by Penelope Sky
Andrew’s assistant approached us then guided us into his office. “Mr. Lexington is ready to see you now.”
The second I looked at Andrew’s face, I knew he was pissed. And he knew exactly why I was there. Like the last time we met, we didn’t shake hands. I sat in one of the chairs facing him, giving him a silent greeting.
Muse spoke to him with the same warmth she spoke to everyone. “Hello, Andrew. Thanks for meeting with us.”
He was cold to her, but not nearly as cold as he was to me. “Sure. I think I know why you’re here.” He turned to me. “Sapphire is under contract, as I’m sure you know. The only way to break that is with cash—so I hope you brought your checkbook.”
“Of course,” I said. “Sapphire will be returning with me to Italy. So your arrangement ends today.”
He turned his gaze back to her. “I hope you’re sure about this. Because if there’s another bump in the road, there won’t be a home for you here.” It was a subtle threat, but a threat nonetheless. He couldn’t persuade her to stick around, not while I was in the room. That was all he had at his disposal.
But Muse didn’t flinch. “I understand, Andrew. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. I appreciate it. I know Conway is a bit quiet, but I know he appreciates how well you treated me.”
“Because he didn’t treat you right himself,” Andrew said coldly.
My hand tightened into a fist, but I didn’t rise to the challenge. I couldn’t combat his comment when it was absolutely true. When I threw Muse off my property, it was the dumbest decision I had ever made.
I wouldn’t fuck up like that again.
I’d do everything I could to keep her around.
“Let’s crunch those numbers now.” I pulled my checkbook out of my pocket along with a pen. “And we’ll be on our way.”
10
Sapphire
Italy wasn’t the same as it was when I left.
Now it was cold, cloudy, and wet. The sun was blocked by thick clouds, so the fields didn’t shine with the same splashes of green and gold. The heat that I adored had disappeared, and I wondered how long it would be before it returned.
We got into the SUV at the airport, and his men drove us back to his place in Verona.
Conway sat beside me, holding my hand on his thigh. He’d hung up his suit during the flight and put it back on once the plane landed on the runway. Dressed for anything and everything, Conway projected the same intense confidence whether he was traveling or not.
He turned his face toward me, watching me examine the surroundings through the window. “There’s just a storm passing through. October is a beautiful month here. Once we hit November, the temperature will drop, and we’ll start to get snow.”
“So the sun will come back?” I asked hopefully.
“Yeah. It’ll be here for a few more weeks. Then we’ll have to move the horses and everything in the barn.”
“Good idea.”
We drove for another twenty minutes before we approached the gates to his mansion. Three stories and beautiful, it was still stunning just like I remembered. I stared as it came closer into view, seeing the ivy along the walls and the fountain still pouring water. Joy filled my heart the second I looked at it. I never felt this way when I returned to New York. I’d lived there my whole life, but I didn’t have this same kind of affection for it.
But this place was different.
He leaned into me and brushed his lips against my forehead. “Welcome home.”
My clothes were organized in the closet. All the things I was forced to leave behind were still there. My hair and makeup supplies were in the bathroom drawer, and the top drawer in the dresser was filled with my panties and lingerie.
It’d been three months, so I’d assumed he would have thrown everything out.
“You kept everything.”
“Of course.” He slid his jacket off his arms and threw it over of the back of the chair. He removed his tie next and draped it across his jacket. The pieces of his outfit fell away one by one, until he was stripped down to just his black boxers.
He wasn’t as thick as he used to be. The muscles in his arms weren’t as well defined, and the sculpted grooves along his stomach weren’t so deep. He hadn’t put on weight, just lost muscle. Spending his time not eating and not exercising had changed his appearance.
The opposite had happened to me, because I was forced to.
“You want me to have Dante bring us dinner?”
My internal clock was off. It was evening here, but my mind was still in daylight mode. I slept a lot on the plane, so I wasn’t necessarily tired. But I wasn’t hungry either. “No, I’m okay.” I stripped off my clothes until I was just in my panties. And like no time had passed at all, I opened his drawer and searched for a clean shirt to wear. I stared at the pile of choices and smiled, realizing how some things never changed. I picked a white one and pulled it over my body, surrounded by the soft cotton that naturally smelled like him.
“Anything you want to do in particular? I would take you to see the horses, but it’s dark and cold.”
I pulled back the covers and got into my bed, the bed I was used to sleeping in. I lay back and felt the mattress and the sheets. It felt exactly the same as I remembered, so perfectly comfortable. Lying there felt like a dream. I’d imagined myself there so many times, my hand between my legs as I pictured him thrusting inside me. “I just want to lie here…I missed this bed.”
He got into bed beside me. He turned on his side and stared at me, his hard features soft as he looked at me. He’d shaved his beard yesterday, so now the beautiful skin of his chin was visible. His chest rose and fell as he breathed, and he stared at me just the way he used to.
Like he’d found peace.
“This bed is only comfortable when you’re in it. Trust me…”
I turned and cuddled into his side. I pressed my face close to his, his cologne wrapping around me. I was assaulted by the smell of his body soap and his cologne. He smelled exactly the way I remembered.
New York seemed like a distant memory now.
“What’s on the agenda for tomorrow?” I whispered.
“I have no plans.”
“Based on what you told me, you need to get back to work.”
His eyes combed over my features, taking me in with his intense gaze. “I don’t care about that right now. All I care about is you.” He hooked my leg over his hip and kissed me, bringing me against his hard-on in his boxers.
Just as we used to do every night before bed, our hands were all over each other. Our mouths moved together passionately, and we tugged on each other to get closer. He gently ground against me, his cock rubbing against my throbbing clit.
His hand fisted my hair as he rolled on top of me, kissing me like he never had before. It was slow but more intense. He felt my lips like he was discovering them for the first time. His embraces were gentle, but when he fisted the back of my thong and dragged it down my legs, he wasn’t gentle at all.
I wasn’t even sure why I’d worn it to bed since he was going to rip it off anyway.
He pushed his boxers past his ass and then situated himself on top of me. With one quick thrust, he pushed himself inside me, sliding through my wetness until he was balls deep. His lips paused against mine as he breathed through the pleasure, his dick soaking wet from my arousal.
I locked my ankles around his waist, securing him to me so he couldn’t slip away ever again.
He kept his cock buried inside me as he looked me in the eye. “We’re going to see how much come you can take tonight.”
“Good.” My nails dragged down his back. “I’ve always wanted to know.”
When I woke up the next morning, Conway was gone.
I opened the nightstand, looking for my phone Conway had replaced for me, and that’s when I saw the magazines and the bottle of lotion. The pages that were dog-eared had images of me, photos that Andrew captured of me.
There were sev
eral.
I guess he wasn’t kidding.
When he told me he hadn’t been with anyone else, I believed him. But seeing the evidence right in front of me was both touching and arousing. Instead of picking up another beautiful woman, he chose to pretend I was still there.
Why did it take him so long to come get me?
I put everything back in the drawer then looked out the window over the terrace. Despite the storm that had happened the night before, it was a sunny day. The sun wasn’t as bright and it had a hint of fall, but it was still beautiful.
I spotted Conway on the terrace, sitting in his swim trunks while he drank his coffee and read the newspaper. He’d obviously had a swim, so he was back to exercising. And the omelet and toast on his plate was a good sign too.
I made my way downstairs, and I encountered Dante in the hallway.
“Sapphire, I’m so glad you’re back.” It was the nicest thing he’d ever said to me, especially since he usually didn’t say anything at all. “Conway asked for a big breakfast with a basket of toast. And he even went for a swim. He’s so much better. You make him better.” Dante smiled then walked back into the kitchen.
I moved outside to the terrace and saw Conway sitting under the umbrella. The water had dried off his skin, but his hair had flattered and was still a little damp. He looked up from his newspaper when he heard me, and that handsome smile slowly infected his face.
I leaned down and kissed him. “Morning.”
“Morning.” He cupped my face and rubbed his nose against mine. Rubbing noses was the kind of affection I saw between happy couples, so I guessed that meant we were a happy couple. “How’d you sleep?”
“Like a rock.” I sat in the chair across from him, and when I saw the breakfast laid out in front of me, I released a sigh of happiness. I’d missed mornings like this, when Dante would prepare a fresh omelet and fresh baked bread. Everything was so peaceful here, so slow. There seemed to be an endless amount of time to do anything. In New York, it was about constantly being on the go. There never seemed to be enough time to do everything.
But here, time wasn’t an issue at all.
I sipped my coffee and savored the smooth taste. The mug was warm in my fingertips, and the fresh omelet with sun-dried tomatoes was delicious. In New York, I had to cook for myself, and no matter how hard I tried, it never turned out anything like this.
Conway folded his newspaper and set it to the side. He sipped his coffee and stared at me, giving me his undivided attention the way he usually did in the evenings.
“You can keep reading your paper.”
“I’d rather look at you.”
Instantly, I melted like a piece of chocolate on top of warm dough. I’d dreamed about this man every night for three months. I’d imagined these conversations, these tense expressions. I’d imagined being the center of his world again.
“What are your plans today?” he asked.
I could get to the stables while the weather was still nice or take a last-minute dip in the pool while it was still warm. But there was something much more important that needed to be done. “We need to get to work in the studio, Con.”
“You just got back. We can take a few days.”
“No.” There was nothing I wanted more than to take a ride on the horses to see that view of Verona again. I wanted to spend all my time with Conway, making love under the oak tree or sipping coffee together. But there wasn’t time for that. “You’ve fallen behind, and we’re in a serious time crunch now.”
The corner of his lip rose in a smile.
“So let’s focus on that. When you’re done with your line, we’ll take the time to do something else.”
“Anything in mind?” he asked.
I would love another trip to Greece or somewhere else beautiful, but just being locked away in his bedroom was enough. “Making love.”
“Good answer.”
We finished breakfast then moved to the third floor. The table was covered with an assortment of fabrics, and his sketchbook was flipped to a white page with random scribbles on it. He’d made one drawing, scratched it out, and tried to draw another drawing on top of it. One day on top of the other, it showed his inability to stick with one idea. Anytime I saw him press his pencil to the paper in the past, he always sketched a beautiful piece—on his first try.
He dropped his bathing suit bottoms and changed into his sweatpants, but he kept his chest bare. His tan had faded slightly from being indoors all the time, but being exposed to the sun for the last hour had made his skin glow again.
He surveyed the mess on the table, his biceps clenched hard in displeasure. “My mind has been unfocused lately…”
I organized the different pieces of fabrics and hung them up on the organizer. Then I arranged his tools, his pins as well as his special pair of scissors. I put everything back the way he liked because his arrangement had been seared into my memory.
I grabbed a piece of deep blue fabric, silky in texture and soft against my fingertips. “This is pretty.”
“It is.” He leaned against the table, his sketchbook beside him on the surface.
“How about something with this?”
“I’ve already used a similar color.”
“Alright…” I hung it up on the rack and pulled out a red color.
“No,” he said immediately. “Nothing red.”
“What’s wrong with red?”
“Not your color.”
I returned it then looked for a new shade of color, something that might look good against my skin tone.
“The color isn’t what matters.”
I stopped and turned to him.
“The color accentuates, yes. Picking the wrong color tone can completely upset everything. But when you start from the ground and work your way up, the design and fit are the most important. Nail those, and then worry about that other stuff later.”
“Alright…then where should we start? I can tell you which pieces are my favorite. Maybe that can get your inspiration going.”
He straightened beside the table, his long frame tightening with strength. His broad shoulders matched his broad chest, but his hips narrowed dramatically at his waist. He was a perfect triangle, a symbol for the ideal physique for a man. But his body couldn’t compare to his chiseled face. Like an old-fashioned movie star, he had a distinct hardness to his face. With a beautiful jawline and intense eyes, he belonged in front of the camera rather than behind. “You want to inspire me, Muse?”
It seemed like a trick question, so I didn’t say anything. He was suddenly tense, borderline angry.
He stepped away from the table and walked to the gray couch next to the coffee table. He patted the back of it. “Lie down.” He kept one hand on the top of the cushion as he waited for me to respond.
He didn’t order me around that often anymore, so his request was a novelty. If he wanted to fuck me, he usually just kissed me and guided me to the nearest surface. I hesitated before I moved to the couch and took a seat.
“Lie down,” he ordered.
I lay back, my head resting on the armrest. I was in a sundress that I’d pulled on before I left the bedroom to join him for breakfast, so everything below my thighs was bare. My ankles were crossed, and I stayed still until he told me what to do next.
He grabbed his sketchbook and pencil and sat in the armchair on the other side of the coffee table. He crossed his legs and sharpened his pencil, his eyes on me. With every grind of the head of the pencil, the sound filled the room. His eyes remained locked on me until his pencil was at the perfect sharpness.
Then he rested his elbow on the armrest, grasping the pencil. “When you were in New York…did you think of me?”
“Always.”
“Did you think about me when your fingers were between your legs?”
Flashbacks of my nights alone in bed came back to me. My sweaty, writhing body rose in temperature as my fingers circled my clit. Sweat collected on the back of my nec
k. I pictured Conway on top of me, his muscled mass thrusting into me deep and hard. My legs always shook when I came, saying his name to the shadows in my bedroom. I wasn’t sure why it was so difficult to simply answer him. I thought of the magazines I found in his drawer, along with the half empty bottle of lotion. I shouldn’t feel any shame for admitting the truth, not when he was guilty of the exact same thing. “Yes.” I couldn’t hide the redness that filled my cheeks.
“Show me.”
I stared at him blankly.
“Show me,” he repeated, this time more aggressively.
I’d touched myself before, but it was always in private. I’d felt it was a shameful act, but when no one was around, it didn’t seem to matter. But to have Conway watch me when I could just have the real thing made it feel unbearably awkward.
His eyes narrowed even more. “I won’t ask again, Muse. You work for me. Don’t forget it.”
I still felt innately bashful, but the darkness in his eyes and the authority in his voice made me want to touch myself anyway.
“Pretend I’m not here.”
I finally parted my knees and lifted my dress up enough to reveal my thong.
His eyes shifted down.
My hand slid down my stomach until my fingertips slipped underneath my panties. I glided farther down until the soft skin of my fingertips came into contact with my yearning clit. The second I made contact, I took a deep breath.
It felt good.
Conway rested his fingertips against his lips, the pencil still between his fingers. He watched me, his expression hard and full of arousal.
My fingers rubbed my clit in a circular motion, and I went slow, partially trying to restrain myself from making it feel too good. I was still self-conscious about what I was doing, aware of the man watching me.
“I’m not here,” he whispered.
I closed my eyes and pictured Conway on top of me, his hard body suspended over mine. He pressed me into the cushion, his body taking mine as his. He separated my thighs with his knees so he could get all of his cock inside me. He started to thrust deep and hard, making his balls tap against my ass.