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  She shook her head, her gaze flicking past him to her friends, who fortunately weren’t paying much attention to their conversation. “I’m ashamed of the way I treated you after all you did for me. I really am, Taviano. I think I wanted to run away from myself.” She knew that was what she’d been doing. She’d loathed herself, and she didn’t think she was worth anything. In some weird way she was punishing herself for the things her step-uncles had done to her—things she had been helpless to stop. “Every time I saw you, you were a reminder . . .”

  “You don’t have to explain. I’m well aware.” Taviano brushed his fingers down her cheek very gently.

  She caught her breath. There was something about the way he touched her that got to her every time. He put goose bumps on her skin. Sent a rush of heat through her veins. Fire always danced low and wicked at that touch. It had been that way almost since the first time she’d opened her eyes and stared into his. She’d been so young and so old. So terrified of living, and humiliated that he knew what had happened to her over the last few years. She could barely stand looking at him or his brothers. At any of his family. They knew.

  Yet because of them, because of his family, because of Taviano, she had learned to have confidence in herself. To believe she was worth something. Her recovery was due to the Ferraros and their endless patience with her, and of course the counseling they paid for. But also, she was certain, it was due to Lucia and Amo Fausti, the family the Ferraros had chosen for her. Her foster parents had loved her through the worst of her striking out at everyone—mostly striking out at herself.

  “Just have fun, tesoro. We’re going to worry about us and our relationship another day, but this day is for you and your friends.”

  Her heart jumped and then clenched hard. It took discipline not to rub her chest. She was acutely aware of his declaration but had no idea what he meant. Their relationship? He rarely spoke to her, in fact he usually avoided being alone with her, not that she blamed him. The family relationship? She hoped they weren’t thinking of cutting ties with her. She’d toed the line, done more than what they’d expected of her.

  She glanced at the three girls. Pia was glaring at her. It was her birthday and she wanted the attention, especially Taviano’s. He was wealthy and gorgeous and reputed to be dangerous. The combination was heady. Nicoletta was embarrassed that her three friends were throwing themselves at him, but she couldn’t throw proverbial stones—she’d done it, too. She’d been younger and drunk and feeling worthless, but she’d done it. The results had been disastrous, and she would never forget that lesson. Never. Not for as long as she lived.

  The blush was back, and immediately Taviano reacted as if he knew exactly what she was thinking, and he probably did. She could swear he read minds—at least he seemed to read hers.

  “You have to let it go, Nicoletta. We were both very drunk that night.”

  “I was very drunk. You at least didn’t lose your mind completely.” She whispered it to him, afraid the others might hear, even though they were a good distance away and the music was loud.

  His eyes, already so blue, darkened with something that looked so close to desire her stomach dropped and her sex clenched. His breath was suddenly warm on her neck, her ear, sending a shiver of need down her spine. She couldn’t look at him. She didn’t dare. Not when every cell in her body was alive with need and awareness and he was so experienced he could read a woman like an open book.

  “You might think of it that way. I look back on that night often and wish I’d had a little bit more to drink.” His voice, as always, was low. Velvet soft. He murmured the declaration into her ear and the words burned into her mind, etched there like some beautiful calligraphy that was written in stone.

  Her gaze jumped to his and she couldn’t look away. He could seduce her so easily, and yet she’d offered herself to him and he had rejected her completely. She knew women came easily to him. He was in every glossy magazine, photographed with models and actresses on his arm. He went to charity events and parties, and women were all over him. The paparazzi managed to capture his life almost daily.

  The paparazzi hung around the Ferraro Hotel and the Ferraro territory as well as anywhere any of the Ferraro family might be in order to capture pictures of them, especially if they might be able to get them in compromising situations. Taviano was the last eligible bachelor, the last single Ferraro brother, and women flocked around him, hopeful that he would choose one of them as his bride. He didn’t date. He didn’t even hook up for a night, at least no photographs had proven that lately, so he seemed to be pursued all the more, as if he had a secret life and the world was determined to uncover what it was.

  “What does that mean?” She managed to choke out the question. Because what did it mean? She had been totally humiliated that night. She’d thrown herself at him and he had rejected her.

  There had been kissing. So hot. He’d devoured her. She hadn’t known anyone could kiss like that. She’d thought she knew what kissing was. She’d thought she could control sex, but she’d suddenly realized she knew nothing at all about it. Taviano had kissed her like she was someone special. Someone who meant something to him. He had held her with care. His mouth had been gentle, but firm. He had taken control, leading her, not the other way around. Then things had just spiraled out of control.

  She had shed clothes. She remembered that, offering him everything. Wanting him with every breath she took. She needed him to erase everything that had gone before. His mouth had done that, so hot, so strong, she hadn’t known her body could feel that way just with his mouth on her breast. His fingers on her nipple, his hair brushing over her skin. The way the bristles on his jaw rubbed along the curves of her breasts. She’d had the marks of that stubble, his teeth and fingers, for a night and a day, and she wanted them forever.

  “It means I can still taste you. I go to bed with your taste on my tongue and wake up with it there. I ache thinking about you. It means you aren’t safe forever, so you’d best have your fun with your friends while you can, because you aren’t a child anymore.”

  It was a declaration. A challenge. Maybe even a throwing down of a gauntlet. Nicoletta drew back in her seat, uncertain how to react. It was the last thing she expected him to say. He meant it, too. Taviano didn’t say things he didn’t mean. His blue eyes glittered at her until she held her breath, afraid of moving.

  She sat for a long time trying to figure out what she was going to do. If Taviano really persisted in attempting to seduce her, he wouldn’t have to try too hard. She knew that. How could she ever forget what it felt like with his mouth on her? Traveling down her body? His tongue on her skin? His lips worshiping her? Then moving up between her thighs so slowly she wanted to scream. Nothing had ever prepared her for such a thing. She had no idea sex could make her body feel so good.

  Then he had abruptly stopped. He’d pulled away, cursing. She’d chased after him, hands on his trousers, feeling his thick arousal, tugging on his zipper, desperate and determined to get at him. His hands had caught at her wrists and stopped her, pulling her off him. The moment he’d let go of her, she’d been back, knowing he was aroused, knowing he couldn’t hide that he wanted her. She’d known what she could do, that he wouldn’t be able to stop once she had her mouth on him, but he’d been furious with her, once again stopping her, giving her a little shake.

  They’d exchanged words. Her taunting, trying to tempt him, using her body shamelessly, pointing out that he wanted her, trying to get to him with how good she could make him feel with her mouth, with her body. He had tried to stop her. Looking back, she was utterly humiliated remembering just how often, just how he had tried to dress her himself, the different ways he’d tried to defuse the situation between them.

  She’d been so hurt and angry and drunk that she’d continued to escalate it. She could barely make herself face the things she’d said and done that night until he’d suddenly
dragged her naked body right over his lap and delivered a spanking onto her bare bottom. It should have reduced her to a child. It should have humiliated her beyond reason. The last thing it should have been was erotic, and it had made her want to weep with need.

  Taviano caught her chin in his hand. “You have to stop. If you don’t, you’re going to give me no choice but to shock your friends. I promised myself I’d wait until you turned twenty-one, and that’s in a few more weeks. I already know that’s too damned far away.”

  She wasn’t about to ask him what that meant, either. She simply nodded to indicate she’d do her best to forget that horrible night ever happened, but she knew she never would. She thought of it every single day. It had been the catalyst for her to change her life. To want to make something of herself. She had given up drinking and trying to hurt herself for things in her past she hadn’t been able to control. She decided to control herself and take responsibility for herself at least.

  She wanted to protect Lucia and Amo and make certain they were never harmed. She knew she could never have Taviano Ferraro, but she could take advantage of the hand the Ferraro family held out to her and the education they were offering. She was intelligent and learned quickly, and she pushed herself from that day forward. All of the Ferraros helped her. Taviano was around, because the family was very close. She avoided him as best she could, and he seemed to avoid her, which was helpful when she didn’t know how to act around him.

  She searched for a safe topic. “How is Cristo?”

  Taviano laughed softly. “I’m not going to let you be a coward forever, Nicoletta, but any time we can talk about my nephew, I’m all for it. And Crispino is doing quite well, as you should know, since you watch him for Francesca every chance you get.”

  “I love all that curly hair he has. It’s so beautiful,” Nicoletta said. She did. Francesca told her that the moment Stefano saw his son born with thick black curls all over his head, he immediately named him Crispino. His uncles and Emmanuelle, his aunt, adored him, and all of them spoiled him, but Nicoletta was determined she was going to be the favorite. He was the sweetest boy ever.

  “It’s good that you spend so much time with him,” Taviano said.

  “Francesca needed a lot of help after he was born,” Nicoletta said, “and I was there with Mariko and Emmanuelle, working on self-defense. It was natural to help her with the baby. There’s no way not to fall in love with him. He’s just so adorable. I’m there nearly every day.”

  It was a silly thing to say. Taviano would have that information. She might work at Lucia’s Treasures for her foster parents and also at the flower shop occasionally, but she never missed a lesson in self-defense. She took her training very seriously and studied with one of the women or one of Taviano’s brothers. They weren’t easy on her, either. She went home with bruises, and every muscle in her body aching, but she didn’t care. She wanted to be as good as they were—which seemed unattainable, but that didn’t deter her from trying. Everyone had to start somewhere.

  She recognized she was fast. Very fast. She had good hand-eye coordination. She could hit hard and accurately, the same with kicking. She picked up the techniques they taught her quickly and was always thirsty for more. She didn’t want praise—she wanted critiques that would make her better. She never wanted to be a victim again. Never. She was determined to learn to turn her mind and body into the best weapons possible to defend herself and others if needed.

  “He’s already got Stefano wrapped around his little finger,” Taviano pointed out. “That little boy is going to rule us all.”

  Nicoletta laughed. She couldn’t help herself. Taviano sounded so rueful and he looked so handsome, with his dark hair spilling across his forehead and his blue eyes mournful, as if all of them loving his nephew so much they could never speak harshly to him was a bad thing. Not a single Ferraro raised their voice to Crispino. The child was told “no” when he was too adventurous and might have gotten into something that could harm him, but the “no” was never delivered in a harsh manner, and he was removed gently if he refused to obey.

  Nicoletta followed the lead of the Ferraro family when she watched the boy, treating him exactly the same and sometimes dancing him to sleep or cuddling him longer than necessary just because she needed it more than he did. Often Lucia and Amo would come over just to hold the boy as well. They loved watching him grow.

  “I was astonished at how quickly he grew in weeks and months, from rolling over to crawling and sitting and then standing. Sometimes I think I was less prepared than Francesca and Stefano,” Nicoletta admitted to Taviano. “He would cuddle with me at night, and I just felt this amazing closeness with him. He made my heart feel so—” She broke off, feeling silly again.

  When she lifted her lashes, Taviano was looking at her with that focused stare that always made her stomach do a slow rolling pitch that ended up with a million butterflies taking wing and fluttering, so that she wanted to press her hand there and give it away that he was wreaking havoc on her body with just a look. He was dangerous to women and in particular, to her.

  “What?” she demanded.

  “I like that Crispino makes you feel that way. You dance with him.”

  “How did you know?” she demanded. She did, all the time. “You’re never there when I dance with him.”

  “Piccola, Stefano has security cameras everywhere, you know that. He has apps on his phone so that at any given moment he can see his boy and know that he’s safe. We make certain you’re safe at all times. You have always known this. We’ve never hidden that from you.”

  His voice was gentle. That velvet moving over her skin. She didn’t know if he spoke to everyone like that or just her. Maybe she was the only one who actually got that sensation when he talked in that low voice, but it was so real it was physical.

  “I just forget,” she admitted. “I’m glad Stefano watches out for Cristo that way.” She’d shortened the baby’s name right away, and Lucia and even Francesca called him Cristo, but the men in the family rarely shortened his name.

  “He likes you to dance with him, but Stefano said the other night when he was fussy, he was forced to do some dancing to put him to sleep.” Taviano sounded pleased with that. In fact, he smirked a little. “All of us are hoping Francesca managed to get a video of that.”

  “You know she did.” Nicoletta couldn’t help laughing. “Stefano’s going to give me another lecture. He’s always telling me that Cristo needs to be able to soothe himself to sleep and I shouldn’t dance or cuddle him to sleep.”

  Taviano’s smile faded. “Don’t let him fool you. He still rocks that boy to sleep sometimes if he wakes up more than once in the middle of the night. He did all of us when we woke up. Is he giving you lectures? Harsh ones? Because Stefano can sound harsh even when he doesn’t mean it that way. If he does, Nicoletta, I’ll have a word with him.”

  That sounded ominous. More than ominous. By his tone, he was upset with Stefano just at the thought of him lecturing her, which was ridiculous, since Taviano did it all the time. Well . . . until that night. Since then, he’d kept his distance. He had a temper, and she didn’t want him at odds with Stefano, especially over her. Not with the Ferraros always being so good to her and to the Faustis. She knew they made her foster parents’ lives so much easier, and she appreciated everything they did for them because she loved Lucia and Amo so much.

  “Stefano has been wonderful to me, Taviano. He doesn’t really mind me dancing around with Cristo, he just likes to sound all tough when he tells me that he has to do it because of me. He loves getting up with his son in the middle of the night. Francesca says any alone time he gets with that boy is his favorite time because he’s always so busy.”

  “I believe it. He took care of all of us when we were little. Our parents weren’t much on babies or toddlers,” Taviano disclosed. “It was always Stefano who changed diapers and fed us bott
les or comforted us in the middle of the night. God forbid a Ferraro child dare have a nightmare, or not know how to use a toilet at birth.”

  Nicoletta put her hand on his without thinking about what she was doing. She never thought in terms that Taviano might need comfort, that he might have come from an imperfect situation, because he seemed so omnipotent. He was always so completely uncaring about what others thought of him. He didn’t seem to need anyone at all. The moment she touched him, she realized what she’d done and started to pull her hand away. He covered her hand with his, pressing down, holding hers trapped between his.

  “You’ve met Eloisa. She’s as cold as ice.”

  Taviano, like the rest of his brothers and his sister, rarely called his mother by any other title than Eloisa, her given name. They referred to her in public as “mother,” but Nicoletta had been around them in private too long not to catch on to the fact that to the siblings, she was always Eloisa.

  “I thought she was just that way to me.”

  “No, she’s that way to everyone, her sons included. She’s worse to Emmanuelle and even more so to her daughters-in-law. She saves her venom for you because you mean something to all of us and she knows it.”

  She wasn’t touching that one, either. There were just too many things Taviano was alluding to, and she couldn’t keep up with him, or even have hope. He’d totally shot her down once, and that had been enough to shatter her heart. She wasn’t going there again. She couldn’t and keep her hard-won confidence. She had been around him and his family for three years. In that time, no matter how big a fool she’d made of herself, or how much she’d hated herself for what had happened to her, the Ferraros had been patient with her.