Jennifer Probst - The Marriage Mistake

“One day,” he said. “When I meet the right one.”

“Your mama is getting nervous,” she teased. “I think she’s starting to say extra rosaries with Father Richard, praying that you’re not gay.”

He choked on the sip of wine. Who was this woman? Her mischievous expression made him want to challenge her. “Oh, is that so? And do you think I’m gay?”

His muscles tightened under her hot gaze as she took in every inch of his body. “Hmm, I always did wonder. You dress quite nicely. You know your designer brands. And you’re a bit too pretty for my taste.”

The breath whooshed out of his lungs. “What?”

“No offense. I prefer the bad-boy type. Casual, longer hair, maybe a motorcycle.”

“Your brother would kill you, and I bet you never rode on any damn bike.” Temper snapped at him, made even more ridiculous because he knew she was teasing him. “And you know I’m not gay.”

“Okay.” She lifted her shoulders as if he now bored her. “Think what you like.”

Her evasive answer pissed him off. Had she been on a bike with some guy looking to take advantage? And why did he care? She was a grown woman, for God’s sake, and no longer his concern. She could date whomever she wanted. The image of her clutching some guy around the waist hit him full force. Thighs tight around the hum of the engine. Dark hair flying in the wind. The dip and speed as she hung on tight with the promise of a very different ride afterward.

Maybe it was time Carina Conte realized he wasn’t a man who took well to teasing.

He lowered his head. Her eyes widened in surprise as he dipped his mouth close to hers; close enough to see the gorgeous peach sheen to her skin, the ruby red of her lips, and the tiny gasp of breath she emitted in a warm rush. “Want me to prove I’m not gay?”

She paused just a moment, then rallied. “I never knew my opinion really mattered.”

The words hit with deliberate precision. Her sharp intellect hidden under a veneer of sweetness always fascinated him. Rarely did she have the courage to spar, and he found himself enjoying this new woman before him. “Maybe things have changed.”

“Maybe I don’t care.”

A smile touched his lips. “Maybe it’s time I give you a message for my mother. A type of proof.”

The pulse beat madly at the base of her neck. Still, her tone was cool and under control when she spoke. “Maybe I don’t like to be used.” She took a step back and dismissed him. “Maybe I’ve moved on, Maximus Gray. I’m no longer your sweet little pup begging for a bone. Get over it.”

She walked away with her head held high and joined her brother. Max watched and wondered what the hell he’d started. Was he nuts? Any type of sensual challenge was off-limits—but she’d pushed him. The undercurrents of their conversation cut deep. Had he treated her like that? Guilt assuaged him at the thought of being condescending to someone he loved. And he did love her. Like a sister.

Max shook his head and went to get some air. He needed to get a grip. No more sparring. No more teasing. They needed to cultivate a business relationship while he taught her the rules of the game and hoped she didn’t surpass him in the skills needed to take over his job. The situation was sticky enough without another complication—especially a sexual attraction.

He breathed in the clean, crisp air and settled himself. This was just a temporary setback brought on by curiosity.

It wouldn’t be repeated.

Stupid. She’d been so stupid.

Carina watched him from under her lashes as he snapped orders over the phone to one of their suppliers. Last night had been a big mistake. Challenging him on any sexual level was off-limits, but she hadn’t been able to help herself. For the first time, she met him on equal footing, and the heady feeling was too much to contain.

Until he leaned forward, his mouth inches from her own. The sexy plumpness of his lower lip, the rough stubble hugging his chin and jaw, the drugging heat of those baby blues. Even dressed in jeans, a button-down white shirt, and casual charcoal sports jacket, he reminded her of James Bond on vacation. Not just any Bond. No, he was all Pierce Brosnan, with his smooth good looks, rakish black hair, and hard-muscled body. She bet he’d jump buildings and kill the bad guys without breaking a sweat. His slight accent curled each syllable just a hint to elicit an almost mesmerizing reaction from any female in the room.

She’d almost swooned like a Victorian heroine. Instead, she fought the sensual haze with a survivor’s instinct and managed to come out on top. Too bad the victory was short-lived. The ache between her thighs and the tightness of her nipples told her she’d never be fully over Max. Her body sang and wept in his presence. But she’d had years of practice, and it was something she’d have to live with.

Their odd conversation held too many hidden levels that she didn’t want to face. At least they both focused on business this morning. They’d been polite, composed, and ready to work—exactly what she needed.

He clicked off the phone and unfurled more than six feet of coiled muscle. “Walk with me. We have a meeting with sales.”

She grabbed her briefcase and took off after him, using two steps for every one of his. The headquarters for La Dolce Maggie were now separate from La Dolce Famiglia, which her sister Julietta ran in Italy. When Michael decided to expand the bakery business throughout New York, he’d taken on an ambitious plan to reveal a new opening every quarter. Each location was chosen based on a number of statistics, and Carina agreed with their decisions after reading the reports. Of course, dealing with various chefs, suppliers, and contractors was overwhelming, and Max seemed to be involved in every level.

Three men sat around the gleaming table of polished wood. Dressed in suits and ties, they gave off the impression of sharpness and polish. They stood as they entered and nodded in welcome.

“Carina, this is Edward, Tom, and David. They’re our top regional managers, and we’re meeting to see how to increase sales in each region. Carina is my new assistant in training.” They greeted her warmly, and everyone sat down. Max immediately delved into a detailed discussion regarding quotas, outreach, and a variety of other methods she’d learned in school. She scribbled furiously in her notepad and took stock of their responses to Max’s suggestions.

Edward spoke up. “The main problem we’re having is separating ourselves from the normal competition. Panera is still huge. Other mom and pop stores in the area focus on bread. Of course, we have the supermarkets for the cakes.”

“Local is key,” Max said. “New Paltz may be a college community, but there’s an eclectic mix of new and old world. We’re buying up advertising in every local newspaper and magazine. We’ve used local community contractors and suppliers, so we need to find fresh ways of keeping the connection strong. We’re not looking to compete with the coffee shops or supermarkets. We want business functions, weddings, big parties. We push all fresh ingredients, variety, creativity. An artistic-type bakery will appeal. That’s our focus.”

Carina cleared her throat. “Excuse me, Max. Have you focused on events coming in spring? Fairs, tastings, outdoor markets?”

“There are a variety of places we can book booths, but we didn’t know if it would be worth it,” Tom said.

“It’s worth it,” Max said. “Set it up. Very good, Carina.”

She tried not to beam from the praise.

“The Farmers Craft Festival is two weeks from Saturday. It’s a little late, but if we have some taste samples and advertising, we may be able to squeeze it in,” Tom said.

“Do it. Find someone to man the booth. Remember to keep the menu a secret, though. We want to build surprise of what we’re offering so no one tries to copycat. Research shows more sales and word of mouth is gained by unveiling at the last moment.”

“Done.”

They spoke a bit more and Max pulled back his chair. “Tom and Dave—can I speak with you a moment?”

Carina gathered up her materials and Edward stopped beside her. “Great suggestion. Nice to meet you.”

She smiled and put out her hand. “Thank you. Carina Conte.”

“Michael’s sister?”

“Yep.”

He looked impressed. “Nice. You have a beautiful accent. From Italy?”

“Bergamo.”

“I stopped there years ago. It’s a gorgeous town.” His gaze was full of appreciation, and a tingle of warmth chased down her spine. He wore his hair longer than most, almost like her brother, and chestnut eyes held a hint of gold, giving him a mysterious look. He was only a few inches taller than her, but his body was solid under a pressed black suit. “Let me know if you need anyone to show you around. I’d be honored.”

“Thank you, I just may take you up on the offer.”

He smiled at her. “Good.”

“Edward.” His name cut through the air sharply. “I need you here.”

“Sure, boss.” He gave her a wink and left. Carina held back a satisfied smirk. Not bad. Her first full day on the job, and she had a possible date. There was nothing like a little male appreciation to help a woman focus on her new life.

She filed her papers neatly in her briefcase and headed for the door.

Max stood in front of her, arms crossed, blocking the exit. Irritation pulsed from him in waves.

“What’s the matter?”

“Don’t get involved with the employees, Carina. We don’t like to mix business with pleasure.”

Her mouth fell open. “Excuse me? I had a nice conversation. He offered to show me around. Lighten up.”

A muscle worked in his jaw. His disapproving stare set her off. Would he ever get over his instinct to protect her like some baby? “Edward is well known for his womanizing ways,” he said gently.

Humor and horror mingled. She settled on sarcasm and flung her hands out. “Oh, thank God you told me! Dating a man who likes to wine and dine women is a horrible fate. At least I know if I go out with him it will only be for a short affair.”

He flinched. “I’m trying to tell you he’s not your type.”

Carina glowered. “You don’t know my type anymore, Max,” she drawled. “And you never will. But thanks for the tip.” She pushed past him. “I’m taking a quick break for lunch.”

He grasped her upper arm. Heat burned through her jacket and set off her temper. Damn him for pushing her like this. She was sick to death of being coddled by every man in her life. Perhaps it was time to prove her own independence in the most basic way possible. Her tone turned frosty. “Is there something else?”

“Men are different here.” He frowned as if about to give her the sex talk. “They may want certain things the men you dated back home didn’t badger you for.”

Oh, boy, this could be fun. She scrunched up her face as if confused. “You mean sex?”

His grip tightened. “Yes, sex. I don’t want to see you put in an uncomfortable position.”

“I see. I’m glad you pointed that out. So if we go out to dinner they may want to—fool around?”

Actual red stained his cheeks and she smothered a hoot. “That’s right. American men may be used to a woman sleeping with them right away, and may not understand your background.”

Carina burned with humiliation, but the payoff would be worth this conversation. “So I shouldn’t go to dinner?”

“Not with Edward. Maybe you can meet some nice men at church on Sunday? They may have one of those singles groups.”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary, but thank you. Now that you’ve cleared things up, I know exactly what to do.”

His hold slipped away, and he took a step back. Relief carved out his features. “Good. I don’t want to see you hurt or misled.”

“That won’t happen. You see, besides learning the family company, I came to America for one reason.” She gave him a dazzling smile. “I came to have an affair. On my own terms. I’m not looking to get married or settle down, and in Bergamo if you sleep with someone you have to get married. You know how restricting that is. Isn’t that one of the reasons you left to work with Michael?”

“Umm.”

“Right. I’ll have my own apartment, my own lifestyle, and I can finally engage in some hot, smoking, no-commitment sex. Nothing more, nothing less.” She patted his arm. “I’m going to take Eddie up on his offer to show me around. He’s quite my type.”

Carina left him standing in the doorway with his mouth hanging open and never looked back. She greeted employees along the way as she walked to the lunchroom and grabbed her turkey on rye. Was it so wrong to want to have her own intimate experiences without someone looking over her shoulder? She’d had dates at university, but her mama and Julietta kept a close eye. When she hit the big drinking parties, she always ran into a friend of a friend who knew her family. The reputation of La Dolce Famiglia and her big brother’s long reach strangled her all the way to Milan and back.