“Barely. I mean, yes, but there are other expenses like maintenance, taxes, fees, which should be covered by Brighton, but again Jack’s whims in publishing left it in the red.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, and I really don’t mean anything offensive of any sorts, everybody sings poems about your husband as a publisher and a person, including you, how could someone that great indulge in so many whims, especially in business?”
My heels clacked on the hardwood floor as I retreated to the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked over Manhattan, a flock of memories, good and bad, attacking me.
“Gabriella, mi dispiace. I didn’t mean—”
I lifted a hand to stop him without glancing back at him. “You didn’t say anything wrong. Anybody in your place, anybody who didn’t know him, would ask the same question.”
“Still, it wasn’t my place to ask. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”
“I want to.” Not sure why, but I wanted to open up to this gorgeous stranger, the first man I’d allowed in my apartment, the first kiss—two mind-blowing kisses so arousing I was still wet even now—I had after I’d become a widow. “The thing is Jack was a great publisher, artist and man, but with greatness comes a hint of madness. He wasn’t exactly mad, but he suffered from a mental disorder. He was—”
“Bipolar,” he finished my sentence.
My head jerked toward him. “How did you know?”
“What you described, thewhims, I’m very familiar with them.” He approached me, his hands in his pockets. “My father had it, and…my wife had it, too.”
I blinked. “Wife? Had?”
“You and me have so much in common, Gabi.”
“You lost your wife?”
He nodded. “Over seven years ago.”
“That’s awful. I’m so sorry.” It made a lot of sense how he kept talking about losing a loved one as if he understood the pain, and how perturbed he got when Alberta made that insensitive joke. “You and she were so young, and to have dealt with a bipolar parent and spouse early in your life and then their loss… Do you want to talk about what happened?”
“No, and I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s completely unprofessional. Please forgive me. It’s just now I feel like…I could share things with you.” His eyes were a jumble of hidden sadness and tenderness. I wasn’t sure what he was trying to conceal the most. “But enough of that. Let’s change the subject.” His hands rubbed my arms warmly. “You were saying you were having issues at the press? Does it have something to do with faccia da culo?”
I shrugged. “Fletcher wants to have everything Jack ever had. That’s why he’s tightening everything around me so I’d just give in and accept the merger he’s forcing down my throat. But to accept means I give him everything Jack ever worked for. I can’t let that happen.”
“And he’s after Brighton because he’s in love with you?”
“Love?” I snorted. “A man like him doesn’t begin to understand that word. He’s always been jealous of Jack is all. Can you believe they’d been best friends ever since college?”
“Cazzone,” he groaned.
“A world class cazzone, yes. Anyway, the bottom line is if I don’t get Brighton in the black, I could lose this beautiful, coveted, two-bedroom penthouse along with the press and the entire building.”
“That’s a lot of pressure on one woman.” His voice dropped a whole octave, and he stepped forward, eliminating the distance between us, cornering me. “Let me take some of that off you. You need a release.”
The heat he induced in me returned to assail me. “I…um…” A nervous laugh escaped me that sounded more of a gurgle as I moved to the side, fleeing. Shit. As right as he was—I did need a release, and that was why I’d caved in and let him be here—I didn’t know if I could do it.
Kissing him alone felt like I was betraying twenty years of my life, felt like another sin, another crime that would haunt me for the rest of my life. Fuck. I really needed a drink.
“Would you like something to drink? Not that I have anything useful.” I just didn’t know what else to say.
His arms snaked around my waist from behind, and his chin pressed on my shoulder, a subtly scruff tickling my cheek. Then he pulled my back into him, into his firm erection. “I don’t need that kind of drink.”
“I do,” I rasped.
Suddenly, his warmth was replaced by a cold void I couldn’t stand. “I really bring the worst in you, don’t I?”
I spun to face him. “What? No. Earlier, I was teasing like you were. I didn’t really mean it.”
“But you want to break a three-year-old rule because of me, because you’re so nervous for being with me.”
