and hair color, but I’d know sexy Brianna Carson anywhere.
Oh, how I’d wanted to take her to her bed that night, put my hands and mouth all over her curvy body. Do all the dirty things that had been racing around my brain when I first set eyes on her in my senior year. The sight of her now is stirring up all of those hot images and urging me to do something about it. Why again did I walk away, leaving her alone in her dorm room? Oh right—she’d been drinking. I might be a lot of things, but I’d never take advantage of a girl who’d had one too many.
Tate nudges me. I’ve been so lost in thought, I missed what he was asking me. “What’s that?” I say.
Tate laughs. “Where were you?” he asks as a handful of servers begin setting our meals in front of us.
I look down at the roast beef dinner in front of me. “Work,” I fib. “Just thinking about some figures I’d like to go over.” Okay, not a total lie. I was thinking about Bri’s curvy figure and how I’d like to go over it—with my tongue. My dick swells and presses against my zipper.
Cazzo!
Get it together. This is not the time or place to be sporting a hard-on!
“You need to take this week off and relax, my friend. Put work behind you and have some fun. That’s an order.” Tate leans closer, his words for my ears only. “What you need is to get laid, buddy.”
I laugh. “You’re probably right.” I recently moved from St. Moritz to New York to help Tate get his law business off the ground. Then I buried myself in work, enjoying life outside my duties back in Italy for a little while longer.
I’ve been avoiding those for years now, ever since my dad and brother died in a car accident three years ago. Even before that, I hid my identity from the world for a long time. Not even Tate knows who I really am—a duke. People treat me differently once they know, and while I can probably trust my friend, past experiences have taught me every woman wants to be my duchess, not because of love but because of prominence.
I can’t avoid duty much longer, though. The letter in my suit-coat pocket is a burning reminder of that. With my father gone, along with my older brother, Matteo, the family legacy falls to me. That includes the dukedom and the family conglomerates. Uncle Giovanni is overseeing things for now, but if I don’t meet the stipulations of my father’s will and marry his best friend’s daughter before I turn thirty this year, the controlling shares of my father’s conglomerates will go to my eldest cousin, Marco. I can’t let that happen. He’ll blow through the entire Marino fortune in no time, destroy everything my father built.
“This looks amazing,” Summer says, and with that we all dig into our meals. Small talk is made as the courses are served one after the other. Over an hour later, after the dessert dishes are cleared, we all head to the bar area for a drink. I search the crowd for Brianna and find her talking to Tate, but every now and then she casts a fast glance my way. Only problem is, whenever she finds me staring she tears her gaze away. At least that gives me the opportunity to blatantly look her over, revel in the way her formfitting skirt clings to her hips, the way she fiddles with the button on her blouse. A nervous little habit I remember from years ago. I’m not even sure she knows she’s doing it, but it does beg the question, what is sexy Brianna Carson so damn worked up about?
“Can I get a whiskey neat,” I say to the bartender as I shrug out of my suit jacket and place it over the back of the stool before I settle myself onto the plush seat.
Summer comes up to me and puts her hand on my shoulder. I turn to her and she offers up a smile. “Hey, Summer,” I say and drop a kiss onto her cheek. “You look beautiful tonight.” She angles her head and narrows her big eyes, her curious gaze moving over my face. “What?” I ask and shift a little on the chair.
She taps her nails on the bar top. “Do you and Brianna know each other?”
I shake my head and grin. Leave it to Summer to notice the tension between us. As a doctor, she’s pretty good at picking up on subtleties, and there isn’t much anyone can get by her. I’m about to open my mouth to answer, when Tate slides his arm around his fiancée’s waist.
“I was wondering the same thing,” he says, and that’s when I notice Brianna coming up behind him, avoiding my gaze as she signals the bartender for a drink.
“Brianna,” I say, and she settles a polite gaze on me.
“Luca, isn’t it?” She turns to Tate. “Sorry, I was so jet-lagged when you did the introductions, I wasn’t sure if I caught the right name.”
“Ah, so you two don’t know each other, then,” Summer says, but from the way her gaze is going back and forth between the two of us, I’m not so sure she’s convinced of that.
There was a time I would’ve liked to have known Brianna. A girl like her, well, she could make me forget my responsibilities to my family in Italy. If life were different, I would’ve gone for her, made her mine. But I didn’t date while I was at Oxford, not when I’d have to subject a woman to the rigidity of my title and obligations.
“Why would we know each other?” Brianna asks and smooths her hand over her thick chestnut hair. For a second I envision my hands in that tangled mess, tugging on those long strands until her mouth opens for me. What I’d do to finally taste her, finish what we never got the chance to start all those years ago. But I’m not about to start something I still can’t finish. Brianna deserves better than that. She deserves her own Prince Charming, not a duke who’s already spoken for. For the last few years, Valentina has been waiting in the wings, eager to walk me down the aisle and become my duchess. I haven’t seen the woman in years. Who the fuck does arranged marriages anymore, anyway? I never thought in a million years that my father would put such a stipulation in his will.
“You both went to Oxford Law,” Tate says. He gives a shrug of one shoulder and adds, “Then again it’s a big campus, and Luca was probably a year or two ahead of you.” The overhead lights dim, and the music picks up. Tate turns to Summer. “Dance with me.” She smiles up at her fiancé, and I grin. Those two were made for each other. I knew it the first time she came into the bar here in St. Moritz, where Tate and I were working six months ago. He was undercover as a bartender, trying to prove Summer was a fraud who was out to steal billions from his granddad. At the time, I was hanging out in the Swiss Alps, enjoying the commoner’s life. For years now I’ve been travelling around, doing odd jobs, trying to live a full life before duty catches up to me and I have to settle into my rightful position as Luca Marino, Duke of Massara.
Brianna opens her mouth, no doubt to excuse herself, when her granddad’s cane hits the floor as he saunters up to the bar. “I’ll have a brandy,” he says.
“Granddad, I don’t think you should be drinking,” Brianna says.
He waves a dismissive hand her way. “Foolishness, child. I’ve got more brandy in these veins than blood. Now, what’s this I hear about you two knowing each other?”
I shake my head, having no idea how he could have heard us from the other side of the room. He settles himself onto the stool next to me, and the bartender slides him a drink. He drains the amber liquid in one easy swallow, slams his glass on the mahogany top and then gestures for another.
“We don’t know each other,” Brianna says quickly, her gaze darting to mine, like she’s worried I might claim otherwise.
“Well then, get out there on the dance floor
