The D'amici Mistake

  THE D'AMICI MISTAKE

  By Alyson McLayne

  Copyright © 2016 Alyson McLayne

  All Rights Reserved

  MORE BOOKS AVAILABLE NOW BY ALYSON MCLAYNE

  The Sizzling, Sexy, Santa Barbara Series

  The Fabrizio Bride

  License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Acknowledgements

  To my dad Jim. You are an inspiration. I'm so glad my kids get to see their grandpa every day. Now go drive across another country and walk another eight miles.

  

  And as always….to my mom Marjorie. I love you.

  Contents

  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

  Preview of 'The Fabrizio Bride'

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  About Alyson McLayne

  Chapter One

  What were the chances Elena was pregnant after just one mistake?

  Santo D’amici stood in the middle of his sumptuous bathroom, staring at the torn condom dangling from his fingertips. He tried to resist turning the sweetly scented air blue, but he failed.

  “Damn it to hell.”

  As usual, they’d been wild in their lovemaking. Maybe a little rough. It was easy to imagine a fingernail snagging the latex she slid over him before he slid home, and they both lost their minds. Easy to see him pushing right through the tip with their crazy, pounding rhythm.

  Anxiety tied his stomach in knots and he breathed deeply to relieve the tension. It didn’t work. Tossing the condom into the trash can beside the marble tub, he looked at the heavy, wooden door that led to his room. On the other side, Elena lay sleeping in his bed.

  Finally.

  He’d worked long and hard to get her there—she preferred making love anywhere but the intimacy of a bedroom, afraid it might lead to something more permanent. If she found out he’d possibly impregnated her, she’d panic and run, for sure.

  With a frown, he walked naked across the heated floor, flipped off the light, and quietly opened the door.

  She lay on his bed in a shaft of moonlight that shone through the balcony doors, covered by a midnight blue quilt. He studied her as he walked across the rug. Her lush mouth, usually so quick with a droll response, had softened in slumber, and her hand curled childlike beneath a rounded cheek. So sweet, so vulnerable.

  So unlike Elena.

  He realized he’d never seen her sleeping during the five months they’d been together—ever since she’d snuck into his room at Rafe and Sarika’s wedding, and he’d sent her packing. His resolve hadn’t lasted. The next evening all it took was one seductive glance as she’d swayed past on those ridiculously high heels, and he’d been hooked.

  Not that he’d known it then. It was just supposed to be a one night stand before he resumed his search for the perfect wife. Someone who didn’t sneak into men’s bedrooms wearing silk and lace negligees and have a flippant reply for everything. Someone who wasn’t afraid to show him who she really was and how she really felt. Someone who wouldn’t insist on keeping their quasi-relationship casual.

  A woman who wanted to sleep in his bed—all night long.

  Damn. He should have walked away months ago.

  A lock of thick, brown hair highlighted with artfully placed blonde streaks fell across her forehead as she rolled onto her back. The cover shifted revealing the tops of her breasts, and his body stirred.

  Instant desire. It was always like that. A need that never waned.

  He loved her shape, petite yet full through the hips and breasts. He loved her pert nose and flashing hazel eyes. He even loved her sassy tongue, especially when it did the things to his body that she’d done tonight.

  In. His. Bed.

  He brushed the hair from her brow then trailed his fingers down her cheek, his olive-toned skin in contrast to her lighter shade. Her eyelids fluttered, and he found himself holding his breath as he waited to see her eyes. When they opened, she stared up at him with sleepy languor.

  “Mr. D’amici,” she greeted him huskily.

  The familiar welcome made him smile, and he sank onto the edge of the bed, his anxiety fading as passion sparked to life.

  “Ms. Berrucci,” he replied, a surge of possessiveness crashing through him.

  Why bother spooking her with a phantom pregnancy? If it turned out the unlikely had happened, and she carried his child, he’d deal with it later. It’s not like they could fix it now, anyway. An abortion was out of the question.

  Tangling his hands in her hair, he kissed her. She held him close, arms squeezing his neck.

  When they parted, she asked, “Are we still in Santa Barbara?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “You said earlier you were taking me to Heaven. This doesn’t look like Heaven.”

  He smiled and nuzzled his way down her throat. “Does it feel like Heaven?”

  “Possibly.” Her hands stroked his neck and over his spine. “But seeing as I’ve never been there, you’ll have to keep doing what you’re doing until I’m absolutely certain.”

  “And how long will that take?”

  She paused to look at the clock on the nightstand. “About another hour. Then I really have to go.”

  Stubbornness flared within him. He slipped under the quilt and stretched his naked length beside her. Her thighs spread immediately, welcoming him. She lifted one knee around his hip and snuggled closer. He kissed her, then gazed into her eyes. “You don’t have to leave. You can stay the night. I promise to wake you slowly in the morning.”

  Elena smiled, but he felt her tense against him. “No sleepovers, remember? I’m not that kind of girl.”

  “The kind that makes love in a bed rather than in the car, on the beach, or on the pool table? You agreed to be exclusive, remember? That means you are that kind of girl.”

  “And you agreed to be casual. Sleepovers and breakfast in bed the next morning are not casual.”

  He dropped his forehead to hers, trying to sound relaxed, when all he wanted to do was tie her to him and never let go. “We have it good, Elena. This relationship—”

  “We don’t have a relationship, Santo. We have sex. Great sex.”

  “It’s more than that, and you know it. We’ve known each other since we were kids. We’ve spent hours in each other’s company, talking and laughing, as well as doing this.” He ran his hand up her body and stroked her breast.

  She gasped and arched into his palm. “You don’t play fair.”

  “I play to win.”

  For a split second, the guardedness in her eyes fell away, and the uncertainty he saw there shook him.

  She dropped her gaze. “I’m not worth winning.” Her tone was flippant, but he’d seen the pain behind the façade.

  He pulled her close, arms locked around her body. “You are to me.”

  For a minute, he thought she might relent, then she pushed against his chest and turned over, intent on crawling out the other side of the bed. The fighter in him s
prang to life, and he moved quickly, pinning her spine to his chest and pushing a hard thigh between her legs from behind.

  She groaned, rubbed against him.

  “We’re not done.” He drew her earlobe into his mouth, making her shudder as he sucked on it. His hold on her loosened so he could knead her breasts, before sliding one hand down her body. He played with her curls and the nub beneath until she rocked against his muscled leg.

  “Santo.” With a shudder, she lifted her arms behind her head to sink her fingers into his hair.

  Her core was hot and slick against him. He reached for a pillow and dragged it down the bed, then rolled her forward, so her hips lay across it, pushing her rounded backside upward. He moved over her from behind, spreading her legs so he lay between them.

  It was a dominant position, one that forced her complete surrender, and he knew she had a love/hate relationship with it. But it was what he needed right now. What she needed, too. It showed her she could be vulnerable with him and still be okay. Reaching for a condom he sheathed himself then lay heavily over her and nudged her entrance. Her breath came in hard gasps—anticipation making her tremble. She arched her back, pressing her hips upward. It was all he could do not to drive inside.

  “Now,” she demanded, her voice ragged.

  He fought to regulate his breathing and bring himself under control. “What will you give me for it, Kitten?”

  He pushed forward an inch. She quivered beneath him.

  “What do you want?”

  He pulled back then rocked forward another inch. “I’m going to New York on business for a month. I want you to visit me. For a weekend, for the day, it doesn’t matter. I just want you to come.”

  The breath left her in a shaky laugh that turned into a moan as he pulled out again. “Believe me, that won’t be a problem.”

  He stilled. “Please, Elena.”

  She looked at him, eyes filled with need, and he almost relented, his urge to please her more than he could stand. He kissed along the crook of her neck to her ear.

  Her lips reached for his. “Okay. One night in New York. I promise.”

  He grasped her head and deepened the kiss as satisfaction welled within. She didn’t realize the concession she’d made. With fierce pleasure, he thrust inside, hitting her sweet spot, and lost himself in everything Elena.

  * * *

  One month later…

  Elena Berrucci searched the crowd of Santa Barbara’s elite society milling beneath the ballroom’s grand chandelier and arched ceiling. Santo D’amici, her dark angel, shouldn’t be hard to find, looming as he did over the other men in the room. Except for Rafe, of course, and her brother, Lorenzo. The three of them, all former students at St. Ignatius and competitors on the soccer field, were larger than most men and probably sat in a corner somewhere reliving plays from their latest game. Lorenzo and Rafe got along splendidly now that Rafe had married a blissful Sarika and knocked her up soon after.

  The very thought made Elena shudder. She had no doubt her best friend and Rafe would make it work, but they were one in a million. Most marriages may not be as bad as Elena’s parents’—who’d married and divorced each other twice—but wedlock certainly never led to happily-ever-after in her world. That was fantasy, and the only fantasy Elena wanted right now was Santo.

  Big, hard, and naked.

  These last four weeks without him had been hell. In more ways than one. She’d caught Lorenzo’s flu just before she planned to visit Santo in New York and hadn’t been able to shake the illness, although it was improving. Tonight was the first time she’d been out in two weeks and she planned to make the most of it. With Santo.

  It helped that the party was at her home. She and Santo could lock themselves in the study for an hour and not be missed. As long as her stomach held. She took another sip of the ginger ale in her champagne glass to keep the nausea at bay.

  Scanning the glittering crowd again, she spotted Santo across the room and everything stopped—her heart, her breath, her thoughts. Then her blood pounded through her veins, sensitizing every nerve in anticipation of the night to come. He stared back at her, dark eyes ripping through her soul and tugging at the very core of her, the soft part that she kept well hidden. He did that often, leaving her unsure and wanting more. Scared.

  She should have walked away months ago.

  Now she didn’t know if it was possible.

  A black tuxedo shaped his wide shoulders and massive chest then tapered down to his waist. Muscles she’d stroked on many occasions rippled beneath his shirt and filled out his trousers, causing her fingers to curl as she imagined his heavy weight pressing her down.

  God, he was sexy. A man’s man—not so much handsome as striking and powerful.

  Underneath his designer clothes lurked an uncivilized warrior waiting to fight free—his skin tanned, dark hair short, face forceful with a strong Roman nose and sculpted lips that could be cruel if provoked.

  “Do you want a camera?”

  The familiar voice teased Elena from behind, and she turned to greet her best friend who towered over her in a flowing, white dress. Sarika had secured her long, black hair in a knot on top of her head to complete the virginal look. Which was funny considering she was just over five months pregnant and according to her, perpetually horny. Her husband, Rafe, loved it. She claimed it was her hormones, but Elena knew better. Sarika had always been crazy in love with Rafe.

  “I don’t need a camera, I can look at Santo anytime I want. My own personal eye-candy.” She glanced back, but to her surprise, her lover was gone. Disappointment and something akin to panic surged through her as she scanned the crowd. How could he just leave? They hadn’t seen each other in four weeks.

  “He’ll be back soon. Rafe wanted to talk to him about something.”

  Elena lowered her eyes to hide the unexpected hurt she felt by his disappearance.

  Sarika raised a brow. “You’re looking a little possessive for someone who claims Santo’s just a friend with benefits. Could it be you’re actually starting to—gasp—feel something for him?”

  Elena shrugged. “What I’m feeling is something you, Miss I-Can’t-Go-More-Than-A-Few-Hours-Without-Sex, should recognize. It’s been ages since I’ve seen him and he goes off to talk business with your husband. Who invited Rafe anyway?”

  Sarika smiled. “You did. And seeing as I helped plan the party, I seconded it.”

  “Fine, then. He can stay.” Elena looked around the room again, this time with a professional eye at the elegant decorations, food and drink being passed around by uniformed waiters. The party planning company she and Sarika had started six months ago was turning into a success. “The room looks good, doesn’t it?”

  “Very. And so do you. Trés sexy.”

  Elena glanced down at her scarlet and black, silk dress, her hair falling forward over one shoulder. Obviously Santo hadn’t thought she looked sexy, or he would have told Rafe to wait while he rushed her off to some private corner of the estate. The dress left most of her back bare so she couldn’t wear a bra, and the skirt fell in swirls to just above her knees. It was really made for a man more than a woman, except her man hadn’t been tempted.

  Not that Santo was her man. Her booty call, more like it.

  Her sheer, silk stockings, held up by a flirty, red garter, were intended to be disposed of quickly—or her panties at least. The black, four inch heels she might keep on. Santo had grown to like the feel of her stilettos digging into his ass. If he ever returned.

  Her nausea stirred again, and she took another sip of the ginger ale. When would she return to normal? Lorenzo’s flu had only lasted a few days.

  “Miss Berrucci.”

  The greeting that came from behind her was much too starchy and high-pitched to be Santo, and her stomach soured further. She pinned a smile on her face and turned to find a friend of her late grandmother on her father’s side waiting to be acknowledged.

  “Mrs. Contreras, how lovely to see y
ou,” Elena said, lying through her teeth as she kissed the older woman’s wrinkled cheek.

  “You, too, my dear. I’m glad to see you’ve come to your senses and returned home. New York is no place for a woman of breeding. Your father should never have allowed you to leave.”

  The comment was so unexpected and ridiculous that Elena’s jaw dropped. Beside her, Sarika choked on her water before turning away.

  Not knowing whether to be amused or insulted, Elena decided to stay neutral. No point in offending one of Santa Barbara’s grande dames and possibly losing a business contact.

  “I didn’t just leave, Mrs. Contreras, I went with my mother to live in New York when she and my father divorced. I was only twelve.” A time in her life that still gave Elena nightmares.

  “Yes, well, he should have known better than to marry that woman.”

  Heat rose in Elena’s cheeks but she held her tongue, trying to modulate her tone. “As much as I may agree, I’m rather glad he did marry her—twice—or Lorenzo and I would never have been born.”

  The old woman waved her hand dismissively. “Your grandmother never liked her, and your brother is nothing but trouble. He ruined that poor Sanchez girl. Now I hear you’re running around with some bodyguard. They say his father was a policeman. Your grandmother would roll over in her grave if she knew.”

  Elena’s teeth snapped together as darts of anger caused her pulse to surge. “If by that Sanchez girl you mean Isabella Sanchez, she was ruined long before Lorenzo dated her. She now lives in New York, with a nice New York husband. And that bodyguard’s name is Santo D’amici. He started a private security company after serving his country for five years in the military. It’s now a multi-million dollar success keeping the likes of you safe. What has your esteemed family done lately?”

  Mrs. Contreras eyes widened. “Vulgar bruja. You’re no better than your brother.”

  Elena stepped forward, but Sarika’s arm came around her waist and pulled her back.

  “Let’s get another drink, shall we?” she asked.

  Elena nodded and allowed herself to be steered through the crowd toward the bar, glaring over her shoulder at the formidable, old hag. “That woman comes into my home, insults me, my family, my…my…”