Chapter Ten
The soft morning light bled through the room’s curtains as Leo woke to the chirping of birds.
He checked the time. Still early after their late night.
Yet he didn’t feel tired, he felt invigorated.
A deal with the Tessitores was close. He wouldn’t relax till it was final; however a partnership would be a masterstroke.
He had little doubt it would be marvelled over, considered a coup of sorts.
Together, he was sure they could do great things and he’d ensure that the Silvestri family never got their hands on Tessitore fabrics for their furniture, ever again.
They’d have to find another supplier, someone inferior, because there was no company quite like Tessitore Textiles.
All of that had been made possible by the woman lying next to him.
He propped himself up on his elbow and looked down on her sleeping form.
Her hair a golden tangle on the pristine cream cotton of the pillow.
Sheet round her waist. She looked peaceful in slumber, that slight line he sometimes saw between her brows when she concentrated, smoothed away.
A warmth lit inside of him, a sensation intensely satisfying, like in those days on the streets when he’d been bone-numbingly hungry and had managed to make enough money for a fulfilling meal.
He realised his whole adult life had been about searching for something more, interspersed with only brief moments like now, when he felt he had enough.
This morning, it was as if he was finally sated.
Of course, it could have simply been a hangover of their lovemaking the night before.
Her lips were a revelation. Then the vision of her looking like a goddess, over him.
Taking her own pleasure from his body. Giving him pleasure in return, an experience so mind blowing, it had been a struggle to hold onto consciousness long enough to scoop her into his arms before he’d tumbled into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Those memories were enough to have him hard, aching and wanting again, but there was something more. Simone was a mystery. She remained an enigma. Intelligent, beautiful, but in many ways as far away from him as the day he’d employed her. It was like a tiny splinter digging into him, an irritation.
He’d given her some of himself and yet she’d shared nothing of herself at all.
He’d told her once that he’d have questions and that time was now.
To him, his failure to ask anything of her now seemed like a personal one.
He wanted to know what she liked, disliked.
What kind of life she’d come from, why she was estranged from most of her family.
Simone was a puzzle he wanted to solve. He had questions. He could think of no better time than today for her to answer them.
As if some sense in her knew, Simone stirred.
Her eyes fluttering open. At first her gaze was unfocused but then she fixed her cool grey eyes on him and the most beatific smile broke over her face, like a shaft of sunshine through a crack in the curtains.
It was as if that beautiful light in her smile settled smack in the middle of his chest. An unfamiliar warmth, soft and bright.
He rubbed at the spot with the heel of his palm.
‘Good morning,’ she said, her voice a little husky from sleep.
‘It’s an excellent morning.’
Simone lifted her hand and traced one gentle finger from the base of his throat to where that warmth in his chest had begun to ignite and burn.
She placed her own palm over it as if somehow, deeply and intuitively, she knew it was there.
Did she feel the same when she looked at him, when he smiled at her?
It was yet another question in the long list he had for her.
‘Last night went well I think.’
‘Thanks to you.’
‘All I did was to ask a question everybody seemed to want to avoid.’
‘I was planning to address the issue over drinks at the end of the meal.’
A little crease formed in the centre of her brow again. He wanted to reach out and stroke it away.
‘Sorry to change your game plan.’
He shook his head. ‘It was perfect. You were perfect. From me, there would have been no way for the question not to sound forced. From you, it was organic, curious. Thank you. For that, and for your food. It made the evening far easier. I don’t believe I’d have achieved the result as quickly, on my own.
I’ve been dancing around Gino for months.
I believe even had I asked outright, he would never have told me about Fia’s illness. ’
A flush bled across her cheeks. Simone gave a self-satisfied, and well deserved, smile.
‘You’re a revelation, tesoro.’
‘I’m just me. What you see is what you get.’
‘You’re an enigma and a mystery. You know about me and yet I know so little about you.’
Her soft grey gaze left him, to where her left hand toyed with the sheet as if wanting to wrap it more tightly round herself. She shrugged.
‘You’re the interesting one. The one whose story regularly makes the press.’
‘Yes, I’m a legend in my own lifetime,’ he said. ‘Such an achievement. Whereas you… I said that one day I’d ask questions. Today is that day.’
‘So early in the morning when there are more interesting things we could be doing…’
She arched her back. Simone was in avoidance but her display wasn’t contrived. Her nipples peaked in perfect, dusky points. Tight with desire. She was temptation incarnate. He could immerse himself in the pleasure of her body for hours on end and never be sated.
Yet, that didn’t seem like enough. Not now. He wanted to know her. Not simply as his efficient, insightful personal assistant, convenient wife and now, lover. He wanted to share thoughts, feelings.
‘Questions now, distractions later,’ he said.
She pouted, but he could see the skin puckering at the side of her mouth where she was worrying the flesh with her teeth.
‘Then I need coffee.’
‘I’m happy to oblige you.’
Leo left the bed and as he did so he could almost feel Simone’s eyes on him, as palpable as her fingers digging into skin.
There were no staff in the house this early and the grounds were private so there was no need for him to dress.
Leo strolled to the door of their room. If she liked what she saw, then he’d give her a show.
He walked to the kitchens and set about what he’d always found to be the relaxing routine of making coffee.
Espresso for him, caffè latte for her. Since she believed she needed a little fortifying he hunted through the cupboards and found some hazelnut syrup, adding a dash to her drink.
He placed both cups on a tray and then carried them back to their room.
Leo couldn’t imagine what Simone might have to tell him.
Did she believe he’d judge her? After his own past, he was in no position to condemn anyone else, although she didn’t know that.
Some things, about himself at least, there was no need to disclose.
Nothing she’d done would have been worse than his own youthful actions, of that he could be assured.
As he walked back into the room Simone was sitting up in bed.
Her hair was neater, as if she’d brushed it.
She was wearing his shirt, the one torn away and discarded in passion the night before.
A rush of heat flooded over him, possession, at the sight of her in a piece of his clothing.
The way it swamped her. Made her look somehow small, fragile.
In that moment, he didn’t want to talk. He wanted to scoop her into his arms and hold her.
Tell her it would all be okay, even if he didn’t know what the problem was.
As he came into the room her grey eyes became stormy, darkened.
Not too fragile for desire then, which was good. He could work with that.
‘Like what you see?’
Her gaze drifting over his naked body, fixing at his groin. In a moment he was half hard. Simone did that to him. If he didn’t constantly wrestle his own desire under control when she was around, he’d never get any work done.
‘A tray of coffee? Yes.’
He chuckled. If he was another kind of man, that comment might have cut him off at the knees, the way she said it. Dry as ancient dust.
‘Don’t prefer the look of anything else?’
‘Mr Zanetti, I do believe you’re fishing for compliments.’ The corners of her mouth quirked as if she was trying very hard to suppress a smile.
‘I don’t need any, given you orgasmed into near unconsciousness last night. I feel none are required.’
She raised a slender, pale brow. ‘I might suggest that you were similarly affected, but unlike you, I wouldn’t like to brag.’
He chuckled, loving how Simone tried to put him in his place, even if right now it was only for show.
She’d always had a way of keeping him grounded, reminding him that he was simply a man and not the ridiculously titled Sultan of Style as the press proclaimed.
He placed the tray of coffee on his bedside table and propped up his own pillows.
Slid under the covers and then handed Simone her coffee, taking his own and finishing it in a few short mouthfuls.
Simone looked to be savouring hers, eyes fluttering shut at the taste.
Her throat dipped softly in a swallow and she took another almost as if fortifying herself.
Her chest rose and fell in a deep breath, then she opened her eyes, her jaw seeming hard, as if she was somehow resolved. She placed her cup down.
‘Thank you. The hazelnut was a lovely touch.’
‘Prego. This isn’t your last meal, Simone.’
She snorted. ‘There are things I don’t talk about much.’
‘Like why nobody visited you at the hospital after your accident.’
‘Holly can’t travel right now, which she told you. And you know the rest of my family and I are estranged. You of all people should understand what that’s like.’
‘Yet I told you why. Now I’m asking the same of you.’