by Kyle, Regina
“Carina.”
The low, masculine voice made the hairs on Zoe’s arms and at the back of her neck stand on end. She clutched Houdini closer to her chest, mentally steeling herself before turning toward the door. Ready or not, she was going to have to face Dante. Because he was there. In San Francisco. At her office.
She turned slowly, deliberately keeping her gaze on the pig in her arms. “I suppose I should thank you for delivering Houdini to me instead of letting him get turned into pancetta.”
“I didn’t come here for Houdini. I came here for you.”
She lifted her head for the inevitable confrontation. Her eyes drank him in, his large, lanky frame, clad in pale gray trousers and a crisp, white button-down shirt, filling the doorway. His collar was open, showing the strong, tanned column of his throat, and his cuffs were rolled up to reveal his muscled forearms, as tan as his neck and lightly dusted with dark hair.
He looked good. As always. His clothes perfectly pressed, his thick curls impeccably coiffed, a suitable amount of sexy stubble on his strong jaw. But there was something different about him. A kind of haunted, hunted look around his eyes and mouth that spoke of sadness and sleepless nights.
Was he as lonely and miserable as she was? Was that the reason for his grim expression and the uncharacteristic dark circles under his eyes?
No, she thought, remembering how he had so callously dismissed her their last night in Rome. That was her hopeful heart being stupid again. Houdini must have been keeping him up at night. That was probably why he’d traveled thousands of miles to deliver the pig to her.
“Carina,” Dante repeated, an almost desperate edge to his voice. “Please, answer me.”
Great. He had asked her something, and she had no clue what it was, so mesmerized by the sight of him everything else faded into oblivion.
Not good, Zoe. Not good.
She decided to go with a tried-and-true tactic and answer his question—whatever it was—with a question. “What do you want me to say?”
“I thought—I hoped we could—”
“What?” She took a step toward him, cutting him off. As long as she stayed mad at him, she could squash any lingering feelings of lust. Or love. “Talk? Have coffee? Pick up where we left off? The answer is no, to all three.”
“I know showing up at your office like this isn’t ideal—”
“That’s putting it mildly.”
He held out his hands in a silent plea for understanding. “I had no choice. It was the only way I could think of to make sure you would see me. I knew you wouldn’t want to make a scene at work.”
“Well, you’re right about that.” She had to get him out of there. Quickly and quietly, before her boss—or, worse, their client—showed up. “But your timing sucks. I’m giving a huge presentation in a few minutes. This could make or break my career. I have to make a good impression.”
“You already have.”
“What do you mean?”
He stuck his hands in his pockets. “I’m the one you’re giving the presentation to.”
It was a good thing they were in her office or she might have been tempted to do something rash. Like smack the feigned look of innocence off his face. “Tell me you’re joking.”
But deep down she knew he wasn’t. An Italian restaurant. How could she have been so stupid? Of course Dante was their client.
She stormed past him and closed the conference room door. No need for the rest of the office to hear what was sure to be an unpleasant conversation. Plus, with the door closed, she could set the now-squirming Houdini down and concentrate all her energy on dealing with Dante.
“You’re Seven Hills Enterprises?”
“For the seven hills of Rome, the site of my biggest mistake. The one I’ve crossed an ocean and two continents to remedy.”
She clenched her hands into tight fists. “Let me get this straight. Your plan was to get me to talk to you by having me waste my time designing a restaurant that doesn’t exist?”
“No, carina.” He started to reach for her but jammed his hands back into his pockets, the stink eye she was giving him no doubt making him think the better of it.
“I swear to you,” he continued, the desperate edge to his words even more pronounced than before, “the restaurant is very real. Luca and I have been looking to expand into the United States for some time. Initially, we were thinking of New York. I convinced him we were better off starting out on the West Coast. Specifically, San Francisco.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, almost as if she could create an extra layer of protection between him and her heart. “Is moving your business supposed to make up for the way you treated me in Rome?”
“I hoped it would get you to hear me out.”
“You know what?” she said, trying her hardest to keep her tone light so he wouldn’t hear the hurt—and the lie—behind her words. “You don’t owe me any explanations. We had some fun, that was all. No strings, right?”
“Wrong.” This time he didn’t hesitate to touch her, taking her by the shoulders and staring into her soul with those piercing storm-cloud eyes. “Please. Five minutes. That’s all I ask, then I’ll go. If you still want me to.”
“Fine.” With no small amount of effort, she broke away from him and took a seat, gesturing toward the end of the table, where her laptop was set up for what was supposed to be her big moment. “One of us might as well give a presentation. Although somehow I doubt you have a PowerPoint prepared.”
“I brought a pig. Doesn’t that count for anything?” His eyes scanned the room for Houdini, asleep under one of the chairs. “So much for my wingman.”
He shrugged and went where she directed him.
“Your time starts—” She glanced at the clock again. “Now.”
“I suppose I should begin at the beginning.”
“You know what Julie Andrews says.” Did he? Rodgers and Hammerstein weren’t Puccini. “It’s a very good place to start.”
“Are you going to keep interrupting me?”
He arched an aristocratic brow at her, and her pulse hammered. She’d forgotten how exhilarating it was sparring with him. Almost as much as sleeping with him.
Down, girl. Don’t think about that. Focus on how you felt when you threw his stupid coins back in his stupid face.
“Sorry.” Not. “Continue.”
“You used up some of my valuable time. I should get minutes put back on the clock.”
“Thirty seconds.”
He started to pull out a chair then stopped. “Can I sit?”
“It’s your presentation.”
He hesitated, then sat. A few more precious seconds ticked by before he spoke, and when he did, his words were soft but powerful, with more than a hint of something like sadness. Or regret. “The couple we met at the fountain after the opera—”
“Aldo and Flavia?”
“There you go, interrupting me again.” He tried to smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yes, Aldo and Flavia. Nicole’s parents.”
“Oh my God.” Her breath caught and her eyes started to tear up. It explained so much. Their uncomfortable conversation. The awkward non-introduction.
“That’s not all.” His brow furrowed. “That month was the first anniversary of her death. That’s why I was in Positano. She loved Bella Vista. I proposed to her in the perennial garden.”
Suddenly, the table between them felt like a gulf as wide as the ocean. Zoe fought the urge to comfort him and stayed seated, needing some distance between them in order to think straight. “I had no idea. I’m so sorry.”
There was that word again. So small. So inadequate.
“No, carina. I’m the one who’s sorry. I behaved badly.”
He stood abruptly and rounded the table to sit next to her, brushing her knee with his as he lowered hi
mself into the chair. So much for that much-needed distance.
“Seeing them like that, without any warning, it was—difficult. I was worried about their reaction to seeing me with someone new, especially so close to the anniversary of their daughter’s death. And afraid of the strength of my feelings for you. But that’s no excuse for how I acted.”
He reached into his pocket, pulled out three coins, and set them down on the table in a neat stack.
“Are those—?”
“Yes.” He smiled, his expression truly lightening for the first time since he’d appeared in the door of the conference room. “The coins you threw at me.”
“I didn’t exactly throw them at you,” she lied.
“One hit me in the chest. And another in the face.”
“A lucky accident.”
He pushed the coins toward her. “Take them.”
Her lips curled into a small smile that matched his. “So I can throw them again?”
“That’s up to you. I had something different in mind.”
“Like what?”
“I believe you Americans call it a do-over.”
Her chin quivered, and the already pounding pulse at her throat quickened. “A do-over?”
He turned her chair to face his and reached for her hands, turning them over to trace slow circles on her palms with his thumbs. “Come back to Rome with me. Give me another chance.”
The empty space in her heart started to fill. But there were still so many unanswered questions. She figured she’d start with a pretty basic one.
“Another chance to do what?”
He brought one hand up to his lips and kissed it. “To love you, carina. The way you deserve to be loved. Fully. Unconditionally. Openly.”
She felt lightheaded, unable to catch her breath. “You love me?”
“Si.” He chuckled. “I think I fell in love with you when I found you doing yoga with a pig at the crack of dawn.”
“For me it was that day in Capri,” she admitted. “When you threw away my guidebook and took me to the Grotta Verde.”
“I’m glad the feeling is mutual.” His eyes clouded with uncertainty. “At least, I hope it still is.”
She nodded. “Believe me, I tried to get over you. It wasn’t that easy.”
He released her hands and lifted his to frame her face. “You’re the air I breathe, carina. I promise to do everything in my power not to hurt you again.”
The tears that threatened earlier spilled out now, but this time they were tears of joy. Dante leaned in to wipe one away and touched his lips to hers.
What started as a soft, sweet kiss, infused with apologies on his part and forgiveness on hers, quickly turned into something more sensual. His fingers threaded through her hair as he tilted her head, seeking the perfect angle to deepen the kiss. She strained closer, as close as the restrictive office chairs would allow, and opened up to him. Not just her lips, but her heart, her soul.
“So, does this mean my pitch was successful and you’ll come with me to Rome?” he asked when they finally came up for air. “Not permanently. You have your job here, and I’ll be spending a lot more time in San Francisco once we start working on the restaurant.”
“We?” Zoe asked, surprised that her lips, tingling from the intensity of their kiss, were still functional. “You haven’t even seen my designs yet.”
“There’s no one else I would trust with this project.” He kissed her again, this one hard and fast, punctuating his faith in her with something else. Love. “But before we begin, I think it’s important for us to go back to the scene of the crime—so to speak—and replace bad memories with good ones.”
“I’d like that, but I don’t know if my boss will be thrilled with me taking time off so soon after coming back to work.”
“We’ll tell him you need to visit our locations in Italy in order to get a feel for the business.”
“I’ve already seen your restaurant in Rome.”
“True, but he doesn’t know that,” Dante said. “And you haven’t seen our in restaurants in Florence or Naples yet.”
He stood, tugging her to her feet with him. “Let’s go.”
“To Italy? Now?”
“To tell your employer the good news about the firm’s newest client. And then to your apartment, where I plan to keep you occupied for at least the next twenty-four hours. We have a lot of time to make up for. And I haven’t finished apologizing.”
“As good as that sounds, aren’t you forgetting something? Like maybe a four-legged something?”
Houdini picked that moment to wake up with a start and a loud squeal, almost as if he knew she was talking about him. Dante crouched down and snapped his fingers.
“Vieni, maiale.”
Without hesitation, the pig scampered to Dante, who scooped him up and tucked him under his arm.
Zoe gaped at them. “How did you do that? You got him to come on command. And you didn’t have to bribe him with food.”
“We’ve been practicing.” Dante gave Houdini’s head an affectionate knuckle rub. “It kept my mind off missing you. And I think, secretly, I hoped we’d have the chance to impress you with our new trick.”
“Well, you did. Impress me, that is.” With more than a silly trick. It was the sincerity of his apology and the strength and conviction of his love for her that won her over. “And you don’t have to miss me anymore. I love you, Dante.”
It was the first time she’d said those three little words to him, and the way his face lit up made her wish she’d said them sooner.
“Ah, carina,” he said gruffly, emotion coloring his voice. “Ti amo anch’io. Per sempre.”
A confused frown wrinkled her forehead. “I know what ti amo means. But what’s per sempre?”
With his free arm, he pulled her to his side, the heat of his body radiating into hers, warming her straight through to her heart.
“Forever.”
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Acknowledgments
As always, it takes a village to publish a book, and I’m ever thankful to mine. I had not one but two great editors on this project, Candace Havens and Alethea Spiridon. Then there’s the rest of the team at Entangled Publishing: Liz Pelletier, Riki Cleveland, Amy Acosta, and Bree Archer, to name a few. Special props to the folks in the art department who really knocked it out of the park with this amazing cover.
I’m lucky that my village also includes an amazing bunch of fellow authors who constantly prop me up. My MTBs: Jane Haertel, Megan Ryder, Jamie Beck, Jamie Schmidt, and Gail Chianese. My mastermind group: Laurel Greer, Heatherly Bell, Amy Ruttan, Jo McNally, and Cathryn Fox. The Racy Reads authors, who are too numerous to name individually but you know who you are. And basically anyone who has encouraged me, bolstered me, helped spread the word about my books, or supplied wine and/or chocolate in times of celebration or strife.
My family has always been super supportive of my writing, and I couldn’t do this without them. Except for our cat, Piper. She’s no help at all.
And last but not least, thanks to the readers, without whom writing would be an entirely pointless exercise. Special shout-out to my Rabble Rousers street team and review crew. You all keep me going when the muse deserts me or deadline crunch time has me stressing out.
About the Author
Regina Kyle also writes for Harlequin Blaze. She is a 2016 Booksellers’ Best Winner (Triple Dare - Erotic Romance) and a 2015 NJRW Golden Leaf Finalist (Triple Threat - Best First Book). Regina knew she was destined to be an author when she won a writing contest at age ten with a touching tale about a squirrel and a nut pie. By day, she writes dry legal briefs, representing the state in criminal appeals. At night, she writes steamy romance with heart and humor. A lover of all things theatrical, Regina lives on the Connecticut
coast with her husband, teenage daughter and two melodramatic cats. When she’s not writing, she’s most likely singing, reading, cooking or watching bad reality television. She’s a member of Romance Writers of America and of her local RWA chapter.
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