Forever with Him Page 2

  Lucy’s eyes are shining with pure joy. “Did you see? Did you see?”

  “See what?” I ask cluelessly. “We just got here.”

  She thrusts the program at us, open to a page in the middle. “Look! Isn’t he gorgeous?”

  Davison and I glance down at the picture of Lucy’s boyfriend, Tomas Novotny, in the cast list. He’s singing a supporting role in the opening-night production of Wagner’s Das Rheingold, and while I’m thrilled for him, I wouldn’t be surprised to hear Lucy had shouted the news from the rooftops, which as a proud girlfriend, would entirely be her prerogative.

  We both nod. “Yes, he is very handsome,” I agree.

  Lucy snatches the program back from us. “‘Handsome’? He’s fucking hot!”

  “Indeed,” Davison adds drily, which makes me bite back a laugh. “We should get to our seats.”

  I lean in and hug Lucy again. “If I don’t see you at intermission, you’re coming over this week so we can finalize the wedding plans, right?”

  “Of course. Your maid of dishonor will not let you down.”

  “Well, if the name fits…”

  “Which it does,” she agrees.

  “I should get you a T-shirt with that printed on it,” I offer.

  “Which I can wear for your bachelorette party.”

  Davison clears his throat. “Okay, now we really have to go. And, by the way, Luciana, there will be no bachelorette party. If you must, throw us an engagement party if you are desperate for something to do.”

  Uh-oh. Open mouth, insert foot, Harvard.

  I can already see the wheels spinning in Lucy’s mind thanks to her light blue eyes, now illuminated brightly in excitement.

  “And if you have a bachelorette party,” Davison continues, “you’ll be wearing high-necked dresses with long gloves, sipping tea, and eating cookies without some naked man shaking his junk in my fiancée’s face.”

  As he pulls me away, Lucy yells behind us, “Don’t be a party pooper, Money Boy!”

  I cringe at the sound of Lucy’s nickname for Davison, one he loathes.

  “She just had to yell that across the floor on opening night at the Met, didn’t she?” he grumbles under his breath, his warm hand firmly placed on the small of my back.

  I quickly peck him on the cheek. “I’ll make sure to ease the pain for you later, baby.”

  His hot breath caresses my ear. “How long is this opera again?”

  * * *

  The elevator to our apartment opens, emitting a soft ding. Davison steps through the doors with me.

  “You can put me down now, Harvard,” I point out to him.

  My stilettos hanging from one of my hands and the other coiled around his neck, Davison carries me across to the living room, kisses me on the forehead, and lays me down on the couch.

  He gives me a soft smile. “The usual?”

  “Yes, please.”

  My head falls back onto the cushions. I hear ice clinking in the kitchen. When I look up again, Davison comes out of the kitchen holding my Baileys over ice and his Scotch neat.

  My heart stops at the sight of him.

  “Wait,” I ask of him.

  His eyebrows furrow in confusion. “What?”

  My eyes roam over his body. His bow tie is undone, curling around his tight neck, and his tuxedo shirt is open a few buttons, revealing his bare, hard chest underneath. With his dark hair tousled after a long night, the man is sex personified. I purse my lips to keep myself in control, my insides clenching in anticipation of what is to come shortly. More like who is to come.

  Fuck.

  I shut my eyes, my cheeks flaming in hunger when I hear ice being shaken in front of my face.

  I look up into my fiancé’s hungry green eyes, taking the glass from him. “Thank you,” I whisper.

  Davison takes a swig of the amber liquid, puts it down on the coffee table, then picks up my legs, placing himself on the couch with my feet in his lap. I stretch out when he takes my feet in his hands and begins to massage them, just like he did in the Maybach during the drives home after the night shift at Le Bistro when we were dating.

  “Mmmm, that feels amazing,” I moan.

  “Nice to know I haven’t lost my touch.”

  “You never will, baby,” I assure him.

  Silence permeates the room as I enjoy his ministrations to my aching feet.

  “Allegra?”

  “Hmmm…”

  “I know we’ve talked about this before, but Jared—”

  I shake my head and sigh. “Oh, Davison, please don’t start. I know what you’re going to say…”

  “It’s not that I don’t appreciate what he’s done for your career, but I don’t like the way he treats you.”

  “The only way he treats me is like a client,” I counter.

  “Look at me, Venus.”

  When I glance up at him, his eyes are grave and serious.

  “The text he sent you unnerved me. Not that he was meeting you there, but the comment about your hair. I think he imagines himself as some kind of Svengali.”

  “Davison, that’s ridiculous. And if you haven’t noticed, I didn’t take my hair down like he asked me to.”

  He nods. “That’s true. But I just want you to promise me that if he does anything that makes you uncomfortable, you’ll tell me and not hide it from me.”

  Fear and concern cross his beautiful deep green eyes, my heart breaking at the sight of it. I instantly know what he’s thinking of—the time when I didn’t tell him about Carlo Morandi’s henchman, Tony, stalking me until he’d done the deed and kidnapped me.

  I sit up, crawling over to Davison where I straddle his lap, hiking my dress up to my thighs. I take his face in my hands, cupping his chiseled jaw, running my thumbs over his cheeks.

  “Harvard, I swear that if anything happens, if he does anything at all that can be considered over the line, I will tell you right away. Okay?”

  “Okay,” he whispers.

  I smile at my fiancé as I lean in closer to him. “Now that we’ve cleared that up, I believe I made you a promise earlier this evening.”

  Davison raises his eyebrows in recognition. “Ah yes. You were going to ease my pain about Luciana’s uncouth remark.”

  I take the bow tie from around his neck and hurl it behind my shoulder with a smirk. He grins at me wickedly as I start to unbutton his shirt, running my hands over his broad chest and hard muscles.

  I place my mouth on him, licking his nipples, inhaling his scent of spice and sweat that intoxicated me from the start. Pure Davison.

  “So good, Venus,” he groans. “Always so fucking good.”

  I pull back and whisper, “I’m only getting started, baby. So just sit back and enjoy.”

  I slowly climb down from his lap to get to my feet. His eyes never leave mine as I unzip my dress, letting it fall to the floor in a rustle of silk. I’m left standing in my garter belt and stockings.

  I watch with a greedy grin as a bulge appears in his trousers.

  “No underwear,” he growls. “You’re killing me.”

  “Don’t die on me yet, Davison. I’ve got one more thing to do before we declare your time of death and tag your toe.”

  I sink to my knees and quickly undo his zipper. His long, hard cock is hot in my hands and velvet to the touch. Screw the touching. I get right down to business and take his length into my mouth, sucking on it and instantly tasting the precum on the tip. I pump the base as I speed up my mouth.

  “Oh God! Fuck, baby…”

  My heart begins to race. It doesn’t take long as his muscles lock and he bursts inside my mouth. I swallow the warm liquid, letting it ooze down my throat.

  I quickly wipe my mouth on the back of my hand. He exhales loudly. “Get those gorgeous tits up here, baby. I need to return the favor for you.”

  I gasp excitedly in greedy anticipation as I jump up from the floor and hurl myself into his lap. Before I can settle myself in, he grabs my mouth and
plunges his tongue inside me while simultaneously roughly kneading my breasts. The elegant, dashing public visage of Davison Cabot Berkeley has dissipated. In its place is a sex god intent on ravaging me.

  I lock my ankles around his calves to anchor myself. His mouth rips away from mine and clamps itself onto my left breast, biting and licking and sucking. One hand goes around my waist, and the other begins stroking me, thrusting inside me over and over.

  “Yes, Venus. Always so wet. So fucking wet,” he groans.

  “You do that to me, baby,” I pant. “Only you.”

  His dexterous fingers find my clit, rubbing it hard. I’m going to come and it’s going to be glorious. I ride Davison’s skilled hand to the brink when I come, shuddering in such exquisite release.

  I fall onto his chest, spent and sated. I glance up to see him begin to suck the fingers on his right hand, tasting my essence.

  “Did I get rid of all of the pain for you?” I murmur under my breath.

  He tips my chin up with his index finger and shakes his head, wincing as if he were still hurt. “Not all of it.”

  I turn my lips down, giving him a sad face. “Oh no. I should probably see to that.”

  Suddenly, he turns me around and scoops me up, rising to his feet with me in his arms.

  “Indeed you should. But I think we’ll need more room so I can have a full recovery.”

  I laugh out loud as he smiles back at me and hurries down the hallway to our bedroom, carrying me in his arms.

  Chapter Two

  Davison

  “I understand, but if you could just allow me to explain… Your concerns are completely valid, but I’m not investing your money, I’m merely telling you where to invest it… Of course. Thank you for your time. Good day, sir.”

  I place the phone back in its cradle on my desk. I look over at Ian Parker, sitting across from me in my office, the Bulldog from Yale who worked for me at my family’s former company, Berkeley Holdings.

  “Sorry. I thought he was a shoo-in,” Ian offers in apology.

  I shrug my shoulders in reply. “It’s fine. Nothing we haven’t encountered before. I think I need to get new business cards that say THE DCB GROUP—I AM NOT MY FATHER or something to that effect.”

  “You sure you don’t want to hire a publicist?”

  I shake my head. “Absolutely not. We don’t need one. My name is famous enough. I want the company to grow by word of mouth, not some artificial spin.”

  “Okay. Just thought I’d throw it out there.” He checks his watch. “Shit. I’ve got to meet someone for lunch in twenty minutes.”

  “Business or pleasure?”

  I can’t help but notice his mouth instantly widening into a smile at the question. “Definitely pleasure.”

  “Seeing someone new?”

  He gives me a grin. “Yeah. It sort of came out of nowhere, but so far, so good.”

  “That’s great, man. Come see me when you get back so we can strategize.”

  “Will do.”

  Once he walks out, I rise from my chair and stretch my back. I take in the look of my new office.

  After Berkeley Holdings was declared insolvent, I decided I wanted a clean slate for my company. I wanted something more modern, in a building built in the present century, not the nineteenth. I found the perfect office space in a new high-rise that had just gone up in the Financial District. I was still in the hub of Wall Street, just without the baggage of the past. There are no brown leather chairs, no paintings of horses or hunting dogs on the walls. My office now evokes the look of a twenty-first-century business firm, not a room at the Harvard Club, a place I know too well since my blood runs Crimson.

  With the walls painted in light gray, the furniture is all black, from the bookshelves and my desk to the credenza and chairs. The one splash of bright color is the Canaletto hanging on a near wall. It’s of the Grand Canal in Venice, the city where Allegra and I had spent a glorious break away from everyone after she’d been rescued from Morandi, finding our way back to each other again.

  But by far, the best part is the view from my office because I can see my apartment building, the one where Allegra now lives with me permanently.

  Knowing how old-school her father is, I was worried about how it would go over with him—the idea of his only child, his daughter, moving in with a man without being married first. Just to add to that, I neglected one major part of the proposal—asking him for his daughter’s hand in marriage. But as traditional as he is, after everything he and I went through together when Carlo Morandi kidnapped Allegra, cementing the bond between us when he saw how much I truly loved Allegra, he knew I was worthy of her. And so all of the worry had been for nothing because he had already seen firsthand that I would do anything for her because that’s how much I loved her.

  I place my head against the cool glass, calming me down after that frustrating phone call. I could pitch potential clients until I’m blue in the face, but I’m still Hartwell Berkeley’s son. I’m the son of a man whose company was part of a scheme to bilk senior citizens out of their retirement savings. It doesn’t matter that I had no knowledge of his crimes, nor was an active participant in them. People don’t trust me.

  Since being in business for five months, The DCB Group has a total of five clients and ten employees, including Eleanor, my assistant, who came over with me from Berkeley Holdings. It’s a solid start, but I know if we don’t find a client soon with the reputation that we need that would attract other potential income for us, my new company won’t make it.

  I sit back down at my desk and finger the silver Tiffany frame holding the photo of Allegra in Venice that also sat on my desk at my former company’s headquarters.

  I quickly pull out my cell phone and scroll down for the number.

  Allegra’s angelic voice fills my ear. “Hi, Harvard. Everything okay?”

  “Yup. I just needed to hear your voice.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  I sigh, leaning my head farther into the headrest of my chair, loving how she knows what I need from her just from one simple sentence. “Take my mind off it and tell me what you’re up to.”

  I can sense her smile over the phone. “Nothing major. Lucy’s here helping me rehearse and she’s going to come with me tomorrow for my final dress fitting.”

  My heart warms at the thought of my Venus in her wedding gown. “Won’t be long now, baby. Can’t wait to see you in it.”

  “Or do you mean out of it?” she teases.

  I can’t help but smirk. “Usually, I’d say you were right, but there’s nothing I’m looking forward to more than seeing you walking down that aisle to me, knowing that you’ll officially become Mrs. Davison Berkeley.”

  Silence comes over the other end of the phone.

  “Allegra, you still there?”

  A quiet voice comes over the line. “Yes, Davison, I’m still here.”

  I close my eyes, smiling at the thought of her crying happy tears. “You crying?”

  “No.” She sniffles. “I’m fine.”

  I shake my head, laughing at her horrible acting. “Worst liar ever.”

  Her laugh carries over the phone. She knows I just busted her. And just like that, my Allegra is back. “Big-time. I’ll see you tonight.”

  “I love you, Venus.”

  “Love you too, Harvard.”

  Chapter Three

  Allegra

  I will not look in the mirror… I will not look in the mirror.

  “Darlin’, you need to loosen up and smile. Why are you all serious? You’re wearing the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen in my life.”

  “Aww, bet you say that to all the brides, Mrs. Kelly.”

  “How many times have I told you to call me Maggie? And I swear on my beloved da’s grave, love, this workmanship is just exquisite. Your ma must’ve looked like a film star on her wedding day.”

  “She did,” I reply, thinking of the photo from my parents’ wedding that’s a perman
ent fixture on my father’s nightstand, my mother smiling widely for the camera with Papa looking down at her so lovingly.

  I’m standing on a small round raised platform in the tailor shop of Mrs. Maggie Kelly, the premier seamstress of the Upper East Side, as Davison’s mother calls her. When Mrs. Berkeley found out that I was going to wear my mother’s gown, she insisted that I go to Maggie for the alterations. Mrs. Kelly is petite, a grandmother of four and a native of County Galway, Ireland, with a strong brogue and a genius with a needle and thread.

  I decided against a fancy wedding gown because I knew without hesitation that I was going to wear my mother’s wedding dress when I got married. She had made it herself. Thanks to my Neapolitan grandmother who taught her how to sew, my mother was brilliant at it when she was alive. She made almost all of my clothes, and she knew where all of the best fabric shops were on the Lower East Side, just to the east of where we lived in Little Italy.

  “I can’t smile,” I tell Maggie. “If I look in the mirror and smile, I’ll start crying again because I can’t believe it’s really happening. After everything we’ve been through, Davison and I are finally getting married.”

  Maggie looks up at me from her kneeling position on the floor, a red pincushion wrapped around her left wrist. “You’re marrying a lovely lad, Allegra. His ma is such a kind lady. One of my best clients. I’d do anything for her.”

  “I know. I couldn’t have asked for a nicer mother-in-law. She was so helpful when I moved in with Davison, making sure I was fed and supervising the movers while I had a lunch break. God, that was an experience.”

  “What, dear? Moving?” she asks, her mouth full of pins. How she can talk with sharpened sticks of metal in her mouth, I’ll never know. I suppose it comes with experience.

  “Yes, but even more, incorporating my life with Davison’s. It took some getting used to. He complained about the number of opera CDs I brought with me, while I had to demonstrate to him how to change the toilet paper roll in our bathroom.”

  Maggie shakes her head and murmurs, “Men,” under her breath, and I share a laugh with her. “Hey, Lucy, how are the plans for the engagement party coming along?” I shout out to her.