by Jessica Gray
Eternity of Love
Los Angeles Armstrongs
(Preston and Gina)
L.A. Armstrongs Book 3
Armstrong Series Book 9
Jessica Gray
This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, and places in this book exist only within the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons or locations is purely coincidental.
Eternity of Love, Los Angeles Armstrongs, Book 3
All Rights Reserved
Copyright © 2017 Jessica Gray
This book is copyrighted and protected by copyright laws.
No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without prior written permission from the author.
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Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Epilogue
Preview FERNANDO
Contact Jessica
Chapter 1
Preston Armstrong hurried along the busy streets of Rome with a huge bouquet of flowers. The last weeks since he and his fiancé had set the date and location for their wedding had been a whirlwind of happenings. They’d barely seen each other between his newest project and the wedding preparations. It was time to surprise her with some quality naked time.
He nodded to several of the employees as he crossed the lobby of the luxury hotel Palazzo Borghese, his hotel, with long strides to reach the private elevators to the Royal Suite. The moment he opened the doors to the lavish bedroom, his smile faded away and he dropped the flowers to the floor.
His fiancé was still lying in their bed, just as he’d hoped. But he hadn’t expected her to lie naked on her stomach, wiggling her beautiful ass, while some bastard pounded into her. Preston’s pulse throbbed against his temples getting more painful with every thrust into his fiancé. It took all his self-control not to jump at the man and beat him to pulp.
She shrieked in pleasure, “Yeah, come on, give it to me.”
“Having fun?” he asked with a penetrating voice.
Sandrine and the stranger stopped midway in their movement and stared back at him.
To hell with his manners! Preston jumped at the stranger and dragged him off Sandrine’s body, not caring whether he hurt her in the process or not. Then he pummeled his fists into the stranger. It felt so good.
“Hey, man, no hard feelings,” the stranger muttered and dodged the next punch. “Just took what’s mine. I’m outa here.”
Preston was perplexed by that bold statement and for a moment ceased his attack. The stranger used it to his advantage and ducked out of the room, grabbing his clothes on the way out.
“You are hurting him…stop…” Sandrine’s voice registered in his brain long after the man had disappeared.
Preston turned around and fixated her with frosty eyes. His entire future had shattered into a million pieces in a matter of seconds.
“Get out. Now. Get out of my bed, my hotel, and my life.”
“Preston, darling…don’t.” She had the audacity to look at him with innocent tear-welling eyes.
He shook his head. He was done with her. Cheating was the one thing he couldn’t forgive. Ever.
But Sandrine didn’t give up that easily. She shed some more tears and broke out into a sobbing, that was so false, it curled his toes. “…thank God you came to my rescue. It was awful.”
“Yes it was.” He answered.
For a split-second he saw triumph cross her eyes, before she schooled her features. Then she gave him a seductive glance and curled her finger, “Come here and hold me, darling.”
He took a step toward her and again saw that calculating light in her eyes. Why had he never noticed what an excellent actress she was? Why had he never listened to his siblings? Why…?
“Sandrine. I never want to see you again. You have one hour to leave my hotel.” Then he turned around and left, listening only with half an ear to her muttered curses. Sandrine Johnson had officially stopped to exist for him. Or so he thought.
He left the hotel in the same haste he’d entered it and walked and walked and walked. Preston didn’t appreciate the beauties of Rome or the wonderful sunshine. He wandered aimlessly around, trying to clear his mind and center his emotions.
Chapter 2
Gina Giordano jumped on the bright red Vespa and dashed off. She’d finished her class and, as always, was in a hurry. Between her classes, studying for finals and her job as a tourist guide she never had time to spare.
Especially not today. Ornella Magnani, the manager of Palazzo Borghese, one of Rome’s most prestigious and luxurious hotels had called her to make a delivery. Those errands as a motorcycle courier were a welcome relief for her usually empty bank account. Living in Rome had proven to be much more expensive than she’d first anticipated when she’d moved here.
Gina’s long, wavy, brown hair peeked out from under the helmet and fluttered in the warm wind as she sped along the congested main road, weaving her way between the stuck vehicles. Even the tiniest space was enough for her Vespa to move forward and if everything went well, she’d arrive at the Palazzo Borghese in less than fifteen minutes.
The merciless Italian sun burnt down on her, but the headwind was a welcome chill. Even though in theory protective gear was required, Gina didn’t bother with those formalities and drove with jeans, t-shirt and leather sandals. It was much too hot to wear anything else. The breeze caressed her naked skin and Gina wished she could turn around and drive down to the ocean.
Instead she glimpsed at her watch and accelerated, bypassing another vehicle. With a glimpse on the stuck traffic ahead she ignored the red traffic lights and scooted around the corner. Then, everything unraveled in slow motion.
A man stepped out onto the street, blocking her path. Stupid American tourists! She recognized them a mile away, and this one was a prime example of their carefree attitude. Who in their right minds stepped onto one of Rome’s main streets without looking first? A tourist who thought traffic rules had the same meaning in Italy as in their home country. Even though everyone knew traffic lights were merely a suggestion, not a free ticket to cross the street.
It was too late to break. Her reflexes kicked in and she swerved to avoid hitting the man. Gina’s Vespa tilted hazardously and she knew what was about to come, helpless to avoid it. Ever so slowly her balance shifted as the bike fell over on its side.
The Vespa took most of the hit, and but she didn’t come out unscathed. A searing pain stabbed
her knee as it hit the pavement. She crawled out from beneath the bike and examined the hole in her jeans, exposing a scratched knee that burnt like hell.
She glared daggers at the careless tourist who’d caused the accident. It was his fault if she was late for her meeting with Signora Magnani. But the man had a nerve. He stood there frozen to a statue, staring at Gina with a look of disbelief and growing horror on his face.
His intense stare struck a chord in her body and within seconds the raging fury transformed into humming attraction. To say he was gorgeous with his short dark hair, broad shoulders, and those dark blue eyes would be an understatement. He towered over her and her heart raced in his presence. Under different circumstances, she would have flirted shamelessly with Mr. Hottest-guy-ever, but right now she had different problems. Signora Magnani wasn’t exactly known for her patience.
“Idiot! What do you think you’re doing!” she yelled at him.
“I’m sorry, the traffic lights…” he apologized.
“I don’t want your excuses. See what you have done.” Gina gestured to her scratched knee and the scathing pain registered in her brain. “Ouch! And because of you I’ll be late now.”
She needed to get going immediately, if she hoped to still get the job. Of course, this stupid tourist didn’t know the first thing about how time critical courier jobs were and who much she needed this fare. The rent was due in three days from now and her bank account showed a solid zero.
“Miss, you’re injured. You need to see a doctor to check out your knee.” Mr. Hottest-guy-ever objected and his voice sounded like caramelized honey in her ears. Her only means of defense was attack.
“Don’t you dare tell me what I have to do. Haven’t you done enough damage already? I told you, I’m in a hurry.” Gina pulled her Vespa back up into its upright position and closed the visor, giving the man a disgusted look. Then she slid onto the seat, and turned the ignition.
Nothing happened.
Damn! Why doesn’t that darn thing start?
The man stepped closer as she continued to try and start the bike. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye and her heart raced at an insane speed. Whether it was from anger or his overwhelming presence, she didn’t know. He was standing a mere two feet away, raking his blue eyes up and down her body. Heat waves followed the path of his eyes.
Okay, so maybe a quick glance back wouldn’t hurt? Gina took off the helmet and shook her long hair. The man was wearing a business suit that fit him like a glove, highlighting his broad shoulders and slim hips. Custom made. Off course. Her glance followed his thick thighs down to handmade Italian leather shoes. She knew that brand. One pair could easily cost more than the rent of her tiny apartment. Not a tourist. One of those rich businessmen, who believe they own the world.
Despite her contempt for the likes of him, the way he looked at her had her libido standing up and begging for attention. Which only served to increase her anger at him.
“See what you’ve done? Now it won’t start!” she yelled at him. He reached out for the bike and Gina saw red. She grabbed her oversized bag that was slung across her shoulder and cursed, “You’re such an idiot!”
Then she swung the handbag at him, hitting him squarely in the chest. He raised one eyebrow and what did this stupid-as-a-dog fool do? He stepped closer.
Gina caught a whiff of his aftershave, a fresh ocean fragrance. Classic. Old school. It pushed her libido into overdrive – and her temper. She was too far gone to stop her tantrum and it didn’t help that he cast her an amused smile.
Before she could hit him again, he captured her wrists, holding them tight. “Stop!”
Gina looked up at the command in his voice and met his blue eyes, noticing how dark they were. Her heart skipped a beat and then ratcheted up a few notches. His nearness was confusing and his masculine smell mixed with the classic aftershave invaded her brain cells and caused her knees to tremble. If they gave in, would he catch her in his strong arms?
That thought caused her to stiffen. She wasn’t some bunny you could pick up on a street corner. Soon she would finish her master degree in tourism. A rich American guy to pay her drinks was the last thing she was looking for. Thanks, but no thanks. She could very well take care of her own.
“Signorina, I’m very sorry for the accident and damaging your Vespa. Please, allow me to deliver you to wherever it is you must be.”
Gina smiled at his strong accent when he pronounced the word Signorina, but wiped it from her face, before he could notice. Instead she gave him a haughty look. “No thanks. I can very well take care of myself.”
“I never doubted that for one second,” he said with a disarming smile that curled her toes.
The idea of spending some more time with him warmed her heart and against her better judgment she agreed, “Fine. Thank you.” Then she busied herself pushing the Vespa off to the side of the road. That darn thing was stubborn as a mule and wouldn’t move one inch.
“Let me help you,” he insisted, and removed her hands from the handlebar. He pushed the damaged bike with an amazing ease off the road and parked it safely at the curb.
Her eyes raked over the jumping muscles in his back and gaped with an open mouth at him. Despite wearing a five thousand dollar suit he didn’t seem to be afraid to get dirty. Maybe he wasn’t that bad after all? Just in time before he turned around, Gina managed to close her gaping mouth and put on a mask of composure and a carefully calculated smile. Not too friendly. Professional, but distant. The kind of smile she always used to keep overenthusiastic tourists at bay and still get a good tip.
“So where do you need to go, Signorina?” he asked.
“Palazzo Borghese.”
The man raised an eyebrow at her mention of the luxury hotel, but didn’t say a word.
“Do you know where it is?” she asked, trying to hide her anger at his condescending look. Off course, he’s judgmental. As if someone like me couldn’t afford to stay at the Palazzo Borghese. Actually his guess was spot on. A night in one of the suites cost more than she earned in a month. But who the hell did he think he was, condemning her for not being filthy rich? That was the problem with those VIPs, they treated everyone else like dirt.
“Yes, I know where it is.” His blue eyes twinkled with an amused light and Gina wondered what exactly was so amusing. But then, it wasn’t her problem. She’d never see this man again. And that was good.
Chapter 3
Preston Armstrong watched the emotions move across her face. Anger. Calculation. Irritation. He observed her closely for another moment…there! She’d tried to hide it, but it was undeniable. Feminine Interest. Now, that was something he could deal with. Her anger…well, he’d do his best to ignore it.
Not that he was looking for a woman, because he was engaged to be married in two weeks from now. A bitter taste rose in his mouth. Not anymore. Since this morning.
He raised his hand and a taxi appeared out of nowhere. Preston opened the back door of the taxi and nodded for her to get in. “Signorina?”
The gorgeous woman was still mad as a wet hen and gave him a sour look before she slipped into the taxi, sliding over as far as the vehicle would allow. He hid a smirk, silently accepting the challenge to raise a smile and got in after her, giving the driver directions.
“I’m Preston Armstrong.” He turned towards her and held out his hand. Much to his surprise, she shook it with a strong grip and then introduced herself in a slightly more civil tone of voice.
“Gina Giordano.”
“Nice to meet you,” he murmured, allowing himself the freedom to drink in her appearance while she turned and gazed out the window. Her whole appearance captivated him. Dressed casually in a pair of jeans, and a bright red t-shirt that ended several inches above her waistband, she looked like Monica Bellucci. But sexier. Her long wavy brown hair flowed down to her slim waist. His eyes followed the generous curve of her hips and down her legs to the painted toe nails, shining in the same brilliant r
ed as her Vespa. On the way back up he stopped for a moment to admire the exposed olive skin of her stomach and her generous breasts. His entire body took notice.
Preston remembered the fire in her fir green eyes when she’d shouted at him. The accident hadn’t been his fault, although she sure blamed him. He had stepped onto the street without looking – at the crosswalk.
The cab driver dashed around a corner, just to hit the breaks in the next moment and spit out a multitude of Italian curse words, accompanied with the proper gestures.
Preston shook his head at the blatant disrespect for traffic rules everyone in Rome showed. Nobody seemed to obey the crosswalks or any traffic signs for that matter. So maybe the accident had been his fault? He was glad he didn’t have to drive himself in this manic traffic.
He wanted to know more about her. Besides the fact that she drove a Vespa and liked to go fast.
“So, what do you do for a living?” Preston asked.
Gina turned her head and looked at him, capturing his eyes with hers. Fir-green with brown sprinkles. They shone brighter than a few minutes and he took it as a good sign that her anger had eases. Unable to look away, he drowned in the depths of her expressive eyes, feeling a sudden exchange of something intense – and unsettling.
“I’m studying tourism.” Her husky voice flowed over him, making his heart clench. There was still a hint of anger in her voice and Preston wished he could soothe it away. A kiss pressed on her full red lips...will definitely have you on the receiving side of another hit with her shoulder bag.
A bump at the spot where the metallic closure of her bag had hit his chest reminded him of her temperament. Volatile. So unlike Sandrine, his fiancé. Ex-fiancé.
He didn’t want to think about her. Didn’t want to relive the memory of walking into the royal suite of the Palazzo Borghese, a hotel he owned...Stop it! He forcibly shut down all thoughts about her and instead wondered why Gina needed to be at his hotel. She didn’t look like the typical guest. No, she definitely wasn’t one of the rich and famous who frequented his hotel. Nor was she one of the employees.
