The Fabrizio Bride

Chapter One

If ever there was a time for girding one's loins, this was it.

Rafael Fabrizio squared his shoulders, ready for battle. He stepped into the summer night and came to an abrupt halt when he saw Sarika in the pool, wearing that old, striped bikini he remembered so well. The bathing suit had been tiny when she was seventeen, causing him to break into a cold sweat and curse his pervy mind every time she sauntered past—hips swaying, eyes sparkling as if she knew his racy thoughts. Now the damn thing was more than tiny; it was miniscule against her womanly curves, and he was still sweating and cursing...even though he knew exactly what was underneath.

The gateway to heaven.

Closing his eyes, he melted into the shadows of his family's mountainside chalet on Big Bear Lake in Southern California. It didn't help that he could still see her undulating through the water in his mind's eye—a siren who wanted to drown him in a sea of emotions.

Shoving his hand through his hair, he looked out over the patio to the lake beyond. The full moon hung low in the sky, and light glinted off the water as it spread beneath the cliff like a swathe of black velvet streaked with diamonds.

She deserved better than him. Sarika was a forever kind of girl, while he was a temporary kind of man. He'd known that before getting involved with her, yet he'd done it anyway.

And what a mess he'd made of things, especially as she was practically family—his grandmother Ana Lisa's goddaughter. He couldn't have made a worse choice.

Holding back another curse, he returned his gaze to her—dark hair streamed down her back, the curve of her ass crested the water, and long legs propelled her forward. He couldn't just retreat, he had to speak to her about Ana Lisa and ask her to come home—ask her to pretend again that nothing had happened between them. And he would...just as soon as his heart stopped thumping like it was making a break from his chest.

He knew exactly when she sensed she wasn't alone. The way she stilled at the opposite end of the pool, how her hand clenched the metal handrail. She swirled toward him, sending out waves in the water as she peered into the shadows. Her hair spread out behind her as she let go and floated closer to the house. His gaze dropped below the surface of the lit water and feasted on the curves of her body that had once been his to touch, to take.

He reached out for her without thinking before bringing his arm back down with a silent reprimand.

She. Was. Not. His.

He had to rebuild his walls, barricade the door to his feelings with crisscrossed two-by-fours, and put on that slick suit of invulnerability he'd worn so well for so many years—in control, immune, impermeable.

He squared his shoulders for a second time and stepped out of the darkened doorway.

* * *

Sarika Dkany released the breath she'd been holding with a loud whoosh as Rafe came into view. Joy tumbled through her at the same time as searing pain. Her Rafael...savior, destroyer. She drank him in like a woman parched, not quite believing he was here. Torn between hostility and desire, anger and love.

He was well over six feet tall, and his patrician features were dark and bold, softened only by full lips and chocolate-brown eyes. He had the athletic build of a man who still played hard on the soccer field with his old schoolmates from Saint Ignatius, and he worked out daily to maintain his endurance. He'd shed his jacket and tie, and loosened the top few buttons of his white shirt. Rolled-back sleeves revealed strong forearms, and fine, grey pants encased long legs. An elegant, gold watch adorned his wrist.