by Ava Claire
VENICE NIGHTS
Ava Claire
Copyright © 2013 Ava Claire
E-book License Edition Notes
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Epilogue
About the Author
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again—I have the best fans in the WORLD. I love you all.
Unicorn smoothies smoochies. <3
Chapter One
In a celebrity soaked world, I was no stranger to the tight grins of stars nor their bowed heads and glares as cameras documented every movement. The camera's flash was how I got to gush over an actress glittering on the red carpet; smirk at the drunken antics of some party-loving actor as they left a bar.
Never in my wildest dreams did I think I would be on the receiving end of those bright lights.
Slack-jawed.
Exposed.
“Leila! Over here!”
“I need a window!”
“How long have you and Jacob been dating, Leila?”
“Who are you wearing?”
I stood before the throng of photographers, rendered speechless.
Who was I wearing? I was just in a pair of skinny jeans and a blouse. I had no idea who I was wearing.
You have to tread very carefully. If a designer recognizes an item you’re wearing and you flub your response, you could be blacklisted. None of the big names will touch you.
I blinked into the blinding lights, a conversation I’d overheard popping in my head. One of the publicists at Whitmore and Creighton had been prepping a budding actress before a premiere, schooling her on red carpet etiquette.
How did I get here? How did that conversation become relevant to me?
“I...” My chest tightened as a question sliced through softball ones about fashion.
“How’s Jacob in bed, Leila?”
My body went rigid. The obnoxious leer on the face of the man who asked the question turned my stomach.
I knew the game the photographer was playing. He was probably one of the world-class jerks who screamed inappropriate questions at the children of celebrities. Questions about broken marriages and rumors too old for their young ears. He wanted a reaction.
I knew better than to feed the monster but I ignored my better judgment, moving dangerously close to the wall of cameras. I locked eyes on the offensive paparazzo.
“That is none of your goddamn business!” I snapped, letting the anger take over. It raised my temperature until I felt like I could breathe fire. “How dare you ask me that? You're an ass—”
“Not here.” Jacob’s voice cut through my tirade. His grip on my arm was firm. Undebatable.
But it was too late. The creep had struck a nerve—and they all saw it.
There was blood in the water. Who was I wearing? Please. The new questions they hurled had teeth.
“What do you say to the rumors that you slept your way into Jacob’s heart?”
“What did you have to do to go from an entry level position to assistant to the CEO?”
I balled my hands into fists at my side, wanting to punch every single one of them. I saw Rachel Laraby, Jacob’s conniving ex, in every question. In every smirk I saw a mirrored image of the lingering worries in my heart.
You did cheat.
You slept your way to a promotion.
You don't deserve any of this.
You don't deserve him.
I gripped Jacob’s hand like a lifeline as the crush of bodies and insulting questions about sexual favors whipped around us. The car was only a few feet away but it was the longest five strides of my life.
The driver sprung into action, pulling open the back door. Jacob was a shield between me and the photographers, helping me into the car before pulling the door shut behind us. The cameras were unrelenting, light streaming through the glass windows.
My throat closed as an irrefutable truth rang in my head. You just bombed your first interaction with the press.
It was ironic. Amusing even—but at the moment, I had no sense of humor. My bachelor’s degree was in public relations and I knew all the tools one was supposed to use in a hostile press environment. I knew you had to keep your composure or they’d eat you alive.
When it came down to it, all it took was one rude question and I crumbled.
The driver fought through the crowd and the car rocked into motion. I dropped my head in my hands, tears spilling between my fingers.
Jacob’s arms circled me. I didn’t even bother with my seatbelt. Safety was the last thing on my mind.
I just wanted him to hold me.
“It’s okay, Leila,” he murmured. Fingers in my hair. Words trying to pierce the storm clouds I had created.
But it was not okay. He had just told the world that we were together; that I was his girlfriend. I was in love with the man of my dreams—and he was in love with me. It was a happy moment, one I should have been able to tuck away in my memories as something joyous and beautiful. We faced the press hand in hand and I froze, leaving myself vulnerable. Instead of just following him to the car, I put a target on my chest. And now the world knew my weakness.
Jacob’s arms slackened and I sniffled, pulling my hands from my face. He looked over his shoulder, out the window.
My eyes widened as I followed his line of sight. Cars were zipping alongside us, cameras still going. Footage still rolling.
They were chasing us.
I gasped as one of the cars narrowly avoided rear-ending the car in front of him. Jacob locked eyes with me and worry flashed in his gaze before he pulled his lips into an uncomfortable grin.
“Everything’s going to be—”
“Don’t you dare say fine,” I interrupted, shaking my head fiercely. I gestured out the window at the cars surrounding us. Hounding us. “This is not fine!”
His voice was steady and precise, every handsome feature going serious. “Listen to me. Everything is fine. We’re almost to the garage and they can go no further than that.”
I relaxed slightly, releasing the breath I’d been holding. “They can’t?”
“They can’t,” he confirmed. “Even if one of them manages to sneak past the guards, they can’t follow us once we’re in the helicopter.”
My blood pressure shot back up. “Helicopter?” High speed chases with paparazzi, helicopters—twenty minutes ago I was just a personal assistant. The biggest drama of my life was talking Rachel Laraby off the ledge. Now, my whole life was a drama. A movie full of suspense, twists and turns I was not prepared for. I was the main character, the fish out of water that was seconds away from a panic attack.
“Look at me, Leila.”
It was a simple request, one that would have surely calmed me down. But my brain was malfunctioning, twitching as we bumped on the road. The driver was hissing in Italian. My best
guess was that he was cussing out the paparazzi, who were getting increasingly reckless. It was as if they could sense we were near our destination and the perfect shot of my terrified face would soon be out of reach.
Jacob repeated his command and my eyes flickered to the right—and stopped when a sedan nearly sideswiped us. The photographer in the neighboring car was hanging dangerously out the window, unaffected by the fact that he had almost met his end. Were pictures of me and Jacob together really worth his life? I didn’t even want to know how he would answer the question; how much pictures of my horrified face were really worth.
Images of our car wrapped around one of theirs, a ball of unrecognizable metal and glass, made me sick to the stomach. I scrambled for my seatbelt, panic rendering my trembling fingers useless.
“Jacob,” I said, buckling my seatbelt. “You should do yours too.”
“Look at me, Leila!”
His roar filled the cabin of the car. I was surprised the driver did not slam on the brakes, giving Jacob his full attention too.
I faced Jacob, expecting fury to consume every inch of his face. Skin pulled tight in displeasure, darkened blue eyes narrowed; irritated shadowing of his perfect cheekbones, lips curled with displeasure as he bared clenched teeth. But he was as calm as he had been a few moments before, when he tried to convince me that everything was going to be okay.
He cradled my cheek, his touch warm and calming. “Breathe.”
My gasps were shallow and rapid, my head swimming. He held me, eyes urging me to copy the in and out of his relaxed breaths.
I gulped and tried, eyes locked on him and nothing else. My breaths slowed and the fears that drowned everything else dissipated. After a painful moment, my head rose above the water.
“Good,” he said gently, his thumb stroking my jaw. “Now, repeat after me—everything is fine.”
I licked my chapped lips. “Everything is fine.”
The driver made a hard right, confirming that everything was not fine. But we did not crash into another car.
We had stopped.
The lights that flooded the car dimmed and I looked out the back window. Traffic zoomed past and for a second, I thought we had lost them—until I recognized one of the paparazzo’s sedans shuddering at the curb a few feet away.
I turned back to the front, eyes shooting to the left and the right, taking in our dark surroundings. We were in the parking garage.
After the driver swiped his card and security validated his credentials, we pulled further into the structure, putting more distance between us and the cameras. My heart still raced, but I let out a sigh of relief as we drove upward. Each level slowly ticked by until I finally saw the light at the end of the tunnel.
A helicopter was perched on the roof, waiting in the middle of the parking lot. A beefy looking man stood beside it. The driver parked the car a few feet from the helicopter.
“Ready to go?” It was a rhetorical question because Jacob had already climbed out of the car. I had no choice but to follow.
I followed him, my heart rising in my throat when I met the eye of the driver. He waited for me to straighten myself, then dutifully extended my purse. I wanted to hug his neck, but he looked as rattled as me. I just thanked him, looping the purse strap over my shoulder. Jacob shook the driver’s hand and paid him a tip that I hoped made up for our near death experience.
The burly man beside the helicopter wore a black t-shirt and matching slacks. Wind gusted around us and whipped his long, ink black hair in front of his chiseled face. It didn’t hide dark eyes. They were piercing and bottomless. I had a feeling he could more than handle any paparazzo who might have followed us.
“Mr. Whitmore,” he said gruffly. He nodded at me. “Signorina.”
“How long until we arrive at the villa?” Jacob asked, tugging his tie loose.
“Thirty minutes, Mr. Whitmore. Unless there are other stops to be made.”
“No,” I said quickly, drawing surprised looks from both of them. My cheeks warmed as I pulled my jacket tighter around my body. “I just want to go home.”
Jacob’s lips curved into an approving smile. He knew I did not mean back home in the United States. Home was wherever he was.
He nodded at our escort. “No stops.”
The dark haired man went to the front of the helicopter where the pilot was waiting.
Jacob extended his hand to me. “Ready?”
I took it, but my steps were hesitant. “I-I’ve never been in a helicopter.”
“I’ll be right beside you.”
I put aside the nerves and gripped his hand as I followed him inside the helicopter. I ducked my head as I squeezed into the confined space. I listened intently as the pilot explained safety and illustrated how to buckle up properly. He handed Jacob and I headsets. I gingerly put mine on, reclaiming Jacob’s hand immediately.
The entire helicopter vibrated, the propellers whirring. I could still hold a conversation with Jacob or one of the others, but I was too busy taking it all in. We flew over the city, the buildings like toys beneath us, the roads and cars microscopic. I could not pinpoint Rachel’s hotel.
Ground zero, I thought glumly.
Maybe that was a good thing. This helicopter ride was one of the reasons I had been jittery with excitement when I first learned I was going to Italy. I was finally seeing the country from a view that photographs would not do justice. I was taking a step outside my comfort zone.
I squeezed Jacob’s hand excitedly as the crystal water stretched on before us, the helicopter kissing the edge where historic buildings looked out into the blue. Sun sparkled like diamonds on the surface of the water.
“It’s beautiful,” I said, finally relaxing and remembering the beauty of this place instead of focusing on my colossal screw-up in front of the press.
“You’re beautiful,” Jacob said, looking at me like I gazed at the scenery. Like nothing on Earth was as beautiful or as precious to him.
Tears started in my chest, my heart filling with so much love for him. They pricked my eyes, and my nostrils flared as I tried to keep it together.
His face darkened with worry, misreading my reaction. “Are you all right?”
I leaned in, knowing the only way to calm his worries. My lips gripped his, tongue diving into his mouth with a hunger only he could sate. When I pulled back, lust swirled in his eyes.
“Kisses like that may get you in trouble,” he said, need darkening every word. Promising me toe curling things.
I brought my hand to the erection tenting the crotch of his pants. “I’m counting on it.”
Chapter Two
We touched down in knee high grass, Jacob’s villa standing massive and beautiful on the lush Italian countryside. Once the helicopter powered down I could hear myself think, I sent Jacob a message with my eyes. The propellers and electronic whirring could no longer quiet the need that screamed in my head.
I wanted him.
The word ‘want’ did not do the desires inside me justice. I wanted to put my feet on solid ground. After five minutes in the air, oohing and aahing over architecture, I made the mistake of thinking about how far up we were. How far I had to fall if something terrible happened.
I brushed off the rush of discomfort, remembering that something terrible did happen. My boyfriend announced to the world that we were together, and when the paparazzi did the inevitable and asked an inappropriate question, I lost my shit. Jacob Whitmore dating a nobody was news. Jacob Whitmore dating a nobody that nearly punched out a photographer? That was gold.
Not now, I thought sternly, pushing aside the latest events of the crazy saga that my life had become. I was dating Jacob Whitmore, the drop dead gorgeous businessman, the only person from his field to be crowned People Magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive. The only guy that could bring me to the edge of beautiful, tear inducing pain—and make me beg for more. The only man that told me he loved me and unlocked some secret part of me; the hopeless romantic who believed i
n happily ever afters and thought maybe, just maybe, we could last forever.
Forever. That word was as heavy as the L word.
Before you start singing songs about going to the chapel and naming your future children, you should focus on now.
This moment. My hand in his, walking inside his breathtaking home.
Finally alone.
Jacob closed the door behind us. “Now about that kiss...”
He turned to face me, his bright eyes rounding with surprise. The tunic I’d worn was already flung across the room, the leggings next in line. I held his gaze, my fingers running down my fevered skin. Over my knees, skating my calves. I bent at the waist, loving the way his eyes shifted to my breasts, caressing every contour.
When he spoke, his voice was low and dangerous.
“What are you doing?”
I kicked the leggings away, goosebumps rippling over me like wildfire. “I’m submitting to you.” The only thing that kept me from being completely naked were my bra and panties. I sunk to my knees, waiting expectantly.
He said nothing, his face impassive as his eyes slowly raked over my body.
Oh my god...my still clothed body! Memory pierced me and I shot back to our first encounter in his special BDSM room, in this very house. I had flaunted my lingerie then too and he had ordered me to remove it, showing him every part of me.
I reached around my back, unhooking my bra. I blushed from head to toe as I wiggled out of my thong. When I spied my clothes flung around so carelessly, I gathered them in my arms. I flashed him an apologetic smile that he did not return. Another thing I had forgotten. I felt just as embarrassed as I had then, crawling to pick up my hastily discarded clothing.
“Sorry,” I said quickly, returning to my knees. I pushed away the punch of discomfort as my knees made contact with the hardwood floor. I looked up, expecting Jacob to bark out some command or smile with pleasure that I was ready to be his.
All his.
When he did not say a word, silently crossing his muscled arms against his chest, a fluttering erupted in my stomach.
I was naked and on my knees, practically prostrating for him. Why had he not taken me?