by Caro LaFever
“Dio,” he groaned and captured her mouth. The kiss was no longer frantic but intense with love. He finally lifted his head, a crooked grin on his face. “Now, carita, I must hear the words I never thought I wanted to hear again.”
She cocked her head and gave him a sly peek. “What words?”
“Do not torture me.” His voice was stern, yet his eyes twinkled. “You know what I need.”
She slipped her finger over his tight jaw, down his hot neck. Gave him a coy smile.
“Carita. This is not a time to tease me.”
“Could the words be…I love you?”
His hands tightened around her, pulling into his hard body. “Say it without it being a question.”
She laughed and hugged him. Leaning back in his arms, she gazed into his beloved face. Yes. She was willing to give this man one last chance with her heart.
“I love you, Marcus La Rocca.”
Epilogue
The stew bubbled on the stove.
Sunshine dappled across the wooden chopping block, warming her hands as she cut the peppers. A slight breeze ruffled the white cotton curtains and filled the air with the scent of spring. A bird chirped from one of their orange trees outside.
Darcy stopped cutting for a moment and closed her eyes. Was this a dream? This life she now enjoyed. This life where she felt safe and loved and protected. This life even her pop had approved of when he’d given her away at the simple wedding. Her pop had even cried real tears that day. And with Marc’s firm control over any finances coming his way, her pop seemed to have gone straight much to her continued relief.
Could this really be true?
A home of simple beauty. A man who loved her with all his soul. An artist career launched with her paintings being sold as soon as they were displayed in London’s galleries. To add to all of this joy, another miracle soon to come. Could she be the luckiest girl in the world?
She took a deep breath and opened her eyes.
Marc stood in the kitchen doorway, his hair mussed, a slight smile on his face. An old pair of jeans hugged his lean hips, a grey T-shirt lay on his broad shoulders. Long, elegant bare feet caught her eye.
My, my. She was a total goner for this guy. She even lusted after his feet.
“I always like to see my woman smile when she sees me.” He slouched on the doorframe and slid his hands in his pockets. But his gaze held wicked, intent promises.
Darcy chuckled. Trying to shake off the haze of lust, she scooped the cut peppers into a bowl and dumped them into the stew. She felt him approach; her skin tightened in response, the tiny hairs on the back of her neck rose as if asking for his touch.
“Smells good.” One long arm encircled her belly, as he dipped his head and nuzzled her. “I can’t decide what smells better. You. Or the stew.”
A shiver of need went down her spine. His warmth surrounded her. As well as his love. She knew it now to the bottom of her soul. She was loved and cherished.
“You have a flair for cooking, carita.” His lips formed the words on her skin.
“And other things.” He wasn’t the only one who could tease. She purposefully moved her hips, rubbing herself on him like a cat.
A groan rumbled low in his throat.
She smiled in feline satisfaction.
“I think you need to take a break from cooking.” Both of his arms came around her and pressed her tight to him. “Your husband is suddenly in desperate straits.”
“Really?” She moved her hips once more. “What’s wrong with him?”
Long fingers moved across her breasts to tweak her nipples through the simple shirt she wore. “Mmm.” Satisfaction radiated in his voice. “You’re so responsive.”
Gasping, she dropped her head back onto his chest. “That’s nice—”
“There’s more to come.” With one decisive move, he leaned over and turned off the stove. Sweeping her into his arms, he grinned at her. “I’ll show you.”
He paced out of the small kitchen and down the hallway to the one bedroom in their small cottage. The home he’d given to her on their marriage day. High in the Tuscan hills, it had become their hideout. During the first year of their marriage, they’d spent almost six full months here.
Marc had been true to his word, shifting a good part of his workload onto others. Now, more often than not, he worked from home. While she painted in one room, she could listen to his accented voice on the phone or his muttering as he worked on his computer. Whether it was in this idyllic cottage or in the redecorated London penthouse, she had his company day and night.
He’d learned. How to put his mobile down. How to trust her words.
How to love.
So, in the year she’d been his wife, Darcy had let her heart fall completely and utterly into Marcus La Rocca’s capable and willing hands.
Where she would be safe forever.
Her baby would be safe too.
Her gift to him. Her gift of trust.
The cast-iron bed stood prominently by the room’s terrace doors. At night, after making love, she often opened the doors, letting the soft sounds and smells of the Italian countryside wash across their naked bodies as they lay together, kissing and touching. The golden yellow quilt was one she cherished, for it had been a wedding gift from Matteo and his lovely Viola.
Matt, who now worked with Marc in the family business.
Her husband smiled at her, as he slowly lowered them both onto the silk cover. His eyes were misty with love and lust. “Baciami.”
She no longer needed him to translate. She knew exactly what he wanted. Drawing him down, she nibbled on his mouth, let her tongue slide across his teeth. He answered with his own taste of her essence. Within seconds, the kiss turned to hot passion mixed with infinite love.
A short laugh escaped him as he pushed himself back. “You destroy me so easily.”
“And you me,” she murmured, hearing the pulse of love in her words.
When he’d broached the subject of children shortly after their marriage, she’d seen the gleam of his intent in those eyes of his. He thought if he got her pregnant, she’d stay forever. They’d still been circling each other then: she fearful of his ability to heal, he scared of what he felt for her.
So she’d told him No.
At the expression on his face, she’d added, Not until I know for sure.
Sure that he’d change. Sure that he’d believe. Sure that he’d continue to love.
The rejection had almost destroyed the fragile peace between them. He’d been hurt, angry, and said so. Still, she’d held firm. She would never bring a child into anything but a strong, sure, safe love.
His hands now made quick work of their clothes and before long, he stood naked by the side of the bed, gazing at her. “Toccarmi,” he husked.
She sat up and slid her hands down his sides, already covered with a light sheen of sweat. Running her fingers along his belly, she reveled in his swift gasp of a response. She teased and taunted, her fingers barely scraping his nipples, slipping through the coarse hair on his chest and moving steadily closer to the part of his body that rose up, begging for her attention.
Her palm caressed him, finally. Her hand tightened around his hardness.
With a sudden cry, he grabbed her hand, tugging it away. “Ho bisogno di te.”
His big body was on top of her and then, he was inside her. She arched into his taking, her body rejoicing in his need. His eyes were a wild silver light as he gazed down at her.
“I need you,” he moaned, with a tone of utter surrender slurring the words.
It was his need that had driven him to surrender to her demand and accept her challenge a year ago.
She hadn’t been sure. Not at all.
Yet he’d proved himself over and over and over. Often at first, she’d see him physically vibrate with tension as he left a problem at work to Matt. Sometimes she would see the struggle visible on his face as he turned his phone off. However, eventually, she saw hi
m shrug off a work issue to another day or another person.
She’d stopped taking her birth control two months ago.
“Ho bisogno di te,” he demanded.
Her soul responded to his want and need. Her body accepted and embraced his. Her words were intense and passionate as she gazed into her husband’s eyes. “You have me.”
A quick smile of pure possession crossed his face. Then his face tightened, his jaw clenched, his sex took over. Instead of words now, they communicated with their bodies.
He set a quick pace, his body jerking and plunging in a driving ride, pushing her faster and faster into a climax. It broke over her, and her mind went blank as the feelings swelled and her body bonded with her lover. Her mate. His hoarse cry echoed in the small room as he followed her into the bliss they created together.
The slight breeze drifted across them, cooling their hot skin.
She lazily slid her fingers on his back, feeling the muscles relax. His mouth nibbled on her chin and neck, murmuring low Italian praise into her ears. He finally lifted himself off her and to her side. One large male hand fell on her belly.
His gaze was filled with a masculine satisfaction. And a sliver of silver relief.
She should have known he’d figure it out. The amount of attention and care he gave her would have given him some clues. Plus, he had a way of reading her which was a bit uncanny. He was quickly developing into the most sensitive man she’d ever met.
“Bloody hell,” she said, giving him a mock pout. “You know.”
“Si,” he responded, his eyes dancing with delight. “I am a smart man.”
“And a virile one.” Her hand touched his jaw, reveling in the coarse shadow of hair.
“That, too.” He watched his hand as it moved across her flat belly. He glanced back at her and gave her a blinding smile. His signature dimples appeared, entrancing her as always. “You trust me, don’t you, carita?”
“Si.” She gave him a grin filled with happiness. “I trust you. You proved to me I would be safe in your love.”
“I am a man who keeps his promises.” His grey gaze was clear as glass and she saw right into his soul.
All healed. All love. All hers.
“I know.” Her eyes filled with tears. Happy tears this time. “That’s why I trust you with my heart.”
“Darcy.” His eyes glowed and glimmered with happy tears of his own.
“And my love,” she whispered.
The Great Man gave her another smile filled with his own love and leaned down to kiss her.
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Check out the rest of the series. There are two other stories within the Italian trilogy of the International Billionaires series. You can check out Wife By Force and Baby By Accident by clicking on each title.
Wife By Force
A desperate billionaire, willing to do anything to have her. A sexually frustrated virgin, only willing to give him one thing. A second chance at love both are afraid to believe in.
Baby By Accident
A bad boy. An ice princess. And a secret she won’t reveal.
Wife By Force
International Billionaires II: The Italians
by Caro LaFever
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With her father about to lose his house and her brother about to go to jail, Lara Derrick can find no other way to save them then to marry her detested, and up-to-now rejected, suitor. Dante Casartelli might be every other woman’s dream—tall, dark, and insanely rich—but his actions against her in the past and now, in the present, can only ensure her continued animosity.
Forced to be his wife, Lara is determined not to end up being something far worse: pregnant by him. Even though the man tries to use his sexual prowess in bed to convince her their marriage is worth saving, she can’t trust him or his word.
Dante, however, is intent on winning back the girl he fell for long ago and he’ll use every trick that comes his way to gain her trust and love once more. Because to lose Lara again will break his heart forever.
Excerpt:
“Lara.”
Dante's deep voice jerked her attention away from the contemplation of the aqua waves. He stood at the edge of the pool, barefoot, his silk shirt damp. The blue fabric lovingly clung to his heavy shoulders and strong arms. The expression on his face was fierce, intent.
She shivered in the water.
Perhaps she wouldn’t have to make the first move after all. Apparently, her new husband had suddenly remembered what a honeymoon was supposed to be about.
His stare pinned her in the water. She watched with helpless fascination as his hands moved to the top of his shirt and began to unbutton.
One button. His strong neck and collarbone glistened with sweet sweat.
Two. The curve of his pectorals was taut and clear. A faint wisp of black hair shadowed his muscles, hinting at his masculine virility.
Her breathing escalated.
Three. The wisp of hair became a band, an arrow pointing down to the beginning of his abdomen. Her nipples hardened beneath the slow lap of the water.
Four. He jerked the edges of his shirt out of his pants and parted the fabric, uncovering his small, brown nipples, tight and drawn. Dark hair swirled around them and her mouth watered.
Five. His shirt slipped totally open, revealing his firm stomach, the deep darkness of his navel, the beginning of his hip bone. Black hair graced the flat planes of his lower abdomen. She sucked in a sharp breath and pressed her back to the cool tile, stifling the desire to grab him and pull him into the water so she could touch.
Slipping the silk shirt off, he threw it on a wicker chair, while keeping his hot gaze pinned to her face.
Lara swallowed hard. Avoiding his stare, she allowed herself the pleasure of looking her fill. His shoulders were heavy with muscle, his biceps cut and clean. His broad chest tapered down to a tight waist, not an ounce of extra flesh hiding the musculature of a man in his prime. Clearly, her husband did not spend all his time behind a desk. She truly could just stare at him for the rest of the night.
Dante had other ideas.
His hands moved to his belt.
To keep reading, just click here to buy!
Also by Caro LaFever
The Italians
Mistress By Blackmail
Wife By Force
Baby By Accident
The Greeks
A Perfect Man
A Perfect Wife
A Perfect Love
The Scots
Lion of Caledonia coming March 2016!
Lord of the Isles coming April 2016!
Laird of the Highlands coming May 2016!
Nonfiction
The Complete Guide to Heroes and Heroines
About the Author
Double finalist and winner of the Golden Heart, one of Romance Writers of America's highest awards, Caro LaFever writes timeless romantic tales as well as nonfiction advice for writers. Her book, Heroes & Heroines: Sixteen Master Archetypes, has been a go-to resource for writers for more than a decade. Her romantic novels have won or been a finalist in such prestigious contests as the Golden Pen, the Orange Rose, and the Emily. She lives in the Rocky Mtns.
@caro_lafever
CaroLaFever
www.carolafever.com
[email protected]
Acknowledgments
&
nbsp; I appreciate every bit of advice and commentary that I've received from numerous critique group buddies, workshops, classes, and beta readers. After years of honing my craft, I still find new and important nuggets of wisdom every time I put my writing out there for review.
Thanks to my developmental editor, Allie Burton, who is truly my conscience and calls me on my idiot imaginings. Thanks to Sue Viders, who always catches when a character has moved across the room, but I haven't mentioned it. And thanks to Tanya Saari, my proofreader, who diligently goes with me into the correct way to spell numerous foreign foods and phrases.
Finally, thanks to my family, who taught me to love books and appreciate a story well-told.
Copyright © 2015 by Caro LaFever
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Book cover: Kim Killion
Interior design: Caro LaFever
ISBN: 978-1-945007-00-2
Contents
A cold-hearted business tycoon. A strong-willed starving artist. A battle for each other’s heart both must win.
Free book offer
Epigraph
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
