by Caro LaFever
“We are not in agreement about that.”
Frowning, he stared at her. “What are you saying, then?”
“I’m saying—you’re right. You will hurt me. And our son.”
“I don’t—”
“And I will hurt you. And our son.”
Vico tried to pull from her again. Again, she held on.
“Love isn’t about being perfect,” she said. “It’s about loving imperfection.”
His expression went blank.
“Love is about forgiving as well as being forgiven,” she continued. “Over the years, we will hurt each other. But we’ll forgive each other and our love will grow stronger because of it. Your friend loved you, didn’t he?”
“Si.”
“You clearly loved him. Plus, you were only a kid.” She stepped closer, pressing along his stiff, heated body. “He would have forgiven you for anything you had to do with his death. I’m sure of it.”
Slowly, haltingly, his arms wrapped around her and hung on with a hard grip. “He already did.”
“What?”
“Before he died.” His words whispered on her hair and ear. “He told me it wasn’t my fault and even if it had been, he forgave me.”
They stood in each other’s embrace. The roll of the thunder faded, replaced by the soft swish of the last of the rain.
“I love you, Vico Mattare,” she murmured into the side of his neck. “And I will always forgive you. Now you must forgive yourself.”
The trickle of his tears slid down his skin and her gentle kisses licked them away. “I will always love you, mia dolce. Always.”
“Then give me the only gift I want.” She lifted her head and smiled, sure of her heart, sure of him. “Give me the gift of you.”
“Ah, Princesse.” He drew back to look at her. His tiger eyes, green and gold and brown, flashed with the life inside him, with the love for her. “When have I ever been able to say no to you?”
Epilogue
The piping tones of his son’s voice filtered through the open window of their Lake Como villa and roused Vico from reading one of his reports. Paulo appeared to be agitated at one of his two sisters. His wife’s firm voice wasn’t doing much good. Annoyed and impetuous accusations continued in aggrieved, angry Italian.
His son was rather like his father.
Demanding. Impatient.
Vico stood, clicked off his computer and strode through the office door. Pacing down the villa’s hallway, he passed the drawing room that had been converted into a family room suitable for children. He walked by the library that now stored a wide array of children’s books on the lower shelves. As he stepped onto the terrace, he quickly surveyed the cedar swing set and fort to see if any small culprits were hiding out until the dust settled.
The two female culprits, however, had decided to join in the fray.
“I hit him because he stole the ball from us.” Camila’s lower lip jutted as she glared at her mother.
“The ball is ours to play with as much as his.” Ciana, her twin, stamped her foot, making her blonde ponytail bob in the soft wind coming off the lake.
Paulo used his impressive seven-year-old height to loom over his sisters. “It’s my ball. Papa gave it to me at Christmas.”
“There are balls all around this place.” His wife sighed. The movement highlighted the lush curves of her breasts, blinding him for a moment with lust.
Who was he kidding? The lust never ceased. And after eight years, he’d concluded with some satisfaction, it never would.
“Why does it have to be this ball?” Lise continued.
He smothered a grin at the exasperation in her voice.
His children all started to complain and gripe and groan, competing for prominence in an ever-increasing roar. His children fit right in with the loud and noisy Mattares. Who would certainly be arriving at any moment to join in the fight and fun by the pool. He’d missed them during the past week while Lise’s mother had made her annual visit to the villa. Esther Helton had spent many months doggedly working her way back into her daughter’s graces. For his children, he had eventually decided to make peace with the old woman. Lise kept her mother under close watch and he trusted his wife.
Striding down the terrace, he watched his family as they all noticed his arrival.
Paulo was first to spot him, which was not unusual. The boy had a radar for his father. Lise called him the shadow as she chuckled in Vico’s arms at night.
“Papa!” The dark-haired boy raced to his side with an eager, impatient look on his face. “They stole it!”
He arched a brow.
His son’s ice-blue eyes turned wary. “They did.”
“Have we not had this conversation before, Paulo?”
“Si.” The boy grumbled under his breath.
“Is it not true that a man takes care of his women, making sure they have everything they need?”
“Yippee!” The twins jumped around their mother. “Papa! Papa!”
“For goodness’ sakes, Vico.” His wife flipped her sunglasses to the top of her head and glared at him. “Don’t say such a thing to him. We, women, are completely capable of taking care of ourselves.”
Striding over to her, he leaned down and put a hand on her bulging tummy. Another son in two months. Pride swelled inside him along with anticipation. “Trust me?”
The iced irritation in her blue gaze faded, and she finally gave him a chuckle. “All right, all right.”
He kissed her forehead before gazing over her to the two little girls. Who immediately stopped jumping. Two sets of tawny eyes widened.
“Is it not true, la mia piccola ama,” he said calmly. “That it is important to respect another person’s toys?”
Both of the four-year-old girls’ gazes went wary, too.
“Si, Papa.”
“I guess so, Papa.”
“And is it also not true that hurting your brother because of a ball is not something any daughter of mine would do?”
Two small blonde heads bowed and two sets of tiny shoulders drooped.
A silence descended among his family and he let it. He’d learned during these past few years that sometimes silence was better than shouting and sometimes letting his children come to their own conclusions was more satisfactory than trying to make everything right for them himself.
His son suddenly bounced to his side and patted his arm. “Papa. I forgive them for hitting me.”
Pride and love threatened to explode his heart.
Vico looked at his girls. His little loves. Both blonde heads bobbed up.
“I’m sorry that I hit him, Papa.” Camila gave him the gift of her shy smile.
“We can play with the ball together.” Ciana chimed in, her grin wide and charming. Just like his.
He glanced down at his wife and winked.
His Princesse looked back with her shot-glass blue eyes filled with love and respect.
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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 Mistress By Blackmail and Wife By Force by clicking on each title.
Mistress By Blackmail
A cold-hearted business tycoon. A strong-willed starving artist. A battle for each other’s heart both must win.
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.
A Perfect Man
International Billionaires IV: The Greeks
by Caro LaFever
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Alex Stravoudas knows exactly who ruined his reputation: Sophia Feuer. The scheming woman might hide beneath her famous TV confectioner's hat, but she drove away his fiancée, turned the tabloids against him, and now it’s affecting his business. Only fair then, that she repair the damage. By becoming his new fiancée.
Sophie knows a con artist when she sees one and the minute Alexander the Great strode into her sights, she pegged him as trouble. Determined to pull her best bud out of his orbit, she succeeds in breaking their engagement. Only to find she’s drawn the ire of man who won’t let a slight go.
For Alex and Sophie going from acrimonious enemies to intimate lovers is shocking enough. What might be even worse is when they both realize they’ve found their perfect match and yet, sacred promises keep them apart. Who will take the leap into hot water to find what they truly desire?
Excerpt
Alex watched in grim amusement as Sophia turned to stare at him. He had to give her credit. Not by one bat of an eyelash did she show any sense of feeling threatened.
But that would change. Very soon.
She straightened. To her full height of…nothing. It had amused him when he first met her. The way she marched into every room as if she were an Amazon, instead of a small, inconsequential woman.
“What clause?” she said in a calm, reasonable voice. They might have been discussing the weather or the Yankees’ inevitable win over the Mets.
She did it to provoke him. As always.
He understood that.
What this woman didn’t understand, though, was there was now danger in poking him over and over again as she had from the moment she’d met him. He wasn’t engaged to her best friend any longer. He wasn’t interested in winning Sophia over anymore.
He was interested in making her pay.
The rage he’d fed inside himself during this last month roared at him. Yelled at him. He didn’t want to merely take this woman in hand; he wanted to shake her. Hard. “A clause concerning your zoning.”
She closed her eyes. And opened them. Something everyone did a thousand times a day. Then why did he notice the slight movement? Notice she wore no mascara and yet her lashes were long and dark. Why did he suddenly notice how those lashes contrasted dramatically with her very white skin?
He shook himself. This was not the time to fall into one of what his partner, Henry, laughingly called his artistic trances. He had a lesson he needed to teach this woman. “Your permit to bake is dependent on the zoning.”
“Correct.” She swept a hand across her cheek, pushing a strand of dark hair back behind her ear. The bright lights above made her hair appear almost black, yet his artist’s eye had noticed the red highlights the first moment he’d met her. Natural, he’d bet at the time. “I had my lawyer check into this before I signed the contract.”
Her words yanked him out of staring at her hair. Henry would be laughing at him if he were here. “Not deep enough.”
For the thousandth time in their acquaintance, Sophia Feuer gave him a look of annoyance. “Plenty deep. The zoning here hasn’t changed in twenty-eight years.”
“Anything can change.” He straightened from the wall and paced to the edge of the steel table, coming within two feet of his soon-to-be fiancée. “Quite quickly, too. But you know that, don’t you?”
She caught his meaning, he could tell by the defensive tilt of her chin. She understood his unspoken acknowledgment of how swiftly his perfect engagement to the perfect woman for him had been destroyed.
Quick. Sharp. Keen.
That was Sophia.
Much to his regret, he hadn’t realized these skills were being used to undermine him. Not before it was too late. Too late to stop her from destroying something he’d badly wanted.
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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
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: 978-1-945007-02-6
Contents
A bad boy. An ice princess. And a secret she won’t reveal.
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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
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Epilogue
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Thank you!
Excerpt from A Perfect Man
Also by Caro LaFever
About the Author
Acknowledgments
Copyright
