The Italian's Convenient Wife
CALLIE had been eighteen the last time that deep, dark Mediterranean voice had seduced her into forgetting everything her mother had taught her about "saving" herself for the "right" man. The kind who'd greet her at the altar with a full appreciation for what her pristine white gown and flowing veil signified. The kind who'd cherish the prized gift of her virginity on their wedding night.
Eighteen.
Nine years and a lifetime ago.
Yet although the phone awoke her from a deep sleep at the ungodly hour of four in the morning, she recognized at once who was calling. And so did her heart. It contracted as painfully as if a huge fist had closed around it and was squeezing the very life from her body.
"It is Paolo Rainero, Caroline," he said. And then, as if she needed further clarification, "Ermanno's brother. Your sister's brother-in-law."
And my first love. My first lover. The only one.
Callie cleared her throat. Swallowed. "Buon giorno," she said, groping for the bedside lamp, and wished her Italian rolled off her tongue with the same fluid, exotic ease that he brought to English. "Wha ... read full excerpt from: The Italian's Convenient Wife ebook
