Love and Learn (Voretti Family Book 2) (20 page)

“I’m going to stop you right there,” Blonde Cop said, “because the truth is, I don’t care.”

Dark-haired Cop pressed the bell and a different but equally complex composition echoed through the house.

The peephole slid open again, barely visible behind the portcullis.
 

Blonde Cop flashed his badge. “Hello, Mr. Harrington. We’ve questioned the intruder, and—”

“You took the wrong garment bag off the plane.” Ty picked up the garment bag to show The Suit.

“Damn it,” Blonde Cop muttered. “Let us do the talking.”

“You have my suit?” The portcullis lifted with a groan. The heavy door creaked open, revealing a balding man in his late sixties. “That’s a $10,000 Henry Peretta.”

He snatched the bag, unzipped it, and peered at the suit inside, like he expected to find cigarette burns or grease stains.

“What about my dress?” Ty demanded.

All three men turned to look at him.

Oh, for Christ’s sake. “Not
my
dress. It’s for my fiancée.”
 

The word turned to ash in his mouth. Because she wasn’t his fiancée. Not if she didn’t want to marry him.

The old guy zipped the garment bag back up. “You have a lot of nerve, making demands after you broke into my house.”

“Your yard. And I was trying to return your suit. The $10,000 one, remember?”

“I find it hard to believe that you haven’t heard of a telephone.”

“I called. You didn’t answer.”

“So, instead of waiting for a call back, you broke into my home?”

“Your
yard
.”

“Young man, trespassing is trespassing. I have half a mind to press charges to teach you a lesson.”

“Hold on now,” Blonde Cop said. “Let’s not make any rash decisions. I’m sure you’re a very busy man, Mr. Harrington. The kind of man who can’t afford to waste his time going to the police station to fill out paperwork for an issue that could be solved with a simple conversation.”

“I
am
very busy.” The Suit sighed heavily. “Very well. Young man, I will return your dress. I suppose it’s not surprising what happened, what with this instant-gratification culture we live in. You people expect exactly what you want right away. And if it’s not given to you on a silver platter, you rush in to take it. Well, that’s not the way it works in the real world. Take the deal I recently completed with DexTron. You’ve heard about it on the news, I’m sure.” The Suit started describing some complex corporate merger, and Ty turned on a polite, I’m-absorbing-your-wisdom expression even as he tuned The Suit out, because he had to get through this as quickly as possible so he could get back to Annabelle.

Who didn’t want to marry him.

“Mergers require a particularly delicate touch. They’re almost like a marriage. The other company has to be assured they’re making the right choice. My team puts together all kinds of charts and graphs—earnings projections and that sort of thing—to show them how much more powerful we’ll be together than apart. But when it comes down to it, it’s all about gut feeling. You have to establish a relationship, so that when they look you in the eye, they see someone they trust. Someone who will be there for them through SEC audits and bad earnings reports. Someone who will make sure their 401K is well funded. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

We haven’t had enough time to make sure we’re compatible in the long run.
Annabelle’s voice hit him like a punch in the gut.

“Sure,” Blonde Cop answered for him.

“He totally gets it,” Dark-Haired Cop said.

“You mean that you have to be compatible,” Ty managed.

“I’m not sure I would use that term. But I suppose it’s close enough.”

“So how the hell do you do that?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. It takes time to build a relationship. Time to build trust. You can’t rush these things, no matter how much you want the transaction on the books for the current fiscal quarter.”

“But—”

“Just say ‘I understand,’ ” Blonde Cop hissed.

“Thank you so much for your insight, sir. Next time I’ll be patient. Yadda, yadda, yadda.” Dark-Haired Cop whispered.

Ty kept his gaze trained on The Suit. “But what if the only reason they asked for more time is that they were stalling?”

“I see what you’re saying. You think they might’ve only been pretending to consider my offer, using the time they bought to shore themselves up against a hostile takeover.”

“Uh, yeah.”

“There are ways to tell. Are they buying up stock? Trying to put some sort of poison pill provision into place? Unless you have your head buried in the sand, it’s fairly simple to tell the difference.”

Annabelle’s voice echoed in his head again, but this time he heard the concern. The love.
We haven’t had enough time to make sure we’re compatible in the long run.

And he finally got it. Annabelle’s reluctance to marry him wasn’t the first step to a breakup. It was her way of trying to save their relationship. To give it time to grow and flourish.

He just hoped he hadn’t already done it irreparable damage.

*

Ty had the dress with him, safe in the garment bag on his front seat, but he felt anything but safe. How had he messed things up so badly?

He should have known Annabelle wasn’t the kind of woman who fantasized about fancy dresses. She was the kind of woman who wanted to know the man she’d chosen loved her. That he was committed to spending the rest of his life with her.

So he would show her. Not through some grand gesture, but by being there, every day, for the rest of their lives. By listening when she talked.
 

She’d said she wanted to slow things down—to give them time to make sure they were really compatible. He could do that. And maybe he could even do it in a way that would keep her father from shooting him.

After a quick shower, he headed to the closest jewelry store. Thirty minutes later, he had a ring. He drove to Annabelle’s apartment on autopilot.

A light was visible through the blinds. Good. She was home.

He made it from his truck to the door. Even managed to press the bell like a civilized human instead of banging on the wood panel, because he was calm and he was patient and he had all the time in the world.

The door jerked open.
 

“What are
you
doing here?” growled one of the Voretti twins.

Calm—that elusive bastard—fled the premises.
 

“Where’s Annabelle?” Ty pushed inside.

The living room was empty. Ditto for the kitchen.

He stalked down the hall. The bathroom was empty. He jerked open the bedroom door.

Annabelle’s neatly made bed stared at him mockingly.
 

She wasn’t here.

He was honest-to-God shaking. He hung the dress in the closet before he dropped it.
 

He had no idea where Annabelle was.
 

Helplessness overwhelmed him, like he was back in the heat and dirt of Iraq, ears ringing, leg gushing blood. How was he supposed to fix things if he couldn’t find her?

He turned, only to see the wrong Voretti coming up behind him. He thought this one was Matt. The twins looked too much alike—one more item at the end of a long list of things that were pissing him off.

He stepped way into Matt’s personal space. “Where is she?”

“Far away from you, asshole.”

His vision went cloudy. He grabbed Matt by the collar. “Where the
hell
is—”
 

His head snapped back. Pain shot through his jaw.

He dropped low before Matt could sucker punch him again. Blood pounded in his ears. His vision narrowed onto his target—the latest obstacle between him and Annabelle.
 

Matt was going to tell him where to find her. It wasn’t even a question.

“Watch it, shitbag. You break my arm, and Annabelle’s gonna kick your ass herself.”

Ty was only then aware that he’d taken Matt down.
 

He breathed deep, letting the worst of his rage fade. The little shit was right. Annabelle
would
kick his ass if he caused any permanent damage. “I’m not gonna break your arm.”

“Let me up.”

Ty didn’t make the mistake of loosening his hold. It didn’t look like Matt was carrying today, but he wasn’t gonna chance it. “Stop fighting me, and I’ll think about it.”

After a second, Matt stopped struggling. “All right. Let me up, asshole.”
 

Ty eased to his feet.

Matt followed, glaring the whole time. He had a red patch on his cheek from where his face had met the carpet, but otherwise he looked fine.

Ty couldn’t say the same. Matt’s punch hadn’t been that hard, but the room kept tilting around him, like he was on a tiny patrol boat in the middle of a monsoon. Where was Annabelle?

He forced a breath in. Breathing was good, because it meant his brain had enough oxygen to produce words. “I need to see Annabelle.”
 

“You need to get out of here before I break you into tiny pieces.”
 

“You already tried that.”

“And you already got all the intel on my sister I’m gonna give you.”

Ty faced off against the younger man. Adrenaline screamed through his system, but kicking Matt’s ass wasn’t going to get him any closer to Annabelle. He had to be smart. “She wants to see me.”

“Then why isn’t she here?” Matt smirked. “If she wants to see you, she’ll let you know. In the meantime, stay the fuck away. You already made her cry once. I’m not gonna help you do it again.”

All the fight drained out of Ty. He’d made Annabelle cry. He’d made her cry, and he couldn’t even find her to apologize. “I just want to talk to her.”

“So talk.” The voice was soft, warm, and feminine, and Ty needed to hear it so badly, he was afraid he’d imagined it.

But when he turned around, there she was. Everything he’d ever wanted. Annabelle.

A
NNABELLE
TOOK
IN
the scene in one glance. Ty and Matt were squared off against each other like MMA fighters, and…was that blood on Ty’s cheek?

She rushed forward. Wrapped her arms around him, because she needed to feel him, solid and real against her. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. It’s barely a scratch.”
 

He sounded normal, but as soon as she drew back, she got a close-up of the bright red fluid seeping down his jawline.
 

Blood.
Ty’s
blood.
 

“You’re bleeding!” She whirled around to confront the culprit. “Matteo Stefano Voretti, I leave you for one hour to comfort my hysterical best friend and
this
is what you do?“
 

“He’s not the only one who’s injured, you know.” Matt pointed at a faint bruise on his cheek. “Besides, he’s had it coming for the past seven years.”

Annabelle’s breath caught deep in her throat. She’d never told her family what had happened between her and Ty after prom. Then again, hiding in her bedroom for the entire summer probably hadn’t escaped their notice. They’d obviously come to their own conclusions about what had gone on and who was to blame.
 

“Let’s not forget who had who pinned to the ground,” Ty muttered.

Her stomach churned every time she caught sight of that angry red gash near his eye. How could he call it a scratch? But then, he’d been been through much worse with the IED.

Her lungs cinched in, like she was the one who’d been caught in that black smoke, shrapnel impaling her skin, her blood—her life—draining into the hot sand.

“Hey. You okay?” Ty caught her arm, bringing her back to the present.
 

As she sucked in some much-needed oxygen, she let herself take comfort from his touch.
He’s here. He’s all right
.
 

“Sit down, sweetheart.”

“I’m fine.” She wasn’t about to let him take care of her while he was bleeding, so she forced her body to get with the program. “Come into the bathroom so I can clean that cut.”

Ty followed her to the bathroom and sat down on the edge of the tub, surprisingly docile.

“What about me?” Matt called.

“Don’t be a baby. You’re not even bleeding.” She slammed the door before he could come inside.
 

“I’ll be right here in case you need me.” Matt’s voice was filled with concern.
 

She wasn’t sure if she wanted to hug him or smack him. Her family was filled with interfering busybodies, but they all loved her. “Go home, Matt.”
 

“I’m not gonna leave you alone with that shitbag.”

“I’m two years older than you, and I can take care of myself. Get out of my apartment before I throw you out.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to—”

“Now!”

She found antiseptic and cotton swabs in the medicine cabinet. Finally, Matt’s footsteps faded down the hall. The front door shut behind him. She clutched the cotton swabs and tried not to think about the obvious. She was alone with Ty.

The already tiny room seemed to shrink, the oxygen disappearing along with the square footage. If testosterone had a scent, that’s what she was breathing—one hundred and seventy pounds of wired, aroused male. And yet, Ty made no move toward her.

“You sure you’re all right?” His voice was a low, deep rumble.

“Of course.” She extracted a cotton swab from the bag and doused it with antiseptic.
 

Now for the hard part.

She daubed the swab onto his cut.

He sucked in a breath.

“Sorry.” She leaned closer, trying to keep her touch light. “I want to make sure it’s clean. I don’t want you to get an infection.”

“Thanks, sweetheart.” His breath whispered against her neck.
 

She had a sudden vision of him—his gaze locked on to hers, fierce with pleasure as he surged into her.

Pressure coiled low in her belly. She dropped the cotton swab. “Shoot!”

“Hey.” Ty caught her hand before she could get another one. “No worries. It’s clean.”