorite room. He’d already spent too many hours behind a desk today.
He helped her down onto what he now viewed as “Tamara’s couch,” engrossed in the way that goddess of a gown pooled around her daintily aligned feet. After pouring himself a drink, he offered her some ice water, then flopped into the familiar comfort of his wing chair. “There’s been a development.”
She peered over her tumbler, the flushed color draining from her cheeks. “You don’t want to marry me.”
The statement was so absurd he had trouble digesting it. “Of course I want to marry you.”
In fact, the idea had taken on a life all its own. Taking his time to woo Tamara had been more pleasurable, and difficult, than he’d imagined. The anticipation of finally enjoying her affections had spiraled to an agonizing crescendo. But he’d resisted long enough to ensure she would succumb today, and eagerly so. Now the gates to paradise were open.
While he sipped and contemplated, Tamara let out a breath and rolled her eyes at her misunderstanding. “Guess this big empty house got the better of me.”
“Won’t be so empty in six months time.”
A new and pleasant warmth bathed his senses. This was actually happening. He’d put together hundreds of deals but until this moment, this significant turn in his life hadn’t seemed real. Tamara was having a baby and he would be the father, in practice and in name.
More De Luca children would follow, offspring to carry on the line and legacy, descendants of his seed. He would make certain the path leading to their future was better laid than his and Marco’s had been. No loopholes with trust. No broken families. Every t crossed, every i dotted. He’d start implementing measures as soon as possible.
“I’ve been thinking about names.”
Tamara’s comment brought him back from deliberations over his own will. “Baby names?” She nodded and Armand’s chest inflated with pride. “It’s a tradition that the firstborn’s middle name be Daniele. A strong boy’s name.”
Her full lips tilted. “Who says it’s a boy?”
Armand’s mind flew in a circle. He hadn’t considered the possibility. Medical fact stated men decide gender, and De Luca firstborns had been male from the dawn of his family history. Still he supposed there was no guarantee, and he wasn’t inflexible.
He tasted his scotch, considering. “If it’s a girl the middle name will be Daniela.”
Her expression froze then she blinked. “I’m not sure I want that.”
He arched a brow. “Oh?”
Her silver heels slipped off and long legs winged up beside her. “I was thinking Georgia or maybe Paige.”
He chuckled and settled deeper into his chair. “They’re not Italian names.”
“I’m not Italian.”
“I am.”
“Only half.”
“The half that matters.”
Her legs came down. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
His head cocked. She couldn’t be upset, merely looking for
answers. As her future husband, he was happy to provide her with as many as she needed. “It means it’s fitting that we follow tradition.”
“And if I don’t like tradition?”
Rotating his glass, he quietly reminded her, “We’ve had this discussion.”
“Really? When?”
“Marriage is an old-fashioned and serious institution.” He offered a charitable look. “A couple should be mindful of that.”
“You mean a wife should be mindful of her husband.”
He mentally shook his head. Her mouth was no longer tilted; it was tight. Where had the understanding companion gone? Given the steam shooting from the shell of her diamond-drop ear, guess that issue needed to be tabled for a future date.
Either way, the child’s middle name was decided. Tamara would come to accept it, just as she’d come to accept him. However, for now, a change of subject might be best.
He set his glass upon the walnut side table and, elbows on rests, clasped his hands to form a bridge. “I thought you wanted to know about my day.”
Acid rose in his gut, but the dilemma couldn’t be ignored. Irrespective of this mix-up over names, Tamara would soon be his wife. She should hear the news from him. The boardroom news, in any case. He hadn’t decided what to do about the other.
“Today Matthew voted against me.”
She sat slowly back as if all the air had left her. “Against your motion to expand into Asia?”
The muscles at either side of his nape pinched. Exercising his neck with a roll, he pushed to his feet. “I went through the preliminary figures, the projections for lead time and expenditure versus profit. He waited ’til I’d finished then calmly announced that, given his independent research, it was a risky and unnecessary move.”
“After all I’ve heard about your past, how close you’ve been,” she said, her beautiful face flooded with sympathy, “that must have been a shock.”
Matthew’s behavior had certainly burned. Last time Armand had felt this betrayal was over a woman. Never again would he endure a trampled heart; that naive pocket of his character was sealed forever. Damn straight no one would play him for a fool over DLE again, either.
