The Vendetta (23 page)
She stared up at him, squeezing his fingers. “But I thought—”
“Lisa, the vendetta is over.
You
made sure of that.
Capito
?”
She stared. “Si, capito.”
“Si?” His eyes were hopeful, searching.
She grinned. “Si, yes, si. God, yes, of course.” She leaped at him and he caught her up, laughing.
“Didn’t you know?” Her hand cupped his jaw. “I love you, Niccolo Michelangelo Carnavale. And I would be happy to be your wife. Forever and ever.
Per sempre
.”
Nick pulled her close and kissed her. “Per sempre,” he whispered, “Amen.”
Epilogue
Nick sat in his Jacuzzi, enjoying a sambuca as he studied the most recent art acquisition to hang on the wall of his palatial bathroom. The Titian had been moved to a more “appropriate” location according to his wife. And now she was lending her assistance in placing the new work.
“A little to the right,” he said.
Lisa grinned over her shoulder and moved the corner of the picture a few millimeters. “Like this?”
“Hmm…now it’s too far left.”
Lisa raised her eyebrows, but moved the frame back. “OK?”
“Nope, still too far left.”
Now she frowned, turning fully to face him. “Nick, what on earth? You’ve had me move that picture about ten times now. Is it straight or not? I swear, I—”
He must have revealed something in his expression because she cut herself off and laughed out loud. She pointed her finger at him. “You’ve been doing it on purpose.”
He tried for an innocent look, but a smile slipped out instead. “Well, carissima, if you insist on hanging nude pictures of yourself while nude, I’m not going to cut the experience short, by any means.”
“Oooh, I’m going to get you for that one, Nick Carnavale.”
She left the black-and-white photo—a near replica of the portrait of her grandmother, except Lisa had agreed to pose in the nude—and scurried back to the hot tub to climb in. Laughing, she splashed him in the face, and they wrestled, all slippery skin and hot hands, until he managed to fasten his mouth on her lips. Her body, warm and welcoming, relaxed against him.
He pulled back to look at her, pushed a strand of hair off her cheek. “I see you finally wangled yourself into my Jacuzzi.”
She let out a snort. “That wasn’t a wangle,” she said. “That was a finagle.”
He grinned. “It was? How do you know the difference?”
Her hand snaked down his chest and grasped him, hot and hard, in her palm. His heart stuttered and skipped through the next several beats.
Her voice was a purr. “In the interests of expanding your vocabulary. I’ll just have to show you.”
Words were not exchanged the rest of the evening, but it was clear that Mr. and Mrs. Carnavale communicated very well.
~ About the Author ~
I am a traveler at heart. I spent my young childhood in Santa Fe, New Mexico, then moved with my family to the suburbs of Philadelphia just before I started junior high school. Culture shock (Southwest to Northeast!) hit hard, but I translated that experience into a strength and spent part of my high school and college years studying in Europe (in Denmark and Paris, respectively). You should see my journals from those days...or, erm, maybe not!
After receiving a degree in International Relations from USC, I entered the U.S. Navy—another opportunity for adventure—and learned to write and edit the vast amounts of paperwork required to keep that organization functioning like a well-oiled machine. Talk about deadlines!
I left the service several years ago to "settle down" with my own personal hero. We traveled the world together and lived in Italy and South Korea, but we returned home often enough to figure out that love really does make the world go ‘round. It was while touring in Italy, in fact, that I began to write down the stories that had been rattling around in my head for years.
Now, when I'm not spending ridiculous amounts of time at the computer dreaming up hot characters and spicy conflicts for my fiction writing, I love to ride my bike really fast and shop for shoes with my two daughters—heroines (and world travelers) in the making.
Find out more about Kecia Adams here:
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