The jovial little drinks celebration couldn’t have ended soon enough, so she was thrilled when he announced he was going to show them all to their rooms.
“If you just point the way, I’m sure I can find it,” Taylor said, hoping to get away from Sandro before she was forced to feed him more of her mind.
“That won’t be possible,” he said.
She knit her brows. “Anything’s possible. Try me. I’ve got a good sense of direction. I promise you won’t have to send out a search party.”
“Why don’t Sandro and I grab the bags and you girls wait here for us,” Luca said, his idea a little pickax breaking the ice in the room.
“Don’t worry, Luca. I’m perfectly happy to get my own suitcase,” Taylor said. “You don’t need to do that.”
Sandro frowned and held his hand out as she tried to follow them down the steps to Luca’s car. “Stay there. I’ve got it.”
Taylor rolled her eyes behind his back. “Where’d you find that loser?” she asked her friend.
“Stop,” Larkin said. “He’s really not usually like this. I don’t know what’s gotten into him.”
“I think a bloated ego is it.”
“Really, he’s normally very nice.”
“If this is nice, I’d hate to see him behaving badly.”
“Well,” Larkin said. “Looks like you two are destined for happiness together.” She laughed.
“Honestly,” Taylor said. “What a crank he is. I’d no sooner consider even a brief fling with him than I’d contemplate a one-way ticket to Mars.”
“Nothing personal, but I think the feeling might be mutual,” a deep voice behind her said.
Taylor looked over her shoulder to see her host standing there, her suitcase in one of his hands, her garment bag in the other. He had a half grin on his face, and she wasn’t sure if that meant he was trying to be funny or he was just enjoying busting her making a rude remark about him.
“Oh, um, uh,” Taylor said. As much as she was unimpressed with the man, she didn’t want him to know she thought he was a rude git.
“Luca,” Sandro said, not dwelling on their unpleasant exchange. “You two will stay in the usual place. I’ll show your friend Princess Charming to her room.” He smirked at her.
Great. Now not only was the man a complete jerk, but on top of it all he also knew that she thought he was. She was just going to have to resign herself to making the most of this weekend and at least trying to leverage this party to raise funds for her charity. At least then something good would come of it.
Chapter Five
What a sassy thing she was, Sandro thought as he overheard her busting his balls. Here he thought he’d figured that one out already, pegging her as the typical clothes-obsessed, status-oriented me! me! me! fashion-model type. And maybe she was that. But she had a little spark to her—albeit a combustible one—which was, he really hated to admit it, intriguing as hell. He sort of liked it when someone gave him shit, especially when he deserved it.
He knew he’d been a complete prick tonight; he somehow just couldn’t help himself. What was he thinking, embarrassing poor Larkin like that? Just because his relationships had led to trouble didn’t mean that Luca and Larkin wouldn’t be perfectly happy together. Statistically unlikely, but, well, stranger things had happened in the world.
He wasn’t sure why the idea of them pairing up for all eternity bothered him so much. Was it because she was taking his playmate away from him for good? Even he knew that was completely childish. He was a grown man—he couldn’t carouse like a twenty-year-old forever. Not that he even got to carouse when he was twenty—maybe that was the real issue with him. But wasn’t he allowed to be at least a little bit possessive about this? He and Luca had been friends far longer than Luca had been in love with Larkin. And yet here he’d been instantly supplanted by the woman. It sort of sucked.
Damn, it was downright surprising what a good shagging could lead to. At least he assumed that was what was behind his engagement—why else would the man give up his freedom if it weren’t for an amazing lay? Though even Sandro wouldn’t yield in that regard. He’d had plenty of mind-blowing sex before, yet never was it worth abandoning your freedom forever. Hell no! Life was too short for that sacrifice. He might as well skewer himself on a spit and be left on the altar as a sacrifice to the gods.
In the meantime, he was stuck being a polite host to this feisty thing he couldn’t help but be a little bit curious about, even as he wished he could send her back to wherever she came from before he did something really stupid like listen to his damned libido that was telling him to take advantage of her proximity. Christ, it had been too long since he’d had proper sex. He was going to have to take matters into his own hands as it were, just as soon as he showed her to her room. Otherwise, he was going to be on tenterhooks the whole bloody weekend.
They walked down a long, dark corridor overflowing with antique busts, statues, and paintings. Sandro always felt reassured when wandering the hallways of this vast palazzo: these were his people surrounding him, his history embracing him every waking moment. His successes rested on the shoulders of so many generations before him, and he felt enormous pressure not just to maintain but to exceed his ancestors’ impressive achievements in order to ensure that Romeo wines remained the best in all of Italy.
“I’m really perfectly capable of carrying my own things,” Taylor said, trying to relieve him of her garment bag, but Sandro pulled it out of her reach.
“Wouldn’t hear of it,” he said. “What sort of gentleman would I be then?”
She threw him a sidelong glance. “Uh, maybe you didn’t get the memo.”
He let out a laugh. “Right. So far you’ve been unimpressed with my manners. That’s okay. I get that. You need to understand that Luca and I go way back, and I can say things to him that perhaps are inappropriate for the tender ears of outsiders.”
She remained silent, but he could see she was glaring again.
“What?” he said. “What did I say now?”
“It’s sort of rude to suggest that I’m not a friend of Luca and Larkin’s,” she said. “I might not be the almighty BFF to Luca that you are, but I’m hardly an ‘outsider.’” She made demonstrative air quotes to drive home her point.
He stopped for a moment and held up his hands in surrender. “Fine,” he said. “No harm meant. I was just speaking off the cuff. I didn’t realize I had to have my speech vetted before you could hear any of it.”
Her eyes grew wide. “I think you’d better just quit before you do something crazy, like put your foot in your mouth. Oh, too late. You already did that.” She snatched her garment bag from his hands and quickly walked ahead of him.
“Feel free to lead the way, but you haven’t a clue where you’re headed.”
She slowed down and let him pass her with a grimace on her face. Clearly she had no plans to walk alongside him.
“I hope you don’t mind your room not being near your friend. Luca always stays in the same room when he visits—he even keeps spare supplies there so he doesn’t have to carry them with him,” he said. “Besides, I thought I’d put you up in a room that overlooks the valley below. The sunrise is spectacular here—if you can get up early enough to witness it.”
“I’ll be sure to set my alarm.”
Damn, she sure sounded like she was being a smart-ass there.
“The only downside is you’re across the hall from me. Which I’m sure won’t be a problem for you as I can assure you I won’t bother you at all. At any rate, breakfast is served on the terrace until nine,” he said. “And no doubt with your innate tracking skills, you’ll be able to find your way there without any problems.”
She smirked at him. “I think I can follow the smell, thanks.”
“In that case, we’ve arrived at your room. I hope you have a comfortable night’s sleep.”
He opened the door, set her suitcase on an antique luggage rack, and dipped in a sarcastic bow a
s he left the room without another word. The last thing he wanted to do was spend even a minute more in that woman’s presence considering the state of sexual desperation he was currently in and the fact that he found her far more intriguing on so many levels than he’d ever care to admit.
Chapter Six
When they reached a gilded door and Sandro stopped, turned the knob, and opened the door to the most beautiful room she’d ever seen, she could barely believe it. Sometimes she still had to pinch herself to realize how far she’d come. There had been a time when she was lucky to sleep in the backseat of her mother’s rusted-out Ford Taurus, when they were so poor they had no home and no beds to sleep in.
Ever since she’d become a famous model and could rest her head anywhere she wanted to, she made sure she covered the windows against any early-morning sun: it tended to give her flashbacks to her childhood, waking with the sun streaming into the car windows. Back then, the only good thing about dawn was realizing they’d passed the night safely. So the idea of having those curtains open to see the sunrise was so not something she would consider. The biggest luxury she could imagine for a long time was installing blackout shades in the home she’d purchased for her mother. She relished her privacy and the ability to sleep until she woke rather than until the day broke, and on those rare occasions that she’d get home, she wanted to sleep until she could sleep no more.
She stood and gazed in awe at the room. She was spoiled—she’d stayed in luxurious hotels all over the world. But this room exceeded the most exclusive hotels in which she’d been a guest. It was one step away from something you’d see at Versailles; it was that opulent.
Draped across the oversized king mahogany bed was a sumptuous, rich, deep blue velvet down-filled comforter surrounded by piles of pillows. The curtains hadn’t been drawn along a wall of windows, so greeting her was the star-filled sky she’d savored an hour earlier. She stared outside, the terrain beginning to take shape as her eyes adjusted to the darkness below, and with what little light the tiny sliver of moon afforded, she could just make out the undulating hills planted full of grapevines as far as the eye could see.
A gilded chandelier was suspended from the ceiling, and the walls were covered in a softer shade of blue damask. The headboard of hand-carved mahogany was trimmed in gilt, and coordinating blue velvet was suspended from a canopy, enveloping the bed in private comfort. She could get used to living in this room. If only it didn’t involve the existence of that unpleasant cousin of Luca’s. Strange, Luca and his family all seemed so lovely; that man must be from the black sheep side of the family.
After Taylor unpacked her belongings and hung up her clothes in the matching antique wardrobe, she got ready for bed. She stood before that wall of windows as she brushed her teeth, just staring into the dark night sky, feeling totally at peace. A shooting star streaked across the cobalt sky, and she made a wish on it. It’s not as if most of Taylor’s wishes hadn’t already been answered; she was fortunate enough to have overcome a rough beginning to now live an enviable lifestyle. She was one of the lucky ones. But she knew there were many children even less fortunate than she had been, and she wanted them to be able to enjoy the riches of life too. Was that asking too much?
Just before bed, Taylor pulled back the comforter and returned to the windows to draw the curtains tightly closed. Yet for some reason she couldn’t do it: the blanket of stars that studded the sky was so beautiful. And that shooting star. Maybe she could stare into the distance and see another one. She knew she felt safest with protection from the outside, so it would take a lot for her to resist the need to pull the heavy velvet draperies closed. But she was perfectly safe, two floors up, in the middle of the countryside. She was no longer a small child in the back of an old car, parked near a bridge underpass where the police wouldn’t make her mother move the car in the middle of the night. Out of sight, out of mind was how her mother viewed it. But Taylor always felt perfectly exposed to prying eyes, vulnerable to the creatures of the night.
She lay in silence, secure beneath the soft warmth of the comforter, breathing deeply, trying to calm her rattled nerves. It bothered her that she could be a world away from that feeling, yet it still took hold of her and reinforced age-old insecurities in her. No matter how strong a woman she’d become, she was still vulnerable to the vagaries of those childhood fears. But dammit, she would not let them win. She’d keep those curtains pulled open all night come hell or high water.
~*~
Taylor woke with a scream, her heart racing in her chest, her breath coming fast as she practically hyperventilated from fear. It took her a moment to realize where she was and that she was perfectly safe. And then she remembered the dream that caused her to wake so suddenly and with such fright. It was one that had recurred for much of her life, ever since she and her mother lived that vagrant’s lifestyle. The car, surrounded by men, scary men in Day of the Dead face paint, the terrifying white faces with blackened, hollowed eyes and stitched lips. The men pounding on the windows, trying to open the doors while Taylor cowered in a corner and her mother screamed for help that would never come.
How many times had she had this terrible nightmare? How many times had she woken her mother, only to be alone in the dark, technically still safe, but knowing that bad was all around them and the sense of safety was one that would escape her even to this day.
She needed to defy it, to not give it room to breathe, so instead of hiding beneath the blanket, as was her usual response, she forced herself out of bed, approaching the window with a sense of trepidation but a need to stop the unfounded fear from owning her as it had for far too long. She gazed up at the sky and practiced the breathing techniques she’d learned over the years to take control of her feelings. They were only thoughts, they weren’t real, she told herself.
Just then the door slammed open and Sandro came running into the room wearing nothing but a pair of barely there, light green micromodal briefs.
“Are you all right?” he said, rushing toward her.
Taylor screamed again, startled as she was by the loud noise first and the mostly naked man appearing before her second. He was like the ghost of hot encounters past. If only it was future. Though not with him, because, well, she already knew what a charmer he was.
“What are you doing here?”
“You screamed,” he said. “I had to be sure nothing was wrong.”
She stopped and looked at him. “You came in here to rescue me?”
He knit his brows. “Of course I did. Well, maybe not ‘rescue’ you per se, but to be sure you were safe. It’s not often I have houseguests screaming in the middle of the night.”
Taylor blushed. How embarrassing. This was her dirty secret, her deep-seated fears. No one, but no one, knew she wrestled with this problem so regularly. And yet here was Sandro, someone she’d known only for an hour or so, rushing in to help her—in his underwear, no less.
Make that in his amazingly sexy low-cut briefs that hugged his body in a way that left nothing to the imagination. Her vivid imagination had already gotten the better of her tonight in a fearful way. But now it was starting to morph into something a bit more sexual. Because damn, he looked hot. The hard planes of his smooth chest and abs were just screaming for her to lay her hands on them. In her defense, it had been a long time since she’d romped in that playground; she’d forgotten how much fun it could be. Just looking at him made her want to dive right into that water all over again, although darn it, Sandro would hardly be one she’d want to ever have sex with. He was so grouchy he’d probably reject her anyway. Not that she’d ever proposition him.
Her eyes scanned him from his sleepy brown eyes to that sexy goatee and that long hair that her fingers wanted to weave their way through and down along that body. God, that body. Strong, corded shoulders and arms, the aforementioned chest and stomach, that tempting happy trail of hair that ended at the low-slung waistband of those itty-bitty briefs that revealed plenty of hard contours of w
hat lay beneath the thin green fabric. Curse that waistband, the killjoy. Taylor found herself breathing hard, but this time not because she was worried about her safety but rather deeply concerned about her potential lack of control.
“Thank you, Sandro, for your concern,” she said. “But I’m perfectly fine. It was all a mistake. Good night.”
She reached to turn him around by his shoulders to usher him out the door, but instead she froze at the feeling of flesh on flesh. Breathe, she told herself.
“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on,” he said, planting his feet so that she couldn’t budge him.
Well, crap, Taylor thought. It was not going to be so easy to get this man out of her room before her animal impulses made her do something deeply regrettable.
Chapter Seven
Sandro never understood the term “wifebeaters,” at least when it came to when women wore the sleeveless shirts. Because looking at Taylor McFarland, her ample breasts outlined in that see-through white tee, the furthest thing from his mind was wife-beating. More like wife-worshipping. Only not wife. Make that woman-worshipping. Or if he were to be totally honest, breast-worshipping. Because at this very moment in time, even knowing Taylor was someone he needed to avoid like some sort of communicable disease he’d be stuck with for life if he wasn’t careful, he wanted nothing more than to worship that body and those magnificent tits, highlighted in that beautiful, perfect, life-altering, formfitting wifebeater. It didn’t help matters that the air-conditioning had left her nipples standing at attention, and he was rendered momentarily speechless as he tried to make sense of what stood before him—and what was the most forbidden of fruit, to boot.
Red Hot Romeo (The Royal Romeos, #1) Page 3