Chapter Four
CHOOSING HIS OWN bedroom to keep Ms. Fischer for the night had to be the most insane decision Alessandro had ever made.
Clearly, the stubborn waif wasn’t going to change her mind about spending the summer in Milan. Which meant her past with Matteo had more chances of coming out. Which meant his ruse that she was his mistress was going to bite him in the ass soon.
Even the prospect of being harassed by his aunt, and the very real risk of Vittorio Bianchi’s wrath, couldn’t dilute the excitement that filled him at the idea of a few weeks with Ms. Fischer. He felt like a corpse that had been revived for a few days.
When he returned an hour later carrying food, it was to find Ms. Fischer sitting on the upholstered bench at the foot of his bed, clad in pajamas buttoned up all the way to her throat.
An overwhelmingly protective urge rose up within him as her head lolled to the side, mouth falling open in a soft snore.
With her hair braided, she looked achingly young. Too young for him to feel that tight heat curling through his muscles.
He pushed a hand through his hair, wondering if years of working ninety-hour weeks, of living his life within rigorously strict boundaries, had finally been broken.
He went to his haunches and gently shook her. “Ms. Fischer? Dinner is here.” Cupping her shoulder, he shook her again. “Sameera…wake up.” He tapped her jaw with his fingers. “Your stomach sounds like it’s eating itself.”
Her brown eyes flicked open, warm and soft. The most beautiful smile he’d ever seen curved her mouth. And instantly, he could imagine how she would look waking up next to him after a long night of—Cristo, but he was in trouble!
“Only my grandpa called me that,” she whispered.
“It’s a beautiful name. Did I say it right?”
Her gaze dipped to his mouth. “Better than Matteo ever has.”
And just like that, with his brother’s name between them, she came awake and alert. Her gaze jerked upward to meet his, the smile and its warmth disappearing instantly.
She straightened her limbs and pushed to her feet. Her brows snapped together. “You have, what…fifty rooms in this house and you bring me to your bedroom? I didn’t even realize until I stepped into the shower. At least I had my bag with me, or I’d have come out smelling like…you.”
A violent silence followed her irate declaration. She snapped her gaze away from him, but he saw the confused awareness. The thought of her in his shower made desire slam into him afresh. Turning away, he pointed to the lounge. “You should eat,” he said, his voice hoarse.
Maybe he was losing his mind finally. It wasn’t a farfetched notion.
His lifestyle—his work hours, his isolation—was conducive to madness.
His aunt had told him that enough times.
Or maybe the part of him that he’d buried with Violetta, the part that liked companionship and affection and people even, was waking up after all these years and he had no idea how to behave anymore.
Either way, he felt like he was drowning.
For once, Ms. Fischer followed his command. Slipping into his favorite armchair, she pulled the tray onto her lap.
Alessandro took the sofa opposite hers. Halfway through her dinner, she looked up. A drop of soup clung to her lower lip and she licked it away. The artlessness of the gesture only heightened his response. “Was I supposed to share with you?”
He shook his head. “You haven’t touched the sandwich.”
“I don’t eat red meat.”
“Should I have something else brought in?”
A lock of wavy hair escaped her braid and brushed her cheek. “No.” She patted her belly. “The cheese, the soup, the salad and the fruit…that’s actually the perfect diet for me.”
“Diet?” he said, his interest snagged. “Please don’t tell me you’re one of those women who constantly watches what they eat, Ms. Fischer. You’re skinny enough as it is.”
She scrunched her nose, running a hand over her body in a self-conscious gesture. “Believe me, I know about the nonexistence of my curves.” She burrowed her face into the crook of her elbow, but he heard her mutter, “Especially when you look at me next to Ms. Bianchi.”
While there was a confidence about her, her comment made Alessandro wonder. “Explain about your diet.”
“Oh, I meant…a Mediterranean diet is good for you. You know, lots of fruits and vegetables and seafood. But no red meat.”
“For religious reasons?”
“No. I mean, my mother celebrates Hindu festivals. But she’s also very much about everyone finding their own thing.”
“And your father?”
“German American.”
“So it’s—”
“Do you interrogate everyone like this?”
“Only the ones that are a mystery.”
“There’s no mystery around me.”
If she hadn’t been shying her gaze away from his, he’d have thought nothing of it. But she did. And it made him want to know everything about her.
“I’m normal. Boring. Safe. Tame. Dull.”
Alessandro frowned.
Had no one told her how her brown eyes flared when her temper rose, how her spirit shone out of her when she was challenged, how sensually she moved? “I find you anything but dull. In fact, for the first time in my life, I’m pleasantly surprised by Matteo’s taste.”
Her fingers stilled around the bowl of fruit. With a boldness that made his heart leap, she tilted her head and smiled up at him with an exaggerated sweetness. “That sounds awfully like a compliment.”
“It is.”
She fluttered the fingers on both hands in a give-it-to-me gesture. “Don’t deny yourself the joy of telling me exactly what you like about me.”
A pleasant warmth pooled through him. A sensation he was beginning to associate with her. “Will you give yourself the joy of complimenting me too?”
She cupped her angular chin with her palms and studied him. Her gaze moved over his brows and his nose, landed and skidded away from his mouth. It felt so much like a physical caress that his stomach tightened. “When I find something to like about you, sure.”
He threw his head back and laughed, feverish pleasure running through his veins. “Bene. I find you…far too interesting.” If she wanted more from him, she’d have to ask for it.
She wiped her mouth with a napkin, neatly arranged everything together on the tray before she said, “So why did you bring me to your room?”
“You sound like you doubt my intentions, Ms. Fischer.”
“We’re back to that, then?” she said. She took a sip of water, her gaze never leaving his. “Did you bring me to your room to rattle Matteo again? Is that wise when you implied earlier that he’s a loose cannon right now?”
“Is there reason for him to be rattled that you are in my bedroom?”
Was he asking her outright if she was into him? Was he hitting on her, or testing her?
It had to be the latter. Men like him didn’t hit on women like her. And yet…those gray eyes held hers in a dare. The taut vein at his temple said it was no game.
What would he do if she admitted that she was attracted to him, and it was unlike anything she’d ever experienced? If she admitted that with Matteo, it had been safe and fun, whereas with Alessandro…it was a tsunami of sensations.
There was a new stringent awareness of her own body—the pulse at her neck, a tight thrum under her skin, a heaviness in her breasts that had made her cup them in the shower and an aching twinge between her legs that she couldn’t get rid of no matter what she tried.
What would he do if she asked him how it felt to be so tuned in to another’s breath and body, to be so unbalanced? How did one make sensible decisions in the face of this…overwhelming curiosity to explore what lay beneath?
All she’d wanted was a summer of friendly fun with Matteo. To get away from her parents, to prove to herself that she existed outside of the box she’d lived in all her life. Now she wondered if she could have this man for a summer fling and survive. Dear God, was she actually considering this?
“It’s the friction in your relationship that rattles Matteo. Not anything I might or might not do.”
Pushing to his feet, he gripped the nape of his neck and moved it this way and that. Had he hoped for a different answer?
He walked around, away from the window with views of the lake.
Everything in the bedroom matched him, minimalistic furniture without anything softening it at all.
All navies and grays, without a hint of color or warmth.
The only personal touch was the grand piano taking pride of place, looking out into the lake, and the shelves and shelves of books.
“Matteo and Angelina have activities planned around the lake to celebrate their engagement. They’ll be here for a few days.”
Walking around, he opened the bedside drawer and pulled out his charger. It was such a mundane thing, and yet it instantly drew her attention to the large king-size bed with navy blue sheets.
She was going to sleep in his bed, surrounded by the scent of him. Lay her head where he did every night. She’d already touched his things in the bathroom, realizing far too late that it was his. That the whole thing didn’t freak her out as much as it should have.
“There’s no doubt that Matteo will look for you as soon as Angelina’s asleep. My bedroom is the last place he will look. Also, I’m the only one who has a key to it.”
“He and I will talk at some point, you know.”
Leaning one shoulder against the door, he considered her. “Of course you will. But only after the guests have left. Especially Angelina and her cousins.”
“Where will you sleep?”
A wicked smile curved his lips. “It’s sweet of you to worry over my comfort.”
Sam rolled her eyes. “I’m worried you’ll jet-set off to some exotic destination leaving me locked up here.”
“I won’t go anywhere until I know Matteo is not bringing Vittorio’s wrath down on us.”
“You’ll be working at the villa for the next couple of days?”
His gaze searched her face. “What do you need?”
“Can you please arrange a car for me so that I can visit one of the art museums? That way, I’m out of here from sunup till evening. Obviously, I can’t explore the beautiful grounds here without you playing my devoted keeper.”
When he simply stared at her, she added, “You can come along and make sure I don’t secretly contact Matteo.” She couldn’t stop the shiver that shook her as she looked around the dark room. “I don’t like being cooped up inside.”
“I’m not available to you, Ms. Fischer.”
She’d expected some kind of pushback, but his bluntness made a dent in her confidence. “Assign me a bodyguard, then. I’m not staying locked up in here. Why should I be your prisoner when I can see all the art Milan has to offer?”
“There’s more to it,” he said stubbornly.
God, the man was infuriating. If she revealed that she hated being inside—after spending years in and out of hospitals between surgeries, in aftercare, during her parents’ work hours with paid nurses—she knew he’d grant her wish.
Despite his ruthless exterior, there was kindness in him.
But the last thing she wanted was his pity. “How about we make a deal, Mr. Ricci?”
“What kind of a deal?”
“You get me out of here and we can discuss why you’re so against Matteo and—”
“You want me to babysit you while you try to persuade me that Matteo, who’s even now probably—” his jaw tightened “—with Angelina, that you and he belong together?”
Sam growled. She’d meant they could talk about his relationship with Matteo. Which was clearly more resentful than she’d imagined. Not beg him to help her patch her and Matteo’s relationship. “That’s not what I meant at all. You’re a crude, arrogant—”
“Buona notte, Ms. Fischer,” he said, leaving and slamming the door behind him.
Sam sat back in the chair, staring at the closed door, his earlier words about Matteo with Angelina barely making a dent in her headspace.
Instead, Mr. Ricci occupied all of it: her awareness, her emotions, even her body’s suddenly volatile need for pleasure. At his hands and mouth and that lean, powerful body.
No. She was not going there. Not with a man who’d only mock her for her attraction to him. He’d probably say she was weak or immoral for lusting over her ex’s older brother.
She needed Alessandro Ricci in her life like she needed another hole in her heart.