Always (13 page)

Gina laughed, a burst of happiness. Vincente stood and touched her cheek. She held out her left hand. “Yes.”

Smiling, he eased the ring onto her finger. A perfect fit, as if Grandpop had known. And probably he had. The ring sparkled, looking as pretty on her as Vincente’d imagined.

His heart pounded, sounding in his ears, as if he’d just run around the city. He closed his eyes for a moment. Gina caressed his cheek then his chin. He opened his eyes. This beautiful, miraculous, exciting woman was his—and he was hers.
Gina smiled, light and joyful. Vincente held her tighter.

“Lead the way, Mr. DeGrazia.”

Chapter Thirteen

He lifted her into his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck. He walked into the house.
Gina cuddled her head into Vincente’s shoulder. Too soon, he set her down. The evening sun filtered in through cotton curtains, illuminating Vincente’s sparsely furnished bedroom.

Vincente turned down the sheets before facing her. He caressed her cheek and fingered her hair. Her limbs tingled. Leaning close, she breathed him in, his scent, spicy and enticing, turning the tingling to an ache.

She gazed up at him and slid off her shoes. With slow, gentle movements, they undressed each other, never breaking the loving gaze they held between them, a force, a connection unlike any other Gina had experienced. Nothing separated them.

Their clothes littered the floor. Gina ran her hands over Vincente’s warm, hard chest before wrapping her arms around his neck. He kissed her. Their naked bodies sparked together, skin on skin, creating an electric, vibrant current surrounding and connecting them.

Gina edged toward the bed. Moving as one, they fell onto the bed, swirling together, tumbling in a dance of intimacy. Heat—that of a comforting blaze on a winter night, of summer sun on bare skin—relaxed every muscle. Every inch of her mellowed in warmth and love.

“Gina, my love, my wife.” Vincente trailed kisses along her neck. She arched into him, need throbbing in her chest—a need to express their love.

Opening her mouth to speak, only a sigh escaped. Vincente slowly slid his long, hard length into her. All their feelings were spoken in the gentle rocking of their bodies together, in Gina’s kisses, in Vincente’s pulsing thrusts inside her.

She wrapped herself around him. He kissed her, deeply, truly. His love passed into her, rippling through her, cresting in her until she came, calling out his name.

With agonizing slowness, he continued, watching her, bringing her again and again into dizzying heights. The room grew hazy—all her attention, her vision, focused on Vincente. He gazed at her, his handsome, chiseled features softened with love and tender passion.

Gina touched his cheek and ran her fingers through his coarse, dark hair. He rolled his neck, almost trembling from her touch. She smiled.

He ground into her and groaned. Her smile widened. She wrapped her legs around him more tightly and kissed him. She held him close, her orgasm bringing him closer until they both came, moaning together.

He pressed himself onto her, their bodies slick with heat. Still wrapped around each other, they rolled sideways, embracing and laughing with pleasure.

“Let’s have a mini-honeymoon,” Gina said once her breathing had steadied and her body settled into Vincente’s.

“Genius.” Vincente twirled the ends of her hair in her fingers.

Gina snuggled against him. He growled—a low, sexy sound. She ran her fingernails over his back.

“Beautiful.” He kissed her.

“You’re going to give me a big head.” Gina squeezed his ass.

His muscles tensed against her thighs. “Only fair, considering.”

Gina laughed. “I’d like a walk along the bay.”

“Sunrise walks are more romantic,” Vincente said in between kisses.

“Mmm,” Gina murmured, her body yielding to Vincente’s touch. “A night in bed, then.”

“Great.” Vincente tweaked her nipples.

She rubbed against him, her breathing quickening. He rolled her breasts under his strong hands, sending a blazing path to her core.

“Miraculous.”

That’s what it was—the love between them, the way they made each other feel—an everyday miracle.

Gina gazed into Vincente’s eyes. They melted into each other. Gina smiled. They’d spend this night together. Their happiness had just begun.

Chapter Fourteen

Gina leaned into Vincente. Enzo kissed Grandma Celeste and everyone cheered. Grandma looked so beautiful, radiant, in her cream dress. The family were all gathered again for Grandpa Enzo and Grandma’s wedding. Warmth filled the room and the mellow March sunlight gave the living room at Grandpop’s a soft glow.

Paolo hugged Gina. “You two are next.” He smiled like he’d arranged it all. “Don’t tell him, but I may have to concede my matchmaking title to Grandpop.”

Gina tilted her head.

“He told me not to let anyone else win Vincente at the Valentine auction. I didn’t know the woman in white was you, but Grandpop did, the old so-and-so.” Paolo laughed. “You two never stood a chance.”

Gina and Vincente turned to each other at the same moment. They laughed.

“I’m glad I stopped standing in my own way.” Gina kissed Paolo’s cheek.

“Me too, girl. Call me soon and we’ll talk wedding.” He winked and joined his new fiancé, Marco. Weddings were trending.

Gina smiled and nodded. Vincente slid his arm around her and brought her into him. He caressed her face and kissed her, slowly.

She exhaled. “A long engagement…”

Vincente shook his head. “Not happening.”

“Vincente, Gina, congratulations.” Vincente’s cousin, Lorenzo, clapped him on the back. He was as brooding and handsome as Gina remembered.

“Thanks. Glad you’re back.”

“Wouldn’t miss Uncle Enzo’s—or Celeste’s—happy day.” Lorenzo smiled briefly, but he seemed distracted. “I’ll see you.” He waved and moved toward his cousin, Gianni, who Gina had discovered was the family flirt.

“Gina, happiness becomes you. Congratulations on your engagement.”

Gina hugged Uncle James. He was tall and solid, but now his hair had a few greys, his skin tanned and slightly crinkled. She and Vincente had had a quiet family dinner to announce their engagement, but Uncle James hadn’t been able to be there.

“So, I’m working on your dad to get you and Vincente married soon, because I’ve got a big project coming up. What do you think, April or May?” Uncle James was a movie executive, used to planning, tight schedules, and giving orders.

“As soon as possible,” Gina and Vincente said at the same time.

Gina laughed again.

“Then I’ll check with Paolo and Marco.” Uncle James whacked Vincente’s shoulder. “Take good care of my niece.” He strode away.

Grandpop strode over. “
Mangiate, mangiate
,” Grandpop said, motioning to the buffet tables. “You young people.” He shook his head. “Keep up your strength.
Andiamo
.”

“He has a point,” Vincente said. He squeezed her hand.

Her arms tingled. The sensation travelled slowly into her chest. Soon she’d be on fire.

“You’re finally seeing my wisdom.” Grandpop beamed a smile as he swaggered forward.

“We won’t doubt you again.”

“Yes, you will.” He wagged a finger at them. “But don’t ever doubt your love.”

“We won’t,” Gina and Vincente said.

Doubts were a thing of her past. She kissed Vincente. Gina was a believer—for always.

Bonus Excerpt from
Believe
: San Francisco Brides Book Two

Lita stood on the stone bench, surveying the lit-up, undulating city streets blanketed around her. The faint scent of San Francisco Bay—slightly salty, fresh, yet off, fishy or faintly like wet wool—swirled around her. Her skirt pushed against her thighs. She breathed in again and smiled at the chatter of diners, the rustle of leaves in the trees, the twinkle of lights in the dusky night, the tall, white spires of Saints Peter and Paul Church before her.

Home, she was home again.

She hugged her waist. The city had been more a mother to her than her own, a comforting, stable presence, full of life and hope. The church, where she’d now attend with Uncle Enzo and his new wife Celeste, would provide another community of solace, faith, and inspiration. Her family—her father’s family—would give her love, as she loved them, another proof of the grace of love in her life. No matter what had happened to her, or would happen, home, community, and family boosted her strength to stay hopeful and open to love. She closed her eyes and clasped her hands, saying a silent prayer of gratitude.

“Hey, sexy,” a man’s voice said from behind her.

Lita stiffened her back and clutched her purse. She hopped off the bench, unsteady for a moment in her heels. A clammy hand grasped her arm. She whirled around, maneuvering her arm out of his grip, as she’d learned to do as a teenager in self-defense class.

“Aw, come on, sweetheart, don’t be like that.” The twenty-something Mediterranean-looking man slurred his words slightly.

Lita walked away, out to the sidewalk. His footsteps squeaked behind her. Lita rolled her eyes and kept walking. He was probably a harmless drunk. Still, she’d encountered enough dangerous drunks who’d seemed nice at first. She rubbed her throat. There were plenty of people around. Sirens sounded in the distance. Nothing would happen to her. Lita stopped and turned.

“Leave me alone.” She stared at the grinning man.

He stepped toward her, his mouth twisted in a smile. “A beautiful girl like you shouldn’t be alone. Let’s get a drink.” His breath reeked of alcohol.

Panic seeped from her throat, cutting an icy, slow path through to her stomach. This wasn’t Sorrento, the little town in Italy where she’d lived with her father for the last five years, where people knew her, looked out for her, as she’d cared for her father during the final years of his illness—the only years she’d known him. San Francisco was a stranger to her now, a distant childhood friend who maybe wasn’t so friendly anymore.

“She said leave her alone,” a familiar male voice said.

The sick panic fizzed away, replaced by the effervescent buzz of good champagne. Lita instinctively moistened her lips and touched her hair. She faced the two men. Lorenzo. Tall, lean—an Italian Cary Grant—he stood with an intimidating frown next to Lita’s pest.

“Who the hell’re you to tell me—” The guy pushed at Lorenzo’s cashmere-sweater clad chest, drawing Lita’s gaze to its hard expanse.

She’d like to get her hands on Lorenzo’s solid chest. Lita bit the inside of her lip. He wasn’t the kind of man she should want, not what she needed.

“Lorenzo Calabra. Get the hell out of here.” His harsh words punctured her excitement at seeing him.

The guy pulled back his hand as if he’d been burned, stepped away, and jogged up the street. Her bubbly feeling popped, replaced by a puddle of flat disappointment. Lorenzo was no charming movie character—according to what she’d heard, he was a corrupt, womanizing player. Even if he had been her older brother Lee’s best friend for fourteen years, and had never shown her anything but kindness, Lorenzo was no kind of man for her.

“You okay?” Lorenzo walked to her. His dark, intense gaze trailed over her.

She ignored the surge of warmth pouring through her, nodded and strode back into the park. Lorenzo kept pace beside her. His scent, soothing and delicious as a cup of warm Earl Grey tea, made her falter in her step. He caught her arm in his.

“You shouldn’t be out alone.” His breath caressed her cheek.

She shook her head.
Stop getting gushy over him
. She frowned. “I can take care of myself.”

“I know. When did you get back from Italy?” He released her arm.

“Last night. I’m staying with Uncle Enzo.”

Lorenzo made a non-committal sound. It had been odd, when Lita’d found out five years ago who her father was, being related by marriage to Lorenzo’s maternal family. Her father’s older sister, Angela, had been married to Lorenzo’s great uncle Enzo. Aunt Angela had died just before Lita discovered who her father was. Lita still didn’t know the rest of Uncle Enzo’s family. Lita’d spent the last five years in Italy caring for her father and getting her college degree. No one in the family had visited, except Uncle Enzo, Lorenzo, and Lee.

Lorenzo walked next to her. “Lee know?”

The thought of Lorenzo and her brother talking about her behind her back made Lita feel uncomfortably squirmy. She shifted her hips and smoothed her skirt. She breathed in again, hoping to replace the scent memory of Lorenzo. A breeze redolent of the surrounding North Beach restaurants and bakeries—roasted beef and garlic, spicy tomato sauces, fresh pasta and bread—blew around her. Her stomach tightened, but it wasn’t hunger, not for food, anyway.

“No.” Lita glanced at him. She stopped. Even Lorenzo’s strong profile was enough to make her forget where she was going.

He faced her. His brows pushed together. “I’m taking you home.” He grasped her elbow.

A thrilling shiver sizzled through her. If only it would flame and burst, a spectacular firework. But Lorenzo would never see her as anything but Lee’s silly little sister. The way he’d acted—like he was indulging a little girl—last month on his visit with Lee to Italy had confirmed that for her. And she shouldn’t want him to care more than he did. The sizzle fizzled like a burned-out sparkler.

She wanted a traditional family. She wanted a safe home. She wanted a loving husband. Lorenzo was the stuff of fantasy. Lita was tired of just dreaming.

“Lita.”

She touched her cheek where his breath had warmed it.

“Did that guy hurt you?” His intent, concerned tone pricked into her, like the unexpected jab of an embroidery needle that missed its mark.

He probably still thought of her as if she was the scared girl she’d been that night seven years ago, when he and Lee’d caught her mother’s boyfriend trying to rape her. She shivered again, this time from the flash of images and sounds that rushed into her mind. She closed her eyes a moment, willing it all to go away. She’d dealt with all that…But every time she got intimate with a man, the feelings slammed into her, like she’d been wading in a calm ocean only to suddenly be overtaken and pulled under by a silent wave.

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Believe
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