Chapter Seven
SANTE WASN’T ABLE to do anything more than listen to the rain steadily falling and will it to continue for hours—no, days—yet, this couldn’t be done.
He wanted more of her. But time refused to stop and despite the heavy clouds, dawn lightened the room.
The only consolation was that he could then see her properly again.
Thankfully, he’d had the presence of mind to bring her to his bed.
While he was used to staying up all night, she wasn’t.
She was deeply, beautifully asleep. For a second he pretended that last night hadn’t been the best sex of his life, that it only felt like that because it had been a while.
But the pathetic delusion didn’t stick. It had been the best—sensational. She was sensational.
That first time had been too fast. He’d intended to draw her to the edge and back again to torment her for the days of sensual torture she’d put him through this week at the office.
But she’d used her breathy pleas and luscious body to sever his will.
So swiftly, he’d succumbed to the desire that had been killing him for days.
Now he watched, half-afraid that if he closed his eyes she might disappear.
He still couldn’t quite believe she’d come after him.
No one did that. Not even Adele—though as he sent her a continual supply of work even when he went AWOL, Adele always knew he was alive and well.
But he’d not contacted Mia and she’d been pissed about it.
She’d thought if she didn’t deliver that stupid parcel he’d have fired her, but her coming here was about more than that.
The way she’d scolded him for going silent—that he’d been rude and unfair.
Ordinarily, he’d never have agreed, but he’d read and listened to her messages.
She’d phoned so many times he felt bad about it.
Weirdly, he also felt good. She’d persisted.
She’d tried so many ways to reach him. And then she’d followed up with action.
She was the only person who’d ever come after him.
He’d been abandoned at birth. Survived only because he had strong lungs.
A foundling—unwanted, unclaimed, unknown.
The first foster home had initially been okay but there was never permanence in the system.
Soon, it had been another home. A bad one.
Then another. Worse. He’d thought he’d secured his freedom and future in the form of a scholarship to an elite school in England…
He went rigid, refusing to think about the time he’d spent over there.
The way his past intersected with Mia’s would crush what was between them now.
But not only had she come all this way to him yesterday, she’d also unleashed with him.
Because she’d wanted him, and knowing that had evaporated any last resistance he could muster.
Hell, his self-control had lasted less than a week and if he’d known they were going to be this fantastic together, he wouldn’t have lasted an hour before trying to seduce her.
He slipped out of bed and went to the kitchen.
Those pastries were good but they weren’t enough to live on.
He needed a more substantial meal and so did she.
He checked the power but it was still out.
Fortunately, his backup generator kept the refrigerator going and charged his phone.
He scanned the trillion messages that had landed, quickly responded, making one particularly rash decision and eventually clearing the list. Then he pulled food and lit the gas.
He was going for a feast—mostly to keep himself busy while she rested.
He tried not to recall every moment of the night but his uncooperative brain kept sending images.
She’d been so hot. So sweet. He should have stayed in bed, should have waited so he could take more from her—
‘Something smells amazing.’
Sante turned. She stood in the doorway and helplessly he just took his time to look.
The jut of her breasts against the soft fabric of his tee was torture.
Again. And again, he was overcome by the memory of how she’d felt above, beneath, about him.
He slowly drank in the sweet curves of her legs.
He just wanted to sink back inside her and forget the world.
But he glimpsed a mark on her thigh that hadn’t been there last night.
He didn’t remember doing it, didn’t want to hurt her in any way at all. This wasn’t meant to be that intense.
‘Are you hungry?’ Amusement gleamed in her eyes.
Hell, he was supposed to be cooking not drooling. He spun back to the pan, quickly stirring to stop the eggs sticking. To stop his brain from spontaneously combusting at the mere sight of her.
‘Very hungry,’ he coughed. ‘Making brunch.’
One look and he’d not just lost his words, but his capacity to think. Again.
‘Can I help?’ She leaned around him, wide-eyed at the number of pans.
Following her gaze, he conceded he might’ve gone a little overboard but he’d needed distraction. Apparently, she needed distraction, too—she nosed in the pans and would’ve taken the spatula off him if he didn’t hold it up out of her reach.
‘You don’t trust me to cook?’ He chuckled as her eyes widened with embarrassment.
‘Clearly, you can cook.’ She gestured at the overloaded cook-top. ‘But I don’t like doing nothing.’
Right, she was used to being the one who did things for others. It was more than her job. She cared—either as nanny, or manager—ensuring everyone had everything they needed in order to do their job.
‘You could just sit down and let me spoil you.’ He watched her restless discomfort with amusement. ‘Or if you must move, you can find the cutlery,’ he added, relenting when she clearly didn’t want to remain still.
Sure enough, a relieved expression crossed her face.
She set plates and cutlery in position on the table and found juice in the fridge.
Sante didn’t think he’d ever bothered to set the table when here alone.
Food was a scoff-and-be-off thing for him.
But she had it looking pretty in an instant.
He poured her a coffee and she pounced on it before taking a seat and looking amused as he set the plates of food between them.
‘Do you think there’s enough?’ she teased.
He’d not realised just how much he’d made while she slept; it had just been a way of filling in time. Mia picked up her fork and sampled the pancakes first and he froze, stupidly interested in her reaction.
‘This is really good.’ She swallowed.
‘Why so surprised?’ And why did he care so much?
‘Sorry.’ But her giggle undermined her apology. ‘I didn’t think you’d cook for yourself. I assumed you’d have a private chef.’
‘I sent the staff home before the storm, remember?’
‘But is one of them a chef?’ Her eyes gleamed as he shook his head. ‘There’s really nothing you can’t do. You’re a genius at everything.’
Why did she sound annoyed about that?
‘I learned to cook thanks to the internet. Utilising scraps. Actually, I worked on an app for nutrient analysis of those meals. It did well.’
‘Naturally.’ She watched him season the eggs. ‘So you do all the cooking when you entertain here?’
Startled, he glanced up. He never had guests stay. This was his personal sanctuary; that was the point.
‘Right, no entertaining.’ She glanced at the window. ‘Which is a shame because you could have the best summer party here.’
‘You like parties?’ he muttered. She’d organised a mini-party in his office for his staff.
‘Sure, sometimes.’ She licked her lips. ‘But you prefer to be alone.’
‘Sure, sometimes,’ he mimicked. ‘I like the space here. It’s calming.’
‘Your brain races.’
‘Yes.’ It overwhelmed him sometimes. ‘I work in the garden for hours. It eases up then,’ he muttered. While he did manual labour he could put all the ideas in the back of his brain to percolate.
‘What about all the other properties on that list Paolo gave me?’
‘Most are investments. The property team manages the leases.’
He enjoyed the acquisition process. He was careful and did diligence but ultimately it was a gut decision.
Property was tangible—literally solid, and he liked accumulating solid security.
But this one was his absolute favourite.
Perhaps that was because it was the nearest to the place he’d been found.
Though in truth, he wasn’t certain he was even Sicilian.
His mother could have been from anywhere.
He watched her demolish the first pancake and saw her trying to choose between eggs and yoghurt and felt the oddest need to confess the truth—because he did not need to brag to her, right? ‘I can only cook breakfast food. Dinner is freezer meals. Nutritious ones a private chef preps back in Rome.’
Mia paused and her eyes gleamed with surprise—and knowing pleasure. ‘You should keep a store at the office so you’re not starving in the morning and need pastry.’
She was right, of course. Which was annoying.
‘Or I could put eggs and milk in the kitchenette and you could cook breakfast for the staff. This is impressive.’ She chuckled at his expression, then glanced at the window behind him. ‘The rain’s pretty relentless.’
‘It’s forecast to ease later.’ He drew breath and broached the topic that’d been bothering him since scanning his messages earlier. ‘The helicopter might be able to land later, but the mayor’s put a call out for help in assessing damage to the region.’
‘Then surely that’s the priority.’
Naturally, she would put other people before herself. His body tightened.
‘It would mean you couldn’t get back to Rome today,’ he said. ‘You’d have to spend another night here.’
She was quiet and still and looked right back at him.
He coughed. ‘For the record, I’m not devastated about that idea.’
‘No?’