Rising Stars

Lilley sank fully beneath the water and was down there for several seconds. When she finally resurfaced, he’d half risen from his chair as if alarmed. She swam to the edge of the pool, a sensual smile curving her lips. Leaning against the edge, she threw something at his feet. He looked down at it.

It was her bikini.

“Join me,” she whispered.

Alessandro looked at her, his lips slightly parted. She heard the hoarse intake of his breath.

Then he moved. She’d never known any man could move that fast. Still dressed in his T-shirt and jeans, he did a cannonball right into the pool beside her. The water swayed wildly, splashing Lilley’s head and face as he rose to the surface, throwing back his dark head like a god of the sea. His wet, translucent white T-shirt clung to his shoulders, pecs and tight abs.

Swimming over to her, he grabbed the edge of the pool with one hand, and with the other, he pulled her against him without a word. Lowering his head, he kissed her in a hot, hungry embrace. As his lips seared hers, his tongue teased inside her mouth, and she blindly reached out to the side of the pool to steady herself. Treading water with his powerful legs, he cupped her face with both his hands, deepening the kiss. A sigh of pleasure escaped her. Lost in the moment, Lilley flung both her arms around his shoulders, letting go of the edge.

She had an instant of weightlessness, of swirling pleasure with no beginning or end, as they sank together into the water. Falling, falling, they held tight together in the intensity of their embrace before his legs suddenly kicked beneath them, bringing them back to the surface.

Gripping the edge of the pool, they coughed water out of their lungs. When they could breathe again, they stared at each other, both of them bobbing in the cool water. The white sun beat down on them, reflecting glittering light against the sky and their tanned skin.

Leaning forward, Alessandro pushed her against the edge of the pool, splaying his large hands over hers. He kissed her deeply, plundering her mouth. Tilting back her head, Lilley closed her eyes, feeling the heat of his mouth and the sun on her skin. Cool ripples of water moved against her naked breasts as he kissed her throat, nipping her shoulder, suckling the tender flesh of her ear.

“Mi piace stare con te,” he whispered. I like being with you.

“Baciami,” she whispered. Kiss me.

With a muttered groan, Alessandro turned around in the water. Pulling her arms around his shoulders, he lifted her onto his back and swam towards the steps of the pool. Her naked breasts pressed against his shoulder blades, her body rubbing against his clingy white T-shirt. As he climbed up the steps of the pool, water poured from his shirt and jeans that clung to his powerful body. He pulled her into his arms and looked down at her. There was a strange expression in his dark, handsome face. One she’d never seen before.

“Mia moglie,” he whispered. “My sweet wife.”

He carried her across the terrace and into the white villa, trailing water with every step. From a distance, she heard seagulls crying and the honking horns of boats. She breathed in the scent of lemon and orange groves mixed with chlorine from the pool and the salt of the sea. She placed her hand on his wet cotton shirt. It revealed every hard muscle of his torso, and she could feel the beat of his heart.

Inside the villa, it was cool, dark and quiet. The housekeeper and other staff had already left for the evening, going back to their homes in nearby villages. She and Alessandro were alone as he carried her up the stairs to their bedroom, to the enormous bed with the sleek white duvet.

The verandah doors were wide open. The wind blew in from the sea, causing the curtains to oscillate slowly in the breeze as Alessandro set her down on their marriage bed, where she’d already had endless revelations of pleasure and joy.

Never looking away from her face, he slowly pulled off his T-shirt, revealing his muscular, tanned chest and broad arms. His jeans and silk boxers were next, as he stripped the wet fabric off his body and left them on the cool marble floor in a crumpled heap. Naked, he moved beside her on the bed.

His kiss was hot and hard, like the rest of him. Then his embrace grew tender, his lips gentling as he whispered words of adoration in Italian that she only half understood, but that caused her to tremble. He pulled away, looking down at her in the shadowy bedroom, and she could hear their breath mingling in the silence. An inexplicable ache of emotion rose to the back of Lilley’s throat.

Reaching up, she put her hand on his rough, scratchy cheek.

I love you.

But she couldn’t speak the words. She couldn’t be that reckless, or that brave.

Alessandro made love to her slowly, taking his time as he caressed and licked and worshipped every inch of her body, until she exploded in the same instant that he groaned and filled her with his seed. Afterward, they held each other. For several minutes, he slept, and she watched him, looking at the contented smile tracing his sensual mouth. She turned towards the open verandah and the translucent curtains swaying peacefully in the breeze. She could see the distant glint of sunlight sparkling like diamonds against the blue water. And she could no longer deny it, not even to herself.

She’d fallen in love with Alessandro. Fallen? The truth was she’d been in love with Alessandro Caetani from the night he’d found her alone and crying in his office that Saturday night.

Lilley’s fingertips stroked the dark hair of his chest. He’d brought her pleasure that she never even knew existed. But was she doomed to love a man who would forever give her expensive jewels instead of his heart? Was there anything she could do to win Alessandro’s love?

She thought of the etiquette lessons, the Italian lessons, the designer clothes he’d chosen for her. He was changing her completely, and if she were honest with herself, she didn’t like all the changes. Her jewelry tools were collecting dust, and except for her wedding gown, he hadn’t allowed her to choose a single item of clothing on her own. Other than the jewelry she had made, nothing she wore was truly hers. He dressed her like a doll. He didn’t trust her taste, or her ability to fit into his world.

Lilley took a deep breath. She could live with that, she told herself. She’d be the wife he wanted. She’d keep her mouth shut and focus on being elegant and restrained. She’d try harder at her lessons and wear the clothes he wanted her to wear. She would be whomever he wanted her to be, if it would win his love.

Then it would all be worth it—wouldn’t it?

Suddenly shivering, she nestled closer into Alessandro’s warmth. In a moment, his eyes would open, and he’d lazily suggest dinner, or perhaps he’d want to make love to her again.

Whatever it took. She would convince him to give her the tiniest fraction of his heart, as she’d recklessly given him all of hers. And it would be enough. She would make it be enough. With a deep breath, Lilley squeezed her eyes shut.

Somehow, she would make him love her.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“STOP him. I don’t care how, just stop him!”

Sitting at his desk, Alessandro nearly shouted with fury before he hung up on his company’s chief financial officer. Clawing back his hair with a silent snarl, he lifted his hand to throw his phone across his study. Then he stopped himself, clutching the cold metal tightly in his hand.

Exhaling, he set the phone carefully on his desk. Rising to his feet, he paced in front of the window, swearing at Théo St. Raphaël in English and Italian and tossing in a few profanities in French, too, for good measure. Damned vulture. Their rivalry had begun years ago when the Frenchman had bought the Italian firm next door to Caetani Worldwide’s headquarters in Rome. The insult had deepened when St. Raphaël had stolen the Joyería deal a month ago. But this was the final straw. The man was brazenly making a play for the takeover of a Japanese company that Alessandro needed to deepen his reach in Asia.

Alessandro growled. He’d spent years building up contacts in Tokyo, in hopes of someday gaining control of the firm. And St. Raphaël had no reason to buy the company. It was pure retaliation for Alessandro’s purchase of the French vineyard. It was a taunt, pure and simple.

He must be imagining he smelled Alessandro’s blood in the water after the humiliation in Mexico City.

And why wouldn’t he? Someone had betrayed him. Alessandro’s chief financial officer had discovered why Miguel Rodriguez had sold Joyería to St. Raphaël instead of Caetani Worldwide. The Frenchman had learned of his plan to close the Mexico City studio and move it to San Francisco. Rodriguez had sold Joyería to the Frenchman to protect his employees’ jobs.

But how had St. Raphaël possibly known?

Sitting heavily at his desk, Alessandro stared at his computer. He’d been working with his team remotely as best he could, but the Tokyo deal was spinning out of control, and that was causing problems. He needed to end his honeymoon early and return to Rome.

Alessandro glanced out of the window, instinctively looking for Lilley. It was past five o’clock. She’d come into his study an hour ago, but he’d sent her away—something he’d had to do too often in the last two days. He’d spent a few hours in bed with her last night, then he’d returned to his study to discuss strategy with his Hong Kong office. Last night he’d fallen asleep over his keyboard.

Alessandro exhaled. He should have gone back to Rome two days ago. By remaining in Sardinia, away from his team, he’d put a woman ahead of his business. Something he’d never done before.

But this wasn’t just any woman, it was his wife.

There. He spied Lilley on the beach far below. A smile curved his lips and his shoulders unconsciously relaxed as he watched her frolic in the surf, dressed in one of the bikinis he’d bought her in Porto Cervo. Today the color was violet. He saw her pause and look up towards the sprawling white villa, as if she felt him watching her. Visibly squaring her shoulders, she went to talk to some children playing a distance down the beach. He squinted. He vaguely recognized a dark-haired young boy and small girl, the children of live-in servants from the next villa down the coastline. Lilley flopped down on the sand beside them and started enthusiastically to help build their sand castle.

He watched her as she played on the beach. She was so happy, so natural, so free, so good with children. He’d seen the sweet, tender look in her eyes whenever she spoke to him of dreams for their unborn child. Lilley was everything a man would want in a wife. Everything he’d want the mother of his children to be.

She had only one flaw. She loved him.

She’d very nearly confessed her love before their wedding, but he’d seen on her face what she was going to say and stopped her. He exhaled. As long as the words were never said, they had a chance. They could be lovers, even friends. Once the child was born, Lilley would channel her love into their baby. She would raise their child with a mother’s tenderness, while Alessandro would protect them and provide for them, ensuring his children would inherit a vast empire.

His wife and children would never be poor. Never be ashamed of their father. His behavior would be above reproach.

He regretted the shabby wedding he’d given Lilley, in the chapel of a Las Vegas casino, with no family and friends. It had been shabby indeed, but expedient and quiet. He had to give Lilley time to complete her lessons, to be fully polished like a hard-edged gemstone before he exposed her to the cutting, subtle mockery of his friends, or the people who passed for his friends. It was the only way to protect her, helping her become strong enough to protect herself.

No man he knew in Rome would have married a pregnant mistress. He would have simply paid her off with a generous check and perhaps a few gifts at the child’s birth.

But Alessandro had always vowed his children would know who their father was. After his own father’s selfish, callous example, and even more after his mother’s sickening revelation after his death, Alessandro had known the risk of sex, and so he’d waited until he was truly in love. When he’d fallen hard for a twenty-five-year-old waitress in his freshman year at Stanford, he’d taken his time, wooing her for months like a perfect gentleman. Until Heather had dragged him to her apartment and begged him to make love to her. She’d told him he didn’t need a condom, because she was on the Pill.

“You trust me, don’t you?” she’d asked with big eyes. After so many years of waiting, sex had been a revelation. He’d been rapturous with joy. When she’d gotten pregnant, it had seemed like a miracle.

Until his father died, leaving a shocking amount of debt and creditors all suddenly clamoring to be paid. Alessandro had dropped out of Stanford, planning to get a job to support his mother, and to propose immediately to Heather, so she’d know he intended to take care of her and the baby. He’d rehearsed his speech the night he planned to propose. They’d be poor at first, he would say, but he would work full-time by day and invest every penny he could. Someday, he would promise, he’d give her the life of a princess.

He bought a cheap ring he could ill afford and made her a picnic, preparing bologna sandwiches and fruit salad to eat in the park. But things didn’t go according to plan. As he gave her the speech, Heather was silent, setting down her sandwich barely tasted. Afterward, he took her out dancing, his favorite thing to do. He was trying to show her how romantic their lives could be, even without money.

But in the middle of the first song, Heather had stopped on the dance floor. She’d looked up at him, her eyes full of tears.

“I like you, Alessandro,” she’d whispered. “I really do.

You’re lots of fun and an amazing, generous lover.” She exhaled. “But the baby’s not yours. I lied.”

“Not …” He staggered back. It felt like a physical blow. “Not mine?”

She flushed. “You kept saying you wanted us to wait for true love and all that. But I’m sorry, I couldn’t go for two long months without sex!” At his expression, her cheeks colored and she looked away. “The first night we slept together, I already knew I was pregnant.”

The loud dance music roared in his ears. His throat closed. “But why?”

“I thought you would make a good husband. A good father.” She bit her lip. “The other guy’s married. He’ll never marry me or help raise the baby. But he owns a tech firm in Cupertino. If I tell him, I know he’ll give me money.” She’d looked at Alessandro beneath the flashing lights and pulsing music. “I don’t want my baby to be poor,” she’d whispered. “I’m sorry.”

And just like that, she’d left him on the dance floor.

It was the last time Alessandro had ever gone dancing or made a fool of himself over anyone. The last time he’d fully trusted a woman.

Until Lilley.

He could have chosen not to marry her. She’d gone out of her way to make it easy for him to abandon her. She’d apparently had zero expectations of his moral character. It had astonished and angered him. Of course he wished to marry the mother of his unborn baby.

Although he hadn’t insisted on that paternity test.

A cold trickle went down his spine. He didn’t have any actual proof the baby was his. His hand felt clammy as he forked his fingers through his hair. Lilley wouldn’t lie to him, he told himself. He didn’t need a paternity test, and he wouldn’t insult her by asking for one. Lilley had been a virgin before he’d seduced her, and if she said he was the father, he was. End of story.

“Alessandro? Are you still in here?”

He turned in his swivel chair to see Lilley leaning against the door frame. Her hip was jutted out, her plump breasts overflowing the violet bikini top. His mouth felt dry as he surveyed her full, bare thighs and the hourglass curves of her body. His gaze traced down her long, curvy legs and back up to her swelling, pregnant breasts. He was hard in a millisecond.

“Still working, after all this time?” she murmured, smiling as if she had no idea what the sway of her hips did to him as she walked towards him. “Haven’t you heard the adage—all work and no play?”

His little wife had become remarkably adept at the art of seduction in the nine days they’d been married. Still smiling, she put her hand on his shoulder, rubbing his neck. “You said you’d join me on the beach an hour ago.”

He looked back at her. “I said no such thing.”

“You could be building sandcastles with me.”

“Running around, kicking the waves? Not interested.”

She shook her head, tutting her tongue. “How can you own a villa in Sardinia, and never want to play on the beach?”

“I’ll play here,” he said huskily, pulling her into his lap. “With you.”

Her eyes widened, and Alessandro felt her instant surrender, her body’s full attention. It was always like this between them. How many times had they made love since they’d wed? And yet he was still not satiated. He could not get enough of her.

Cupping her face, he pulled her mouth against his. Her lips felt so soft, so warm, and the stroke of her tongue felt like liquid fire. Her legs straddled his on the office chair, with her soft backside barely covered by the tiny bikini. The warmth between her legs pressed against the erection now straining beneath his trousers.

Kissing down her neck, he pressed his face between her large breasts, barely contained in the tiny triangles of fabric. She moaned as she moved against him, unconsciously grinding her body against him. He looked at her beautiful face. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted, her expression rapt. Even a lifetime wouldn’t be enough to satisfy his endless desire for this incredible woman.

Twining a hand in her hair, he pulled down her head and gave her a hard, deep kiss as his other hand pulled the strings on her hips. Yanking off the bottom of her bikini, he tossed it to the floor and unzipped his fly, letting himself spring free. Lilley’s eyes flew open as she realized what he intended, but it was too late.

Lifting her up, he brought her body down hard over him, impaling her in a single thrust. He groaned as he filled her so hard and deep that her body stiffened, even as she choked out a gasp of shock and pleasure.

He was deep inside her. Stretching her to the hilt. And it was good, so good. And wet. Oh God. Waves of sweet ecstasy washed over him and he closed his eyes. Lifting her a second time, he thrust again and a second, louder groan burst from his lips. But he didn’t get the chance to do it again. She picked up the pace, her breasts swaying against his face as she controlled the rhythm. He leaned forward, breathing in the scent of sunshine and salt. Pushing aside a triangle of her bikini top, he suckled a swollen, taut nipple as his other hand gripped her thigh. She let out a little cry as she arched her body, tossing back her head as she rode him hard in his office chair, going faster, faster, deeper, deeper.

The pleasure was too intense. He hadn’t taken her since last night, which seemed like forever ago. His stamina wouldn’t last. A low moan came from the back of her throat and he felt her soft breasts bounce against his mouth, felt her deep wet core sucking him further and further into ecstasy. He tried to restrain himself—to hold back the wave that threatened to burst. But he couldn’t—hold back—for much longer—

Like a miracle, he heard a soft cry from her lips, which became louder as she clutched his shoulders with her hands, her fingernails gripping into his flesh. She gave a final sharp scream and he felt her convulse and tighten all around him. Just in time. In a rush, he surrendered to the pleasure and exploded into her. Lights danced behind his eyelids as he gave a ragged gasp, groaning as he pulsed and poured himself into her.

He held her for long moments in his office chair. When she finally rose unsteadily to her feet, he stood and zipped up his fly, still feeling disoriented. She was just wearing her bikini top and only half of that, really, since she had one breast exposed. He saw her shiver with cold and pulled off his long-sleeved, button-down shirt, wrapping it tenderly around her nearly naked body.

“Thanks,” she murmured. She gave him a mischievous smile. “I love visiting you at work.”

He laughed, then looked down at her. His tailored shirt hung down to her mid-thigh. “You look … cute.”

“So do you.” She ran her hand down his bare chest. “Because now you are far more suitably dressed …” She gave a sudden impish grin. “For the beach!”

He blinked at her.

“Woman!” he thundered. “When will you stop?”

“When you do what I want!”

“Not going to happen.” He hesitated. “There’s been a complication, Lilley. I need to leave for Rome.”

“What’s happened?”

He scowled. “Théo St. Raphaël happened.”

She sucked in her breath. To his surprise, she seemed to understand the gravity of the situation even before he explained. “What—what about him?”

“It wasn’t enough he stole the Joyería deal,” he ground out. “Now he’s after my expansion in Asia as well. Almost as if it’s—personal.”

“Maybe it is,” she said in a small voice. “I don’t get how you guys fight over things you don’t even need. You have his winery. Call him. Offer an exchange. A truce—”

“Is that a joke?” he said in amazement. “I’d burn down my palazzo before I’d ask Théo St. Raphaël for a truce.” He looked at her, and his voice gentled. “I am just sorry our honeymoon must end.”

She licked her lips, then shrugged. “It’s all right. I love Sardinia, but I’m sure I’ll love Rome as well. I’m excited to see the palazzo. Meet your friends.”

“Lilley.” His good humor fled. “We’ve talked about this.”

“You’ve talked about it,” she said sulkily, her fingertips curling against the dark hair on his chest.

“You’re my wife. You promised to obey me.”

Indignant, she stared up at him. “I did no such—”

“Your place is at home,” he interrupted.

“My home is with you.” She looked down at her bare feet. “Unless you’re ashamed of me.”

Taking both her hands in his own, he pressed them to his lips. “My friends aren’t the warmest, friendliest sort of people. I doubt you’d like them.”

The cuffs of his long-sleeved shirt hung over her hands, making her look very young as she looked away. “You mean they won’t like me.”

“I’ll send for you soon,” he said softly, pulling her into his arms. “I promise.” And to seal that vow, he lowered his mouth to hers in the gentlest, tenderest kiss he’d ever given her.

To his shock, she pulled away, her brown eyes flinty. “No.”

His eyebrows lowered. “Don’t you understand? I’m trying to protect you.”

“I don’t want to be protected, I want to be your wife!”

He exhaled, tried to keep his voice light. “If you’re weary of Sardinia, I could leave you at our country estate in Tuscany. You could see the famous paintings of Florence, decorate the nursery, learn how to make bread—”

“No!” She stamped her foot against the marble floor, a gesture marred by the fact that she was barefoot and it caused a grimace of pain across her face. Rubbing the sole of her foot, she scowled at him. “I’m going with you to Rome!”

“Lilley,” he tried, “please.”

“I’m not afraid of your friends.” When he didn’t answer, she tossed her head. “What do you think they’ll do? Fight me with their bare hands? Wrestle me into the mud?”

“No,” he said quietly. “They’ll be more subtle. They’ll attack any weakness they can find. Your manners, your clothes, even your dyslexia—”

“Are you telling me,” she said scornfully, “there’ll be some kind of reading test before they let me in their little club?”

Trying to keep his patience, he set his jaw. “I am just trying to keep you happy and safe.”