Chapter 8 Naomi
The rush of his warm breath hits my ear a nanosecond before the whispered words. A shiver courses down my spine. Without turning around, without needing to look at him, I know who it is.
Valentino.
I don’t have any connection with anyone else regarding mistletoe. So, no one else would make this comment, much less with a hint of a smile in the words.
I find myself smiling, too. An inhale brings the heady scent of his sandalwood cologne to my nostrils. It’s a soft scent, one I wouldn’t have associated with a powerful man like Valentino because there’s no cloud of fragrance from yards around him. One has to get really close to detect the clean smell, almost as if someone would have to be inches away from his skin.
He is here. With me.
For me?
Why else would he speak of mistletoe? We don’t have a good track record with it.
The memory tries to slide in, but I slam the lid down on it. We’re not at an office Christmas party years ago where I’m a green girl bursting to expose her heart out to the man she is undyingly in love with. I would’ve bared a lot more, but we never got to that.
Maybe now?
I sneak in a breath which catches in my throat as soft lips grace the side of my neck in a flutter of a kiss, like butterfly wings flittering against me in a gentle welcome.
Now who’s playing with fire, I wonder. We’re paces away from my father—any second now, he can turn around and see us. Chad or Thad or something is standing with him, and I have to admit I’m glad to be rid of the oppressive presence of these men he has kept pushing my way tonight. If one of them could even hold a good step on the dance floor might’ve made it bearable, but no. Two left feet, all of them.
I bet the man behind me doesn’t have two left feet, in the ballroom or any other room, for that matter. Naughty imaginings start to cloud my mind, and I have to bite my lower lip to stay off a moan.
“What is it?” Valentino asks, a murmur in my ear.
He heard me?
I can’t risk it and tell him what I’m thinking about. There are sheets and moonlight involved, a headboard taking a strong pounding. Well, it’s not just the headboard withstanding that rough treatment…
I gulp. Not the place. Not the time.
But when else will I have him like this, all to me?
Possibly never, and this is a prospect I cannot bear to even contemplate.
So here I am, whipping around and grabbing his hand in the process, not stopping the momentum for one second.
“Come with me,” I tell him, and he follows as I tug him outside on the wide stone balcony the doors open onto.
The cold air is bracing, hitting like a shock once we pass the crush of people and the cloud of their collective body heat. It’s invigorating, just as it clears my mind of the fantasies I was just having.
We can’t risk my father seeing us, so I steer us to a corner of the semi-circular balcony where fairy lights string among a bower of flowering vines along a wooden trellis attached to the wall and railings.
When I stop, Valentino doesn’t, and I find myself being pulled like on a dance floor, during a heated tango, against the chest of the man holding my hand.
A soft gust of air breaches my lips as I glance up into his face. No need to crane my neck too much because the heels I have on easily give me an additional four inches in height. Torture devices, those stilettos, but I’m ever so grateful I learned to walk in them and that tonight, they bring me this much closer to Valentino that I’m able to peer into his magnetic blue eyes the unadorned mask cannot hide.
I can’t see his face, but he is looking at me. Really looking at me. The way I’ve always wanted him to look at me. A memory of the other time I tried to kiss him sneaks in, but I brush it off. Tonight, he’s not pushing me away.
A slow blink later, I can detect small white buds on the vine twisting along the railing above our heads. It’s not the same, but it can do.
Five years ago, I took my shot with this man and was shot down just as quickly. His body bristled against mine, his hand staying mine in a hard, uncompromising way.
Looking at him today, it’s the same man standing before me, but at the same time, he isn’t. For one, he still holds my hand, and it’s clasped in his strong but not unflinching grip this time. His head is leaning slightly forward, his chest also angled toward me and not away.
I have hated Valentino Andretti during all my time away, but what is it they say? Hate and love are two sides of the same coin.
In this moment, it strikes me as inevitable. We come from different worlds, from rival sides, yet we are made for each other. I am made for him—there’s no escaping it. As crazy as it sounds, I know this to be true from the deepest part of my soul. No one has ever captured my eye and my heart like him. I may be young, but the heart knows. I want it all from him. He didn’t want to give it to me before, but maybe now, he’s willing to give us a second chance?
I may get burned again, but going down in a blaze of glory? Everything in me screams I should take it.
So, I do, nodding up at the vines.
“This can almost pass for mistletoe,” I said, looking into his eyes. “If you want it to—”
I haven’t finished the last word before his mouth is on mine in a fierce, driven kiss.
His lips are hard yet soft, warm, demanding and taking with impunity. I don’t know when and how they part mine and his tongue slips into my mouth, seeking mine, tantalizing mine, sweeping in and out as his right arm sneaks around my waist to crush my body to his. His left palm cradles the back of my head as he presses his mouth to mine even harder, seeking, taking, plundering.
A moan curls up from my throat just as my knees go weak.
So, this is what it feels like to kiss Valentino Andretti and be kissed by him.
His arm tightens around me, as if he can feel my body going limp and slipping against his, even my palms on his tuxedo jacket failing to give me any support. The hand on the nape of my neck goes gentle suddenly, and I gasp as his lips leave mine to travel a hot trail from my jaw down the column of my neck.
Heat is erupting everywhere he is seeking my skin, my blood slow yet thundering at the same time in my entire body. My core is pulsating with need for him, wanting his tongue there, doing things to me like he was doing to my mouth just seconds that also feel like ages ago.
The sound of voices drawing close shake me from the stupor. Valentino goes stock-still.
A second later, he has released me and pushed me toward the railing, under the glow of the fairy lights.
“Naomi, my darling. What are you doing out here in this cold?”
It’s my father.
I gulp down hard, my hand going to my lips. I don’t need to touch them to know they’re swollen from Valentino’s passionate kiss. I can’t let him see me this way. Quickly, I retrieve the little tube of lip gloss in the purse attached to my wrist and swipe some on. The product kinda made me look like I’d just had filler injections done when I put it on earlier; maybe I can fib it’s the makeup’s fault.
“It was getting too warm inside,” I say, a little out of breath. “Plus, I needed to touch up my makeup.”
Chad or Thad is with my dad, like a silent robot who only knows how to nod. Even the smile looks forced and somewhat plastic.
My father frowns, staring at me.
If he were to find out Valentino was here and kissing me? He would go into a rage. Valentino is everything he doesn’t want touching his pristine political image. Not even a whiff of him. He takes the ‘clean family man’ image really seriously.
With him, I have to be Naomi Elaine Smith, daughter of on-the-rise local politician Joel Smith.
There’s no place for anyone, much less Valentino Andretti, in this pair that comes as if attached at the hip.
Valentino… Where is he? I pause, sensing eyes on me from the right, from the shadows at the far end of the balcony. No light will even catch on him, I know. There’s not even a white shirt to reflect something. Of course, at the most prestigious black-tie event of the year, Valentino walked in wearing all black.
But I know he’s there. I can feel him, his gaze like a sensuous caress on my exposed skin which breaks into goosebumps at the very thought.
“Naomi?”
I snap out of the sensual spell weaving itself on me. “Hmm?”
“Ah, look. The cold is getting to you,” my father remarks with a laugh. He misconstrued the goosebumps for what they really are—my reaction to the very thought of Valentino. “Come on, let’s get you inside. The mask reveal is about to start.”
It’s close to midnight, then. Everyone removes their masks as the clock chimes twelve, a nod to the new year that will kick in in a few days.
My father takes my hand and drapes my arm over his as we enter the ballroom.
“Ah, if only your mother were here…”
A lump clogs my throat. It’s the same every single year. We attend this ball, my dad gets emotional around the mask reveal time, and we share a moment where my mother is alive in both our perceptions. She loved this ball, loved this precise moment. Dad says she used to giggle like a schoolgirl in her anticipation. I don’t know because I have very vague memories of her. She died when I was five.
But try as I want to think of my mother, the thread of her evaporates in my mind after a few seconds. My awareness is not going there tonight, because it is still firmly here, outside on that balcony, where I just kissed Valentino Andretti…and he kissed me back.
Devoured me, more like.
A shiver runs through me. If this is what he can do with one stolen moment and a single kiss, what will it be like to be in his arms for longer, in his bed for a full night?
I’m suddenly afraid as I think of this. Not because he’s scary, but because it feels like I will combust and die before the end of any night with him if tonight is just a teaser of what awaits.
“Naomi? Darling?”
I blink back into the ballroom. “Hmm?”
“Mask off, my girl.”
“Oh.” Everyone is indeed in the process of removing their masks. I untie mine and let it dangle from my hand.
“You’re not entirely here tonight,” my father says as he peers at me.
I force a smile. “It’s the memory of Mom.”
He nods. “I know, darling. I know.”
That was a good catch, though it’s not entirely untrue. I do miss her so much at times. More than anything, I wish I could’ve known her, remembered what her hug felt like, the sound of her voice. I’ve seen pictures of her, but it’s not the same.
My father reaches out and cradles my cheek. “Did I tell you how happy I am you’re back? With the campaign, I’m going to need you more than ever. It’s for you I do this, remember. So, every child can have the opportunities you’ve had.”
A flash goes off close by, and I blink.
The campaign. Starting January, I’ll have my work cut out for me. This campaign already sounds like it’ll be a nightmare of logistics and planning.
Now add having Valentino at home next door…
I don’t see him again that night, nor do I catch any sighting the next day. However, the heavy feel of eyes on me, sensually weighing me up, cataloguing all of me, remains, just like when I stood on that balcony under the flowering vines, we pretended was mistletoe.
It feels good to know he’s there, to acknowledge he’s watching me. This time, I know he’s here, on the other side of that window. And to reward him for this heady feeling I get to bask in before I go to bed, I decide to make it worth his while and also indulge in a fantasy teenage me had when we last lived under these circumstances.
With the light on low in my bedroom, I keep the curtains open a few evenings after the ball. In front of this window, I let my silhouette play with the light as I undress there, the heavy, almost baggy jumper revealing the shape of my shoulders and waist. The bra comes off—I make sure to be in profile, so he can see the curve of my breast. I lean forward to roll the skinny jeans down, my ass in skimpy panties on display. Leaving my clothes in a pile on the floor, I take my time stepping out of them to head to the en-suite bathroom.
Hair and body glistening wet from my shower, I stop in front of the window where I then take all the time in the world to slather my skin with body butter, lingering over my breasts as I massage it in.
Has he noticed? Nothing tells me he was right there in his room at the exact moment I put on my little show. Which now feels kind of ridiculous. Still, I took a chance.
The next morning, there’s a delivery man at the door. It’s for me. There’s no invoice or shipping bill on the package, which makes me think it’s someone sending me something personal.
Valentino, maybe? Hope bursts like butterflies in my chest.
I’m quick on my feet, but not quick enough as my father catches me running upstairs.
“What’s that?” he asks.
“Something I forgot in my dorm room. I had a friend send it to me. It’s private, if you know what I mean.”
Dad always grows pink with embarrassment at any mention of personal stuff like period supplies and even diaries.
I don’t wait for him to wave me off before I’m bounding upstairs to close the door to my room and press my back to the panel, parcel in hand, gaze roving over it as if I have X-ray vision.
Only one way to know what’s inside and who sent it.
I make sure to turn the lock on the door then head to the dressing table, where I grab a pair of scissors.
What I encounter when the box is finally open sends my heart into overdrive as my breasts grow heavy and my clit starts to throb.
The most decadent piece of purple lingerie sits inside the box, a hand-written note accompanying it. On heavy stock paper, a masculine hand has scrawled the following words:
Next time you put on a show, gattina, you better dress the part x
A smile splits my face in two as I clench my thighs to stave off the yearning.
Valentino has noticed.
And he wants more.