Say You're Mine: Fortunato Family, #2

By Charlotte O'Shay

SAY YOU'RE MINE, Book 2 in the Fortunato Family series, is a steamy, opposites attract romance set in NYC.

Did ShySky aka Skylar Bishop just kiss a random guy in a bar?

Skylar: I don't know what came over me but when my boyfriend stood me up...again, and I saw this guy—the one with tormented eyes and a shiner on his sculpted cheekbone—mangle his words in a crowded bar, I couldn't help myself. Now he figures I'll tumble into his bed—because I kissed him without knowing his name.

But one kiss is all I'll take because he'd never go the distance for a woman with my issues.

Women love Fighting Finnegan Fortunato's body and he's not complaining.

Finn: Actions speak louder than words and I've learned to let my fists do my talking. Women want my tatted boxer's body more than romantic words I can never give them and that's the way I've always liked it. But when a sleek uptown woman knocks me out with a fiery kiss, everything changes.

Now I have to find the words to make her mine.

When serendipity brings opposites together, will they fight for their forever?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Evelyn P McCabe
• Release date: Sep 7, 2023
• ISBN: 9781737597346

Book preview

Chapter One

SKYLAR

Tonight will be different.

Tonight I’d finally kick my fears to the curb and become the Skylar I was always supposed to be. Confident. Fearless. Strong. The me I’ve always been deep inside.

Tonight was my new beginning. I repeated the mantra with each slow breath I took, standing perfectly still, keeping my eyes closed so Sage could work her magic. Tonight Shy Sky would disappear—never to be seen again.

Ugh. Really? Shy Sky? Thanks, subconscious, for dragging up that decades old nickname now when I hadn’t thought about it at all since elementary school days. Okay, maybe I had thought about it once or twice since then. Because I could still hear the chants. Why don’t you say hi, Shy Sky. Or the ever-popular Shy Sky, Shy Sky, she won’t say boo to a fly. Yeah.

Sing song nonsense, totally lacking in originality but you had to hand it to eight year-olds. They might not be known for the sophistication of their insults but when had that mattered? Their teasing arrows had met the mark just the same and the painfully shy girl I’d been back then suffered the unforgettable sting of their accuracy.

But that was a long time ago. These days I was not shy— in most settings. At work I was not silent. At the institute I discussed, I directed, I weighed in, I opined. These days I slayed. Armed with two advanced degrees, I was a respected member of my profession, skilled enough to work in the center of the universe, aka New York City.

Like Sinatra sang, if I could make it here, I could make it anywhere. In my professional life, I’d done it. No one knew a Shy Sky at work. At work, I had all the answers and if I didn’t, I knew where and how to find them.

But my personal life was another thing entirely. What you might call a disaster. When it came to the opposite sex, I was the queen of second guesses and fumbles. In my dating life, Shy Sky had morphed into insecure Skylar.

But not anymore. That was then. Tonight I was breaking out of my introspective shell. Tonight I would shine.

I kept my eyes closed even after Sage finished smudging shadow on the lids, immersed in a positive internal vision, one where I strode confidently in the direction of my dreams, as the saying went. But truth be told, I had serious doubts about striding anywhere in the worn-once-to-a-wedding, five inch stilettos sitting in their box by my bed. Nope. Stop. Enough of the negative self-talk. Tonight would be different.

Okay, you can look in the mirror now, Sage instructed.

When I didn’t move, still lost in my positivity mantras, she clasped my shoulders and turned me to face the full-length mirror resting against the wall in the alcove that passed for my bedroom.

Sage’s smile was toothy and triumphant as she nodded her approval at my reflected image. That boyfriend of yours won’t know what hit him. Someone’s gonna get lucky tonight, she pronounced.

Was this even me? Speechless, I blew out a disbelieving breath at the sight of this new, going-out-on-a-Saturday-night me, the me with perfect hair and makeup and the beginnings of a confident smile. I tilted my head right, then left, and back again, like a toddler discovering her reflection for the first time. I turned to Sage and a self-conscious flush warmed my cheeks at my friend’s satisfied grin.

I finally found my words. I feel like…Cinderella. Not really an apt comparison. I mean, I do have a step-mother but she’s not in the least evil and she’s completely devoted to my father. And my constant companion was a faithful but fierce feline who would no doubt have handily dispatched any of the real Cinderella’s singing, sewing mice in short order. But the transformation was real.

You, I pointed a newly manicured nail in Sage’s direction, are nothing short of amazing. I can’t thank you enough.

I pulled Sage in for a quick, non-makeup smearing hug. Was that a blush tinting her prominent cheekbones? Nope, not possible. My unflappable friend would never be embarrassed at a well-deserved compliment. My introversion had been a part of me since I wore pigtails, but Sage was my polar opposite. I’d bet a year’s rent she’d strolled out of her cradle with every single one of the opinions and skills she’d never hesitated to share with the world.

Proving me right, she flipped me a careless wave. Fairy godmother, always at your service. She lifted her expertly groomed eyebrows in a pointed signal. And the perfect way to thank me, Sky? Have fun tonight. Enjoy yourself. Her phone beeped and she checked the time. Whoops, I’ve got to pick up the twins from debate club. She wagged a finger at me from the door. I’ll call you tomorrow, so be ready to spill that tea.

And with any luck I’ll have an unforgettable night to brag about.

I closed the front door on Sage humming Girls Just Wanna Have Fun as she sauntered down the hallway to the elevator. Then I hightailed it back to my bedroom mirror eager for another look at my amazing transformation. I slid both hands under my hair to free the tendrils stuck to my perspiring neck. I shook my hair back and ... yes. The profusion of curls cascading over my shoulders bounced obligingly. My flat, boring hair was transformed—into thick, voluminous, mega-hair— courtesy of Sage.

At work, I’d complimented Sage’s perfect hair practically every day. When I told her about my plans for tonight, she’d warned me my work and weather appropriate ponytails and occasional messy bun had no business showing up on a Saturday night at an upper-east-side restaurant—no matter how sticky the weather outside. My curls were a testament to her talent.

As a bonus she’d done my makeup too, emphasizing my eyes with a subtle charcoal hued liner, lash lengthening mascara and a gold dust shadow I never would’ve imagined could work with my gray eyes. Now if only the city hadn’t been roasting under one-hundred degree temperatures for an entire week, gifting my complexion with a twenty-four, seven flush, she’d done her best to tamp down with a light, neutral foundation.

Was it was ridiculous at my age to ask my friend to show me how to style my hair for a night out? Of course. All I could say in my defense was at least I recognized I needed all the help I could get and called in the expert. If getting rid of pin-straight hair scraped into a ponytail was what stood between me and a relationship, I was prepared to coax big waves into my hair every day of the week.

But who was I kidding? Wouldn’t it be amazing if my issues could be solved by learning how to wield a curling iron and electric rollers? It had never been that simple.

But something had to give between me and Chad. And maybe the extreme heat had curdled my gray matter, I don’t know. I have no idea what prompted my sudden burst of clarity but as usual for me, once I’d decided, there was no turning back. I was finally ready to do something about my lackluster love life. Tonight I was going to overcome my reticence with Chad and take our relationship to the next level.

Slipping Mama’s hanging earrings in place, I tilted my head experimentally and watched them shimmer in my bedroom’s lone source of light, the vintage bottle green table lamp on my nightstand.

The multiple, delicate diamond drops suspended within wispy fourteen-carat gold wiring were stunning—so ethereal they looked fake. But these puppies were for real. And definitely far too showy for everyday wear or even a typical night out. They were too fancy—period. But they’d been my mother’s so I would’ve loved them the same even if they were dollar store cubic zirconia dangling from gold-painted nickel wire.

I nodded slowly at my reflection, entranced by the way the heirlooms sparkled and shined. It was past time for me to let these gems strut their stuff out in the world instead of hiding them in a box. Earrings this gorgeous demanded attention. And who knows, maybe they’d bring me some good luck tonight because I was done hiding in my introspective box, too. I tipped up my chin in the mirror grinning as the earrings swayed and winked back at me. My confidence edged up a little more. Hair? Check. Makeup? Flawless. Jewelry? Mama’s perfect earrings would do just fine.

I tossed the kimono robe I’d been wearing on my bed and slipped my Big Apple red painted toes into black, high-heeled, strappy sandals. Then I shimmied into the silky, deceptively simple dress I’d chosen with Sage’s help. It was old school romantic, slinky and sexy, like the satin slip dresses 1930’s movie stars wore. Not my usual style because it accentuated every curve of my full figure. I usually chose clothes that minimized my generous curves. But I’d shown an online photo of it to Sage, who was now my friend but who was also my superior at the language institute. Aptly named, she was wise about so much it was hard to believe at thirty-nine she was only seven years older than me.

I love it! she declared in her usual over the top way. From the moment we’d met, Sage had been my most vocal cheerleader and my most honest critic. Sophisticated enough for a summer dinner out at that expensive watering hole where Chad likes to be seen. You’ll look amazing in it and sexy times will be a foregone conclusion, she’d declared with certainty. Sage had given her blessing from clothing to hair to makeup, so maybe this was actually happening? If only I had a bottle of her confidence right now, I’d spritz it all over.

Instead, I sprayed on a little of the obscenely expensive jasmine fragrance I’d loved forever and which Dad and Cindy kept me supplied in via birthday gifts. Then I repeated my mantra, smoothing a hand over the shiny black fabric as I turned back to the mirror.

I looked…good. Yes, the dress hugged my abundant curves like a second skin. But what was really daring…for me anyway, and what I hadn’t told Sage, was I wasn’t wearing a thing underneath it. Take that, Shy Sky.

I lifted my perspiring palms off the fabric before they left marks. Damn, why was I so nervous? Seducing my boyfriend shouldn’t be this difficult, should it? But it wasn’t like I had any positive experiences with this type of thing. And, even after six months of dating Chad, I honestly wasn’t sure he could be called my boyfriend. That had to be a huge is this even a relationship? red flag.

After that one time when he had invited himself to my place, with all the warmth of a plate of cold pasta, telling me in an offhand way he wanted to stay the night, I think that was the euphemism he used, and once I’d said I wasn’t ready, Chad and I had settled into a routine of, I hate to admit it, dull, as in even octogenarians had more excitement, dinner dates.

But all that was in the past. I was manifesting now. I looked good. Great, even. Tonight would not be routine. Or dull. Tonight, there would be fireworks. And I was bringing them.

Channeling Sage, I practiced a confident stiletto stride around the perimeter of my tiny living space while Scar, my adopted tabby, so named because of the healed but still visible jagged incision he sported between his peridot eyes, judged my every move. We’re not all naturally graceful, mister. I stated the obvious over my shoulder just before I proved the point by whacking my hip into the corner of the quartz countertop which jutted out of the wall dividing my postage stamp sized kitchen from the living area. I winced, absently rubbing my unfortunate hip. This was the reason I wore kitten heels to work.

I adjusted the shade lower on the window behind the sofa so Scar would be shielded from the worst heat of the waning light. Like most cats he adored laying in the sunlight but this current heat wave was next level. Even though the sun would go down soon, the endless days of ninety degree heat had baked the concrete, cement and asphalt of the city’s streets and skyscrapers so thoroughly there was a constant, blinding shimmer in the air, and with it, a kind of dusty road, Mad Max quality to even the most sophisticated city streets. The haze was so complete lately, sometimes it was hard to know if it was morning or afternoon without checking the time.

Time to go. I called car service. Like most New Yorkers I walked when I could mostly because it was faster and as a city, we liked to get where we’re going. Ordering car service was breaking one of my strictest budget rules, but tonight totally worth it. Even though the restaurant was in the same Upper East Side neighborhood as my apartment, there’s no way I could walk that far in this tight dress and high heels. Even if I didn’t trip and fall flat on my face on the way there, my makeup would melt off before I got to the end of my block.

But no matter how I tried to push the intrusive thoughts down, the ten minute car ride gave me way too much time to dwell on why I was so ridiculously keyed up about my plans for tonight.

Post-college, I focused on my professional goals, earning two grad degrees and diving into clinical training. I’d imagined, because New York City was teaming with people, I’d meet someone special in a casual, organic way, maybe while I was food shopping, or working out or when I was out with friends. Naïve much, Skylar? Yes, I was an introvert and yes, I was unusually reserved, to the point of embarrassment in larger social situations. But one on one I was okay.

My shy personality had already been well-ingrained before my disastrous dating experiences in college. Later, with college happily in the rear view, I’d endured a couple of non-starter relationships in what I soon discovered was the soul-sucking, take no prisoners Manhattan dating arena. My style with those guys was equal parts hesitant and aloof and of course no relationship developed. I was finally forced to acknowledge how messed up my psyche was where guys were concerned.

Lately it occurred to me it had been more than a decade since that doomed college relationship with Randy set me on my single lady path. After being consumed by graduate school and focused on making strides in my career, I looked up one day to see I was thirty-two years old. Obviously, my romantic notions of a fateful, serendipitous meeting with my perfect match were, to put it bluntly, total garbage. Dating apps. That’s what Sage, and my ride or die girlies, the high school besties who loved me enough to patiently hear me out about my dating, scratch that, my lack of a dating life, were begging me to try.

But then, when I was all set to take the app plunge, I’d met Chad at the annual holiday party at Dad and Cindy’s club last year. On paper he was perfect. He’d been attentive—gregarious even, and I sidelined the dreaded apps to see whether something might happen between us, you know, the old school way.

To be honest, Chad hadn’t wowed me that first night. But, in my estimation and judging by my family’s encouraging smiles at the party, he was the kind of guy I should want to know. He hadn’t specifically focused in on me that night, conversing with everyone in our group but with my history of reticence in social situations, I appreciated his ability to converse comfortably with a whole slew of new people at one time. He seemed like a solid citizen, a CPA who’d decided to run for State Comptroller. I admired his desire to pursue public service.

And that was how starting in the new year, Chad and I developed something of a routine. We had a quick weeknight dinner here and a working lunch there, with a museum outing for a campaign donor presentation thrown in for good measure. After two months of regular bi-monthly get togethers, Chad did something I never expected—inviting himself to my place to sleep with me. Just like that—his statement that it was