“I first met Lorenzo when I was ten. I’d walked over from Wild Sea to taste some of his grapes. I was a kid- what did I know?” Nic smiled sadly. “Lorenzo found me snooping and took me back to the winery, where we did some barrel tasting. He listened to my opinion and told me his. I was terrified, of course. He was a Marcelli and we weren’t supposed to get along, but he was kind that day and made me wish I could be a part of his family.”
Nic paused and stared into the crowded church. “Years later, I met and fell in love with his granddaughter Brenna. After a little complaining because I was a Giovanni, Lorenzo welcomed me into the family. And there I’ve stayed, grateful to have known him. He was a man bound by tradition, yet farsighted enough to see what the future would require of those around him. He has given us all room to succeed, while offering us a haven of support and caring.”
Joe let the words wash over him. Speaker after speaker spoke of a man Joe had barely allowed himself to know. He thought of all the times Lorenzo had pressed him to be part of the family, and of all the times Joe had refused. Lorenzo had wanted little more than a chance to get to know his grandson, but Joe had been determined to make sure that never happened.
Why? What was the point of disappointing an old man? What had he gained by resisting?
And now it was too late. He couldn’t go to Lorenzo and say he understood why he, Joe, had been sent away all those years ago. He couldn’t acknowledge that whatever his last name might be, Marcelli blood flowed in his veins. He couldn’t stop rejecting what had been offered because the man who refused to give up was finally gone.
Several hours later Joe moved through the crowded kitchen. The guests were being kept outside by a combination of family and Secret Service agents gently ushering them in that direction. Tessa held court over the stove, accepting the condolences of those who stopped by to see her and share stories. Colleen and Grammy M stayed close, while Marco, Francesca, Katie, and Mia circulated with the guests. Nic had taken Brenna home. She’d been inconsolable after the funeral, and with her due date so close, everyone had agreed she needed to rest.
For the first time, Joe felt out of place. He didn’t know where to go or what to do. Several family friends had spoken with him about his grandfather, but he hadn’t known what he should say in return. He had no stories to share, no fond memories. He’d spent the last three years resisting.
Finally he made his way to the back of the house and went upstairs. The agent on the landing nodded, then stepped aside to let Joe pass. He walked to Darcy’s room, knocked once, and entered when she called for him to come in.
She sat on her bed. The plain black dress was still in place, but she’d kicked off her shoes and removed the veil. Her skin was pale, her eyes large and filled with pain.
“How are you holding up?” he asked.
“That’s my question for you,” she told him as she stood and stepped toward him. “Are you okay?”
She wasn’t mad. Typical Darcy. She liked to act tough, but she was all heart.
“I’m getting through it.”
She studied his face, then touched her fingers to his cheeks. “I don’t think so.”
He swallowed. “I never told him it was okay. A couple of days before he died, he apologized to me for forcing Colleen and Marco to give me up for adoption. I never said I forgave him. He thinks I’m still mad at him for that.”
She pressed herself against him. “No, he doesn’t. He knows what’s in your heart, Joe.”
If only that were true. But in his book, it was a bunch of crap. “I never said I cared. I never admitted that I was one of them. A Marcelli. I wouldn’t say it. I wouldn’t even call him my grandfather.”
Tears filled her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. He touched the moisture. “Hey, I’m the one who screwed up. Why are you crying?”
“Because you can’t.”
16
The gesture was supposed to offer comfort and thanks, but the second his mouth brushed hers, heat exploded inside of him. The wanting was as instant as it was powerful. Need took over, making him grab her and pull her close.
Darcy responded by clinging to him, urging him on. She parted her lips, and when he slipped his tongue inside, she welcomed him.
Blood raced south, making him hard in a heartbeat. He reached for the zipper at the back of her dress. One long pull had it free. A quick tug at her shoulders and it fell down her arms, exposing her black lacy bra.
He pulled back enough to get a good look. Soft, pale skin, black lace, tight nipples. If he’d had thoughts about turning back, one eyeful took care of that. Still, there was enough sanity left for him to remember where he was and what was happening.
“What the hell am I thinking?” he asked, more of himself than of her.
“Don’t think,” she said. She lowered her arms and stepped out of the dress. Underneath she wore a pair of tiny, black panties, her bra, and nothing else. How was he supposed to resist that?
As he watched, she crossed to the door and turned the old-fashioned lock. Then she drew the curtains so the room was in semidarkness. She moved back in front of him and gently pushed his suit jacket off his shoulders.
“Allow me,” she whispered.
“Darcy,” he began, but she shook her head.
“No talking,” she told him. “No thinking. No analyzing. Just feel my touch. What I’m doing to you. Nothing else. Clear your mind.”
She loosened his tie and pulled it off, then went to work on his shirt buttons. He stood there, feeling strange and awkward, not sure what was going on. Oh, he understood they were both about to be naked, but this was different from his usual lovemaking, although he couldn’t say why.
There was something in her eyes, something in the way she seemed so solemn, yet determined. Something in her touch that kept him quiet and immobile.
When she’d tossed his shirt on the chair, she walked behind him and pressed her mouth to his back. He felt her tongue slip across an old scar.
“What happened?” she asked.
“Knife fight. I rolled when I should have ducked.”
She nipped the area, sending a jolt of fire right down to his crotch. She moved her hands to his waist, then to his chest, where she stroked him from shoulder to belly, getting close to his erection, but never touching him.
“And this one?” she asked before tonguing another spot on his back.
“Not a clue.” He picked up one of her hands and brought it to his mouth, where he bit down on the swell of flesh below her thumb and licked her palm.
“You can’t remember?” she asked, her voice breathless.
“I have a lot of scars.”
“So I see. Sit down and take off your shoes and socks.”
He stepped away and did as she requested. Then he stood again and removed his slacks and briefs. When he was naked, he turned toward her, waiting for more instructions.
Her gaze swept his body, pausing on his erection.
“Nice,” she said with a smile. “Lie down on your stomach.”
He did and watched as she slipped off her bra and panties. He had about two seconds to enjoy the view before she moved onto the bed, then straddled him just below his butt.
She leaned forward so the very tips of her breasts brushed across his back. The light touch drove him crazy, especially as she rocked her hips slightly, grinding his dick into the bed. It was just enough friction to be dangerous.
But he didn’t tell her to stop. Not when she kissed and nibbled her way across his shoulders.
“You’re so strong,” she whispered. “You carry so much weight and worry. You can let it go, just for a few
