Maisey Yates
To Megan Crane/Caitlin Crews. For all the times
we’ve sat around talking about how wonderful
it is to write these stories, and everything else.
You make my writing and my life more sparkly.
ANOTHER BORING PARTY in a long succession of boring parties. That was Leon’s predominant thought as he pulled away from the ostentatious hotel and out onto the narrow Italian streets.
The highlight of his evening had been the most disappointing portion, as well. Being rebuffed by Rocco Amari’s fiancée. She had been beautiful. Exotic. With her long dark hair and honey-colored skin. Yes, she would have made a wonderful companion for his bed tonight. Sadly, she seemed to be very committed to Rocco. And he to her.
To each his own, he supposed. Frankly, Leon did not see the appeal in monogamy.
Life was a glorious buffet of debauchery. Why on earth would he seek to limit that?
Though he had walked away empty-handed, he had thoroughly enjoyed enraging his business rival. He could not deny that.
The other man was possessive in a way that Leon could see no point in being. But then, he had never had feelings so intense for a woman.
He turned onto a road that began to lead out of the city, heading toward the villa he was staying in during his time in Italy. It was a nice place. Rustic, well-appointed. He preferred places like that to a penthouse in the middle of a busy business district. A fact that was, perhaps, at odds with other aspects of his personality. But then, being a contradiction had never bothered him.
He owned several estates worldwide, though none were as important to him as his estate in Connecticut.
The thought of that house, of that place, turned his thoughts to his wife.
He would rather not think of Rose just now.
For some reason when he thought of her after just attempting to bring another woman into his bed, he felt a tug of unaccustomed guilt. For the past two years, Rose had often made him feel guilty.
There was no real reason, of course. They were married, it was true, but in name only. He allowed her to do as she liked, and he carried on as he liked.
Still, it was easy to picture those wide, luminous blue eyes and feel...
His focus snapped back to the road, to a pair of headlights heading in his direction.
There was no time to correct. No time to react at all. There was nothing but the impact.
And a clear image of Rose’s blue eyes.
“HE IS STABLE for the moment,” Dr. Castellano said.
Rose looked down at her husband, lying in his hospital bed, broken, bandages wrapped around his upper arm, down over his shoulder and across his chest. His lip was swollen, a cut looking angry and painful at the center, a dark bruise bleeding color on his cheekbone.
He