Such a priceless, rare gift. One he wasn’t worthy of. One he’d never ask her to give to him again.
An empty grief roared through him but he refused to examine the emotion. Maybe he’d shower, get dressed, and bring her coffee. He’d confirm how much she meant to him; how much the endless hours of making love changed him forever. Then explain once again why they needed to end it.
Unless . . .
The possibility swarmed before him. What if they continued the relationship? Carina in his bed. Taking her to dinner. Seducing her out of that proper business suit. Working side by side. Maybe it could work. Maybe . . .
Michael Conte and his family inspired him to make the most out of himself. When his father walked, Max needed to build something he could count on. His word. His honor. His trust. This meant everything to him, and defined who he was as a man. If Michael discovered he’d slept with Carina, he may never get that trust back, and it could break him.
He’d never let that happen.
And what could he possibly offer? He didn’t have the emotional capacity to give her what she deserved. One day she’d ask for a ring. Children. A life of permanent commitment. All he could give was the moment—good sex, companionship, respect. Eventually, she’d tire of his crap and move on. Even worse, what if he did something to hurt her? He made the vow long ago to never use any actions to hurt a woman’s heart. It was too damn delicate, and he didn’t want the responsibility.
She was extraordinary in every aspect, and completely beyond him.
Decision made, he slid out of bed and headed toward the bathroom.
The knock on the door surprised him. Max strained his ears, but another light tapping echoed in the room. Damn, it wasn’t even 6 a.m. Not wanting to wake Carina, he put on boxers and opened the door.
He couldn’t believe his eyes.
Mama Conte stood in the doorway.
“Maximus?” Her confused expression registered in slow motion. As if trapped in a disaster movie, the rest of the events rolled slowly in time and had a strange surreal quality. Carina’s mother squinted at the number on the door and back at the piece of paper she clutched in her hand. “I knew you were in Vegas also, but this is Carina’s room.”
Max ignored his rapidly beating heart and gave her a big hug. “Mama Conte, what a pleasant surprise. Nope, this is my room, but let me get dressed and I’ll meet you right outside and show you where Carina is.”
He almost won.
She threw back her head and cackled. “Silly man, your underwear doesn’t offend me.” She neatly sidestepped him and took a few steps into the room. Removed her cardigan. “Used to run bare-butt naked in my house the whole summer.” Walked over to lay her sweater on the back of the couch. “Go ahead and change.”
She tripped over a high-heeled shoe. Stared at the zigzag trail of clothing. Ventured farther into the suite toward the open French doors of the bedroom.
His gaze followed hers. A pair of lacy garters. A scrap of thong. His dress shirt.
He opened his mouth to stop her but she stopped right before the bedroom. The low snore grew louder and turned into a rough grunt. A tumble of dark curls contrasted with the stark white of the sheet. Slowly, Mama Conte walked over to the bed and stared at her daughter.
Naked.
Suddenly, the film went into crazy action and he snapped. He jumped in front of the bed and put out his hands to ward off a batty mommy attack. “Oh, Dio mio, Mama Conte, it’s not what you think. Well, it’s what you think, but you weren’t supposed to see it. Oh, Dio, I am sorry, so sorry.” His babbling grew until he realized he’d just reverted back to his youth.
Dark eyes flew to his face, trying to make sense of the scene. Moments passed. Finally, she nodded as if she’d made her decision. “Bring me to your room, Maximus. Now. We need to talk.” She walked to the door. “You have one minute to change and get out here. And don’t wake up Carina.”
The door shut behind her.
• • •
Max tunneled his fingers through his hair and settled into hell.
Sweat broke out over his skin. His mama’s best friend and his secondary caregiver sat before him, deep in thought. She hadn’t spoken since they arrived in his room. Just directed him to the chair and let him stew in his own perspiration for the next ten minutes. Having raised four children and buried a husband, her slight figure was lean but strong. With her own talent and hard work, she’d built La Dolce Famiglia from a home-based pastry shop into one of the biggest chains in Italy. Her gray hair was twisted into a bun at the back of her head and showed off both the grace and carved lines in her face. Her cane leaned against the wall. She wore orthopedic shoes now, with thick laces and soles to help her walk.