After fixing my appearance as best I could, I headed for customs and found my luggage, then wove through the crowd toward the street. Tourists spoke quickly as they searched for their transportation. I was just about to head out to grab a taxi when I spotted a man in a black suit holding a sign with my name.
“I’m Natalie James,” I said, stopping in front of him.
“Very well, signora.” The man—early forties I guessed from the lines on his tanned face—barely glanced at me as he lowered his sign and reached for my roller bag. “Mr. Salvatici is expecting you. Follow me.”
Warm summer air surrounded me as we stepped out the automatic doors. I followed the driver away from the terminal and into a parking garage. The garage was full, but I spotted only a couple of people coming and going, and my stomach tightened when I realized I’d already put myself in a precarious situation, off the beaten path with someone I didn’t know.
He led me to a sleek black Mercedes, loaded my suitcase in the trunk, and opened the back door for me. “We’ll be at the hotel in just under an hour.”
An hour? Any relief I’d felt at not being the victim in the next Taken movie faded as I slid into the backseat. There went any plans I had of unpacking and finding a blouse that wasn’t wrinkled.
I freshened my makeup as we pulled away from the airport. After checking my texts and emails—and finding nothing from the Beast—I sat back and watched the scenery. The chaos of the airport transitioned to a regular freeway flanked on both sides by farmland. The terrain was fairly flat, but I could see hills rising in the distance. I was too tired after my cramped trip to be excited as I’d been before, and from where I sat, Italy didn’t look a whole lot different from the States.
That opinion quickly changed, though, as we entered the city. The buildings on the outskirts of Rome were modern and exactly like ones at home, but as we drove closer to our destination, I spotted Old World arches symbolic of ancient Roman bridges, and obelisks I’d only ever seen in pictures. I sat up straighter, searching for a glimpse of the Colosseum.
“Vatican City is that way,” my driver said, pointing to his right.
I slid across the seat and looked out the window, but the buildings around me were too tall. Slumping back in my seat, I watched as we turned away from the Vatican and wove up a hill through a neighborhood. The buildings thinned out, and trees flanked both sides of the road. I spotted cement walls out both windows, blocking my view of what lay beyond. Just when I was sure my driver was intentionally trying to get me lost, he pulled off the road onto a private circular drive. Trees and lush plants filled the grounds. A towering fountain shot water into the air. Our car circled the fountain and finally came to a stop in front of an enormous eight-story building fronted by balconies and hanging plants.
“Hotel Cavalieri, signora,” the driver said, popping his door open.
I grabbed my bag and waited for him to open my door, but my patience was disrupted by a host of nerves. I was definitely ready to get off my butt, but I wasn’t sure which Luciano Salvatici I’d face in a few minutes—the relaxed, insanely sexy one who’d come to my apartment less than twenty-four hours ago and offered me this job? Or the cold, imposing CEO who’d told me I wasn’t worldly enough for a job at Covet?
Telling myself it didn’t matter which man I met, I thanked the driver and headed into the hotel to check in.
The lobby took my breath away and instantly intimidated me. It was wide and open with gleaming floors, plush velvet furnishings, columns and palm trees and enormous Italian landscape paintings on every open wall.
I must have looked as awed as I felt, because a slim, dark-haired woman with a sleek bob and a fitted black suit stepped up to me and said, “Signora, may I help you?”
I clearly also looked American. “Um, yeah.” I fixed the strap on my purse. “I’m pretty sure I have a reservation. James. Natalie James.“
“Oh, Miss James, of course. We’ve been expecting you. I’m Maria. Mr. Salvatici has already checked you in. I just need your passport, then I can take you to your room.”
For some reason, knowing the Beast had “checked me in” didn’t settle my nerves, but I was glad when I didn’t have to spend time fumbling for my wallet and credit card. After handing the woman my passport, I waited while she moved to the gleaming marble counter and clicked away on her computer. Short minutes later, she returned, held out a hand, and said, “This way. I’ll have someone bring your bag up shortly.”
This was clearly a top-end hotel, and I was once again surrounded by the kind of wealth and luxury that made my spine tingle with intimidation. Which sort of pissed me off.
Not intimidated, I coached myself. In control.
Following Maria down a long, wide hallway, I glanced right and left, scanning the boutique, the lounge, and the handful of restaurants on the main level. We finally came to a single elevator and drew to a stop.
Maria slid a key card from a paper sleeve, inserted it into a slot on the elevator’s wall panel, then handed me the card. “This is your private elevator. The key card is your access. Your bag should be up shortly. If you need anything at all, just give me a ring. My number is beside each phone in the suite.” She smiled and turned away. “Enjoy your stay, Ms. James.”
I fingered the card in my hand. Suite? The Beast had gotten me a suite? That made absolutely no sense, especially after the way he’d dumped me in coach.
“Wait,” I called. “What number is my suite?”
Maria glanced over her shoulder with a grin. “There’s only one suite accessible via this elevator, Ms. James.”
Her shoes clicked across the shiny floor as she disappeared down the hallway. Beside me, the elevator pinged, and the doors opened. Confused, I stepped inside the silver box and turned, my mind spinning with questions.
Less than a minute later, the double doors opened. I stepped off, expecting to be greeted with another door, but stumbled when I realized the elevator opened right into the entry of an enormous suite. A round table topped with an arrangement of flowers sat in front of me. Past it, I could see tall floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over a vast view of red roofs and curved domes, plush furnishings, expensive Italian paintings, and Luciano Salvatici rising from the couch across the room.
My breath caught at the sight of him. His hard, muscular body was draped in a crisp Italian suit that fit him so well, he looked like a Roman lord or master rather than a mere man. And his stormy, mysterious, sexy-as-hell eyes were pinned on me as if I were his next willing slave.
He stared at me for several long seconds, and under that watchful look, my mouth went completely dry, and my pulse shot straight up.
“Ms. James,” he finally said in that familiar accent. Only today it wasn’t clipped or dismissive as it had been that day at my interview. It wasn’t easy and relaxed as it had been in my apartment less than twenty-four hours ago, either. Today it flowed like hot, bubbling water over every inch of my skin and seeped in deep until it hit my blood, leaving me sweaty and absolutely sizzling from the inside out. “Just when I was beginning to think you really were as smart as your résumé indicated. I guess this disproves that, doesn’t it?”
I knew he’d just insulted me. I knew I should be pissed. But I couldn’t do anything except swallow hard and grip the strap of my bag against my shoulder, because my gaze was once more on his lips and that word—cazzo—was echoing in my head just as it had in my apartment. Only now, thanks to my web search, I knew what it meant.
Fuck…
Yeah, I’d totally just disproved my résumé, because if I really were that smart, I’d never have gotten on that plane.
Chapter Seven
Luc
The flush to Natalie’s face as she stood in the entry of the suite looking overwhelmed and innocent and just the slightest bit aroused made my dick hard.
I clenched my jaw against the image of her grinding against my cock as she’d devoured my tongue in the back of that town car the other night—an ima
ge that was suddenly flashing behind my eyes like a strobe light and mingling with another of her asleep in nothing but that sheer lace bra and panty set—and reminded myself that screwing the naïve girl seven ways to sundown was not why I’d brought her to Rome. I’d brought her here to scare the shit out of her and send her running back to Idaho where she belonged. And there was no better time to start that than now.
“Since you’re already late, you don’t have time to shower.” Sliding my gaze down her curvy body, over the wrinkled blouse and baggy slacks she’d worn on the plane, I forced myself to look disgusted instead of turned on, which—sonofabitch—I was. “A stylist left a few items for you. Find something to wear that’s not wrinkled, fix your face, and meet me downstairs in the lobby in fifteen minutes.”
I strode past her toward the elevator, careful not to touch her. As I drew close, though, I caught a whiff of her scent. That grapefruit and honey combination that made my blood sizzle. My jaw clenched down harder as I pressed the call button for the elevator.
“I don’t understand,” she said at my back. “The woman at the front desk said my room was up here.”
“It is,” I answered, not turning to look at her, knowing if I did, she’d see the bulge in my slacks. “Your room is to the right.” The elevator doors whooshed opened, and I stepped in, pushing the button to close the doors as quickly as I could without turning.
When I was alone and the elevator was moving, I drew a deep breath, leaned back against the wall of the car, and muttered, “Cazzo.”
This was a fucking asinine plan. Two minutes with the girl and I was already harder than I’d been in weeks—no, months. Obviously, I had some twisted hero fantasy shit going on in my head that I needed to squash because I normally wouldn’t be interested in someone like Natalie James. I liked my women tall, experienced, and big breasted—all things this girl definitely was not. When I had a woman pinned beneath me, I didn’t want to question whether she was into the same kinks as me. I needed to know she liked it hard and rough. And I absolutely didn’t want to see innocence or naïvety or fear in her eyes when I fucked her senseless.
By the time the elevator came to a stop on the main level, I was fully back in control and completely relieved I’d made the girl fly commercial instead of with me on the Bombardier. No way could I have survived being trapped with her that long, even with the shorter flight time thanks to the jet’s high-tech engines. While I wasn’t looking forward to sharing a suite with her for the next few days, I wasn’t worried. It was important to my plan to keep her close, and we’d be so busy all day and into the evenings with meetings and events, I knew she’d be sick of me by the time we got back to the hotel each night. So sick and intimidated that she’d hide in her room like a trembling rat until morning.
At least, I was counting on her hiding out each night, because if she didn’t…
Well, if she didn’t, then I was seriously fucked. I had only so much self control after two months of celibacy.
My shoes clicked across the marble floor as I headed for the lobby, dismissing that thought and pulling my phone from my pocket to check emails as I walked. There were several from Ilario Lorenzi, the vice president at Covet, whom I’d left in charge of operations while I was in Rome. Ilario was a competent enough man, but I didn’t trust him. He came from a lesser family loyal to our House, and he had opportunist written all over him. I knew he’d been pissed when my father had appointed me head of Covet after my uncle’s heart attack. Ilario had been gunning for the position for years…and for a bigger role within our organization.
I fired off responses to Ilario’s questions, then sent another email to Ms. Pascal, instructing her to watch Ilario’s every move while I was gone. Sandra Pascal was probably the only person at Covet I trusted. She’d worked there for years and was loyal to the family, but she was also smart as a whip, knew when to keep her mouth shut, and didn’t miss a thing that happened around her.
The lobby was sparsely filled with tourists planning their day and guests checking out. Moving to stand near an empty couch by the vast windows that looked out over the swimming pool and fifteen lush acres of Mediterranean gardens on the property, I scanned the rest of the emails, stopping when I noticed one from Giovanni.
A frown pulled at my mouth. My brother was—as I’d suspected—enraged that I’d swooped in and snatched his “toy” away before he’d had a chance to test her out, and his email was filled with every expletive the dickhead knew how to spell to get that point across to me. Not that I fucking cared. If Giovanni wasn’t my brother, I’d strangle the sonofabitch with my own two hands and rid the world of his predatory perversions, but because we shared blood, I couldn’t do that. I could, however—thanks to my position as CEO—get the fucker as far from New York City as possible, and that was exactly what I’d done when I’d sent him to the Caribbean on that shoot. After that, I was shipping him off to South America, Australia, India, then Mozambique for shoots. My plan was to keep the asshole busy for at least a month. So busy he wouldn’t have a moment to contact Natalie James or tempt the girl into something depraved.
I deleted Giovanni’s email without responding and was just shoving my phone back into the pocket of my slacks when heels sounded on the marble floor to my right. My gaze lifted, and I looked in that direction, and when I spotted the woman at the center of Giovanni’s latest obsession, the breath caught in my throat.
I wasn’t sure what she’d done in those fifteen minutes besides change her clothes and fix her hair, but Natalie James looked completely different, and not in a good way—at least not for me. The rumpled and slightly baggy clothing that had hidden her delectable body from view earlier was long gone. In its place, she’d paired a slim, pinstriped black pencil skirt with a sleeveless red blouse that molded to her curves and showcased her small but very plump breasts. Four-inch heels drew attention to the length of her toned legs and the ample curve of her ass. Her dark hair was pinned up, and several curly strands framed her face, softening her features, and lengthening her delicate neck. And her eyes… They no longer appeared tired and overwhelmed. Now those blue gems sparkled with a strength and defiance that amplified my blood and made me itch to dominate her in a thousand different ways.
She stopped several feet away from me, the strap of a chic black purse slung over her shoulder, a smartphone in her hand, but I could still feel the heat radiating off her skin, sizzling over mine even a short distance away. And that scent—that wild grapefruit and honey combination—was even stronger now, making me hard in a heartbeat.
“I’m ready.” I knew she had to be exhausted, but she didn’t let it show. Instead, she lifted her chin and pinned me with those mesmerizing eyes. “I already called the driver and told him to meet us out front. Your first appointment is at Valentino in twenty minutes. Shall we?”
I didn’t give a rip about my appointments. All I could think about was the fact I didn’t have a clue how to answer because the self control I’d been counting on keeping my masked desires in check wavered as I stared at her.
In a rush of blood that went straight into my cock, I realized I wanted this girl. I wanted her in the worst fucking way—beneath me, on her knees, pinned to the wall, unable to move in a dozen different scenes as I pounded into her again and again. My dick swelled harder as I pictured my hand sliding around her slim throat while I drove into her, as I envisioned squeezing the arteries on both sides of her delicate neck until her face flushed and the slight diminishment in oxygen drove her toward the most intense orgasm she’d ever felt. Until the sights and sounds of her pleasure drove me there as well.
“Mr. Salvatici?”
I blinked when she said my name. Then blinked again when I realized I’d just tripped into a fantasy right in front of her. “Yes,” I managed, clearing my throat and looking away from her. “Let’s go.”
She eyed me speculatively, then turned and headed for the lobby doors. At her back, I drew a breath but couldn’t keep my gaze from her shapely
ass swaying in front of me.
Fuck me. Regardless of whether or not she stayed locked in her room, I was screwed and I knew it. If I didn’t get my shit together soon, I was never going to survive this week. And I needed to get through this week without manhandling the girl if I had any hope of getting her away from Covet and out of my life for good.
Because that was the only thing I cared about now. Not letting anyone manipulate her as they had her friend Elena.
Not even me.
* * *
I almost made it through day one without losing my shit.
Almost.
We met with four designers and only returned to the hotel to change into evening attire before heading back out to a runway show. Natalie—even jetlagged and out her element—had handled the day like a total professional, managing my schedule and appointments better than Ms. Pascal, only fumbling over a couple of names when she made introductions, ones even I sometimes had trouble pronouncing.
I, on the other hand, had been semihard the whole fucking day just because I’d been close to her, and that had left me rattled and on edge. So on edge that when Natalie had emerged from her room later that evening in a deep red, asymmetrically hemmed cocktail gown that dipped low at her spine and hit high on one thigh, I’d nearly said fuck it to my stupid plan, pinned her up against a wall, and screwed her right there and then. The only thing that had stopped me was sheer strength of will—which I knew would crumble soon if I didn’t find a way to get this girl out of my head fast.
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