Always (San Francisco Brides Series Book 1) Page 3

  Vincente caressed her cheek and kissed her again before he positioned himself next to her. Gina nudged her head onto his chest. She smiled as she moved a hand over him, before she rested it by her cheek.

  “Excuse me a minute,” he said. He squeezed her hand and waited for her to move. He slid from bed and walked to a door. The bathroom, she saw from the bright light he flipped on.

  She turned over as he shut the door. Her forehead tightened, her throat dry. She shouldn’t have had so many mojitos. She rubbed her forehead and closed her eyes.

  Vincente opened the door and eased back into bed. He slid next to her and kissed her shoulder. “Need anything?”

  She should probably have some water, use the restroom, but his strong, warm body cradling hers was too wonderful. “No, thanks.”

  “Okay.” He held her close.

  She sighed with satisfaction. It had been a long time since someone held her like this. Well, never, really. Even her ex-fiancé, the cheating scum, had never wanted to cuddle. He’d been out of bed like a shot every time, always with some excuse. Every man she’d been with had been like that, until now. She thought that was just men, or just her stupid choices. But she’d put up with it, the desire to express her caring through sex too powerful to ignore, until this last year. Gina fiddled with Vincente’s fingers. His breath warmed her neck. She wanted to talk, but that would ruin this moment. She closed her eyes and waited.

  When Gina woke, still snuggled against Vincente’s solid frame, she turned carefully and kissed his hand. She watched him for a moment, his strong features serene, his hard chest, sprinkled with dark hair, rising and falling with his whiffling breath. He didn’t stir, thankfully.

  She slid from the bed, needing to use the bathroom. Really, she needed a shower, but she wanted to get away before Vincente woke. She didn’t even know what time it was, or where she’d dropped her small clutch. Washing her hands, she glanced at herself in the mirror. Her hair waved crazily around her face, some serious sex hair. How could she show up at home like this? Her parents must be wondering, and they’d really give her an interrogation if she showed up in the same clothes, all mussed up.

  She padded back into his room. It was neat, as clean-cut and straightforward as Vincente appeared. Books lined two bookcases, but otherwise the room seemed devoid of possessions, other than a few family pictures on the dresser. The large bed with properly masculine dark blue bedding stood out from the wall, a wing chair to one side, near the two bookcases, a nightstand, and a mirror hung on the closet door. A clock—it was four a.m.—and a book were on the night table. She pulled on her panties and bra, slid on her dress, struggling to pull up the zipper.

  Whispers of doubt began. Why had she fallen into bed with this man? She knew why, at least the physical reason, but it put a serious crimp in her plans. She was supposed to find out what he knew, not know him in the biblical sense. She smirked at herself.

  But being with Vincente had been different, unlike anything she’d ever experienced. Gina smiled remembering how he’d responded to her, clearly enjoying her as she did him. How he’d taken care of protection, and her needs, without even a word from her. How he’d wanted to snuggle, wanted to sleep together. Then she shook her head. She had to stay focused. She had to remember the way his family had treated hers, the way they used people and discarded them like yesterday’s bread.

  She studied the room, but her purse was nowhere in sight—she must’ve dropped it downstairs. She grabbed her shoes and slipped out the door, shutting it with a gentle tug. Her stomach knotted. She had to forget him. Who cared if that was the best sex ever? She’d have to find a different way to get the information she needed. She should’ve gone to the old man, his grandfather, in the first place. He probably knew the most, and then she wouldn’t be in this situation. Now every big family dinner would be awkward, unless she could stop not just a business take-over, but Grandma’s marriage to Vincente’s great-uncle as well.

  Rushing downstairs, she located her clutch in the small hall. Once she found her way outside, she pushed her shoes on. Her feet ached. She checked her purse—she had enough cash for a cab the half-mile or so home. She smoothed her hair and took out her cell, calling a cab.

  She rubbed her arms and waited. A few cars sped up the street. The cold air nipped at her exposed skin. Why hadn’t she brought a coat? Because her mom had told her to, but Gina didn’t want to be bothered with coat check and all that. The city skyline twinkled, blanketed and solid, like Vincente’s frame under his light quilt. Coit Tower shone in the distance, the Trans-America building peaked across from it. Distant, like she was from Vincente. She shivered, missing his warmth.

  The cab pulled up. Gina hopped in and told the driver the address. Within five minutes, she paid the driver and quietly exited the cab. When she reached the bottom door, she slid off her shoes. No one should be up until five, so she might be able to slip in before anyone noticed. The flat was quiet. She padded to her room, exhaling when she shut the door behind her.

  She slumped briefly against the door, hugging her arms to her chest. Dammit. Just when she’d finally felt focused, over her need for passion, sex, up it popped, an unwanted guest at a party, ruining the mood and exhausting the hostess with her incessant demands. Already, her body ached with the lingering memory of Vincente’s touch, the intensity of their lovemaking. She rolled her eyes. When would she get over this—falling for a guy after sex? It was just sex, yet when it was good, she fell, and hard, overlooking red flags and warning signs, losing herself and her heart. The recovery time was too long, the damage more than she could take anymore.

  Peeling off her clothes, her body was tender from lack of sleep and the long-overdue, hot sex. She hung up her dress and placed it and her shoes in the closet.

  Plopping on the bed, she pushed out a breath. She fingered the lace on her bra. Its roughened edges reminded her of Vincente’s touch. She shook her head and lay back, closing her eyes. Let it go. He’s not for you.

  But all she could think about was him, the way he’d felt on top of her, inside her. She hit the bed with her hands and jumped up. Baking would clear her mind. That and a good cup of coffee. She quickly brushed her hair, pulled it into a ponytail, dressed in sweats and a tee, and made her way downstairs.

  Chapter Three

  Vincente rolled over, anticipating wrapping his arm around his date’s soft curves. Only the blanket shifted under his hand. He opened his eyes. No one was in his bed, in his room. It was empty, chilled, as usual. He hopped up. Maybe she was in the bathroom. But the door was ajar, the light off.

  He ran a hand over his hair. Could be she went to the kitchen. He pulled on a tee-shirt and track pants and sprinted into the hall. He slowed as he approached the bottom of the stairs. Stretching, he rolled his neck before sauntering into the kitchen.

  “Morning, Vincente.” Nico, the family security guy—really, all around assistant and head of operations—said in his usual casual tone.

  Vincente frowned. “You see anyone this morning?”

  Nico gave him a puzzled half-smile. “Nope, why? Should I check the security footage?”

  “No,” Vincente said in a clipped snap.

  Nico raised his eyebrows. “Want a cup?” he asked, pouring himself a steaming mug of coffee.

  Vincente shook his head. What he wanted was to see her again, to touch her, make sure last night hadn’t been some insane fantasy. But he knew better. He hadn’t been that drunk. And as he inhaled, he smelled her—orange blossoms, jasmine, spicy, heady scents—on him. “I’m gonna work out for a bit. Grandpop is out. Don’t know when he’ll be back.”

  “I know. He texted me about an hour ago.”

  Vincente shook his head with a brief smile. No matter where Grandpop was, he woke at five-thirty and began his day.

  Nico leaned against the counter as Vincente passed him. “You should’ve gone out with me last night, Vincente. I keep telling you, I know some—“

  “Yeah, and you know
I’m not looking for that.” Yet that’s what he’d gotten last night. A one-night stand with a stranger. His neck heated.

  “Don’t know how you do it, or why you do.” Nico and Vincente’s other friends, even Grandpop, gave him a hard time about how boring his life was—too calm, too ordered.

  Vincente shrugged and strode down the hall to his workout room off the garage. As he punched the bag, he shook his head. He was damned tired of everyone ribbing him about his love life, or lack of it. He’d tried casual for a while after his wife had passed away. He wasn’t a casual kind of guy. Now, after almost a year without sex, obviously his urges had broken him down. Or she was just that irresistible. He gave the bag one last wallop, stretched, and toweled off.

  Shit, he hadn’t even found out her name. He could have Nico check the footage and look her up on whatever database he had access to…No, he’d do better to let it go. She seemed kind of hostile, when she wasn’t touching him. And it wouldn’t be the first time a corporate raider, or even an investigator, tried to get information out of him. It would just be the first time he’d had sex with one, if that was even what she’d been after.

  He slammed out of the back door. His workout hadn’t had the desired mind-numbing effect. Maybe a run would do the job.

  ***

  Almost twelve hours later, Vincente strolled up the steps at Uncle Enzo’s house for Sunday dinner. With most everyone away for the Valentine’s Day weekend, and his cousin, Lorenzo, and his best friend, Lee, in Italy visiting Lee’s younger sister, it would be a small gathering. Maybe Joey D’Angelo would be here, and he and Vincente could watch a hockey game or something. Something to cut the quiet. And the tension, if Celeste D’Angelo and her family were here. Since her engagement to Uncle Enzo, the tense peace between the families was breaking.

  Vincente rang the doorbell and shoved his hands in the pockets of his black slacks. Eva D’Angelo, Celeste’s daughter-in-law, answered the door. He hardly knew her outside D’Angelo’s market. Aside from Uncle Carlo, who’d married Vincente’s Aunt Sophia over twenty-five years ago, the rest of the D’Angelos avoided Vincente’s family.

  “Hi, Vincente,” Eva said. “Good to see you again. We’re all in the kitchen.” She smiled at him.

  Vincente smiled but his body tightened. Something about her smile, her full lips, reminded him of his date last night. He scrunched his brows. Celeste’s granddaughter, Gina, was around the same age his date was. He tried to recall if he’d seen a recent photo of Gina. But he could only remember when he’d used to go into D’Angelo’s Market when he was fourteen and Gina, a scrawny nine-year-old, used to stand on a wood crate to reach the cash register, ringing up customers with grave solemnity. His date couldn’t have been Gina….Or, he couldn’t picture that skinny, serious girl turning into the sensuous, spontaneous woman he’d met last night.

  “Vincente, my boy, thank you for joining us,” Uncle Enzo said from his usual position at the long oak table in the bright kitchen. “My brother has deserted us again?” Uncle Enzo winked.

  Vincente nodded and said hello to Celeste, who sat next to Uncle Enzo. Uncle Enzo knew Grandpop well enough to know he’d have Valentine’s Day plans. They were close, even for brothers. Vincente didn’t have any siblings, but his family made up for that. But someday, he’d like to have in-laws and children of his own.

  He stepped further into the kitchen and glanced around the room at the familiar sea-blue, lemon-yellow, white, and ironwork décor. A woman in a red dress stood rigidly, her back to him, at the sink. He recognized her luscious rear. Her ample curves were unmistakable in the sexy dress she wore. His blood pumped faster, as if he’d just run here, rather than strolled. He swallowed and stepped behind the small island counter. She turned to him and smiled, a similar smile to her mom’s. Damn, how could he not have seen the family resemblance right away?

  Celeste smiled at him. “This is my granddaughter, Gina.”

  Gina gave him a little wave, as if last night had never happened. She sauntered over and placed a pitcher of water on the table.

  “We’ve met,” he said. He pulled his arms up, to cross them, but then splayed his hands on the counter instead.

  Gina’s cheeks reddened. Like they’d been as she lay under him, her breath shallow and…

  Celeste glanced from him to Gina.

  “Gina used to be at the shop, when I was in high school and stopped after school.”

  Celeste laughed. Gina exhaled, her breasts rising and falling. He gripped the counter edge and focused on Celeste.

  “I’d forgotten. Gina was my big helper back then.”

  “And now she’s come home to help again,” Gina’s mom, Eva, said.

  Frank, Gina’s father, frowned. “I should call Michael and see how he’s getting on.” He stepped out into the foyer. He probably wouldn’t be back in until dinner. At every gathering, Frank managed to disappear. He didn’t approve of his mother’s engagement to Uncle Enzo.

  Eva sighed. Gina shot her a grimace. They both busied themselves at the opposite counter.

  Gina’s younger brother, Michael, worked at the market. Unlike his older brother and sister, Michael’d stayed home and helped his family. He was a good guy.

  Vincente looked at Uncle Enzo, who shook his head. Clearly, Uncle Enzo, like Vincente, felt the annoyance and tension rippling off Gina’s stiff back.

  “Joey not coming?” Vincente asked.

  “No, he had to work. Another officer in his and Jim’s unit got shot.”

  Joey and Joey’s cousin, Jim D’Angelo, were both cops with the SFPD. “He okay?”

  “In the hospital. So, it’ll just be the six of us.”

  Cozy. Vincente turned and walked to the window. Better to have stayed home. He’d finally had sex again, and it was with Gina D’Angelo. What the hell was her deal? She knew last night exactly who he was. Why would she hop into bed with him, when she knew she’d see him at family gatherings and holidays? He closed his eyes.

  Probably for the same reason he had. But he wouldn’t have, if he’d realized who she was. Too many complications. If Uncle Enzo found out—or any of the D’Angelo men—Vincente’d be in for some serious hurt. He exhaled slowly. His family meant everything to him, and he wouldn’t jeopardize the tenuous harmony between the DeGrazias and the D’Angelos for anyone, not even his dream woman. Which Gina wasn’t, of course. He rubbed his hands on his slacks.

  “You okay, my boy?” Uncle Enzo said. “Rough night?” There was an edge of concern in his uncle’s tone. He knew last night’s bachelor auction wouldn’t be fun for Vincente—and that it would bring up memories of his mom, who’d died of a heart attack while driving, and his dad, also fatally injured in the ensuing accident. Vincente had been thirteen. Thank God for Grandpop and Grandma Teresa, who’d taken him in during high school. For a couple of years after, Vincente had tried to repay that kindness by helping in Grandpop’s business, until things had gone too far. Then Vincente’d left, as his own father had at that age, to try to build a life where he thought was home, where his parents had raised him. But this—San Francisco—was his home. He wouldn’t leave again.

  “Fine, thanks,” Vincente said with a shrug as he faced his uncle. “Can I do anything, Celeste?” He walked to the table and grasped a chair back.

  “No, thanks. Gina came over earlier with me, to help. You’re in for a treat. She’s quite a baker.”

  She was quite a lot of things. He shifted his feet.

  “You should see her business plan,” Uncle Enzo said.

  Gina’s shoulders hunched and she frowned. Huh. Something was going on, and Vincente would figure it out.

  ***

  Gina rocked her neck from side to side as she tossed the salad. She shouldn’t have given a copy of her business plan to her mom, who must’ve shown it to Enzo DeGrazia. Why had he waited to bring it up until now? She’d been there for a couple of hours and he’d chosen not to mention it until Vincente had arrived. They must be planning something. Those DeGra
zias were manipulative. She had to stay away from Vincente. Or not drink around him. No, better to just not be alone with him.

  “You okay, dear?” Grandma Celeste asked.

  Gina nodded.

  “No, you go rest. You’ve been busy all day. And you’ve been working non-stop since you got home. You just uprooted your life.”

  “I’m here to help, to spend time together.” Gina returned Grandma’s half-hug. Gina hadn’t had any roots in Los Angeles. It’d been as simple as quitting her job, selling some furniture, and packing her car. Settling back in at home was the tiring part. Work distracted her, and she needed that, with all the tension in the family. She hadn’t given most of this family crap a thought in years. But hearing that Grandpa Frank’s beloved store was in trouble, and that Carolina DeGrazia’s uncle, Enzo, was not only going to marry Grandma Celeste, but also wanted to “help out” D’Angelo’s Market, brought it all back, brought Gina home. Not that she’d been enjoying her life in L.A. anyway, but at least it was her own, free of her family’s drama. But it had also kept her from the warmth, and the closeness she used to have with Grandma and her cousins.

  “I’ll bring that antipasti into the living room.” Anything to get away from Vincente, who made her hot and uncomfortable. She felt as if his eyes lasered into her with her every movement.

  She grabbed the tray from the fridge and hurried into the living room. Her dad sat on the couch, flipping through Time magazine. He didn’t even look up when she placed the tray on the coffee table. It wasn’t any more comfortable in here with her father. He’d barely said three words to her since she’d been home.

  She rubbed her arms and walked around the room. The white fireplace surround was simple and classical, similar to the details in Vincente’s home. She tugged on a stray curl of her hair. The blues and creams of the décor normally would have soothed her, but she was too wound-up. She picked up a Murano glass paperweight off a side table then placed it gently back. A couple paintings of Italy—looked like the Amalfi Coast—hung on the wall.