Baring Brando (The Adamos Book 8) Read online

  “I run a restaurant.”

  “Italian?”

  “That would be a fair guess,” I allow. “Adamos love their food, and several of us have restaurants, including ones that specialize in Italian food. But mine is fine dining, more broadly defined. Steaks, seafood, pasta.”

  “Pardon me while I wipe the drool from my chin.”

  I laugh again. It’s a good thing she’s not afraid to admit she likes food; I’ll have to cook something for her, maybe try out a new dish.

  Which is yet another reminder that I’m ignoring all my own rules when it comes to Sasha. I never cook for women -- not the ones I’m sleeping with. That’s strictly for family, or my restaurant.

  “You never told me your last name,” I say.

  “Delacroix.”

  I shoot her a glance. “As in Alain?”

  “Yeah, that’s my dad. You know him?”

  “Not personally, but I know of him. He does business with my cousin Antonio.”

  Alain Delacroix has a thriving import/export business. He may not be a billionaire like Tonio, but he’s pretty damn wealthy. Which means his daughter is used to the finer things in life.

  “Small world,” she says.

  “Yeah, well, it’s pretty hard in this state to find anyone of note who isn’t connected to an Adamo one way or another.”

  She makes a contemplative sound. “I never thought about it when I knew Abri and Delfina. They didn’t act like they were a big deal.”

  “We try to keep a low profile. Our parents taught us to make our own way, you know? Not trade on the family name to get ahead.”

  “That’s cool. But is it weird? Having your family be so prominent.”

  I shrug. “It’s just how it is. It’s not like we’re a political dynasty or anything, or a family full of movie stars. We didn’t grow up in the spotlight with cameras always aimed at us.”

  “Just a bunch of nosy mamas.”

  “And aunts, and grandmothers,” I agree. “You either get really good at being sneaky, or you resign yourself to having everyone in the family know your business.”

  “Which were you?”

  From the teasing note in her voice, she already knows the answer. “Matteo and I got into plenty of trouble as kids. We were your stereotypical rough-and-tumble boys who wanted to test our limits.”

  “And all the Adamo girls were little angels?”

  I let out a hoot of laughter. “Not even. I mean, some of them, sure. My cousin Dani is your classic nerd, with her nose always buried in a book. She grew up to be an architect. But then she hooked up with the leader of a motorcycle club, so you never know.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope.”

  “By hooked up, you mean …”

  “They’re engaged now.”

  “Wow. That’s …” From the corner of my eye, I see her shake her head, but she’s smiling. “You have a really interesting family.”

  I can’t disagree. “We have our moments, like any family, when we’re mad at each other. But for the most part, there’s … a lot of love. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

  As I exit the freeway, it strikes me how easy Sasha is to talk to. She’s more thoughtful, insightful, than I would have expected. And there’s no hint of an agenda, no sense on my part that I need to shield my family from any schemes her brain is cooking up.

  It makes me look forward even more to the time we’re going to spend between the sheets. She’ll be a drama-free playmate, and I plan to give her more pleasure than she knows what to do with.

  6

  Without Even Trying

  “This is it,” Brando says as we hit the outskirts of a community. “The town I grew up in.”

  It’s the middle of the night, so I can’t see that much, but it looks like a medium-sized place, not quite a city, but not a tiny hamlet. The road we’re on seems to be the main drag, with businesses lining both sides.

  On the right, there’s a big sign with the letters outlined in red neon. “Revved,” I read aloud. “What is that? There’s a picture of a hot rod, but it says café. Is it car themed or something?”

  “Three of my cousins own that. Revved is actually a garage and parts store business, but they bought out that diner a few years ago so all their customers would have a place to hang.”

  That makes me smile. “How many of these businesses belong to your cousins?”

  “Over here on your left we have Bianca’s, a lovely fashion boutique.” He says it in a fake tour-guide voice that makes me giggle. “And just past that is Bel Fiori, my cousin Anjelica’s jewelry store.

  “If you look to your right, you’ll see Luigi’s, one of those restaurants I mentioned, and then Primo’s Plumbing.”

  A couple of blocks later, he indicates another building on the right. “Tonio’s new headquarters.”

  It’s a couple of stories taller than anything else we’ve passed, a sleek modern building that manages to stand out without looking like it doesn’t belong here. “That’s a lot of space,” I observe.

  “He rents most of it out, but he built it and owns the whole thing. My cousin Romero, who’s a lawyer, has his offices there.” The next block features a long, low building, its sides painted with murals. “Donatello’s Art Supplies, owned by cousin Paolo.”

  There are trees everywhere, between the buildings, behind them, giving the town a rustic feel that belies its size. They cluster more thickly as we leave the primary business district behind us and begin to climb into the mountains.

  “Looks like your family does a little bit of everything,” I say.

  “I didn’t even show you all of them. I have a cousin who’s a vet and one who’s a human doctor. There are Adamo teachers, cops, firefighters, carpenters, electricians, librarians, professors … so yeah, what you said.”

  As we gain elevation, I wonder why Brando moved up to the mountains. He grew up in town, he loves his family, he seems to be a pretty sociable guy … was it a matter of choosing a more affordable location for his restaurant, or did he want the separation?

  Not that it’s any of my business. I’m in enough trouble as it is. No matter how I lecture myself about keeping my emotional distance from this man, I’m not doing a very good job of it.

  It’s too easy to like him, and his family that I haven’t even met. Way too easy to picture myself fitting into his life. And that is not on the agenda.

  If I’m not careful, this surprisingly nice hot guy is going to break my heart. And it’ll be my fault, not his.

  I’m quiet for the final miles of our drive, putting all my energy into steeling myself against whatever happens next. I do my best to objectify Brando, reducing him to nothing but a sexy body that can get me off.

  It makes me feel a little queasy, but I do it. Better the pain of self-contempt than the agony of unrequited love. I’ve seen it happen to friends of mine, and vowed I’d never be so foolish, so ridiculously trusting and vulnerable.

  I’m determined not to throw my heart at a man who only wants sex. I won’t make the mistake of thinking physical pleasure means more than it does.

  But as we climb higher into the mountains, and my mind goes back to our encounter at the club, I’m very much afraid that Brando Adamo will destroy my defenses, turn my mind to jelly, and unlock my heart without even trying.

  7

  The First Time

  When I turn down the rutted lane that leads to my cabin, my fingers are drumming a rhythm against the steering wheel, a sure sign that I’m nervous. I force myself to stop.

  This is no big deal. It’s just a hookup, though it promises to be a spectacular one.

  True, she doesn’t have her own car, so eventually I’ll have to take her home. But hell, if things really go sideways, I can always plead the demands of being a business owner and ask one of my cousins to drive her back.

  I can’t remember now why bringing her here seemed like a good idea. Fucking her in the back of my car would have been better. O
r right there in the club, if I found a dark enough corner.

  But she’s here now. And she’s just a girl. A hot, sweet girl. Not an enemy combatant.

  When the cabin comes into view at the end of the lane, I speak briskly, a little too enthusiastically, every inch the bon vivant host. “Here we are. Home sweet home.”

  Sasha doesn’t reply. She cuts her eyes toward me, and I know she’s read my false cheer for the bullshit it is. Instead of leveling with her, I amp it up.

  “Problem?” I ask, looking her right in the eye while I shut off the engine. She shakes her head, not quite meeting my gaze, and fumbles with the door handle.

  Shit. I’ve got to get it together or this’ll be over before it has a chance to start. I spend the next few seconds, while I get out of the SUV, clamping down on my emotions with an iron grip.

  By the time I join her at the front door, I’m as remote as an Arctic village. I don’t look at her or say anything while I deal with the security system. If Sasha wonders why my little cabin is locked up tight against anything short of a missile strike, she doesn’t mention it.

  I hold the door open for her and she crosses the threshold, her arm just barely brushing my stomach. A whiff of her scent reaches me, something light and floral, and in a flash the ravenous hunger I felt in the club returns with a vengeance.

  It’s all I can do not to grab her and drag her down to the floor. Keeping my movements slow and deliberate, I close the door, lock it, and then lower the heavy crossbar into place. When I look up, Sasha’s staring at the door, but she turns away without saying anything.

  She surveys the space while I watch her, keeping my distance. When she doesn’t comment, I feel compelled to fill the silence. “Kitchen, dining room, and living room downstairs. That door there leads to the pantry, and the one over there to the laundry and the bathroom.”

  There’s a cathedral ceiling, with the second floor taking up half the space of the lower level, and a railing running the length of the hallway. “Upstairs has three bedrooms. The one on that end I use as an office. These two share a bathroom, reachable from the hallway as well as access doors in each bedroom.”

  Sasha gives me a tiny smile. “Nice place. You’ve got a fancy kitchen.”

  “I gutted the original and put in a new one. Tearing down walls and expanding the cabin was more project than I wanted to take on, so I made it fit in the space available. But I’ve got a big kitchen at work anyway, and this one is large enough for me to test recipes and make normal-sized meals. I just needed the equipment to be top of the line.”

  “Makes sense. Kind of a hassle to have to drive somewhere every time inspiration strikes.”

  “Exactly. Something to drink?”

  She starts to speak, stops, then says, “Whatever you’re having.”

  I’m guessing she’s not twenty-one yet and doesn’t want to admit it. I haven’t dated anyone who was too young to drink since I was a kid myself. The fridge has cold beer, so I grab a couple and hand her one, clinking my bottle against hers. She lifts hers in a silent salute and takes a small sip.

  I almost laugh at the look on her face. Not a beer drinker, then. Taking a healthy swig of mine, I gesture toward the sturdy leather sofa against one wall.

  She reaches it first and goes for the center cushion. Good; she’s not playing hard to get. I sit close, but not smashed right up against her.

  Her scent hits me again and I will my cock to behave. There’s a flat-screen tv facing us, hung on the same wall as the front door. “Movie?” I ask.

  “Sure.”

  I grab the remote and start clicking through the offerings. “Not a big fan of horror,” Sasha says when I pause on a Stephen King adaptation. “One of the Avengers films, maybe?”

  “Guardians of the Galaxy?” I suggest.

  “Yeah, that’s fine.”

  I start the movie, impressed that she’s confident enough to tell me what she likes and doesn’t like. Turning my head just a little puts my face almost in her hair. Closing my eyes, I draw in that delicate fragrance that’s already branded on my brain as hers alone.

  When I open them again, she’s ignoring the film and watching me. “You smell good,” I tell her.

  She doesn’t answer, doesn’t look away, but a faint blush tinges her cheeks. There’s a weighted pause, and then I close the distance and fit my mouth to hers.

  Oh, fuck. It’s even better this time. Scraping together every shred of self control I possess, I kiss her slowly but deeply, turning my body at an angle to hers, pressing her back against the sofa.

  When I finally lift my head, her face is flushed, her eyes half lidded. My cock is about to burst out of my pants, but I lift her into my arms and carry her upstairs. I’m not going to fuck her on the couch like a randy teenager.

  Not the first time, anyway.

  8

  Don’t Stop

  He’s carrying me up the stairs like it’s nothing. I don’t think any of my other boyfriends could have picked me up like that, let alone walked around with me. His strength is a serious turn-on.

  We go into the first bedroom. Brando hooks the door shut with his foot, leaving us in darkness, but lays me on the bed as if he has no problem navigating. The next instant a lamp flares on low, enough for us to see each other.

  He stretches out next to me and kisses me again, like he has all year to do nothing else. My hands roam his body, skimming up his torso, then around to his back, diving under his shirt to explore the smooth expanse of muscle.

  When he nips at my lower lip, the tiny pain flashes through me, straight to my clit. My nails dig into his back, and he growls softly into my mouth. I squirm under him, unable to hold still with all the impulses surging through my body.

  Breaking the kiss, he whips off his t-shirt. Sitting me up, he does the same thing to my top. One big hand scoops my breast out of my bra, and then his mouth clamps on.

  I gasp, my hands diving into his silky dark hair. Every tug of his mouth arrows down to my womb, until I’m aching with need. “Brando,” I moan, trying to hold him against me, but he pulls away and switches his attentions to my other breast.

  My taut, wet nipple only has a moment’s respite before his fingers start to pluck at it, twisting, pinching, rolling. “Brando!”

  “Sweet,” he mutters, his voice so deep it reverberates through me. “So fuckin’ sweet.” Shifting down my body, he unzips my jeans and tugs at them, my hips lifting automatically to help him.

  Off come my ankle-high boots, then my jeans and panties. I’m left naked except for my bra, but there’s no time to feel self-conscious because Brando’s parting my thighs, settling between them, and then his mouth is on me.

  “Oh, fuuuuuuck,” I whimper as he licks me open, lips and tongue and teeth devouring me with single-minded focus. Pleasure swells, rolling out from my center to the very tips of my fingers and toes, making them tingle before it rushes back to gather in my core.

  When he starts to suck on my clit, I gasp, my hips jerking up. His hands come under my ass, lifting, squeezing, holding me tight against him as he drives me mad. Tension coils tighter and tighter inside me, taking me to the edge, and then he uses his teeth and I shatter, screaming.

  Brando kisses his way down to my inner thighs, nipping at the tender flesh there, then soothing it with his mouth. Even with the aftershocks of my climax still trembling through me, I feel arousal start to build again.

  But he doesn’t go back to my pussy, except in passing. He kisses his way up my body, all the way to my mouth, letting me taste myself on his tongue.

  And then, heaven help me, he starts the whole thing over again, only this time he explores me even more thoroughly, stroking and tasting every inch of my skin.

  “Brando,” I beg him, as need becomes an inferno, my body pleading for release. “Please.” He doesn’t stop until he’s feasting between my legs again, driving me up and up until I come apart for him.

  Only then does he climb off the bed and strip out of the
rest of his clothes. He’s even more beautiful than I expected. I’m so blissed out from my orgasms that even the sight of his cock, thick and long, standing proudly against his rock-hard abs, only makes me a little nervous.

  I reach for him and he rejoins me, stretching out alongside me, kissing me once more while one hand plays between my legs. He works a finger inside me, then another, stretching me, while his thumb circles my clit.

  When he adds a third finger, my hips begin to rise and fall, answering his movements, as his tongue plunges into my mouth in the same rhythm. His hand goes faster, the friction like nothing I’ve ever felt, and then he leaves my mouth and slides down to suck my clit, his fingers still pumping in and out of me, and my cries bounce off the walls as the climax rips through me.

  “Sasha.” His voice in my ear, soft and low. “Are you on birth control?”

  “Yes.” I don’t recognize my own voice. I’ve been on the pill since high school, thanks to my awful cramps, but he doesn’t need to know why.

  “I’ve been tested, so we’re safe there.”

  “Good.” My lust-addled brain manages, barely, to comprehend his meaning. “I’m safe too.”

  “Okay,” he whispers, and then he moves between my legs, takes himself in hand, and starts to rub the head of his cock against me, coating himself in my wetness, teasing my clit until I reach for him, impatient, every ounce of me ready for him.

  He lets me take hold of him, wrapping my hand as best I can around his girth. The silky hardness fascinates me; I stroke him, licking my lips at the creamy liquid that wells from the slit.

  “You’re killin’ me, babe.” His voice is hoarse.

  “What do you think you’ve been doing to me?” I counter languidly.

  “That’s my job.”

  I smile at him, and I don’t have to see myself to know it’s warm, sensual, the kind of smile a satisfied woman gives her lover. “I think it’s my job too.”