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BARBARA

W e had never spent the night together before.

I wasn’t exactly sure what to expect, but the comfort and ease of sharing a bed with him was as natural as breathing.

Victor lay on his side facing me, his broad shoulders rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm.

In sleep, the weight of the world had slipped from his face, leaving him unguarded, peaceful.

I could have stayed like that for hours, just watching him, memorizing the rare softness in his features.

But breakfast wasn’t going to make itself.

I slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb him, and made my way to the en suite, where I quietly dressed and did my hair and makeup. I loved the man, but it was too soon to spoil the illusion.

I put a record on the phonograph and flitted around the kitchen, pulling out all the breakfast essentials: eggs, bacon, cantaloupe, and, of course, the makings for buttermilk pancakes. I considered myself a decent cook, but my pancakes were my pièce de résistance .

As I poured myself a steaming cup of coffee, Victor’s gravelly voice broke the stillness behind me.

“Good morning, beautiful.” He wrapped his arms around my waist and rested his chin on my shoulder.

Then he nuzzled my neck and crooned, “ Sugar in my coffee, honey on my toast. Guess I love you the most .”

I turned in his embrace and kissed him gently. His aftershave was rich and spicy. He was fully dressed, every detail of his suit in perfect order.

“You’re dressed,” I mused.

“So are you,” he replied, pulling back to look me up and down. “Too bad. The idea of you dancing around the kitchen in nothing but an apron really gets my motor going.”

I swatted him lightly on the shoulder before turning somber. “Where are you going?” I asked, a hint of disappointment creeping into my voice.

“I have something to take care of this afternoon,” he said, running his fingers through my hair. “But I’ll send Gino with the car to bring you to the beach house this evening.

I bit my lip. “Is that wise? What if I’m seen there? We’re so close to your court date.”

“That’s why I’m sending Gino. No one keeps a low profile better than him.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to that low, sultry murmur that sent a thrill down my spine. “Bring that dress from last night. I want to photograph you in it.”

Heat rose to my cheeks, and I turned toward the counter and reached for a mug. “Coffee?” I poured the dark, steaming liquid into his cup.

He didn’t let go of me immediately, his hands lingering on my hips before he stepped back. I handed him the cup.

“I made it extra strong,” I said, watching as the tendrils of steam curled around his face.

“Just how I like it.” He inhaled deeply, savoring the aroma before bringing the cup to his lips. Our eyes locked over the rim, the steam curling between us like a whisper. “You always know how to give me exactly what I crave.”

I shrugged, playing it cool. “It’s not that hard to remember how you take your coffee.” His innuendo was not lost on me, but I felt delightfully coy.

He took a slow sip of his coffee. “No other secretary has ever paid as much attention to my preferences as you.”

“And I hope no future secretary ever does.”

Victor chuckled, a deep, warm sound that sent a pleasant shiver through me. “You know, I really do miss having you in the office.”

“Oh?” I raised an eyebrow. “Is it the coffee you miss most?”

He set his cup on the counter and stepped closer, his hands sliding around my waist again.

“The coffee is certainly a part of it,” he said with a teasing lilt.

“Myrtle does her best, but she wouldn’t know strong coffee if it bit her in the ass.

” He kissed the tender spot behind my ear.

“But you also make a stellar secretary. No one else keeps me in line the way you do.”

“So it’s my exceptional filing skills you miss?” I let the moment stretch before adding, “Or my ability to take dictation?”

He kissed down the column of my neck to my collarbone. “ Especially your ability to take dictation.” He pulled back and looked at me, desire smoldering in his dark eyes.

“Maybe you should hire me back,” I suggested, running a finger along the lapel of his suit jacket.

“Tempting…but think of my poor lawyer. We’ve already pushed him to his limit by bending his rules. Hiring you back would send him straight into an early grave. And that would certainly throw a wrench in the divorce.”

“Poor Larry. We can’t do that to him. Not when he’s gotten us this far.”

“But…” He slid his hands down to rest firmly on my backside. “Do you know what I miss most about having you at the office?”

I pressed my hips into him. “Do tell.”

He whispered in my ear. “Having you right where I want you—bent over my desk.”

I pulled away—slowly, teasing. “It’s a wonder you get anything done, Mr. Cardello.”

Victor smiled. “What can I say? You inspire me.” He chuckled but then turned serious.

“What is it?”

“Last night,” he said, “was everything I needed. Everything we needed. It reminded me of what we’re fighting for.” He gestured around the kitchen. “This is going to be our life. You and me. And Frankie, of course. I’m so anxious to get started, and we’re close, baby.”

He produced a black leather box from his jacket pocket. It was small, about the size of a deck of playing cards, with gold braiding along the edges. My heart skipped. It wasn’t the size of a typical jewelry box, and that only made the curiosity burn hotter.

“What’s this?” I asked, taking the box from his outstretched hand.

“Open it.”

The box creaked and snapped as I opened it. Inside, pinned atop a bed of cream-colored satin, lay a military medal. I looked up at him.

“You never told me you were awarded a Bronze Star in the war.”

He scratched the back of his neck as he glanced down at it, almost sheepishly. “Twice, actually.” He pointed to the tiny metal medallion at the top of the red and blue ribbon. “That stands for a second award.”

“Victor, this is?—”

“It’s important that you understand what I’m giving you,” he interrupted gently. “This isn’t just a token. I can give you all the glittering jewels you’d ever want. But this is a piece of me. It’s a promise. Until I can put a ring on your finger, I want you to have this.”

Emotion swelled in my chest, hot and overwhelming. I closed the box slowly, almost reverently, and held it to my heart.

Victor’s eyes softened as he took in the way I held the box, as if it were sacred.

He reached out and stroked my cheek with the back of his fingers, tenderly, like he was afraid I might break.

He kissed me, slow and deep, as if trying to pour all his feelings into me.

I melted against him, forgetting, just for a moment, the danger, the looming court date, the whispers that threatened to unravel everything.

In his arms, I was safe.

In his arms, I was home.