Chapter Nine
SANTE PRESSED HER CLOSE, sharp satisfaction rippling through him from having her in his arms again.
He’d hated what she’d told him about her childhood.
He remembered her as a scamp of a girl. Loud, yes.
Full of laughter. Forever singing. Until her jerk of a father had come home.
Lord Westwick had briefly called in twice that summer.
Dario had turned resentful and silent each time his father had appeared, but it was the second visit that had particularly hurt Mia.
Sante hoped she’d forgotten but she likely hadn’t and he wasn’t about to remind her.
He knew better than anyone that there was no fixing the past.
So he kissed her, knowing he could make her feel good in that one way at least, barely restraining the urge to haul her straight to his bedroom. Patience. The food he’d ordered was about to arrive and she’d said she was hungry, so he forced himself to relax and release her.
‘Another enormous sofa!’ Mia laughingly gestured towards it with a flourish. ‘I know you work almost all of the time, but when you drag yourself away you really know how to relax.’
‘You think I should live in some kind of medieval prison—all hard stone and discomfort?’ he asked dryly. ‘Is that what I deserve?’
She shot him an arch look. ‘What do you think you deserve?’
He smiled. He liked her coy and playful.
This way they could avoid untangling the knot of personal information she’d offloaded in the office.
She obviously didn’t want to talk about it more.
Her father was an absolute jerk. So was her brother.
End of story. He and she were here now only for physical release together.
No feelings. No sharing of anything more than their bodies and enjoyment of food and superficial things. That was all this was.
‘Clearly, I think I deserve to lose myself in soft, warm things at the end of the day…’ He walked back to her.
The sharpness in her eyes heated and he abandoned any idea of patience—
The doorbell rang. Expelling a rueful sigh he whirled away to fetch the food. He forced himself to slow down—actually put the succulent lamb on plates for them to savour.
‘I don’t get to try the freezer meals?’ she chuckled.
‘They’re just fuel. This is more of a feast.’
Her smile widened. ‘Sounds wonderful. What did you order?’
‘It’s a surprise.’ He was oddly nervous about pleasing her.
She set the table—fossicking in his kitchen without asking.
He was absurdly happy to let her. After all, dining with her was a tormenting sensual pleasure of its own and he liked taking the time to appreciate it with her.
She was as much of an enthusiast as he—just a little more audible, and her appreciation of the creamy sauce only added to his building desire.
‘Oh, that’s goooood,’ she moaned as she tasted the sharp bite of the blue cheese sauce.
He smiled. ‘Sì.’
She eventually sat back with a resplendent sigh. ‘I was really hungry.’
‘I still am,’ he muttered bluntly, rising to pull her out of the chair.
He was an absolute hedonist when it came to Mia. She unleashed every appetite he had and better still, she met his with her own. He ignored the plates and mess. It was his turn to explore. Her curves. Her heat. Hands-on and hungry, he wanted her in his bed now.
‘Rules,’ he said huskily while he could still remember that he still needed boundaries.
‘Rules?’ She blinked. ‘What—’
‘You’re only sleeping with me for the foreseeable future.’
Not that there was a future. This was not forever. This was only now.
‘Ditto, obviously,’ she said haughtily. ‘And it ends when my contract ends.’
‘Obviously,’ he echoed her bite.
‘And nothing more at work.’
What did that matter when she was leaving in only weeks? Every scruple about being her boss was long burned by lust, but he agreed anyway. ‘If I know you’re going to be in my bed every night that’ll make that easier.’
‘Every night?’ Her eyes widened. ‘Then you won’t be pulling all-nighters at work anymore.’
‘You work from home with me on Fridays.’
‘Home?’
‘Sicily.’
She frowned. ‘You mean I do a four-day week because let’s get real, I won’t be working.’
‘You work long hours already. Consider it time in lieu.’
Enough negotiation. There was only one thing he could do now because there was nothing he liked more than making her limp and speechless, pink cheeked and panting with that stunned-but-sated dreaminess in her big blue eyes.
He worked her hard, savouring her warmth and strength until at last she lay sleepy and quiet, snuggling close.
Her beautiful smile pulled his own from him.
Sì, rendering this beautiful bundle of positive effervescence into a speechless heap of lax limbs was about the most rewarding thing he’d ever set his mind to.
She sprawled over him like a soft blanket. ‘You really like a landscape.’
Sante fiercely protected both his privacy and autonomy.
He never wanted to factor anyone else in his decisions.
He was selfish. But being free to make his own decisions, not to be constrained or have judgement poured over him, was as essential to him as breathing.
Yet, Mia’s genuine appreciation, the fearless interest in her eyes, touched him.
‘The one on the far left is the view from my property in the South of France.’
‘Ooh la la.’
He chuckled. ‘They’re views from all my various properties.’ He liked having the gallery here to remind him of what he’d achieved when he was working hard. And that he had places to go should he need to. Always.
Mia lifted her head and studied the frames. ‘Is there more than one view from each, or one from each property?’
‘You think there’s too many? That I’m greedy?’
‘No. When you’ve known deprivation or uncertainty, then you need as many as you can hang on to.’
‘Deprivation?’ He stiffened. Had Dario told her about his childhood?
‘Are you saying you had everything you ever wanted in your childhood, Sante?’
‘No one does,’ he deflected with a generalisation. ‘You didn’t.’
That silenced her. For a moment.
‘So it’s pictures of places not people.’
He combed through her hair gently. Curious thing she was. No people because he had no family. He had no pictures of himself even—why would he ever want to dwell on his past?
‘There’s more permanence with places.’ He opted to keep it light. ‘Most of them are investments.’
‘Investments. So you don’t invest in people?’ She shook her head. ‘Your tech incubator is important to you,’ she added. ‘You want them to feel comfortable.’
‘So they make me more millions. Isn’t that what you said?’ he murmured.
She turned to look down into his eyes. ‘I think underneath the isolationist exterior you’re still a team player.’
‘That was the only way to get ahead back then. I had to play the game until I was wealthy enough not to have to bother.’
‘So because you’re ludicrously wealthy now you think the rules no longer apply to you?’
‘I don’t go around just doing anything I want at any time.’
‘No?’ She actually giggled.
‘No. I’m being incredibly restrained right now.’
Her eyebrows arched. He rolled, pinning her with his body. Yet, instead of distracting her, his own curiosity was engaged.
‘Don’t you want a home of your own?’ Why didn’t she have cosy sofas with blankets and books when she clearly appreciated them? She should be the vibrant chatelaine of some vast manor, all cashmere sweaters and surrounded by adoring dogs. ‘What happened to Westwick?’
Presumably, her father’s estate in Wiltshire was now Dario’s.
Mia stiffened beneath him. ‘I don’t want to be tied to one place.’
He didn’t believe her. But he understood why she wouldn’t have fond memories of that place.
‘Everyone wants their own space they can feel safe in.’ To have things that brought comfort or peace. For him that was space, greenery, solitude—a view. But Mia had too much heart to settle for that. She would need company of the canine kind at least. He inhaled, about to ask her—
‘That’s usually just my bedroom. Speaking of, it’s late. I should get home.’ She wriggled, trying to get out from under him.
‘The agreement was every night.’
‘But not all night,’ she said. ‘We only have that in the weekend.’
Huh. Sante never normally acknowledged weekends.
Every day was the same. Sleep. Wake. Work out.
Work. Eat. Sleep. In whichever of his abodes he felt like at the time.
But now he lived for the weekend. For having day time with her again that wasn’t constrained by workplace etiquette or a finite few hours in the evening.
The first Friday through Sunday was a pure romp—sex followed by food followed by a teasing debate about music, and then she’d tried to trounce him on the gaming console he’d brought with him. It was fantastic. But still not enough.
Despite knowing she would be in his bed every evening, the days at work became an annoyance. The brief moments he was unable to touch her caused a slow rising sense of panic in him. But then she was beside him again and he relaxed.
They quickly fell into a routine. He discovered that he could cope better at work if he spent more time in the open-plan area—so he could see her, not just hear her.
But by the last half hour he was so hopelessly distracted, he had to seek space in his office again so he could choose which restaurant to order from, while she made ‘end of day conversation’ with his recruits as they left.
He knew this fascination would pass, but he was ridiculously glad she was contracted for a couple months yet.
* * *
‘Sante?’
He glanced up and saw Mia standing five paces into his office, wide-eyed and waiting for him to answer some question he’d not even heard. He just gazed at her, absurdly pleased to see her even though it had only been minutes.
‘Did you hear me?’ Paolo said.
Sante blinked. He’d not only failed to hear his lawyer, he’d not even seen him, either.
‘Sorry.’ He frowned, swiftly dealing with Paolo’s query.