The D'amici Mistake Page 2

  “Friend with benefits?”

  “Yes, my friend. I hate people who think they’re superior because they were born into money. Imagine looking down on someone because their father was a policeman.” She frowned. “Which I didn’t know, by the way. Did you know that?”

  When Sarika nodded, Elena experienced an odd squeezing in her chest, and she found herself on the verge of tears. What was the matter with her? She never cried—not since she was a child and her family had been torn apart. After that, she swore never to cry again.

  So what if she didn’t know what her lover’s father did for a living.

  “I’m sure he would have told me eventually. Is his dad retired now?”

  Sarika hesitated. “Um, no. He’s dead. His mother is still teaching here in Santa Barbara, though. Fifth grade, I think.”

  Shock reverberated through Elena, and again she felt her chest squeeze. Raising a hand she rubbed her forehead. Why was she surprised? It’s not like she and Santo ever spoke about anything personal. When they weren’t having sex, they kept their conversations light. Which was how she liked it, wasn’t it?

  And why did she care if he’d told her or not? It’s not like she’d told him anything about her difficult childhood. Dropping her head, she sucked back the rest of her ginger ale. Maybe she should get a real drink. She sure as hell felt like one.

  They reached the bar, and she placed her empty champagne flute down.

  “Can I get you another?” the bartender asked, the same one who’d served her the ginger ale.

  “She’ll have something non-alcoholic.”

  The commanding voice beside her caused the blood to heat in her veins again, but for a different reason this time, and she turned to find Santo standing beside Rafe—who was almost as tall and broad as Santo but blessed with movie star good looks.

  Even wearing four inch heels, Elena had to tilt her head back to meet her lover’s penetrating gaze. The solidity of his chest and strength in his arms beckoned, and when Sarika leaned into Rafe’s embrace, Elena wanted to do the same with Santo.

  Instead, she raised a brow and took a step back. “What are you now, my father?”

  His mouth flattened. “You’ve been sick. So sick you couldn’t visit me in New York even though you promised. Do you really think you should drink on a queasy stomach?”

  She opened her mouth to say it was none of his business, but Sarika jumped in to defend her. “She was sick. For weeks. Lorenzo had it, too.”

  Rafe hushed his wife, then tugged her away into the crowd and disappeared. Santo grasped Elena’s arm and led her into the nearest corner.

  “Are you sure Lorenzo had the flu?” he asked.

  “Yes. Do you think I’m lying to you, now?”

  “No, it’s just that you’ve been sick for much longer than flu would last. Have you seen a doctor?”

  “I don’t need to. My stomach’s better now.”

  “Oh. So the nausea has passed?”

  “Yes. There’s nothing wrong with me. And not that it’s any of your business, but I was drinking ginger ale not champagne. The bartender knew that.”

  “Good. Stick to that just in case.”

  “In case of what?” What the hell was his problem? His concern made her edgy. She crossed her arms over her chest and cocked her hip aggressively. “Really, Santo, I don’t need you to take care of me. I don’t need anyone for that. I want one thing, and one thing only from you. If you’re interested, I’ll be in the study.”

  Then she turned on her heel and marched from the ballroom.

  Chapter Two

  Santo watched the hypnotic sway of Elena’s hips as she stalked away from him through the crowd, the allure of her bare back tempting him to trot after her like a dog sniffing a bitch in heat. He was interested, all right. Too interested, if all she wanted from him was a quickie on the desk.

  Hell. The woman would drive him crazy before she accepted they were meant to be together. He’d seen the look in her eyes when she’d first gazed up at him tonight. She’d wanted to sink into his arms like Sarika had with Rafe, but instead she’d stepped back. Literally and figuratively.

  So much for absence making the heart grow fonder.

  He rubbed the back of his neck and frowned as he saw her approach the ballroom doors. Maybe he had come on a little strong. His sisters were always complaining he tried to wrap them in cotton wool, something he’d done ever since his dad had died, but Elena had been sick, for God’s sake.

  Maybe with the flu, maybe not.

  Reaching into his pocket, he fingered the plastic wrapped stick inside. They had to know one way or the other. A pregnancy may complicate their relationship, but it would also move things in the right direction. Tie her to him.

  He wanted marriage and a family like his parents had had, and despite Elena being nothing like the wife Santo had envisioned, he had hope for her—for them—in a small, dark corner of his heart. If she were pregnant, that desire became a necessity. He would care for his wife and child in the same way his father had cared for his family—well loved and protected until that terrible day.

  Upon reaching the exit, Elena hesitated and looked back, searching for him. The set of her shoulders and angle of her head hinted at a vulnerability he knew she’d deny. It helped ease the sting of her rejection.

  Their eyes met, and he lifted his glass toward her in a mock salute. As much as he wanted to chase her, to crush her in his embrace, she had to understand that relegating him to the role of stud was not acceptable. Her chin rose, and she spun toward the door and left the room.

  Now he’d make her wait.

  She wanted him as much as he wanted her, so he had no doubt she would go to the study. They’d made love in there before, and it was filled with erotic memories. He considered what it would take to get her up to her bedroom but decided to leave that for next time. It had been a month since they’d been together, and his desire would hamper him as he fought for that concession.

  He checked his watch and set a time limit. Ten minutes should do. After only three, he found himself weaving through the crowd toward the exit. Where had his rock-hard self-control gone? Below his waist with the rest of the blood in his body.

  He killed time by filling a plate with canapés and requesting more ginger ale from the bartender, then went to find Elena.

  The house was beautifully restored to its original early twentieth century Spanish Colonial style with arched ceilings, terracotta tiles on the floor, and expensive art on the plaster walls. When he reached the study, he quietly opened the heavy door. Elena sat with her back to him on the arm of a Queen Anne sofa grouped with two leather wing-back chairs in front of a stone fireplace. She stared through the French windows that led to a darkened garden. Across the room sat a large, intricately carved, walnut desk.

  He leaned back against the door so it shut with a loud click. She jumped up and spun around. “It took you long enough.”

  Striding forward, he calmly placed the food and drink on the desk before turning to her. “That’s twice, Elena. If you speak to me in that tone again, I promise I will leave.”

  She opened her mouth as if to say something rude then closed it again and gnawed on her bottom lip. Finally, she said, “I’m sorry.”

  Moving toward the French windows, she leaned her forehead against the pane of glass. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was struggling to hold back tears.

  Retrieving two canapés and the glass of soda, he walked toward her. “Here.”

  She gazed up at him with wide eyes. “You’re doing it again.”

  “What?”

  “Taking care of me.”

  His lips quirked despite his attempt to hide his amusement. “I’m your lover. Think of it as a selfish act. Taking care of you, means you’ll be better able to take care of me.”

  She smiled ruefully and took a bite of the canapé. “Mmmm, it’s good.”

  Slipping his arm around her waist, he pulled her back against him. She relaxed, causing pleasure to well in his chest. He was, as she said, taking care of her. It felt good. He handed her the second canapé, and she ate that, too, then drank some ginger ale.

  She sighed when she finished, placed the empty glass on a side table, and crossed her arms over his. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’ve felt off for days.”

  “Maybe you missed me?”

  When she didn’t answer, he leaned down and nipped her earlobe. She squeaked and turned in his arms. “Okay, I missed you. A bit.”

  “I missed you a bit, too.” Molding his hands over her curved behind, he pulled her into the apex of his thighs.

  She smirked up at him. “Apparently parts of you missed me more than others.”

  He dipped his head to the crook of her neck and inhaled. “Every moment of every day.” He slid a hand up her back and into her hair to hold her still before kissing her. A gentle press of lips that allowed him to savor her—soft skin, sweet taste, lush curves. Everything female to his male.

  And the smell of her—intoxicating. Like a warm, dark summer night with subtle hints of rose and citrus.

  Mixed with the pure essence of Elena.

  He deepened the kiss, sweeping his tongue inside to caress hers. She moaned and wrapped him tightly in her embrace, pressing closer, opening wider. Her mouth. Her legs.

  Her heart?

  The thought reminded him more at stake here than how soon they could make love again. He eased back and stroked silky hair from her face, bringing her back to reality. When her eyes finally focused on his, he said, “We have to talk.”

  She groaned. “No. I just want to lose myself for a while. In you…” she stroked her hands down his body and squeezed his erection. “In this.”

  Exquisite pleasure
exploded in his body, and he planted a palm against the window to steady himself, once again lost to sensation. “God, Kitten. What you do to me.”

  She laughed and continued her caress.

  She was exactly like the kitten he’d called her. A fluffy fire-ball, spitting and hissing one minute, purring the next—sweet yet tempestuous. What difference would an hour or two make? Maybe it would be better if he told her she might be pregnant after he’d petted her into submission.

  Scooping her into his arms, he strode toward the exit.

  “Where are you going?” she asked.

  “We can’t make love here. Anyone could be watching.”

  She glanced through the window to the dark garden beyond. “Wait.”

  He leaned with her against the door. “What is it?”

  Reaching out, she flipped a light switch and the room turned dark. “Problem solved.”

  Her scent enveloped him as he lost his sight, teasing him to new heights. He could stand here forever breathing her in. Or he could carry her to her room and make love to her on her bed like he’d wanted to for so long. He was considering it, when the door at his back opened, pushing him forward. He cursed and almost dropped Elena as it knocked him off balance.

  She shrieked and giggled as someone outside said, “Hello?”

  “It’s my brother. Put me down.”

  He did. Reluctantly. Elena switched on the light and yanked open the door. Lorenzo walked in dressed in a dark gray tuxedo. He was almost as big as Santo, but with the blue eyes and lighter skin of his and Elena’s mother. Women loved his looks and charm, and Lorenzo had been through too many affairs to count in his younger years.

  Elena would not follow in her brother’s footsteps.

  After surveying her and Santo with a raised brow, Lorenzo faced his sister. “You keep telling me he’s not your boyfriend and then I find you together in the study with the lights off.”

  Irritation struck hard and sizzled along Santo’s spine. Not her boyfriend? The term seemed inadequate for what they had, but at the same time, it was something.

  Elena rolled her eyes. “It’s a little late for you to be playing big brother, Lorenzo. I’m twenty-six not fifteen.”

  He sighed and moved toward the desk. “I know, I know. I ignored you. I wasn’t there for you when you were younger. I’m trying to make up for that, Elena. You weren’t the only one with rotten parents. I went through the broken family routine twice, remember?”

  Santo glanced at Elena who leaned back against the closed door. Her eyes were lowered so he couldn’t read her emotions, but she had crossed her arms over her stomach in a protective gesture. She never talked about her childhood, and even though he’d known her parents were divorced, Lorenzo’s comments were a revelation.

  How bad had it been?

  Santo leaned beside her, so their shoulders touched. He would have wrapped his arm around her in support, or taken her hand in his, but too much physical contact around other people made her edgy. As if needing comfort weakened her somehow, and she had to stay strong and uncaring at all times.

  But he knew better. Deep down, Elena was very sensitive.

  He remembered her as a girl, standing on the sidelines of Lorenzo’s soccer games at St. Ignatius, the exclusive boarding school Santo, Rafe, and Lorenzo had attended as boys. She’d been twelve the year the men had graduated, her heart in her eyes, bursting with hopeful exuberance. Yet so sad, too.

  Stretching out his fingers, he rubbed gently against hers. She entwined them with his for a moment, then let go and walked toward the fireplace.

  “What’s up?” she asked her brother. “Shouldn’t you be out there making sure no one steals the artwork?”

  “They’re all fakes. The real ones are secured in a vault on Santo’s recommendation—along with the family jewels. He’s a smart one, your ‘not-my-boyfriend’. You should marry him, have lots of fat, smiling babies, and be happy. Break the family curse.”

  Santo groaned inside, knowing Lorenzo’s comments would set Elena off. Sure enough, she scowled at her brother. “I’ll get married when you decide to marry. And we both know that will never happen.”

  “How do you know? I could be in love with someone already. Pining away because I’ve screwed up the only good relationship I’ve ever had.”

  Santo glanced curiously at Lorenzo. Had he finally fallen for somebody or was he just spouting off gibberish to irk his sister? He looked untroubled despite his words, but Santo had learned that that meant nothing when it came to these siblings.

  “Do you mean Callie?” Elena asked. “You can’t play with her, Lorenzo, she’s too…nice. You’d tear her to pieces.”

  Regret and longing flashed across Lorenzo’s face as he sat down at the desk. A second later, the glib, smiling man was back. “She’s not as nice as you think. The woman has some serious teeth behind all that Southern charm. But I’m not here to discuss anyone but you, Elena. Or rather, the threat against you.”

  Threat? The soldier inside Santo uncoiled, and he straightened. Every protective instinct he had, and there were many, went on high alert. Striding forward, he asked, “What threat?”

  Lorenzo looked at him and nodded. “I knew I could depend on you. Stay with her. Keep her safe.”

  Throwing her hands in the air, Elena stormed around the couch toward them. “What are you talking about? I don’t need anyone to keep me safe.”

  “Apparently you do. I’ve been informed of a kidnapping plot against you—to bleed me of cash.”

  She stopped with a gasp. “But…that’s ridiculous.”

  “No, it’s not. In case you haven’t checked the bank balance lately, we have a lot of money.”

  “Who told you this?” Santo asked. “Someone you know? Law enforcement?”

  “It was a random woman on the street.”

  “If she told you about a plan to harm Elena and extort money, then she wasn’t random. Where did it happen? When? What did she look like?” He moved closer to Elena, ready to crush anyone who threatened her.

  “Are you sure it wasn’t Sarika pulling a prank?” she asked. “It all seems a bit far-fetched.”

  “Sarika would never joke about something like that.” Santo fought the urge to wrap his arms around her. The uncovered windows bothered him for a different reason, now. Anybody could be out there watching them, planning to take Elena and hurt her. Possibly hurt his unborn child. He grasped her arm and placed her on his other side, shielding her.

  Lorenzo nodded at the protective gesture. “Good. Do whatever’s necessary to make sure nothing happens to my sister. I want you on her tail, so to speak, twenty-four seven.” He smiled as Elena bristled. “It can be like a pre-honeymoon, if you like.”

  Santo’s jaw clenched at the thoughtless words, knowing they would send her over the edge.

  “No! Absolutely not.” Her voice shook. “This is crazy. I’m not some object to be locked away. I have a life. Friends, a business to run, things to do. I don’t need anyone to take care of me.”

  “You do if you don’t want to end up with a bag over your head,” Lorenzo said.

  Elena paled and Santo frowned at him before turning to her. This time he did take her in his arms. “Nothing like that will ever happen. I will guard you with my life, Elena.”

  She glared at him, but Santo could see the panic in her eyes. What frightened her more? The kidnapping threat, or the idea of being with him for an extended period of time? He’d be willing to bet on the latter.

  He released her when she pushed on his chest. “Go home, Santo. I don’t need you, and I sure as hell won’t allow you to take care of me.” Then she turned and stalked from the room, slamming the door behind her.

  “She used to be such a sweet kid,” Lorenzo said.

  Santo ignored him and pulled his cell phone from his pocket. His fingers brushed the plastic wrapped stick inside. That would have to wait. Elena’s safety came first.

  His second-in-command picked up on the first ring.

  “I want a guard on Elena Berrucci,” Santo told him. “She just left the study. Eyes on her at all times unless she’s in her bedroom. Then I want someone at the door. Put another man in the garden beneath her balcony. We have a situation.”