6. Summer
Summer
Jeez. Gabi wasn’t kidding when she said this guy was loaded. The house where I got dropped off was even bigger than the one where they’d held that party.
I was still wide-eyed, taking it in, when a gruff voice said, “Keep walking, sweetheart.”
My head whipped to the side to find a burly man with his upper torso leaning out of the tiny gatehouse, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“Um.” Nervously, my hands tugged on the hem of my jacket. “I’m here to see Mr. Matteo Bellini.”
The man, whom I could only assume was a security guard, lifted a single eyebrow. “He expecting you?”
“No, sir.” I shook my head.
“Then I’m afraid you’re out of luck.”
Stepping forward, I begged, “Please. I-I was the one who saved his daughter’s life.”
That little tidbit had him rearing back in surprise. “That so?”
I nodded frantically. “Yes.”
His lips drew into a thin line. “I can’t let you past the gate without clearance, miss.”
“Well, how do I get that? It’s really important that I speak with him.”
Shaking his head, the security guard let out a heavy breath. “Name?”
“Summer Reynolds.”
“You got an ID that matches?”
“Of course.” I dug into my purse to retrieve my driver’s license before handing it over.
The man’s eyes scanned my identification, lifting briefly to confirm my face matched the picture printed on the laminated card.
With a nod, he returned my license.
I was still busy fitting it back into the slot of my wallet when I heard him speak. “I’ve got a Summer Reynolds at the gate.” My head lifted to find he was talking into a cell phone. “Says she’s responsible for saving the boss’s girl.”
There was a beat of silence where he listened to whomever was on the other end of the line.
Grunting, the guard jerked his chin toward the gate, which had begun to open. “Straight to the door. Housekeeper will let you in.”
“Thank you.” I ducked my head in gratitude before hustling my ass up the long driveway.
My fist was poised to knock, but it met nothing but air as the front door was pulled open suddenly.
Startled, I stumbled back a step and let out a surprised yelp.
A middle-aged woman, with gray threading through her pitch-black hair pulled into a severe bun, appeared.
“This way, please,” she commanded, turning on her heel, the expectation clear that I was meant to follow.
Timidly, I crossed the threshold, shutting the heavy door behind me. Then I hastened my steps to keep up with the housekeeper, who didn’t show any signs of slowing down to wait for me.
I caught up to her just in time to be shown into a massive library. My eyes grew large as I took in the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lining the room. And like in some fairytale dream, there was a rolling ladder affixed to them.
“Mr. Bellini is currently in a meeting. If you could please wait here, I’ll fetch you when he becomes available.”
“Sure, okay.” I tried to tamp down my excitement that I’d be left alone in this reader’s paradise.
“Is there anything I can get you in the meantime? A beverage, perhaps?”
It was on the tip of my tongue to ask if the courtesy of quenching my thirst would be considered a “debt” that would need to be repaid in this strange world I’d found myself tangled up in, but instead, I shook my head.
“No, thank you.”
“Very well.” The latching of the door behind me signaled her departure.
With tentative steps, I moved toward the nearest bookshelf.
My fingers grazed along the exposed spines, tracing the gold-foiled titles of some of the classics before moving on to a row of encyclopedias.
Eventually, I reached an entire shelf containing children’s books, ranging anywhere from board books to picture books to chapter books.
When I saw a copy of my favorite childhood book, I couldn’t help but slip it from the shelf and carry it over to one of the plush chairs placed strategically throughout the room. Kicking off my shoes, I tucked my feet beneath me and settled in to reread the familiar story.
My lips curved into a smile as I scanned the words I knew by heart.
I found comfort in the tale about the orphaned redheaded girl sent to live on a farm in eastern Canada, only to discover upon arrival that the pair of elderly siblings had been expecting a boy instead.
When they decided to keep the girl, she found herself constantly in trouble, and her antics were beyond hilarious to read.
Lost in the fictional world, snickering over the account of Anne breaking a slate over Gilbert’s head, I nearly jumped out of my skin when a voice said, “Mr. Bellini will see you now.”
Placing a hand over my racing heart, I took a few steadying breaths before standing. Closing the book, I replaced it on the shelf in its designated spot and turned to follow the housekeeper.
Like before, she hadn’t waited to make sure I was with her before heading toward her destination.
Between her and the security guard both being standoffish, I wasn’t overly optimistic about how my audience with the mafia boss would play out.
We came to a stop outside a closed door. With a no-nonsense rap of her knuckles on the wood, the housekeeper waited long enough for a male voice on the other side to reply with a curt, “Enter.”
Already, sweat began to gather beneath my armpits as nervousness crept in. Had his voice sounded that harsh the last time we spoke? To be honest, most of that day was fuzzy in my memory now, lost after the adrenaline rush of the rescue had worn off.
With a twist of the doorknob, my presence was announced. “Miss Summer Reynolds to see you, sir.”
“Thank you, Teresa. You may leave us.”
Effectively dismissed, the housekeeper stepped out of the way and disappeared down the hall. My attention was drawn away from her retreating form by a cleared throat from within what appeared to be a home office.
My head whipped around, and my attention focused on the man leaning against the large desk.
Oh wow.
Mouth going dry, I swallowed involuntarily.
Matteo Bellini was scorching hot in a suit, but dressed down in a pair of dark jeans and a charcoal Henley? It was a miracle I didn’t dissolve into a puddle where I stood. My panties were certainly wet as my greedy gaze scanned him from head to toe.
Speaking of toes, I nearly moaned when I caught sight of his bare feet peeking out from beneath denim. What was it about a man not wearing shoes or socks with jeans that was so damn sexy?
When my visual scan returned to his face, I noted the tips of his messy dark hair were damp, almost as if he’d just taken a shower.
Hmm, a shower sounded nice. Hot and steamy, his hard body pinning me to the cool tile wall as he railed me from behind. I wondered if he fucked hard or if he took his time, drawing out not only his partner’s pleasure but his own.
The sound of ragged breathing reached my ears, and that’s when I realized I was panting.
Get it together, Summer!
A corner of his lips twitched like he was amused that I’d been caught checking him out.
And still, I couldn’t look away, noting that his clean-shaven jawline was sharp enough to cut glass.
“Miss Reynolds, to what do I owe the honor?” The rich baritone of his voice settled directly between my thighs.
I found it impossible to ignore the strong magnetic pull I felt toward him. And I knew if I didn’t get out of here soon, I might do something I would regret. Like beg him to bend me over his desk.
“It’s Summer, please.”
He stroked a thumb over his full lower lip. “Summer. How may I help you this afternoon?”
Stepping further into the room, I pulled the letter from the bank out of my purse. “While it was an extremely generous gesture for you to pay off my loans, I’m sorry, but I can’t accept it.”
Dark brows drew down, causing a wrinkle to form between them. Brown eyes going stormy, he gritted out, “I pay my debts.”
“That’s great, but this”—I waved the paper—“is my debt.”
“I’m aware. But what you don’t seem to understand is that by saving my daughter’s life, I’m honor-bound to give you a life in return. While it’s not a life in the literal sense, I felt that erasing your student debt would offer you the chance to live without the burden of that weighing you down.”
I offered him a tight smile. “While I can agree that your heart was in the right place, I maintain that I cannot accept this. I was already paid at the party for performing my lifeguarding duties, and in my mind, we’re even. Okay?”
He gave a single shake of his head. “No, not okay. There isn’t a price I wouldn’t pay for my daughter’s safety and well-being.”
How did you argue with that?
“Look,” I tried again to reason with the stubborn man. “I can pay them off myself.”
Folding both arms over his chest, he let out an amused huff. “Yeah, I’m sure between your wages as a waitress and the odd lifeguarding job, you’ll have those paid off in no time.”
My jaw hit the floor.
“H-how do you know where I work?”
Gaze locked on mine, he lifted an unapologetic shoulder. “I have my ways.”
“Riiiiiiiight.” I drew the word out slowly. “Anyway, it’s really none of your business how I handle my personal finances.”
Matteo Bellini shoved off the desk, stalking closer and making it feel as if the walls were closing in on me.
“Maybe not,” he agreed. “But according to the bank”—the letter was plucked from my fingers—“the debt is settled, the loan paid in full. So, you don’t have much of a choice but to accept it.”
“I-I’ll pay you back.” My stammering didn’t exactly portray confidence.
He hummed. “Only way to do that would be to take out another loan. And banks? They usually require a substantial amount of collateral for one this size, which I happen to know for a fact you do not have.” There was a long pause before he tacked on, “Summer.”
Dammit. My knees went weak at hearing him purr my name.
“Well—Well—” I struggled to find words for a rebuttal to his sound logic, pointing out that I had no other choice but to accept his gift of financial assistance.
A shrill scream echoed outside the room, followed by a shout of, “You bit me, you little brat!”
I spun around, nosy as to what the commotion was about. Quick as a flash, the little girl I remembered from the birthday party ran into the office, throwing her tiny body against her father’s legs and hiding behind them.
Hot on her heels came a woman who was practically steaming from the ears. She thrust the baby she held in her arms against Matteo’s chest, and said, “Find someone else to watch your feral daughter,” before turning on her heel and marching out.
Wryly, Matteo remarked, “And just like that, nanny number eleven bites the dust.”
I eyed the dark-haired infant he held with surprising ease. “You have two daughters?”
“Yes,” he confirmed. “This is Serafina.”
Without thinking, I reached out to stroke a hand over the downy hair at the top of her head. “She’s beautiful. How old?”
“Eight months.”
I reared back in surprise. She was a tiny little thing.
Like he could read my thoughts, Matteo explained, “She was born three months premature, so she’s still catching up in terms of weight and is on an adjusted age for milestones.”
“Ah.” Suddenly uncomfortable, I dropped to my knees, addressing the older of the two girls. “Hi, there? Do you remember me?”
Shyly, the raven-haired toddler peeked at me from behind her father’s legs.
I placed a hand to my chest. “I’m Summer. What’s your name?”
Big brown eyes stared back at me, and her whisper-quiet voice replied, “Bianca.”
“Oh my gosh,” I gushed. “You and your sister have the prettiest names I’ve ever heard.”
That got a tiny smile out of the girl, and she came out from her hiding spot.
“I’m four,” Bianca declared proudly, holding up four fingers on her right hand.
“Wow! You’re a big girl, then, aren’t you?”
She beamed at me, nodding with enthusiasm.
A weary sigh sounded from above. “Bianca, why did you bite Alicia?”
Bianca’s rosebud lips twisted into a scowl. “She hurts my hair when she brushes it.”
“ Principessa, you can’t bite people,” Matteo scolded.
Stomping her tiny foot, she yelled, “I told her to stop! She didn’t listen!”
My eyes flashed up to catch the look of pure exasperation on Matteo’s face. Taking pity on the man—even though he didn’t deserve it after our little argument—I addressed his daughter, “It can be very frustrating when you use your words and people don’t listen, isn’t it?”
“Mm-hmm,” Bianca agreed.
Extending a hand, I touched the tangled strands of black hair hanging loose over her shoulder. “Your hair is so very pretty. I bet it would look really cute braided. I can do it for you if you want?”
Her eyes widened, and she bounced on her feet, clutching both hands together over her heart. “Yes, please!”
“I will have to comb your hair, though. Is that all right?”
That gave her pause, and she shifted uneasily.
“I promise to go slow. If you say something hurts, I’ll stop.”
Bianca mulled it over for a minute before giving a firm nod. “Okay. I’ll get my brush!” With that, she darted out of the room, and I rose to my feet.
Only to find myself staring directly into Matteo Bellini’s intense, dark eyes.