Secrets and Seduction Las Vegas (Sexy Italian Imports Book 1) (22 page)

Standing in the foyer, she opened the flowers…three dozen red roses in an amazing crystal vase. The card read,
Forgive me
.

Her breath caught in her throat. Antonio. He hadn’t given up on her, and her heart responded, fluttering riotously. She’d convinced herself it was over, but he still wanted her. Closing her eyes, tears of joy glided down her cheeks. How could two words on a florist’s card create the exquisite feeling coursing through her?

She carried the flowers to the living room and set them on the coffee table then sat next to them. Taking the card from the bouquet, she read it again—he asked for her forgiveness. No, he demanded it. So like him to phrase it that way. She smelled the roses, touching their soft petals to her lips. How perfectly romantic.

Retrieving the envelope, she sat on the couch, willing her shaking hands to still. Opening it, she found a small red envelope on top of a ream of paper. Each page of the paper was printed and the first page bore the title of his next book,
A Woman to Die For
. It was the manuscript of the novel he was working on. She smoothed her hand over the title page. Such a trusting gesture to let her read his work. The red envelope enticed, and she opened it to find his business card—the one she left in the elevator. He’d written on it,
Come back
.

Her heart melted. It was a difficult choice for him; it took him a week and a half to contact her. Now
she
had a decision to make. It would be easy to fall back into his arms and begin again where they left off.

She dropped her head back onto the couch. Their history was a constant cycle of pleasurable hours broken by angry scenes. Did she want to subject herself to that again? Or did she want to let it go, focus on Pat and whoever Jules had in mind for her?

What would Antonio do if she were to tell him she’d date him but also wanted to see other men?

Her eyebrows drew together. “Actually, that might be a good test of his anger management skills.” How would he respond? Would he lay claim to her—carry her to the bedroom and consummate their relationship?

Or would he leave—call her names and ride off in a furious screech of tires? If he did, there would be nothing left on which to base a relationship.

She hated to do it, but she had to test him. She looked at the business card. Her heart, broken and patched so many times by him, told her it was the only way to know if his commitment to her was real.

He’d bluntly told her, a week and a half ago, that honesty was the only thing he couldn’t give her at this time. She’d be brutally honest with him and see how he responded. She felt absolutely deceitful but rationalized that it was the only way to know if this was right.

****

Valerie called Antonio from her home Wednesday evening.

He answered his phone on the first ring, “
Ciao, bella
!”

“Hi. How is your father?”

“He’s recovering. No permanent damage.”

“I’m glad. I felt terrible ignoring you when you told me about his accident.”

“It was understandable, considering the circumstances.”

“I received your gifts. Thank you.”

He heaved a breath. “You forgive me?”

“Of course I do. But I’d rather not talk on the phone. Are you busy this evening?”

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

“I’d like that.”

“
Ciao
.”

She checked the time and sent a text message, then quickly changed into a new pair of sexy panties, a halter top, and shorts, then sprayed on perfume, and slicked on lip gloss. In less than fifteen minutes, she heard his motorcycle in her driveway.

Standing in the open front door, she watched him park the bike. She never got tired of looking at him. He wore his usual black leather and worn jeans. But it was the way he moved, controlled, masculine. His body toned and perfectly muscled.

He walked up her sidewalk, and she quivered deep inside. He was all male, too much man for her to handle. His sexuality overpowered her and made her brain liquefy. She loved every second of it.

He took her hands in his, kissed them softly. “Forgive me,
angelo mio
. I was wrong to talk to you the way I did.”

She pulled him into the house, he closed the door, and she unzipped his jacket. “I forgive you, but do you forgive me?”

“There is nothing to forgive,
cara mia
.” He took off his jacket, threw it on a chair, and put his hands on her hips, his dark gaze locked on her eyes. “I talked with Jarrodd, and he explained the chaos of anxiety attacks.”

“Frightening, isn’t it.” She ran her hands up his arms to his shoulders.

“It was at first, but I realize how I contributed to it by becoming angry.”

She traced his collarbones, settled her hands on his chest. “It really started the day before. My mother. She said some things that made me doubt my own decisions about you.”

“She doesn’t like me.”

“I think it was Monica putting thoughts into her head.” She furrowed her brows. “I want to apologize.”

“You don’t—”

She touched her fingers softly to his lips. “I want to. Looking back, I think it was the warning from my mother about not really knowing you. Then I saw your outline, and my imagination went wild. It was all my fault, and I’m truly sorry.”

He kissed her fingers and held her hand. “It almost ended us, Valerie. I almost let it…” He swallowed. “I talked to Jarrodd, and he gave me some advice in case it happens again.”

“I appreciate that. I met with my therapist, and I think I have it permanently under control.”

“Really. How?”

She patted his chest with her hand and tipped her head. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you.” She stepped back and gestured toward the living room. “Would you like to sit?”

Without a word, he put his hand on her back and walked with her to the couch.

The scent of roses perfumed the air. “Thank you so much for the flowers. They are lovely.”

“You’re welcome.” He sat and put his arm along the back of the couch, wordlessly inviting her to sit next to him.

She sat on the couch but a few feet from him. “And I started to read your manuscript. It’s fascinating. Thank you for sharing it with me. I know how difficult it must have been for you.”

His eyes darkened, intensity flashed from them. “I’ve never let anyone but my editor read my manuscripts. I want you to know how much I trust you.”

“That’s kind of you.” She sounded ungrateful, but she had to tamp down her attraction to him and fight to keep the conversation from becoming too emotionally charged. It was almost impossible, sitting this close, but she needed a clear head to gauge his response.

“Antonio, before you say anything more, I have something to tell you.”

His eyes turned wary.

“This relationship has been difficult for both of us. The spark is definitely there. We feel the attraction. But there’s also anger, secrecy, doubt.”

He shook his head. “Just tell me, Valerie. Are we through?”

“No. I don’t want to give up on us. But I’d like to take a step back.” She would tell him the truth. “After the panic attack, I realized I’d been sitting home waiting for you to become someone else. That was just irrational. I can’t change you, and I can’t realistically ask you to change for me.”

He shifted. “I’m not sure what you want me to say.”

She smiled and shook her head. “I’m not looking for anything from you. But in the last week and a half, I’ve made some decisions about my life. Some you may not like.”

His jaw tensed. “What are they?”

“I need to experience more of what dating is all about.” She laughed nervously. “I’ve been so sheltered I haven’t gotten a chance to really know all the different types of men out there.”

“Some of them you don’t want to know.”

“I realize that, but I’ve been selective in my choices.”

His eyebrow went up. “Choices?”

She smiled softly, hoping to console him. “A few men I’d like to explore relationships with.” She laid her hand on his on the back of the couch. “I’m not trying to make you jealous, and I’m not playing games. I just realized my experience is so limited, I’ve been unprepared for the things that have happened to me.”

“You’ve met a few men?” He was stuck on her first sentence? “When did this happen?” Under her fingers, his hand fisted and his eyes narrowed.

Before she could answer, her cell phone rang. “I’m sorry, do you mind if I check that? It might be a patient.” She knew it wasn’t, but this was part of the test.

“No, not at all.”

He was being sarcastic, but she got up and went to her purse and pulled out her phone. “Hm. Long distance.” Pat’s number. She’d texted him and asked him to call when she knew Antonio would be here. She’d felt devious, but she needed to present a strong message to him.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Pat. Is this still a good time? I’m in northern California on a business trip, but I’ll always make time for you, Valerie.”

So sweet. Valerie hated to manipulate Pat this way, but she would do all she could to make it up to him. Somehow. She glanced at Antonio who watched her, and she shrugged her shoulders and walked into the kitchen. “Pat, I’m sorry, but something just came up. Could I call you back?”

“Sure, but just one question, and it won’t take a minute. I’m going to be in Las Vegas this weekend, and I thought we could set a date for an early morning round of golf. I’m online with them now, and if you can make it, I’ll book us a tee time.”

From the kitchen, she watched Antonio. He ran his hand through his hair, his “tell,” letting her know he felt frustrated. He leaned forward, put his elbows on his knees, and banged his fists together.

“Hello?” Pat called.

“I’m here, sorry. Yes, I’d like that. Let me get my calendar.” She walked back into the living room and dug in her purse for her appointment calendar. “Okay. Which day?”

“Saturday, 7 A.M. at the T.P.C. by you.”

She repeated as she wrote. “Seven A.M. at the T.P.C. in Summerlin. I look forward to seeing you.”

“Can’t wait to see you.” Pat sounded excited. She’d either be breaking the golf date, or keeping it and never seeing Antonio again, and the pang of guilt about Pat warred with her heartbreak about Antonio. “Goodbye.”

“Goodbye.” She set her phone and calendar on the table. “I’m really sorry, Antonio.”

“Golf?”

“Pardon me?” She took her spot on the couch.

“You said T.P.C.—the Tournament Players Club. You’re playing golf?”

“Yes, I play. Rarely, and not well. I guess I’ll have to go hit a bucket of balls before my golf date.” She sucked in her breath, looked at him. She didn’t mean to use the word “date.”

“Where’d you meet him?” His voice was low. Too calm.

“In San Diego. He’s a friend of Sloan’s boyfriend.”

“How nice.” Sarcasm again. “He’s coming all this way to play golf with you.”

“Actually, he’s a salesman, and Las Vegas is part of his territory.”

“And the other man you’re dating?”

“Jules has a friend she wants me to meet.”

Antonio took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he banged his fists together again. “Any others?”

“Her cousin just moved back here from—”

“Enough! Shit. It’s been a week, and you’re already going out with three guys?” He visibly tried to calm himself, sat back, and put his arm across the top of the couch.

She looked into his eyes, seeing frustration. “Please don’t think I’m doing this just to get your attention. I know it must seem that way.”

“Damn right it does. And you sure as hell got it.” He looked her up and down. “Woman, you need to know something. There is only one man for you, and he’s sitting right in front of you.”

Chapter Nineteen

Antonio’s words made Valerie weak. His eyes were piercing, looking at her with passion, not anger. Her womb pulsed with sexual longing, her nipples hardened as chills ran up her spine. God, how she wanted him. All he had to do was act territorial instead of furious, and she turned into a quivering mass of nerve endings.

He was the one.

And it was the right time.

She nodded, dropped her hands in her lap, palms up. “You’re right. I wish I could deny it, Antonio.”

He narrowed his eyes, staring into hers. “What are you saying?”

“I don’t know what I was thinking, wanting to see other men.”

“There are no other men.”

“Why would I deny it? What else am I looking for in a man?”

“You’re looking for stability.”

“Yes. Stability.” She touched his hand on the back of the couch. Her eyelids felt droopy, like she was in a trance.

“A man without a hair-trigger temper.”

She moved closer, put her hand under his shirt sleeve, felt his powerful muscles. “No hair-trigger.”

He laughed at her double entendre. “And someone you can trust.”

“Trust is important.” She put her other hand on his thigh, felt him tense.

“What about honesty?”

She moved her hand from his thigh to his chest, over his heart. “It will come with time.”

“And the hottest sex, the most mind-blowing orgasms you’ll ever live through.”

“Yes, I want the sex,” she whispered, beginning to float.

He sprang. As if after holding himself so tightly, in one fast motion, in one second, he pulled her onto his lap, one hand at the nape of her neck, the other on her stomach.

“When?” His eyes burned.

“Now. I need you now, Antonio.”

He groaned, pressed his lips to hers. “Say it again.”

“Antonio.
Prendete mi! Lo sono.”

His mouth ravished hers, his tongue frenzied. She met him just as fiercely, her tongue tasting him, exploring his mouth. Their breath mingled. She sighed delicately then moaned as his hand moved from her stomach, lower, just the slightest touch of his fingers making her quiver.

He took his lips from hers, looked into her eyes. “Upstairs?”

She nodded. “Mm hm.” She stood, and her knees shook. When he stood and looked down at her, she felt completely feminine and powerfully seductive. She put her hands on his chest. “I’ve wanted you in my bed for so long.”