Learning to Trust
By Lynne Connolly
Socialite Bellina Mazzanti Forde was the ultimate party girl—until she disappeared with Byron Brantley five years ago. Determined to find his brother, Jonathan Brantley has tracked Lina to a café in Naples and demands answers. Certain she’s hiding something, Jonathan vows not to let Lina out of his sight until she agrees to help him, even if it takes all night. Though he doesn’t trust her, he can’t deny that he wants her—has always wanted her…
Happy in her new, simpler life, Lina didn’t want to be found. Now that the past has caught up with her in the form of the sexy tycoon, she’s torn between exploring the passion he arouses in her, and facing the secrets that caused her to flee New York.
The tension between them soon leads to a scorching affair, one they both know can’t last. But when their search for Byron finds them tangling with the mob, Jon and Lina learn they have no one to trust but each other…
73,000 words
Dear Reader,
What do you get when you cross summer with lots of beach time, and long hours of traveling? An executive editor who’s too busy to write the Dear Reader letter, but has time for reading. I find both the beach and the plane are excellent places to read, and thanks to plenty of time spent on both this summer (I went to Australia! And New Zealand!) I’m able to tell you with confidence: our fall lineup of books is outstanding.
We kick off the fall season with seven romantic suspense titles, during our Romantic Suspense celebration in the first week of September. We’re pleased to offer novella Fatal Destiny by Marie Force as a free download to get you started with the romantic suspense offerings. Also in September, fans of Eleri Stone’s sexy, hot paranormal romance debut novel, Mercy, can look forward to her follow-up story, Redemption, set in the same world of the Lost City Shifters.
Looking to dive into a new erotic romance? We have a sizzling trilogy for you. In October, look for Christine D’Abo’s Long Shot trilogy featuring three siblings who share ownership of a coffee shop, and each of whom discover steamy passion within the walls of a local sex club. Christine’s trilogy kicks off with Double Shot.
In addition to a variety of frontlist titles in historical, paranormal, contemporary, steampunk and erotic romance, we’re also pleased to present two authors releasing backlist titles with us. In October, we’ll re-release four science fiction romance titles from the backlist of C.J. Barry, and in November four Western romance titles from the backlist of Susan Edwards.
Also in November, we’re thrilled to offer our first two chick lit titles from three debut authors, Liar’s Guide to True Love by Wendy Chen and Unscripted by Natalie Aaron and Marla Schwartz. I hope you’ll check out these fun, sometimes laugh-out-loud novels.
Whether you’re on the beach, on a plane, or sitting in your favorite recliner at home, Carina Press can offer you a diverting read to take you away on your next great adventure this fall!
We love to hear from readers, and you can email us your thoughts, comments and questions to [email protected]. You can also interact with Carina Press staff and authors on our blog, Twitter stream and Facebook fan page.
Happy reading!
~Angela James
Executive Editor, Carina Press
www.carinapress.com
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Dedication
To my editor, Lynne Anderson, who did such a great job.
Contents
Copyright
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
About the Author
Chapter One
“Does anyone here speak English?”
At her boss’s words, Lina turned to face him but spun back when she recognized the man by his side. Heat raced through her body. Not unusual for sultry August in Naples, but this wasn’t because of the weather. The man standing with his back to her reminded her of someone she once knew. From a life she’d left and never wanted to know again.
It couldn’t be Jonathan Brantley; he lived in the States. What would he be doing here?
Her mind went into overdrive. Sweat moistened her palms. He’d come here to find her. She couldn’t think of any other reason he’d come to Italy, when he lived and worked in New York.
The tray in her hands crashed to the floor.
The hum of conversation in the café dropped to almost silence.
Oh shit. She stooped to pick up the shards of pottery and the flatware bouncing over the black-and-white tiled floor.
Of course it wasn’t Jonathan. Just someone who looked like him. Despite her self-reassurances, her hands shook when a pair of expensive men’s running shoes appeared in front of her. She recognized them as the latest model, the ones some people around here would kill for. Who was this idiot, sporting his wealth in this part of Naples, well off the tourist trail?
Taking a deep breath, she lifted her chin. Dizziness overwhelmed her. She blinked to clear the spots in front of her eyes. Putting her hands on the floor, careful to avoid any fragments, she pushed to her feet, avoiding the hand outstretched to help her. She stared at him. Glared at him.
“You know this man?” Franco demanded in the thick Neapolitan patois they spoke here, especially when they didn’t want strangers understanding them.
She took a step back. Franco placed his hands on her shoulders, beefy heaviness weighing her down. “No. I don’t know him.”
“I thought you said you spoke English? I heard you once, didn’t I? If you don’t know him, what’s the problem?”
Lina folded her arms. “My English isn’t too good. I showed tourists around the Coliseum when I lived in Rome. Stuff like that.”
Jonathan stared, his blue, blue eyes roaming over her, stark awareness there. “Bella.”
Before she could censor herself, she responded in English, but remembered to keep it broken, more for Franco and the customers’ ears than Jonathan’s. It was too late to try to fool him. “Lina is my name.” And calling a woman “Bella” was likely to make any Italian burst into uncontrollable laughter. So gauche, a stupid name she’d always hated.
“Bellina Mazzanti Forde.” Bellina was even worse. A diminutive, better suited to a baby than a full-grown woman. She’d been glad to ditch the full version of her name. Now here it was again.
“Angelina Mazzaro,” she corrected him. “I do not know this Bellina Mazzanti Forde. Our names are similar. You must have us mixed up.” She prayed the name wouldn’t jolt any distant memory in Franco’s mind. But he didn’t read the gossip magazines, hardly bothered with the national newspaper.
To her relief, Jonathan shrugged, accepting her statement. “Whatever. I need you, Lina.”
She thought fast, turned to confront Franco, reverting to Neapolitan. “I do not know him. Will he hurt me, rape me? How can I tell?” She forced tears to her eyes—not difficult, since shock still reverberated through her and she still trembled in the aftermath.
Franco responded as she’d hoped. He lifted his hands, palms forward, in a placatory gesture. “Calm down, Lina, I don’t do that. I would never use you in that way.” No, but she’d seen who
res using the café as a rendezvous, and knew Franco pretended not to notice for a good tip. Hell, she’d done it herself, turned a blind eye to the girls chatting up potential clients. The tips had come in handy. “Just talk to this man, okay? He wants something, but my English is bad. I don’t want him hanging around. Look at him—you don’t get those jeans in a discount store. Get rid of him before somebody shakes him down and robs him blind. I don’t want him bringing trouble here.”
That sounded reasonable, or would if Jonathan had been a complete stranger to her. But she knew him, knew he wouldn’t let her go now. Mentally she bade her job goodbye and skimmed over the belongings she’d need to take with her when she left. Maybe she could just disappear for a week, until he went home. She’d tell Franco the truth, or a version of it, and he’d cover for her, tell him that she had gone. Jonathan belonged to her old life, the one she was trying so hard to leave behind. Rich men were part of her life, once, or so she’d tell Franco. He’d understand.
With her plan in place, Lina felt a little better. She turned around once more to face Jonathan. “What you want?” she asked, careful to retain her accent, careful to not reveal just how well she spoke English.
His smile, that arrogant grin she remembered so well, quirked his lips. “I want your help, Lina. I want to find Byron.”
Of all the things he could have said, she hadn’t expected that one. She frowned. “I not see him.”
“At least you don’t deny knowing him.” He glanced around. “Come outside.”
She quelled her streak of panic. This was her neighborhood. People knew her and besides, she could scream in the busy street. Best to tell him what he needed to know and then get rid of him. “Okay.” She shoved a wayward strand of hair behind her ear and glanced at Franco, reverting to Neapolitan. “He wants me to go outside with him and show him where to go. He’s lost here.”
Franco grinned. “About as lost as a tourist can be. Show him. Don’t go far.”
She nodded and threaded her way through the cluster of closely packed tables to the entrance to the café, ignoring the patrons who watched her in curious near silence. As her only concession to ensure he was following, she glanced back, and caught a whiff of his cologne. He hadn’t changed it, then. The scent gave her a sudden, vivid vision of a room full of laughing, chatting people, with loud music throbbing, and a handsome face smiling into hers. A pang of loss followed the vision. She hadn’t thought about the life she’d left behind in ages. Years. Now Jonathan brought it back. She hated him for that.
The bell made its cheerful ding as she and Jonathan went out.
Out in the street, cars drove past at the usual Neapolitan pace—breakneck. The scent of sausages and garlic from the café wove around her, adding to the atmosphere. She leaned against the green-painted barrier between her place and the shoe shop next door, lifting her leg to prop her foot on the paintwork, as she did so often during the course of her day. Especially at this time of year, when the only breeze available was outside.
She lifted her chin. “Well?”
He stood in front of her, legs apart, hands on hips, looking as arrogant as if he owned the place. “Well what? Where’s Byron?”
She hadn’t heard that name for a while and it sent a jolt of sorrow through her. “I don’t know.”
“Don’t fucking lie to me, Bella, or I’ll go in there and tell them who you are.”
She bit her lip, released it, watched the way his gaze followed the movement. “Franco knows most of it.” A lie, but hopefully he wouldn’t call her on it.
The corner of his mouth lifted in a sneer. “How about where you come from, your real name? How about that?” He paused. “Lina.”
She took a deep breath. The name she preferred to use these days sounded different on his lips. “I stopped being Bellina Forde five years ago. Now I’m nobody, nothing. So leave me to my nothing, and go. I can’t tell you anything. I don’t know where Byron is. I haven’t seen him in two years.”
“You expect me to believe you?” He didn’t need to raise his voice for the low menace it held to seep through. “He took the train from Rome to Naples last week. Tell me you don’t know that, either.” He pushed his face forward, close to hers. She wished she hadn’t leaned against the wall now, because she couldn’t retreat.
“I don’t know that.” Questions thronged her mind now, questions she wanted answered before she told him anything else. “So why now, Jonathan? How come you didn’t come looking for him anytime this last five years? Where were you?” Where were any of them when Byron needed them? When she needed them? Strangers had helped her, not her family or her friends.
Jonathan closed his eyes, shielding her from his incisive, powerful stare. He was flaying her alive here, bringing up the past she wanted to forget. Needed to forget. Because if she remembered, she might not survive.
He leaned back and opened his eyes, stared at her. “I did. I looked for him, for you both, until I dropped.” His gaze returned to her, hard once more. “But I didn’t find you, did I? Until now. This time I won’t leave until I know where he is.”
“How did you find me?” What mistake had she made?
He regarded her for a whole thirty seconds in silence. She knew because she counted very slowly, holding her resolve with an effort of will that surprised her. Eventually he sighed. “I never stopped looking. I received a photo of Byron and an address. I hoped to find Byron here, but instead I found you. I need to know where he is, Lina. Tell me, and—well, I’ll leave you alone, if you want me to.”
“You won’t tell anyone about me?”
He stared at her again. “Not if I’m sure you’re okay. But you aren’t, are you? You’re still too thin, and you’re dressed badly. You were waitressing in that place, weren’t you? I want answers before I leave, but first I want my brother. So if you want me to go, you’ll help me.”
“Promise you won’t tell anyone where I am. Promise!” She’d still have to move, just in case he let something slip and they came back to find her. She couldn’t risk that.
“Only if we find my brother.”
“Why? Why now?”
His full lips took on a wry twist. He wasn’t telling her something, though she had no idea what. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know. She’d turned her back on Byron for a reason. It had come to a choice—him or her. And she’d chosen survival. “So if we find him you won’t say anything? You’ll go away?”
He nodded. “If I’m sure you’re okay.”
“What do you mean, okay? I’m fine, can’t you see?”
He gave a derisory laugh. “As okay as any addict, I guess.”
Chapter Two
Jon felt the familiar pull of desire with disbelief. Surely five years should have been enough time for him to get over her? But it hadn’t. He still felt that kick in the groin, as if she’d reached out and grabbed his cock, palmed it, and—shit, he couldn’t go there. Mustn’t. Sex for him was a pleasant leisure activity conducted by two consenting and sophisticated adults. Not this savage yearning to throw her to the ground and just take her.
What was he, man or caveman? He had to get a grip. He stared at her, masking his baser self in a veneer of civilization, noting the parts of her that put him off, or should. The cheap, worn clothes, her T-shirt, streaked on one side with some brown stain, probably sauce, and so faded he wasn’t sure what the original pattern printed on it was meant to be. The tiny denim skirt, faded not by a designer but by repeated laundering, too tight even on her emaciated frame. The pale face, too pale for someone who should be tanned by the Neapolitan sun. And her figure. He blocked thoughts of spanning her waist with his hands. “Are you going to deny it? That you’re an addict?”
She opened her mouth, and the light of battle sparked in her eyes. Then she blinked and the expression disappeared, masked. “Why should I? You saw me in that club in New York, snorting a line of coke. You know they say that every bill in the States has a trace of cocaine. So what makes you so different, so
superior?”
“Intelligence?” he suggested mildly.
“Fear.”
He liked her better this way. Defiant, angry. When he’d entered the café, he’d glanced around and not recognized the arrogant party girl in the quiet waitress. He’d thought his information another false lead and prepared to leave, not too disappointed. After all, he’d suffered a lot of red herrings in the past. But Byron was here somewhere. He had to be. Jon couldn’t take it much longer, the constant disappointments, the not knowing.
Now that he’d found Lina he knew he was on the right track. So he smiled, but didn’t let her break away, as he knew she wanted. Her restless gaze flickered here, there, as if looking for a way out. And if they stayed here much longer, she’d find one. He guessed people knew her around here. Naples or New York, neighborhoods had similar characteristics. Someone would be looking out for her.
“Come on. I want to talk to you on neutral territory.” He took her elbow and, ignoring her efforts to break free, took her around the corner, where, thankfully, his rental car was still parked. The guy he’d paid to mind it stood across the road. He touched his fingers to his forehead in a mock salute. Jon assumed that meant he’d paid the guy enough. Or too much. He didn’t care. After pressing the button on the key ring that unlocked the doors, he turned abruptly.
Her body hit his. Jon had the tantalizing experience of feeling her pressed against him for a fleeting moment before she took a step back. That memory would remain seared into his brain until the day he died. Sometimes it happened that way, a moment out of time that remained apart, special. For some reason, this was one of those experiences. He could feel it as if she was still there, her breasts, beguilingly soft for all her skinny form, her pussy, nestled just below his balls, inviting and sweet. Fuck, he still wanted her. Or at least his body did.
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