“And they believe you?”
“Shouldn’t they?” she challenged.
His eyes narrowed at her. “Stop it,” he said, only half teasing. “Do you want anything?”
“To help you put these two in bed,” she said. “Let’s do Nico first. He’s lighter.”
“I got them,” he assured her. “I just didn’t want them to wake up and be scared because they were with some strange guy they were told to hate this afternoon.”
“I didn’t tell them to hate you,” she said.
“Then they figured it out on their own.” He turned and looked at the boys, his expression softening the way it did when he talked about his mother. “But I disavowed them of that notion.”
She smiled at that. “How?”
“I have six younger brothers. Do you even have to ask?”
She gestured to the remnants of candied apples and chocolate cake on the table. “I thought you were the one who kept law and order.”
Laughing softly, he went back to the sofa and gently scooped up a limp Nico. “How do you think I kept it? Bribery. Where does this one go?”
“Their room is back here.” She led him to the hall and turned on the night-light, walking to turn back Nico’s bedcovers. James laid him down and then went to get Gianni while Kyra tucked Nico in and brushed a lock of dark hair off his sweet, sleeping face.
When they had Gianni in bed, too, both of them stood in the middle of the dark room, surrounded by the sounds of sleeping children and a house wrapped in love. Once again, Kyra felt an ache she couldn’t even describe clutch at her.
“I missed you, lemondrop,” he whispered, embracing her.
She laid her head against his chest and listened to his heart. “But you had fun.”
“It was like old times for me.” He stroked her head and turned her a little, looking from one boy to the other. “They remind me so much of Finn and Knox when they were that age. A little annoying, a little goofy, a lot of pure boy. At the risk of being completely cheeseball, I have to tell you that tonight took me back to…to before.”
At the hitch in his voice, she looked up at him. “And how’d that feel?”
“Familiar. Good. Right. Like…like…”
“La famiglia è tutto?” she suggested.
“Exactly.” He curled an arm around her. “Are we going to stay here and wait for baby news?”
“Well, I am. You can go back to the hotel. We can call the shuttle for you.”
He shot her a get real look. “I saw some wine in a jug in there.”
“I’m sure you did, and it’s the good stuff, if I know Enzo and Filippa.”
“I could use a slug. C’mon. I’ll kick your ass in the goose game. I don’t care how cute you are.” He kissed her nose and led her out. “Although you are pretty damn cute.”
* * *
The next morning, after a great breakfast and a family celebration that baby Marcella had been born at 4:25 a.m. and mom and daughter were doing well, James endured another motor scooter ride behind Kyra down the mountain. He was getting braver, closing his eyes only when a truck rumbled by inches away or she swerved around a blind corner. He held on to his girl, inhaled the fresh smell of the Amalfi Coast, and planned exactly what he was going to do when they got to his suite. He had to make his point absolutely clear.
Once inside the cool suite, he took her hand and led her back to his bedroom.
“No dawdling for conversation, I see,” she mused.
“We can converse. But I have something to show you.”
“What?”
“My work area.”
“The fun never stops with you.”
He just laughed and took her past the bed to the mountain of paperwork still on the massive desk that ran the length of the wall. “I want you to watch this.”
She crossed her arms and nodded. “Okay.”
He picked up the original offer letter from Whitehouse Wineries and tore it from top to bottom, earning a surprised look. Then he let the torn papers flutter into the trash. “And the rest of this?” He gestured toward all the documents that had been growing since this deal started. “Watch.”
With one long, smooth move, he swiped everything off the desk onto the floor, clearing the wood. All that was left was his laptop, which he closed and slid into the top drawer. “There. No work. How’s that look to you?” he asked, unable to hide his smile of pride at the completely empty desk.
“Like a really good surface for…” She slipped between him and the desk, leaning back on the wood surface and looking up at him with a flirtatious glint in her eyes. “Work.”
“That’s what desks are usually for.”
Slowly, she scooted onto the top, a smile pulling at her lips. “Very hard work,” she said with a tease that instantly got a reaction low in his gut.
Or was that his damn phone? Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his buzzing cell and puffed a disgusted breath at William Hayward’s name. “One of my business managers.”
She held out her hand. “Give me the phone.”
Lifting his brows, he complied, and she tapped the screen, holding up one finger to keep him quiet. Sitting further back on the empty surface of the desk, she put the phone to her ear. “Good morning, Mr. Brannigan’s office. How may I help you?”
He smiled at her official voice, but the smile faded as she flicked the first button of her top. At the same time, she kicked off one of her sandals and put her bare foot right on his crotch. Which was already growing.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Hayward. Mr. Brannigan is…” She unbuttoned the rest and revealed a lacy yellow bra. “In the middle of a very important meeting.”
He could hear the man’s voice coming through the phone, with his usual sense of urgency, while Kyra used her free hand to pull her skirt up her thighs.
James’s mouth went bone-dry.
“I understand how important your call is, Mr. Hayward, but Mr. Brannigan is…” She spread her legs and gave him a shot of sweet yellow panties. “Up to his…” She crooked a finger and invited him closer. “Eyeballs in work right now.”
Fighting the urge to laugh mixed with the strongest desire to kiss her, James slid between her legs, letting his hard-on hit right on the butter-yellow target between her legs.
Hayward’s voice got louder, insisting that Kyra interrupt James, but she tipped her head back, offering her neck and breasts to James. He pressed his lips on her skin and grazed her silky thighs with both hands.
“I will certainly relay your message to Mr. Brannigan,” she cooed, reaching her hand into James’s pants and closing her fingers around his erection. “Thank you so much for calling. I know how hard…” She winked at him and stroked. “It can be to get a hold of him.”
He had to press his lips into her skin to keep from making a sound.
“All right, then,” she finished. “Good-bye. Have a lovely day, Mr. Hayward.” She rocked into him, letting her wet panties slide over his ridge. “Oh, I am. Thank you.”
She thumbed the phone, set it on the desk, and gave it a good push to the side.
“You…” He worked his way to her mouth. “Have the job.”
“Title, please?”
“President of Fun.”
She gave a victorious hoot and pulled him into her. “You know what I need to be happy at work?”
“A big…” He slipped his finger behind the silk and found the sweet, wet center of her. “Juicy…” He circled her center. “Raise?”
“And a very private meeting with my boss.”
“We can arrange that.” He held her gaze as he grabbed his wallet and retrieved a condom and pushed off his pants. “On the desk, lemondrop?”
“Only if you’ve never made love to anyone on a desk before.”
“I haven’t,” he said quickly, and it was the truth. “In fact, I’ve never…”
“What?”
Made love, he thought. It was always sex. Always…meaningless. Always a distraction and
release and escape. But not this. “I’ve never made love to anyone like you.”
“We have firmly established I’m not your type.”
He worked his way between her legs again, this time ready to get all the way inside her. “I don’t care about types,” he said gruffly as he slipped the tip of his erection into her.
She sucked in a breath and eased him closer.
“I care about you,” he whispered as he slid into her.
Her eyes widened, either from the admission or the sensation.
“I care so much about you, Kyra Summers.” He made the confession into a kiss, but that didn’t mean it was any less true. “I only want to be with you. Only. You.”
She moaned and took him deeper, arching her back and wrapping her legs around his hips. “Only…you,” she repeated, closing her eyes and letting her head fall back as he thrust completely into her.
James gripped her with two hands, closing his eyes, letting his body say everything he didn’t know how to say.
He wanted her. He adored her. He…he…
Oh yeah. He loved her.
He didn’t even know what love felt like, but it must feel like…this. Precious. Perfect. Hot and achy and like he died and went to heaven.
They clung to each other as they let go and came together, groaning with pleasure, sharing the sensations, completely lost in the exquisite connection they shared.
When it was over, Kyra slumped against him. “You do your best work at a desk, boss.”
He groaned at the name. “I have good help.” He held her against him and turned his head to the side, his gaze landing on the pile of papers he’d dumped so unceremoniously on the floor.
On top of the stack was one page with that blue Post-it Note that reminded him of her eyes. He made a mental note to call his assistant in New York and have her deliver a few packs to this suite.
Because when he told Kyra Summers that he loved her, he would do it in a way that left no doubt in her mind.
There was certainly no doubt in his.
Chapter Nineteen
“James?” Kyra turned under the soft Egyptian cotton sheets, still not used to waking up with him even though she had every morning for days. She hadn’t slept at the winery once, but they’d visited in between sightseeing, beach-going, and…this.
Wonderful hours in bed spent laughing and talking and making love. Wanting more of all of that, Kyra patted the pillow next to her and frowned because it was empty. “James?”
She waited for him to call back, either from the kitchen or living area, maybe the balcony or bathroom. But the suite that had started to feel like home was quiet.
Pushing up, she brushed some hair off her face and blinked into the early morning light. Where was—
Her hand landed on a paper on the sheet, and she turned to peer at it, frowning at a small pink heart-shaped…Post-it Note.
Oh. Her own heart swelled with affection as she peeled the paper off the sheet and read the words.
Get dressed for a walk. Have I told you lately how beautiful you are? With a hand-drawn heart. Pushing out of bed, she walked into the bathroom to brush her teeth and found another sticky note on the mirror.
After you’re dressed, go to the balcony. And you make me smile. With a smiley face.
A smiley face! He was so not a smiley face kind of guy that this one put a big grin on her own face.
She followed the orders and walked through an empty suite to find another heart-shaped note on the glass-topped table where they’d shared many meals while watching the sunset.
Stop by the front desk. Spread your sunshine to everyone. With a sketch of the sun, complete with rays. They were hand-drawn emojis, she realized, and for some reason, that touched her enough to fill her eyes.
Sighing, she made her way to the lobby and reception area, where Rosa, one of the friendly staff, greeted her in Italian and, without being asked, held out a pink Post-it Note heart. “He’s a nice man,” she said.
“Yeah,” Kyra agreed. “Very sweet.”
“He needed help with some Italian.” She leaned forward. “He’s a…how do you say? A keeping one.”
A keeper. “He sure is.” She took the note and read it, unable to keep from letting out a little moan of delight.
Head to the scalinatella. Did you wear your signature color? Was that a lemon he’d sketched?
Laughing, she glanced down at the yellow skirt and white top she wore. Of course she had. “Guess I’m going down to the beach,” she said, waving to Rosa and heading out into the warm morning sunshine.
When had he done all this, she wondered. And why?
Her heart tripped as she darted across the street and turned the corner at a coffee shop.
“Buongiorno!” a waiter called out as he cleaned an outside table.
Spread your sunshine, she thought. She gave him a cheery wave. “It is a good morning,” she practically sang. Following the main road as it snaked down through the mountainside town, she paused, looking out over the top of a massive pergola carpeted in purple bougainvillea. But one pink paper heart stood out among the flowers. Plucking it, she read, Down the stairs, lemondrop. I can’t wait to kiss you. And he has drawn lips!
James Brannigan, who knew you were so romantic? For a moment, she looked up to the deep-blue sky, eyeing the one big cotton-ball cloud that hung over the Mediterranean like a guest who refused to leave. Were his parents up there? Watching with pride as their son finally found…
She swallowed the word.
She couldn’t bear to say it. It was too soon. Too scary. Too perfect. But she knew what she felt in her heart and could only hope he felt the same.
Turning the first corner, she looked around, the whole world somehow brighter and more beautiful than it ever was. A young man on a corner strummed a guitar, singing in Italian. The smells of espresso and baked bread teased her nose. Above her, more bougainvillea shaded the path that was as much a walkway as it was stairs, all leading down to the jewel of Positano—the beach.
And James.
As she reached the porcelain store, she slowed her step, somehow knowing he must have left a note for her. Sure enough, stuck to the lemon-decorated platter hanging by the open doors, another pink heart.
All the way to the beach. I’m waiting for you. He’d drawn a stick figure of a man waving.
She giggled at the sheer joy of it, the happiness, the fun. He remembered her silly story about the Post-it Notes. He remembered and cared and made such an effort.
She’d changed James in these days and weeks. He’d arrived a hardened businessman with his only concern the bottom line, and today he was playful, romantic, silly, and used hand-drawn emojis.
She loved that about him.
She loved…him.
“Oh, Kyra. Slow your crazy self,” she whispered as she finally reached the point where the long stairs opened up to a wide area of shops, restaurants, and the promenade that ran along the umbrella-dotted beach. All around her was beauty. On either side, reaching to the sky, the mountains were dotted with pastel-colored homes and ribboned with streets that James thought were so dangerous.
Out on the water, a large tourist boat was pulling out from the harbor, headed to Amalfi or Ravello or Capri. Pizza makers were already at work, and everywhere there were tourists and locals, waking up and taking in paradise.
And there, leaning against the wall, looking right at her, was James.
Her James. Her love.
Even from a hundred feet away, she could see him smile, his hands in the pockets of his shorts, his T-shirt stretched over broad shoulders. He lifted a hand to wave her down just as her purse buzzed with a call.
Well, it couldn’t be James, because she could see him and he wasn’t on the phone. In fact, he hadn’t touched his phone in days. It stayed right on the corner of the desk in the bedroom where she’d pushed it. When his phone vibrated, he ignored it, telling her she was more important than work.
And she should do the sa
me thing now, but habit made her pull it out of her bag and see the caller ID was Villa Pietro. It was early, but it could be Anamaria. Or one of the kids. Or something with the new baby.
She tapped the phone, ready to tell whoever it was that she’d call back until she heard the crack in Elena’s voice.
“Cara. Cara! You must come.”
She froze in her spot. “What’s the matter?”
“It’s over! It’s over! Everything is over. The polizia take Bruno!”
“The police?” She gasped and covered her other ear to be sure she understood. “What? Bruno was arrested?”
Elena sobbed. “And the people! These…these Cana people! They are everywhere!”
She couldn’t breathe, lifting her head to get air and her gaze falling on James, who watched her. “What do you mean, Elena? Who are the Cana people?”
“They buy Villa Pietro! From James! They pay millions and millions of dollar and tell us we have one week—one week, Cara!—and they go into the cellar and start turning off the equipment and then in the office, looking at papers. It’s like they’ve taken over.”
She was dizzy, the sun beating down, the words incomprehensible. Except for one. They’ve taken over. That phrase was…familiar.
“This man he says we have to leave,” Elena cried. “He has paper and legal stuff and words I do not understand like…like allowances and dismissal and compensation metrics.”
Oh yes. All words she’d heard throughout her whole childhood. The vocabulary of a closer.
“I’ll be right there,” she managed to say, looking up to see James striding toward her.
He had to know. He had to. He owned the business, he called the shots, he made every decision. He had to know. And if he didn’t, then—
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
What was the matter was that he’d always do this to people. If not to her, then some other happy person who suddenly had their life upended. That’s what he was, that’s what he did. And she hated it. Eventually, she’d hate him.