Believe (San Francisco Brides Series Book 2) Page 2

  He moved her hand away and gulped some water. “I’ll take you home.”

  So much for wolf persistence. Lita set the spoon on the table. “I’d like a coffee.” Their time together had to end, but she wasn’t quite ready yet.

  “Sal’s closing.” Lorenzo pulled out his wallet and threw a twenty on the table. He rose.

  Lita glanced around. She’d been so focused on Lorenzo and their dessert, she hadn’t noticed they were the only customers left. The wait staff hurried around, cleaning the tables. Dishes clattered in the back. Lita grabbed her purse and stood. She kissed Lorenzo’s cheek. Her own heated. She took a quick step forward, but Lorenzo stayed close. He put his hand on the small of her back. The sparkler hadn’t fizzled—it still shot off sparks.

  “I’ll make you a cappuccino upstairs.” He led her across the room behind a door marked “Private.”

  Lita drew in a breath. This moment—Lorenzo taking her to his apartment—had been a favorite daydream these last few years.

  “I’d like that.” Lita could barely hear her own words as the thrumming in her ears grew louder with each step, like the murmur of bees in a blossoming summer garden. They’d just have coffee together. A completely innocent thing to do with an old family friend.

  She stumbled in the dim stairwell. Lorenzo grabbed her hand, at once steadying her and unbalancing her more. Her whole body hummed with renewed energy. His hand—smooth, strong, warm—held hers as they walked up the three flights of stairs. Through his touch, it seemed she felt the beat of his heart, his breath, his vitality and force. And she ached to know him along every other inch of her tingling skin.

  The hall outside his door smelled of exotic, musky perfumes. Probably the scents of the many women who’d passed in and out of Lorenzo’s door every week. Lita slackened her hand in his and crinkled her nose. She wouldn’t be another conquest for San Francisco’s most infamous bachelor. She wouldn’t strip for the manager of “gentlemen’s” clubs. She wouldn’t compromise her dreams—not even for Lorenzo. And he hadn’t asked her to. He was just being kind.

  Lorenzo unlocked the door and opened it, waiting for her to enter. She glanced at him. He smiled, his dimple making her forget for a moment who he could be.

  “I won’t bite.” His grin widened.

  Her cheeks heated. Was he flirting with her?

  She studied the apartment as she entered the living room. It was sparse, masculine—a black leather sofa stood in the middle of the room, a flat screen TV mounted on the wall, a few small, modern tables and an armchair, as well as some bookcases lined with books, filled out the room.

  “Nice place.” Hopefully making an everyday comment would dim her excitement.

  Lorenzo walked into another room and flipped on a light—the kitchen. Only a fancy, gleaming espresso machine was on the otherwise bare granite counters. The stovetop shone, so pristine Lita doubted he’d ever used it. She glanced behind her as Lorenzo made the coffee. A door was ajar—maybe his bedroom. She bit her lip and sat on the sofa. She scooted—leather wasn’t very comfortable.

  “Better call Uncle Enzo.” Lorenzo’s voice was distant in the kitchen as he took milk out of the refrigerator.

  She leaned forward and sighed. She had to let go of her silly fantasies.

  “I’ll just call a cab.” She reached for her purse.

  “Not til you’ve had your coffee. Let’s see if I know how you like it.”

  She tossed her purse on the table, holding her cell phone. She dialed Uncle Enzo’s number. He answered, a concerned edge in his tone as he asked where she was.

  “I’m at Lee’s,” she lied.

  “He’ll bring you home?” Uncle Enzo said.

  “Yes. Don’t wait up. But I look forward to seeing you and Celeste tomorrow.” She smiled.

  Uncle Enzo chuckled. “We’ll talk then, my dear.”

  “Good night.” Lita hung up.

  Lorenzo entered, two coffee cups in hand.

  “Still like yours creamy and sweet?” Lita smiled, remembering how they’d chatted last month during his visit to Italy. She’d thought maybe he’d been flirting with her then too. But, on Lorenzo’s visit the year before, her father had told her Lorenzo, and many of the DeGrazia men, were like that with all women, and to be on guard against such behavior. Her smile faded. She smoothed her skirt. The cotton sateen, sleek and warm, soothed her raw feelings.

  “Drinking it black these days.” He placed a cappuccino on the table in front of her. The foam was sprinkled with a cinnamon-cocoa mix. The scents of the warm milk and spices eased her back and shoulders.

  He sat next to her. He glanced at her. He crossed his legs and splayed his arm across the back of the sofa. Lita shifted again, fidgeting with the folds of her skirt. She stopped and picked up her coffee.

  “How about a movie? Cary Grant?” Lorenzo reached for the remote next to her coffee, brushing her hand as he grasped the remote.

  She rubbed the spot he’d touched. “You don’t like classic movies.”

  “Who said?” Lorenzo flipped on the TV. He put on streaming video and entered search terms. “Better than your other favorites.”

  “Too manly to watch Disney princesses?” She smiled, put down her coffee, and leaned back, slipping off her heels. Lee and Lorenzo had taken her to see The Little Mermaid and Beauty and the Beast when she was a girl. He still cared, even if it wasn’t in the way she dreamed about. It was better, safer, this way, to be just friends. She tucked her feet under her and yawned.

  Lorenzo rose and grabbed a blanket off the chair. He draped it over her legs and sat next to her again.

  “No comment.” He pressed play. Houseboat, one of Lita’s favorites, began. She’d seen it at least twenty times.

  She leaned her head into the sofa, letting Cary Grant’s on-screen presence ease the ache of wanting to hold Lorenzo, fulfill her dreams with him. It wouldn’t happen. Lorenzo wasn’t capable of being faithful, probably didn’t want to get married. Couldn’t ever love her anyway. She covered her mouth as she yawned again. Her eyelids flickered shut. Warm lips pressed on her forehead. She was already dreaming again.

  Chapter Two

  Lorenzo kissed Lita’s forehead. Never had he thought she’d be here with him—never. And she shouldn’t be, but he couldn’t make himself take her home when she didn’t want to go. Nothing would happen. She’d fallen asleep. He’d take her home to Uncle Enzo’s once she’d rested.

  He tightened his arm around her. Her soft curves brought on the dangerous heat, the thoughts. He’d spent three torturous years fantasizing about her—ever since he’d visited Italy with Uncle Enzo when Lita had been nineteen. She’d shone, a beauty, an innocent girl transformed into a womanly, but still playful, angel. And she was unreachable from his private hell.

  He fingered her hair, wavy and shiny, the color of an espresso, touched her cheek, bright and smooth. Closing his eyes, he saw her flashing dark doe eyes, full lips, her delicate features belying her strength. Her petite, curvaceous body nestled, soft and warm, against him. He shuddered slightly and tried to stop his thoughts, tried to stop the lava burning through his veins. He couldn’t.

  He recited to himself the reasons he had to stay away from Lita. He wouldn’t betray Lee’s friendship. He knew the complications of dating a younger woman, which was why he never did. Especially one as innocent as Lita. From what Uncle Enzo had implied, as well as what Lee had told him, she was inexperienced and nearly clueless about men. And he wasn’t inexperienced. His past would ruin Lita, as it had him.

  He shifted. She drew closer. Her hand fell onto his. He grasped it, so small and warm.

  When she was nine or ten, she used to make him and Lee snacks while dancing and singing songs from The Little Mermaid, sometimes bugging them by doing cartwheels while they tried to study. But they’d all grown older. Instead of wisdom, he’d gotten cynicism. Even if it was forged from bitter experience, it wasn’t what belonged in Lita’s world. He didn’t belong.

  He did
n’t want to think about any of that, so he let himself savor being near her, the joy in holding her, in feeling her soft breath warming his neck as she slept, her body pleasantly heavy against his.

  He kissed her hair. She was clean and fresh—her scent reminded him of his favorite vanilla-infused cappuccino. His eyelids drooped, heavy. Strangely, gone were the fiery longings and bitter tirades at himself which made him toss and turn every night. Maybe in his dreams. For now, being with Lita filled him with an odd sense of lightness and rightness. As he should feel with an angel in his arms.

  ***

  “Lita!” Lorenzo opened his eyes, his heart thumping, his breathing shallow. Only a nightmare.

  “Lorenzo.” Lita shifted, her body edged onto him.

  Awareness pumped through him. Light shafted in through the blinds. He was on his couch. They had slept here. Together.

  She was here. She was safe. Her supple leg eased onto his. Her curves pressed against him. Her hand rested on his chest. His breathing steadied.

  She raised her head and looked at him. “Are you okay?”

  “Always.” He had control. Nothing could affect him unless he let it.

  “I’m not. This couch is swallowing me.” Her voice twinkled with a suppressed giggle. Even in the most stressful circumstances, Lita could find a light touch, something to smile about.

  He smiled. She extracted herself from the folds of the sofa. He pulled her up. She rested on top of him. Her breasts, soft and full, brushed against him as she shifted. His cock twitched. No. He had to get control. Lita wasn’t some quickie or meaningless fling.

  He edged up, but Lita didn’t move. She caressed her fingers up his chest to his lips, tracing them. He forced himself to be impassive. His lips warmed under her touch. He leaned back into the pillow. His body mutinied.

  His feet played with hers. Their thighs pressed together. His chest expanded. He twined his fingers into her hair. She glowed, fresh and young, a flower about to bloom. No other woman compared to her.

  She gazed at him and traced the line of his jaw. It flexed with the effort of forcing himself not to kiss her, not to take her in his arms and never let go.

  “Lorenzo,” she whispered, her lips millimeters from his. Her breath sighed into his mouth, destroying the crumbling ruins of his resolve. Their lips met. Her warmth and softness poured through him. Her tongue, playful and pliant, found his. He moaned. Gripping his hands in her hair, he brought her as close as he could. It wasn’t enough. It was more than he’d imagined. She was everything. He could give nothing.

  He grasped her hands and sat up. She slid away. Their breathing panted.

  She wrested her hands from him. “Oh, I…” She placed a hand over her mouth. Tears sparkled in her eyes. “I’ve never felt…I didn’t mean for that to happen.” She drew in a shaky breath and placed her hands on her thighs, smoothing her skirt. “I’m sure you have this effect on lots of women…I won’t read anything into it.”

  Did she think he kissed all women with the intensity of a long-lost love? Hell no.

  “Lita.” Clearly she didn’t get that she was different. She’d heard about his reputation with women, no doubt. And he knew most of her history with men. Together, those things would probably make her feel insecure and unsure. And make her want nothing to do with a man like him.

  She glanced at him, her cheeks as pink as the cherry blossoms in the Japanese Tea Garden. He’d buy a basket full and sprinkle them over their bed, where she reclined, her skin as sleek as the unblemished petals.

  He caressed her cheek. She held his hand, kissed his palm. A low rumble began in his chest. She dropped her hands.

  “You’re…” He had no idea how to tell her she was different. No idea how to believe they could ever be together. No idea how to tell her he loved her, with every shard of his soul. Loved her…He edged his fingers through his hair, finding the scar on his scalp from the fight he’d gotten into several years before. What he wanted most would ruin the person he loved most. Lita.

  “I should get you back to Uncle Enzo’s.” Lorenzo gripped his hands on his thighs, trying to force himself to get up.

  “I know I put you in an awkward position. I promise I won’t bring it up.”

  He ground his teeth together. She really was clueless about men. That she didn’t feel what he had in their kiss…He stared at her. Her gaze was tender, longing. His skin tingled with knowing: this was how to tell her, this was how to believe. Be with her. He grabbed her arms. He kissed her.

  She yielded to him, placed her hands on his chest. His kiss spoke the words he couldn’t say, the fantasies he’d had, the love that had crept in and imprisoned him. She sighed. He released her arms. She wrapped them around his neck.

  Their lips explored and discovered. Her kisses made every pore and hair on his body tingle. With each kiss, his love took hold of him, told him he had to find a way to be with her.

  Lorenzo followed with a long, slow kiss, an unspoken question. Her warm, silken lips, her eager response to him, filled him with unfamiliar heat and surety. He shuddered in the chill of the unknown. She slipped her arms down and around him. She closed the last inches between them, stretched her arms up his back, and returned his embrace. Lita pressed herself impossibly close to his chest. Her softness revitalized him. He teased open her lips with his. Yes, her answer was yes. What was the question?

  He pulled away slightly. Lita studied him, a serious, but still tender expression on her face. He returned her gaze, caressed her cheek and arm, so like a newly picked peach. She held a miraculous beauty and promise he couldn’t yet understand. She smiled and started to lean in for another kiss.

  “Wait.” He placed his hands on her shoulders. He needed to slow this down. Her cheeks were pricked with red, like new bruises.

  He hopped up, rubbed the back of his neck.

  Red like blood. Bashed skulls. Like the bashed head of the creep who’d tried to rape Lita when she was fifteen. Lorenzo’s ears thrummed with her muffled cries to Lee that night seven years ago. Apparently, Jane’s pervert boyfriend had tried several times before they’d caught him.

  Lita placed a hand on Lorenzo’s back. His breath released. When he’d agreed seven years ago to have his father hire someone to rough up that pervert boyfriend of Jane’s, Lorenzo didn’t realize he’d walked into hell. He inhaled. Lita’s clean, vanilla scent quelled the acid in his throat.

  His father had made him view the body—there wasn’t supposed to be one—before they’d disposed of it. Lorenzo had vomited in the darkness of the alley. His father’d never let him hear the end of that show of weakness. Just like he never did things the way Lorenzo asked him to—his father always took everything too far, beyond what Lorenzo could stomach.

  “Want breakfast?” Lorenzo stood still. He breathed her scent in again. He’d protected her before. He could do it again, and be with her.

  “I can make something.” She dropped her hand.

  A chill tightened his spine. He wouldn’t think of his father now. “I don’t keep food here.”

  “The consummate bachelor.” Lita’s tone was either derisive or resigned.

  “I have been.” He shrugged.

  “Isn’t that what you want? Aren’t you happy?” Lita’s voice, quiet and lyrical, sang through him.

  “No, it’s not.” He turned to her. “I want you, Lita. Being near you makes me happy. But I have to change.” He had to be a man who’d defy his father’s blackmail. A man who’d give up meaningless pleasures. A man who’d live by love and loyalty.

  A tear danced down her cheek. He caressed it away. Lita kissed his hand and leaned her head into his chest.

  His cell rang. Lorenzo pulled it from his pocket, recognizing his father’s ringtone. Might as well start now. “Yeah.”

  “Meet me at the club at one this afternoon. We need to talk.” His father coughed.

  “Right.” Lorenzo ended the call.

  “Something wrong?” Lita caressed his back.

 
; He kissed the top of her head, her hair soft. “No. Meeting my father later.”

  “How is he?”

  Lorenzo shrugged. “Same as ever.” Some people were changed when they got a life-threatening disease like cancer, but not Lorenzo’s father. He was the same cold bastard he’d always been.

  “Can we have this morning?” Lita moved against him, gazing up at him. He held her tighter.

  “Yes.” He fingered her hair. Cupping her chin in his hand, he returned her gaze. He brushed his lips on hers before he took more, drinking her in like a 1979 Vin Santo di Coltibuono. After a few minutes, Lita broke their embrace. She tucked her hair behind her ear and gave him a tiny smile.

  “I’ll be right back.” She brushed her hand along his arm as she walked past.

  His body prickled, as if it’d been asleep. He had been—in a waking nightmare with no end. Lita was his dream. He could live it today, give her the morning. He wanted to take forever.

  He stretched and paced from the kitchen to the coffee table, cracking his neck. Uncle Enzo would yell insults in three languages if he found out Lita had spent the night here. And Lee…His best friend was mellow, but not about Lita, his baby sister. Lee had taken on the father role with Lita for the first fifteen years of her life, still was a fiercely protective brother, and that didn’t disappear—love wouldn’t leave like that, not real love.

  Lorenzo shrugged. He didn’t know much about real love. His mom’s family—they’d showed him what love looked like…but they’d also shown him how it betrayed. A lesson he’d already learned over and over from his father.

  This wasn’t about his father. This was about Lita. He could give her the morning she wanted—maybe the morning of some of his fantasies.