Epilogue 2
I walk into the house with my heart racing, excited for what I’ve planned.
With three kids—one of them a pair of twins, Kaven and Miri—it’s rare that Gianna and I can play with as much freedom as we used to.
Since our desire for each other hasn’t faded in the slightest, we’ve become masters of improvisation, sneaking quick rendezvous in Gianni’s office in the middle of the afternoon, and even escaping like secret lovers to spend the night in a hotel.
As much as I love those little adventures, today I want to enjoy my husband’s delicious body right here, in our home.
After Leander was born, my short career as a flight attendant came to an end.
Gianni didn’t demand it. I was the one who wanted to be there, close, to witness every part of our son’s growth.
My husband was right when he once told me no one needs to define my freedom. It isn’t a career that makes me free, it’s my power to choose.
And I chose to be a full-time mother and wife.
I step inside, checking to make sure everything looks exactly as I arranged it.
I’ve created the perfect scene: flowers, scented candles, and exquisite food.
Tommaso and Beatrice, my brother-in-law’s wife, offered to take care of the kids, and I can hardly wait to see the look on my Italian’s face when he realizes what I’ve planned.
“I thought you were spending the day with Ricco’s wife, bella,” I hear him say behind me.
As always, a shiver runs down my spine at the sound of that sensual voice.
I turn slowly. “You weren’t supposed to be home yet.”
I don’t even have time to protest properly before he scoops me into his arms and carries me up the stairs toward our bedroom.
“I knew you were up to something, and I couldn’t wait.”
Before setting me back on my feet, he kisses me.
When we part to breathe, I can barely remember my own name, but I force myself to stick to the plan. “A break. Two whole days just for the two of us. Get ready, Italian, you’re not sleeping this weekend.”
He smiles the sexiest grin in the world and steps back.
Then he slips off his suit jacket, loosens his tie, and unbuttons his shirt.
My mouth goes dry.
God, Gianni is beautiful.
I don’t think he even realizes the effect he has on women’s hormones.
Now he’s standing there in just his dress pants, belt undone, eyes gleaming like a predator’s, as if saying, come get me if that’s what you want.
“I’m at your service, bella.”
I move toward him, my legs trembling, heat spreading low in my belly. “You don’t like being hunted. You’re a born hunter, Italian.”
He pulls me by the waist, pressing every inch of that powerful body, and the hard length between us, against me.
“Yes, I’m a hunter,” he murmurs, “but I love it when you have the illusion that you’re in control.”
“I don’t want control. I love surrendering to you. I’m yours, Gianni.”