18. Unfettered Access
CHAPTER 18
UNFETTERED ACCESS
R affaele
My stomach dips, the slight jostle waking me from a fitful sleep. My eyes snap open as my heart lurches up my throat. It takes me a second to regulate my breathing as I scan the lavish interior of the jet. We’re safe. We’re aboard Luca Valentino’s private plane on our way to Rome, not on a covert mission in the Middle East. I heave in a breath, and the moment of panic passes.
Soft breaths turn my attention to the head of dark hair splayed across my shoulder. Isabella sleeps peacefully beside me, the faint crinkle between her brows, which I hadn’t mentioned in my detailed account of all her quirks, smooth now in sleep. Her hand rests on my chest, slender, delicate fingers stretched across my pec. I spend too much time watching her, memorizing every detail of her face. I tell myself it’s an integral part of my job, but I’m fully aware I’m a fucking liar.
There’s something about her… something that niggles at my flesh, a desire so raw and undeniable, it feels like a fire simmering just beneath my skin, waiting to burst into flames. The mafia princess has cast a damned spell over me, and this excursion to Rome will only intensify her hold. It was one thing when we were under Luca Valentino’s roof, beneath his watchful eye, but now I’ll have unfettered access.
We spent most of the night talking, something I was loathe to do. Keep it professional. Do not engage with the principal. My rules are everything. They are what make me one of the best damned bodyguards out there, and one by one, she’s obliterating them.
And she doesn’t even realize it.
A soft groan escapes her pouty lips, and my cock twitches at the sound. Dio , I want to be the one coaxing those moans from her, but in an entirely different scenario. Worse, it’s not just my stupid dick that reacts to her, but an unfamiliar feeling fills my chest at the sight of her on my shoulder.
We fell asleep talking, and never even extended the seats to their fully flat position. We could have had a much better night of sleep, but instead, I remained upright, scared to move and wake her. She’d been so fucking nervous before we took off I wasn’t certain I would be able to talk her through the panic.
But somehow, I did…
It’s ridiculous, but maybe I affect her in a similar way. The thought is oddly satisfying.
The plane pitches forward as we begin our descent, and Isabella squirms beside me. Her hand falls from my chest, plunging down to my lap. And right on top of my hardening cock.
Merda .
As if she’s felt it, her eyes jolt open, lifting to mine.
“Good morning, principessa .” I offer a pleasant smile despite my cock screaming.
She must notice my unease or maybe she feels my hard-ass erection, but she doesn’t comment. Instead, she jerks her hand back and sits straight up before running her other hand through her wild, dark locks.
“We’ll be landing in a few moments.”
“Oh, good.” She turns away and wipes a dribble of saliva from the corner of her mouth, her cheeks flushing an enticing crimson. Once she’s adjusted her top to keep her breasts from spilling out, she faces me once more. “Did you sleep okay?” she mumbles around a yawn.
Surprisingly, yes, despite the fully upright position. “Umhmm,” I murmur. I hadn’t been plagued by the incessant nightmares that typically haunt me. I tell myself it’s because I slept so little, and it has nothing to do with the woman sleeping by my side.
“You?”
“Clearly.” She motions to the wet spot on my shoulder that I hadn’t even noticed. Cazzo , so much for my infallible observation skills. “Sorry about that.”
I shrug as the wet warmth seeps into my skin. “It’s fine, I have another one in my carry on. One of the hazards of guard duty.”
Another lie. I’ve never allowed myself to fall asleep beside a client. Not since her …
“I’m going to freshen up in the bathroom, if you want to change out here.” Isabella rises and grabs her designer duffle, tossing it over her shoulder.
“Sure, will do.”
I can’t help my traitorous gaze from trailing that perfect ass as it sways hypnotically in those tight yoga pants. Fuck . Squeezing my eyes closed, I force myself out of the chair and stretch my arms over my head. Even in a private jet, my long legs cramp after hours of not moving. Once I’ve gotten my muscles stretched out, I rifle through my bag for a new shirt. Not that Isabella’s drool is that noticeable on a black t-shirt, but if she’s changing then I suppose I should too.
I tug the shirt up and over my head as the door to the cockpit opens, and the flight attendant saunters out. Her gaze latches onto my bare chest, to the map of scars then to the ornate skull surrounded by red roses tattooed to my flesh. A cross is inked behind it, intersecting the skull, symbolizing a balance between life and death and the precious woman caught between the lethal dance. I got it the day after I lost her ... Darkness creeps into the corners of my vision, threatening to pull me under, but a cheery voice hauls me back to the present.
“Good morning, Mr. Ferrara. Is there anything I can get you before we land in Rome?” The woman, Janey, I believe she said her name was, struts closer, a grin on her ruby red lips as she continues to blatantly ogle my bare torso. I’d only seen her for a few minutes when we’d been welcomed aboard and then again when dinner was served. She’d been a little flirty in front of Isabella but hadn’t deliberately stared like this.
“Just some water would be fine.” I swing my head over my shoulder, motioning toward the back of the plane. “But we should see what Miss Valentino would like.”
“Of course.” She inches closer still, her eyes fixed to my chest, or maybe it’s the tattoo, but I can’t help but get a please-fuck-me vibe from the woman. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s provided all sorts of entertainment for VIP clients. Though Luca seems completely obsessed with his wife, one never knows what a man is like in private. “That tattoo is incredible,” she whispers as her hand lifts to my chest. She traces the bold outlines and rich colors, her finger running a path along my carved torso.
Clearing my throat, I take a giant step back. Not only am I supposed to maintain professionalism with my clients at all costs, but also anyone on staff. “Thank you,” I say, an icy edge to my tone that I’m hoping she’ll pick up on.
But either she’s clueless or doesn’t care.
She closes the distance between us once again, her hand finding its way to my stomach and dangerously close to my belt buckle. She rises to her tiptoes and whispers, “I’ll be staying in Rome for twenty-four hours if you want to meet up after you’ve dropped off your charge. I’m up for whatever you want, Raffaele…”
The bathroom door whips open, and Isabella pops out, her gaze immediately jumping to the woman’s hand on my abs. Her mouth curves into a capital O, and those brilliant sapphire irises flash.
A long minute passes before the fucking stewardess releases me, and I can drag my shirt over my head. “Janey here was just asking if there was anything more we needed before we landed?”
“I bet she was.” Her eyes narrow as she regards me for an endless moment, something like disappointment in her gaze. And it hurts like fucking hell. She slides between the flight attendant and me and dons that fake smile, not the one that makes her eyes crinkle in amusement. “I’ll take a mimosa, Janey. And make it quick.”
“Of course, Miss Valentino, right away.” She spins on her heel and disappears behind the dark velvet curtain.
I remain frozen by the bathroom door like an asshole, no worse, like a kid who’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar only I didn’t even get my damned cookie. Nor did I want it. Which is odd… and something I choose not to focus on at the moment.
Isabella stomps back to her seat and drops into the pristine leather. After a moment of waffling, I follow and dip into the seat beside her. “That wasn’t?—”
She lifts a hand, cutting me off. “Whatever it was or wasn’t is none of my business, Raf. You’re the one that said you don’t do relationships. I guess that doesn’t mean you don’t do women in general.”
“I’m not?—”
She presses her finger to my lips, and her tantalizing scent fills my nostrils. It takes all my restraint to keep my tongue from snaking out to taste it. It’s a heady mix of sweet gardenias and succulent strawberries. Does she fucking bathe in the stuff or what? “We’ll be living in Rome for three months and we’re both adults, free to date or screw whomever we want.”
“I don’t know that I agree with you there,” I mumble around her finger.
Her dark brows furrow. “So you’re saying you won’t be dating?”
“No, I’m saying you won’t be dating.”