by Avery Aster
Vive ranted on and on via a borderline soliloquy-style text message, livid she didn’t receive an invite to go to Italy with Lex.
Lex figured her mother must’ve told Vive. Uhhh, everyone in Manhattan will know where I am by today’s end. She texted, “call U LTR xo.”
Five minutes turned to fifteen and then to thirty. With less than an hour to get to the boat, she grew panicked. Lex reached for the phone and rang for Roberto. No answer. She’d have to take fate into her own hands and go find the prince. The ‘go out and get ’em’ approach worked for her life’s mantra. She hoped this wouldn’t be a fashion battle and asked herself if she was ready. Absofrickinlutely. Lex pulled her sunglasses over her eyes and opened the door. It’s time to get my fashion designer phalanges on what I came for.
“Heehee, Luigi. Ohhha, Luigi!!!”
Lex followed the laughter and water sounds growing louder as she rounded the manor. She noticed a wrought-iron gate with a plaque, Giardinopiscina. “Garden pool,” it read, if she remembered her Italian. She inhaled again, enjoying the blossoms’ smell, hoping the ambrosial scent would calm her nerves.
She pushed the gate open and froze at what stared at her. Fuck me in Fendi.
Three young women—with “just what the doctor ordered” breasts and oversized, pouting lips—floated in the water. Striking. They were playing with the man Lex heard them call Luigi, who smiled ear to ear.
One woman ran her red manicured fingernails up and down his chest, kissing him. Another was behind him, massaging his shoulders, and the third—she kept going underwater, and with each dive his smile grew wider.
Lex recalled the brazen woman getting her rocks off on the yacht and wondered if lasciviousness floated in the air. For a moment, she allowed herself to wish she could be as free-spirited as these ladies, who knew how to enjoy themselves. But then, as usual, her priorities took over. Lex would do what she’d come for and then head to Milan, leaving this wantonness behind.
On the pool’s side lay a shirtless hunk, each massive pectoral dusted in a black hair brushstroke glistening in the sunlight. His privates were sorta covered by a towel.
Bored and perhaps annoyed at the sexual activities on display, he didn’t pay attention.
Along with Luigi, the women paused their sexscapade and stood in the water, staring at Lex. Their tits saluted her at twelve o’clock, poised in wetness and resembling crème dollops topping calorie-rich pudding.
Happy with her own cleavage, she noted the gifts floating in the water were not from Mother Nature. Mine are natural, girls. Enjoy.
The women whispered to each other, then glanced at Luigi who shouted, “Principe!”
Distracted by a strawberry he brought to his mouth, the prince didn’t notice her. But she saw him, those perfect, sensual, full lips and the way his tongue slid out to catch the berry. He popped it in his mouth. Incredible.
Holding her breath, Lex stepped closer, right up to the hedonistic hearth. Why did the sunshine spotlight on her center-stage? No monologue prepared, she didn’t think about what she’d say in a situation such as this one. Lex was in sensory overload. It would take every ounce left in her to stay focused on the Easton business at hand, not the Tittoni pleasure around her. Calm your kitty.
At last, the Adonis glanced up and dropped another ruby fruit’s helping into his mouth. He stood, wrapping a Turkish towel around his narrow hips. The white cotton stretched similar to canvas, ready for a Grecian painter to color something fantastic. “Sì è persa?” he asked as he approached her.
Holy Coco Chanel! Okay, hotter in person than she’d seen in the tabloid photos or blogs—her dildo fantasies couldn’t have imagined, and she’d tried her best. But she’d come to get her fabrics. She didn’t have time for Mediterranean sunbathing. Her boat would be on the dock in less than an hour, and she needed her textiles.
“You must be Prince Massimo Tittoni,” she responded in English. She felt her cheeks tingle with a spark. Excitement waved as heat ran down her breasts, stopping at her pussy. A fierce siren intensified, one which made her want to reach down and touch her clit. She crossed her legs while standing, hoping and praying he’d be clueless as to why.
“Sì. And you’re the fashion designer—” His attempt to tuck in the towel failed and it became loose, revealing his massive cock’s shape. It was decorated with a mighty helmet head for the tip—confirmation the blog’s photos, indeed, were real.
Moist legs clenching tighter, she rolled her shoulders back, raw arousal soaking her panties. Not wishing to make her admiration obvious, Lex focused on his dark eyes. She inhaled a shallow breath and walked forward.
“I’m Lex Easton with Easton Essentials in New York.”
Deep grooves spread across his forehead as he proclaimed, “When we spoke on the phone, I thought you were Signor Easton’s assistant. Today, when Roberto announced your arrival, I learned you were Signorina Easton. Our phone call became inaudible.”
Assistant, my ass. “Lex is short for Alexandra and yes, it was me with whom you spoke. I’m the company’s owner.”
Massimo paused then continued, “You were instructed to stay in your villa until dinner, were you not?”
“Yes, and I’m sorry, Your Majesty, but I couldn’t wait. It’s imperative we speak. Please afford me a minute,” Lex begged. Balling her hands into fists in an attempt to control her nerves, she became conscious that visiting Isola di Girasoli might’ve been in vain. From his vantage point, she must’ve appeared to be a maniac to have interrupted his vacation.
The prince put his hands on his hips. Beneath the towel, his groin became more visible.
Is he getting an erection? Hmmm. Lex tried her best not to stare, let alone lick her lips, though her throat felt dry. “I’m only here for the day,” she added, hoping to persuade him to speed this up by giving him a deadline. “I’m heading back to Sicily tonight, flying up to Milan for an event tomorrow.”
Stepping closer, his large frame overshadowed hers as he spoke. “Lex has it all planned out, guys.” Massimo gave Luigi and his angels a nod to listen and mocked, “Happy we could oblige you on this Italiano fashion tour. Giorgio Armani has a casa a few islands up. You may wish to interrupt his holiday, too. Have at it.” His sharp jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed.
Touché, Tittoni. It was hard to remain coherent when so close to him, as he seemed massive in proportions, including muscle, cock, ego and sarcasm. Swallowing air to sober her response, she answered, “Yes. As soon as we finish here, I’ll be on my way.”
He chuckled in mockery. “Lex, there is no boat service until Thursday. The captain comes twice a week. You will have to stay two nights, unless you can swim back to the mainland. It’s a far distance, even for an athlete.” He studied her up and down then added, “Which you are not.”
What an asshole. “No, and I don’t pretend to be. Still, I can’t stay. I’ll call a water taxi if I miss the boat.” According to her watch, she was not going to make it.
Massimo’s deep laugh bounced off the pool’s concrete encasement. The girls, dressed by that point, waited behind him with Luigi. To be dismissed? “The boat has been on the same schedule for more than fifty years and cannot change course to meet your demands.”
The women shifted, growing restless, and the prince turned. “Ladies, Luigi’s getting bored. Get back in the pool.”
He took Lex’s hand.
Ohhhhh my.
His demonstrative touch became warm and strong and confirmed in an instant her entire body wanted him.
Her brain, on the other hand, told her to knock it off. Not today. No way. No how.
“You and I are getting off to a bad start,” Massimo acknowledged. “It is a pleasure to meet such an accomplished designer. Please, accept my apology and stay for dinner.”
“Huh?”
“We will discuss Easton Essentials over a nice meal.” His playful fingers touched hers, and Lex became compelled to jump in her Jimmy Choos. But she didn’t.
&nbs
p; You’re finger-fucking my palm, you hot pig. But she stood her ground.
He flirted with her to stay the night.
She wasn’t blind, though, and she never played stupid.
What other option spoke to her? Get naked and jump into the pool with Luigi’s girls? Three against one, she didn’t have a chance. But the prince didn’t pay them much mind.
No matter. I must keep this professional. She couldn’t backstroke to Sicily.
“Fine, I’ll return to the villa. See you this evening.” It was difficult to take her eyes off him as she dipped her head in parting, letting his grip go.
“And, Signorina Easton, please dress for dinner.” His mouth twisted into a grin as he sized her up. Dropping the lingering towel, he leapt headfirst into the water. Massimo did a perfect dive, no splash, not even a ripple.
But his plunge wasn’t what impressed Lex.
Donkey Booty al Dente
Who does she think she is, showing up during my holiday demanding a meeting? Massimo’s curiosity for Lex didn’t end after the poolside introduction. He’d spent the day wondering, thinking, imagining—who the hell is she? Why hadn’t he met her at other social events in Paris or Tokyo? Or heard about Signorina Easton—the fashion industry’s best-kept secret—earlier?
Nevertheless, the Girasoli Garment Company canceled the shipment and with good reason. His business moved in another direction.
Slipping on his jacquard dinner jacket with the Tittoni family crest decorating the right pocket, he strode along the long hall. As he came down the winding staircase, the American stood in the foyer.
Bella, bella, bella. Lex is gorgeous.
His guest straightened her shoulders the second she noticed him. She wore light-gray pants hugging her in the right places. Her outfit illustrated a sexy silhouette, created from his factories’ textiles. A loose-fitting top concealed her long torso, accompanied by a sheer navy pashmina.
Did she try to hide her body?
Curious earlier, he’d researched Lex online and found zilch. Tons of media coverage on the brand, fans of the line and happy retailer quotes, but nothing on the designer. He found that odd. He wanted to hear more about her.
“This is what you do with the fabrics we ship you?” He sighed. “I thought I told you to dress for dinner.” He looked down at her slacks, wanting to see her legs bare-skinned.
“These pants are a bestseller. People love them as they make your waist and backside look smaller.” She smiled with pride, turning around to show him her buns.
“Grazie for the demonstration—very nice,” he complimented, noting she had a nice ass. Massimo let his mind run for a second, imagining pulling down her slacks and spreading her legs apart. He’d much rather eat her for dinner versus the typical fish his chef prepared.
“Yes, and if this is inappropriate for dinner at your palace, I apologize. I didn’t pack with this intention, Your Majesty.” Her tone sounded triumphant, glad to have an excuse to defy him. Defiance looked good on her—confident.
The prince motioned her through the varnished double doors and to a long dining table, where he pulled out a heavy chair for her. Smelling kiwi from her wavy blonde hair when he leaned in to push her seat to the table’s edge, Massimo inhaled twice. Dolce.
Kiwi aromas reminded Massimo how much he loved the sweet woman scent. A lady’s locks fisted in his hands and sleeping on his pillow was what his bed had been missing.
She giggled when he scooted her chair in.
He was amazed she acted unfamiliar with a man’s courtesies. By her beauty, he’d concluded Lex kept many lovers in New York who spoiled her. Massimo hoped she wasn’t spoiled rotten.
He sat across from her, facing the servants’ entrance and his guest. He wanted to see Lex, watch her and study her. She fascinated him. Using the miniature silver bell near his place setting, he rang for service.
“We are ready,” he commanded to Clara, a short, stout maid, who’d been with his family since his birth.
She nodded and approached with a crystal water pitcher.
“Did your other guests go home?” Lex asked. Doe-eyed, she seemed surprised at being alone with him.
Massimo wished. He’d love to have this palace to himself with Lex. “No, they are here for the entire holiday.” He tried not to make his apathy known. “The ladies are with my business manager, Luigi. They are dining on the mezzanine level.”
“How many dining rooms does this palace have?” Her taupe eyebrows arched.
“Four.” He motioned around them. “I selected the smallest for us tonight in hopes we could get to know one another better, in private.”
“Oh.” Lex squirmed in her seat.
Massimo wondered if she was uncomfortable with becoming familiar.
Clara set a breadbasket between them. “Buon appetito.” Steam rose from beneath the tucked white napkin.
“Is your villa to your liking?”
“It’s beautiful.” She adjusted her chair and the pashmina slipped down her back, granting him a full cleavage view.
Bella. Nice ass and nice tits. Massimo admired her bare shoulders and full breasts. He noted her skin resembled fresh milk. He wanted to take each breast and cup them in his hands, sucking on one then the other. Then there was her face. Crystal-green eyes sparkled as emeralds and the golden hair color, without a doubt not from a bottle. He’d take her up to his room and show her how his holiday was meant to be spent if her inclinations were on par with his.
“Do you lift weights?”
“Ehh.” At once, she pulled up the wrap. “I do. I also run,” she replied, sipping on her water. He could feel her restless leg jiggling under the table. Any discussion veering off the topic of obtaining the fabrics was going to test her patience.
“This week, you will enjoy using our palestra,” he hinted.
“Your gym?”
“We could lift together. A workout with you would be fun.” He’d push her muscles to the extreme. He pictured her glistening, hair wet, breathing heavy from a workout, ready for him to release her. Let’s get physical, bella.
Lex rested the glass near her plate and licked her lips. “Thank you for the invitation, but I’d rather work out alone or not work out at all. I wouldn’t be comfortable intruding on your gym time. I’m sure your Poolside Pollys would be happy to take my place.”
Ouch. American girls often judged his lifestyle. When he felt more under control, he spoke. “House of Tittoni ladies,” he lowered his voice, “do not work out. Not the way you do. They are Mediterranean. Women from these parts do not do cardio and definitely do not lift weights.”
“Uh-huh!” She rapped her knuckles on the table, throwing him from his euphoric trance. “Shall we get down to business?”
Bah. If business talk was what she wanted, she’d get an earful. Massimo thought she should’ve brought her notebook to jot down the enterprise strategies he was going to unleash. He fought the urge to look her over with seduction and would take a serious approach to her instead. “Now, you are here to discuss my fabrics.”
“Yes, our fabrics.” Her face was proud. “Girasoli has been Easton’s supplier for two years. We buy from you twice a year, in the summer for the winter season and in the spring for the fall season.”
“Sì, and I appreciated your business.”
Lex shrugged in mock disapproval. “This is a fine way to show it. You know Girasoli remains the top factory in the world, combining pearl latex and Italian silk together in a way which works with my patterns. It’s incomparable.”
“Grazie. But I cannot ship you the fabric,” he grumbled. But other things he could do for her came to mind.
“Why not?”
Massimo sucked air through his teeth. How did she not already know? Girasoli sent certified letters, replied to every email. The woman didn’t pay her bills, simple as that. He was dumbfounded by her audacity to show up at his private estate and act as his best customer. Lex Easton was indeed his worst customer. “You know alr
eady. All detailed in the letter I sent.”
“What letter? I never got it.”
“I checked. My records show someone at Easton, a Birdie, signed for it last week. The letter came by certified mail.”
She dropped her head in her hands and mumbled, “My mother.”
“Eh? Your madre works at Easton with you?”
“Yes.”
“A famiglia-owned and operated company is admirable.” Massimo became fascinated to see how the Eastons were doing with their finances. She’d failed to pay her invoices, after all.
“But it makes no difference to you.”
“Afraid not.” Massimo maintained his position.
“Incredible. I sent you my deposit two months ago. I thought the fabric would be coming.” Her fingers fluttered to her nape.
“Easton’s check was received,” he confirmed. “But it bounced. My accountant tried to process your American Express we have on file and it also declined. I’m afraid the payment decline releases me from responsibility.” Massimo took the breadbasket and offered her a piece.
She refused.
Tearing the pastry apart with both hands, he waited for her answer as to Easton’s inability to make good.
“I didn’t know—you should’ve called and told me.”
Do not play your blame game with me, Signorina. His response was factual. “The Girasoli Garment Company is over one hundred years in business. We have a reputation built on good clients who pay on time. We are not responsible for balancing your finances.”
Unable to face him, she caught her breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know the check bounced. Birdie handles the bookkeeping.”
“It is—how do you say in English—water under the bridge now. Sì?”
“No, I don’t sì. I need those fabrics. There is no water under this bridge. I’ll have Birdie wire money into your account first thing tomorrow morning. Girasoli can move forward with the shipment.”
“We are past this. Girasoli is launching our own shapewear line. We—”