The Price Of A Dangerous Passion

And he was hers.

Finally.

The baby stirred against her and Charlotte nuzzled him even as she rubbed his tiny back. He smelled heavenly. Of milk. And love. He was so very loved.

“You know, we really need to give him a name,” Charlotte said as Brando climbed from the pool before wrapping a towel around his lean waist. “We can’t just call him ‘the baby’ forever.”

“Why not?” Brando retorted, leaning over them, to drop a kiss on her mouth and then on the back of his son’s head. “I was called ‘baby’ for years in my family.”

She laughed softly, appreciating his humor. Brando grinned down at her, white teeth flashing, silver eyes filled with warmth.

“Aren’t we supposed to name him after one of your father’s brothers or something?” she asked. “Remind me again of the Italian tradition? I find it very confusing.”

“Don’t worry about the tradition. I don’t think we need to follow any rules. We should give him a name that we think will suit him, a strong male name, as he’s a strong boy.”

“A miracle boy. He was determined to come into the world.”

Brando nodded. “Determined to be made.”

Her heart turned over. “Determined to bring us together.”

Brando crouched next to them and kissed her again. “And he did. Our miracle. Our angel.”

Charlotte’s eyes met his. “Angel. Angelo.”

Brando was silent a moment and then kissed her, and then the baby’s cheek. “We love you, our Angelo.”

Charlotte’s heart was so full. She blinked back tears as she reached up to caress Brando’s hard, chiseled jaw. “And I adore you, Brando. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for giving me this amazing family.”

“And thank you, cara, for being mine. I love you.”

“I know.” And she did.

EPILOGUE

September, two years later

IT WAS HARVEST season and life at the castello was unusually busy, with two babies and a very busy husband who spent more time in the vineyards than he did at the house, but Charlotte understood and was almost as excited as Brando about this year’s harvest.

After feeding the newest addition to the family, another boy, seven-month-old Joseph, Charlotte left the contented babies in care of their day nanny, and put on a hat, and left the house in search of her missing husband.

She hadn’t gotten very far before she saw him approaching. He was on his way back to the castello, his white shirt damp and sticking to the hard planes of his chest.

He smiled when he spotted her. “Where are you going?”

“I was looking for you.”

“Is everything all right?”

“Everything’s perfect, and I thought maybe, just maybe, I could steal you away from work... But only if you’ve time.”

“It depends on why I’m needed.”

She loved the teasing light in his silver eyes and the husky note in his voice. Everything about him was so impossibly sexy. “I’ve had lots of time with the children, but I could use some adult time.” She gave him a pointed look. “I could use some of you.”

His smile widened, and he lowered his head to drop a warm, melting kiss on her lips. The kiss was full of promise and she pressed herself closer to him, desire flaring, hot and hungry. “You can use me all you want,” he said against her mouth.

“Good. I intend to.”

Brando wrapped an arm around her, holding her firmly to his chest and hips. She could feel the hard ridge of his erection through his work jeans, the ridge of his shaft rubbing her right where she was sensitive. “You still make me crazy,” she whispered, arching against him, wanting all of him. “You make me want you morning, noon and night.”

“Which is probably why we have a second baby already.”

She smiled. “I have a feeling we’re going to end up with a big family.”

“As long as there are no more difficult pregnancies, I’m good with that.”

“Last one was easy.”

“Yes, it was. Thank you, Joseph.” Brando swung her into his arms and cut across the gravel path, making a swift detour to the gated swimming pool.

She hummed with excitement and that electric heat that always crackled between them. “Where are you taking me?” she asked.

“Somewhere we can get some privacy.” He pushed open the gate, and carried her into the pool house, and locked the door behind them.

The shutters were closed and the inside of the small stone building was dark and cool, smelling of lavender and citrus. Brando stripped Charlotte’s clothes off and walked her backward to the oversize chaise, before nudging her down. He dropped to his knees, and kissed her right knee, and then the left, and then higher, up her tense thigh.

She sighed his name, her breath no longer steady. He pressed between her thighs, parting them wider, making room for his body, but instead of filling her, he kissed her, there where she was so wet and tender, where every flick of his tongue created licks of fire. Her hips danced of their own volition, her body desperate for him. These kisses were maddening. His flicking tongue was maddening. What she wanted was the heavy weight of him, the consuming pleasure that only he could give her. She needed him, needed him desperately, now and forever.

Brando never tired of the taste of his Charlotte, or her soft urgent cries. He loved the feel of her in his arms, the silk of her pale gold hair, and the shimmer in her eyes as she reached for him. Her passion for him was matched only by his need for her. He loved how much of herself she gave, whether they were making love, or being a family. As he made love to her on the chaise, he didn’t just give her his body, he was giving her his heart. Making love was more than sex, more than sensation. It was a pledge between them, to always put their love and family first.

Charlotte was still independent, and strong, but he’d come to understand that what she needed most was loyalty, commitment and stability. She needed hope and family. He wasn’t perfect but he understood these things, and knew that this was a promise he could keep. To protect his Charlotte. To protect their children. They were his life now, and he cherished this life with them because it was full of hope, and love. Always love.

And maybe another baby.

Coming next month

CONFESSIONS OF AN ITALIAN MARRIAGE

Dani Collins

“Get in,” Giovanni said.

The sight of him struck like a gong, leaving her quivering. He had a shaggy black beard and dark glasses, and his black hoodie was pulled up to hide all but his familiar cheekbones, but his legs stopped above the knees and she recognized the tense line of his mouth.

Alive. Her heart soared so high, it should have shattered the sky.

At the same time, a thousand furies invaded her like a swarm of killer bees. There was no triumph in learning she was right. There was only a crippling heartbreak that he had abandoned her. If he’d been truly dead, she would have been angry, but she wouldn’t have blamed him.

This, though? He had put her through horrifying hours of actually believing he was gone. She had endured his gut-wrenching funeral, convinced it was a sham. Then, two short weeks later, she’d suffered another unbearable loss that would never heal. loz!

He’d forced her to go through all of that alone.

For every minute that had passed since that awful day, she had longed for him to reveal himself, but now her feet only carried her forward so she could bitterly hiss, “Go to hell.”

“Where do you think I’ve been?” he growled.