by T. K. Leigh
“The truth is, I don’t do this with many women. In fact, I can’t remember the last time I invited a woman into my home.”
“Then why me?” I squeaked out. “Was I just a pity fuck?”
“Not even close, Eleanor,” he answered with determination in his tone. “You caught my eye the second I noticed you in the first-class lounge at the airport. I couldn’t believe my luck when I saw you board the same flight, then sit in the empty seat across the aisle from me. You have no idea how many times I wanted to strike up a conversation with you, but you seemed lost in your own thoughts. All day yesterday, as I went about my business, I couldn’t stop thinking about you and our all-too-brief exchange on the plane.”
I swallowed hard, my knees feeling like jelly. Always able to read my body, he placed his hand on the small of my back, supporting me.
“I thought my brain was playing tricks on me when you walked into my restaurant, Eleanor. I honestly did. I kept blinking, convinced I’d finally lost my mind, blaming it on the jet lag. Then I heard you talk and knew it was you, that you were real and not simply a manifestation of my deepest desires. You may think fate doesn’t exist, that it’s something people believe in so they don’t have to be accountable for their actions, but I am certain, beyond a shadow of a doubt, it wasn’t a mere coincidence that, out of the hundreds upon hundreds of restaurants in Rome, you walked straight into mine.”
Overwhelmed with the urgency and ardor with which he spoke, a lone tear fell down my cheek. He kissed it away.
“Why did you say you would only use me?”
“You said it yourself,” he sighed. “We live two separate lives. You’ll leave Rome when your time here is over and go back to your life. But I’m not going to think about that, not right now, not while I still have you.” He licked his lips, the heat of his eyes cutting me open and bleeding me dry. “Do I still have you?”
I grew breathless at his question. It could have meant so many things. All I knew was my time in Rome was growing shorter every minute. I needed to stop worrying about what my parents would say if they knew what I’d been doing these past several hours. I was twenty-eight years old. It was about time I finally did what I wanted to do, what made me feel good. Being with Dante made me feel better than I had in years, perhaps ever.
Briefly closing my eyes, I drew in a deep breath before returning my gaze to his. “I’m still yours,” I murmured.
A smile tugged on his lips. He pressed his mouth against mine, his kiss simple, reserved, but still enthralling in all the ways I never thought possible.
“Stay,” he pleaded, pulling my body into his.
“Okay,” I answered with no hesitation on my part. I felt more comfortable and at home in this man’s embrace than anyone I’d known for years.
“And not just tonight. Stay with me until you go home.”
“What?” I stepped back, blinking repeatedly.
“You’re only in Rome for a short time. You need a tour guide.” He grinned a wicked grin. “Consider me at your disposal.”
“And what? In return, I’ll be at your disposal?” I raised a brow, smirking.
“It would be a rather nice benefit, but that’s not why I want you to stay.”
“Then why do you?”
“I have no idea,” he answered with earnest, his expression becoming serious once more. “I’ll be perfectly honest and tell you I’ve slept with more than my fair share of women.”
I narrowed my gaze on him, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Safely,” he interjected quickly. “I know you have no reason to actually believe me, but you’re the first woman I’ve ever had sex with without a condom. I’m clean.”
“I believe you.” My response surprised me. I barely knew him, but I trusted him more than I did Brock or my own parents. With them, there was always some ulterior motive for their decisions. That was probably why I had been convinced Dante must have had a reason for wanting to be with me, too. It seemed so foreign an idea that anyone would just want to be with me for me.
“I always kicked them out after we screwed. I certainly never made them dinner here. If they wanted my cooking, they had to go to one of my restaurants to get it.”
I furrowed my brow, not understanding. “Then why did you do all this for me?”
“It’s as much a mystery to me as it is to you. Around you, I’m not myself, but in a good way. You bring out a side of me I thought I’d buried years ago.”
“I’m not sure my staying is a good idea. I didn’t expect—”
“Oh, I agree with you,” he interrupted. “Make no mistake about that. I think it’s an absolutely horrible idea. The more time I spend with you, the harder it will be to let you go. I know I will have no option but to do just that, but I know I’ll regret it if I let you leave me right now, if I don’t do everything in my power to spend every minute I can with you.”
I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth. I wondered if I could do this, if I could spend the week with Dante and be able to go home with my heart intact. In the span of one evening, he’d already opened my eyes and heart to things I didn’t think possible. I could only imagine what he’d be able to do over the next week. There was only one way to find out.
“I’ll have to go back to the hotel to check out and get my things.”
A brilliant smile crossing his face, he tugged me against his sculpted torso. “That can most certainly be arranged.”
Chapter Eight
A subtle whisper of a warm hand on my cheek stirred me from a dreamless slumber, and I opened my eyes to see Dante sitting on the edge of the bed. The way he gazed at me made me feel desired, wanted, valued. A welcome change.
“Hey,” I breathed.
“Hey.”
“What time is it?” I asked in a scratchy voice, noticing he’d already showered and dressed in a dashing gray suit. It was perfectly tailored to that beautiful body that brought me more pleasure than I thought possible throughout the night.
“A little after nine. I have a few meetings I need to attend today, but I want you to make yourself at home here. I sent Antonio to pick up a few things for you to wear for the time being until you have a chance to go back to your hotel. Antonio will take you there, as well.”
“Is he, like, your personal driver?”
“He works for me. During your stay here, what’s mine is yours, so he will be at your disposal. If there’s anywhere you’d like to go, he’ll be happy to accompany you.”
“I can certainly get used to this,” I said with a grin, stretching in his bed. The duvet fell slightly, revealing my naked breast. Dante’s eyes shifted to my exposed skin, his gaze heated, carnal, wild.
Licking his lips, he lowered his mouth to mine. “Do you have any idea how difficult you’re making it for me to leave you like this?”
“Then don’t.” I closed my eyes, pulling his head closer, kissing him.
His hand brushed against my nipple, pushing the duvet off me. “How do you feel this morning?”
“Horny.”
“Hmm…” He lazily dragged his fingers down my torso, leaving electricity in its wake. “What should we do about that?”
“I have a few ideas.” I shifted my legs apart as the heat of his touch grew closer and closer to my thighs.
When he felt between my legs, his breathing grew heavy, a look of unmatched need forming on his features. “You’re so ready for me, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” I moaned, bucking my hips as he ran his fingers down my slit, spreading my wetness. “I need to feel you.”
“You are feeling me,” he shot back flirtatiously.
“I need you to fuck me.”
“And I would love to fuck you.” He abruptly removed his hand. “But not right now.” Stepping back, he readjusted the cufflinks on his shirt, ignoring the disbelief on my face. “I will see you later, Eleanor. We have a long night ahead of us, so be sure to relax a little.” As he was about to leave, he glanced back at me. “You didn’t
happen to bring an evening gown with you, did you?”
I furrowed my brow, still frustrated that he was going to leave me in my state of arousal. “No. I didn’t exactly pack appropriately for this trip in the first place. If you look at my suitcase, you’d think I was here on a business trip.”
“Very well.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and typed on it. “After you retrieve your belongings from your hotel, I’ll have Antonio take you to see my personal shopper. Get anything you’d like. You’ll certainly need an evening gown. Anything else you didn’t pack, be sure to get, as well. They’ll put it on my tab. Capisci?”
“Why?” I sat up in bed. “Where are we going?”
“I have a prior commitment this evening and would like you to accompany me. An opening of a new exhibit at a museum here.” He stepped toward me, placing a chaste kiss on my cheek. “I’ll be thinking of you all day.” Then he turned from me, closing the bedroom door behind him.
Drawing in a breath, I took a moment to collect my thoughts, still feeling like this was all a dream. It was surreal to think just forty-eight hours ago, I’d met a handsome stranger on a flight from LA to Rome and was now in his bed after committing to spending the next week with him. And I would be going to the premier of an art exhibit with him tonight. And he was buying me an evening gown, too.
An uncontrollable grin building on my lips, I stood from the bed, my muscles sore from the previous evening’s calisthenics. I hoped a long bath would help them recover. I padded to the far side of the room where a dresser sat, several shopping bags set in front of it. Grabbing one, I began sifting through the contents. There was underwear, a few sundresses, jeans, and some light tops. When I opened the last bag, I blushed as I pulled out several lacy negligees. All the clothes must have cost Dante a small fortune.
I found a thigh-length silk robe and wrapped it around my body, then went into the bathroom, turning on the water in the elaborate marble tub. As steam filled the room, I stood in front of the mirror and looked at my reflection. It was like a completely different woman stared back. In just one night, Dante had opened my eyes, had shown me it was okay to succumb to my desires, that there was nothing wrong with exploring my needs and wants. There was only one more thing I needed to do to make my transformation into the new Eleanor complete.
Refreshed and relaxed after a long bath, I dressed in a pair of jeans and a billowy white top, courtesy of Dante. I found my purse and retrieved my cell phone. At some point, I needed to check in with Mila, at least to let her know I was still alive. I headed down the stairs, the apartment hauntingly quiet, and entered the kitchen, hoping Dante’s coffee maker wouldn’t be too complex for me to handle. Thankfully, he had a one-cup brewer nearly identical to the one I was accustomed to back home.
Coffee in hand, I walked back into the living room and toward the French doors leading to the veranda. Pushing them open, I emerged into the brilliant Italian sun, allowing it to warm my face. It felt like I was a world away, somewhere none of my troubles could find me. Blowing out a contented breath, I headed to one of the cushioned lounge chairs and sat down, placing my mug on a small table beside it. As I relaxed into the chair, which was more comfortable than I thought possible for a piece of outdoor furniture, I closed my eyes, allowing the sounds and smells of Rome to consume me, body and mind.
After a few more sips of strong coffee, I powered my phone on, steeling myself to face the daunting reminders of the real world. I hovered over Mila’s contact, about to hit CALL, but something stopped me. It was completely irresponsible of me to leave my best friend in the dark, considering the burden I’d put on her when I fled the country hours before my own wedding. My finger simply refused to hit the button, as if an outside force was at work, knowing the last thing I needed was a reminder of my life back home. I’d boarded that plane fully aware my actions would probably cost me everything — my family, my home, my job. Nothing Mila had to say could change what I’d done.
Resolved to remain in my fantasy world as long as possible, I shot her a quick text, letting her know I was still alive and was enjoying some much-needed radio silence. If anyone would understand, she would.
As I was about to put my phone back into my pocket, a thought popped into my head. To say I was curious about Dante was an understatement. He’d shared a little about his past with me, but I was hungry for more.
Opening the internet browser app on my phone, I entered his name into the search bar, expecting to get only a few hits, mostly because he owned a restaurant. When pages upon pages of links came back, including a Wikipedia profile and IMDb page, my jaw dropped, my mind reeling.
“What the…?” With a furrowed brow, I clicked the Wikipedia link. To the right of the screen was a photo of Dante in a white chef’s coat, smiling wide for the camera. “Dante Luciano,” I muttered to myself, closing my eyes. “Fuck.”
I didn’t know why I hadn’t put it all together sooner. I knew his first name was Dante and his last name was Luciano. But I didn’t realize he was the Dante Luciano. No wonder people seemed to stare and take his photo everywhere we went, everyone in town seeming to know him. Hell, he was well-known around the world.
I scrolled through the article, which reiterated what he had told me last night. He came from somewhat rough beginnings. His family didn’t have much money, so he went to work early in life, first as a busboy, then moving up to the kitchen staff. He enrolled in one of the most prestigious culinary schools in Italy, but had to work long hours to afford it. To help him through those long days, he gradually turned to drugs. After a few years, his addiction had gotten to the point where he’d end up dead if he didn’t seek help.
Finally clean after a lengthy stay in a rehab facility, he finished culinary school, then was recruited to work as the executive chef at a variety of premier restaurants in Rome, Paris, and eventually New York City. While in New York, he wrote his first book, a very tongue-in-cheek account of what was wrong with the food industry in the United States. It garnered him a great deal of praise from activists who had been pushing for better truth in labeling our foods. However, it also made him numerous enemies, including my own father and Brock, both of whom had campaigned at some point in their political careers on the promise of less regulation across the board, including in the food industry.
I felt like I had hit the jackpot. Not only had I skipped out on my wedding, but less than seventy-two hours later, I was sleeping with a man Brock probably viewed with absolute disgust. I brimmed with satisfaction at the thought before returning my attention to the article.
The book made Dante Luciano a household name, and he soon entertained offers to host different TV series, cooking shows, and even some documentaries. While he offered his expertise to the occasional film project about the food industry, it wasn’t until about five years ago that he signed a deal to host his own television series. I’d even watched it a few times, which was probably why he had seemed familiar to me. It wasn’t just a show about food. While food was always involved in some way, he used it as a vehicle to explore different customs, heading to different countries, showing his viewers how people in various cultures lived.
I continued scrolling, learning he had made several wise business decisions and was now worth well over nine figures. He owned multiple vineyards, restaurants in a handful of countries, and even a few hotels. With all his success, he was able to do something he’d always dreamed of but never thought possible…he bought his mother her very own restaurant.
“Scusami,” a male voice said. I snapped my head toward the French doors, seeing Antonio standing there. I hastily locked the home screen of my phone, hiding it from him so he couldn’t see I had been reading up on his boss. “Per Signor Luciano’s instructions, I’m here to take you to collect your things, then to see his personal shopper. Are you ready now, Signorina?”
“Si. Of course.” Standing, I slid my phone into my pocket, grabbing my now empty coffee mug. I followed Antonio back into the apartment, and he close
d the door behind me.
“I’ll take that for you.” He reached for the mug.
“I just need to grab my bag, then I’ll be ready.”
“Certamente. Take your time.”
I hurried up the stairs, found my purse, then glanced at my reflection in the mirror one last time. After applying a hint of gloss I luckily had with me, I headed back down the stairs.
“Ready?” Antonio asked when I reappeared in the living area.
“Yes,” I answered, then paused. “Antonio, do you know of a salon that would be able to fit me in before this evening?”
He smiled cordially as he held the door open for me. “I believe we can have that arranged, Signorina. People in this town tend to bend over backwards to cater to Signor Luciano.”
“I’m starting to understand that.”
Chapter Nine
I raised the zipper of the black evening gown I’d procured earlier in the day, then stepped into a pair of three-inch strapped silver heels. I nearly had a heart attack when I saw the price tag and did the currency conversion in my head. Antonio had assured me the cost didn’t matter. After realizing who Dante was, I didn’t feel as uneasy as I originally had. Still, the bill was staggering. As if I hadn’t been spoiled enough with all the shopping, Antonio had arranged for me to be pampered at a local spa, where I was treated to a massage, manicure, and pedicure, then had my hair cut, colored, and styled, as well as my makeup expertly applied. I felt a little like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, minus the whole prostitute thing.
Staring at my reflection in the mirror, I blinked repeatedly. I couldn’t remember the last time I had dark hair. I felt lighter, and it wasn’t simply because I’d cut a few inches off my hair so it now rested just past my shoulders. Changing the color severed one of the final chains trapping me to my old life.
I smoothed my hands over the long black dress with a lace and jewel overlay. It was fitted, a slit exposing my leg to mid-thigh. The sweetheart neckline emphasized my chest. Dante’s personal shopper suggested I add more emphasis with a diamond necklace that lay right in my cleavage. It certainly did just that. I had a feeling Dante wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off me once he saw me.