Chapter 5
5
H OW MANY TIMES COULD she think to herself, ‘that shouldn’t have happened’, then fall back into bed with this guy? On how many levels could she keep wanting what she knew she shouldn’t? And worse than wanting, actually reaching out and taking? It was like some kind of illicit drug addiction, a craving she couldn’t control, and for Emilia, who had—as Salvatore so aptly pointed out—always been everyone’s perfect ‘good girl’, it was hard to reconcile her actions now.
Why couldn’t she just walk away from him? Why couldn’t she resist?
She turned to look at him in the bed beside her, and told herself this absolutely had to be the last time. No matter what she wanted, this was a course of action lined with potential fall out that neither wanted. If her parents and brothers knew that she was literally in bed with the enemy, they’d be furious.
No, they’d be disappointed, and that was so much worse.
As if her gaze had a physical pull on him, Salvatore turned then, to look at her, and something shifted in her gut the moment their eyes connected, bringing with it a rolling of awareness. And appreciation, too, because he truly was the most incredibly beautiful man she’d ever seen in the real world. It wasn’t even that his face was perfect, because there was a bump halfway down his nose, as though it had been broken at one point. But somehow that little defect only added to his overall appeal, making him different and special.
She swallowed quickly, as if that could erase the direction of her thoughts.
“Are you hungry?” he asked, and she almost laughed, because it was such a frivolous thing to ask after the sin of betrayal they’d just committed. Like he didn’t care at all that they’d had sex—again.
“No,” she said, though in fact, maybe she was? She’d had a crab puff at the party, but other than that, had been too busy to eat all day.
“But you’ll eat something?”
Despite herself, she laughed a little. “Will I?”
“I’m going to. Keep me company.”
“I—should go,” she said, pushing the sheets back and moving to stand up. She ignored the sense of disappointment when he made no move to stop her.
“Or, you could stay, have some food, and then we can keep making the most of this room we have access to.”
Temptation zipped through her, like lightning forking across the sky. “This is so wrong.”
His grin showed that Salvatore didn’t have quite the same level of emotional conflict about this that Emilia did. “But what’s the harm?”
She rolled her eyes, reaching for her underpants and pulling them on. He made a small tsking sound of disappointment, that didn’t help her whole temptation situation. “The harm has the potential to be huge,” she pointed out. “Our families hate each other.”
“Yes,” he shrugged his agreement.
“They’d hate this.”
“Yes.”
“How does that not bother you?”
“I’m not planning on telling my family. Are you?”
She pursed her lips. “Of course not.”
“So, what’s the problem?”
“I’ve already said, they’d hate this.’
“And I’ve already said, they don’t need to know.”
“The only way to make sure they never find out is to never do this again,” she muttered. “We’ve already taken way too many stupid risks.”
He propped himself up on his elbows, eyes latched to hers in a way that stole her breath and made her momentarily forget she had been in the process of reaching for her dress. If anything, her body was silently encouraging her to move forward, to go back to bed, and reach for him, not her clothing.
“I thought we agreed that the risks are part of what we like.”
“No, you agreed that.”
“Are you saying it’s not fun?”
She shook her head. “Yes. No. I don’t know. I just…can’t even imagine how hurtful this would be to my parents if they found out.”
“You are a grown woman, aren’t you? Free to make your own choices in life.”
“Of course.”
“So if you do disappoint them with your decision, is it the end of the world?”
She nodded. “Absolutely. With regards to this, yes. One hundred per cent.”
“A simple ‘yes’ would suffice.”
“Sorry, but this is quite literally the worst thing I could do to them.”
“They hate us that much, huh?”
“Don’t act like it’s not mutual.”
He grinned. “Oh, it’s very, very mutual, especially after the last couple of years.”
She tilted her head to the side, waiting for him to continue.
“First Acto, then Moricosia? Whatever bad blood there was between us in the past, I think you could say it’s a hell of a lot worse now.”
She ignored the zing of triumph at her family’s recent victories. “Exactly!” she said, clicking her fingers. “And you can’t tell me it wouldn’t bother you if your family found out about us? You know they’d be pissed.”
“Yeah, they’d be pissed.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
“My preference is for no one to find out.” He sat up straighter and pushed back so he was leaning against the plush bed head, his body half covered by a loosely draped sheet. “Stay and eat with me, and we can make a plan to ensure we keep this secret.”
Before she could answer, he was reaching for the phone and saying, ‘Room Service’. She stood there, frozen to the spot, as he began to reel off a large number of foods. She could still get dressed and go; the choice was hers. Yet, the decision seemed to have been made at some point, without her conscious decision, and then she was pushing towards the wardrobe and removing a fluffy white robe. She wrapped herself in it, ignoring the look of triumph on his features as she moved to sit in bed and reach for the champagne he’d poured much, much earlier. She couldn’t take a sip though without remembering the way he’d trickled the stuff all over her body, driving her quite wild with the different sensations, and her cheeks bloomed with heat as she quickly swallowed the bubbles.
“Good choice,” he said, and she tried not to let the praise, or the tone of his voice, get into her blood stream. Too late, though. Warmth flooded her and she blinked away quickly, to prevent him from seeing her smile.
“Okay.” And suddenly, despite the fact he was butt naked, Salvatore seemed to slip completely into a different persona. Now, he was all business like and authoritative, and it was easy to imagine him in a boardroom, commanding all and sundry. While she knew his family worked closely together—as did hers—she was also aware that Salvatore had differentiated himself by launching his own venture capital firm when he was in his early twenties, and become something of a titan of industry. Even Emilia, who’d grown up with two brothers who loved to dictate terms to everyone they met, was impressed by his confident aura. “We both know this is a bad idea.”
“I thought you didn’t feel that way?”
His eyes were no longer sparking and flirtatious, but rather, completely serious. “Of course I feel it. You’re a Valentino and I’m a Santoro. We might as well be Romeo and Juliet for how much sense this makes.”
“Except without the love. And suicide.”
“Definitely.” He nodded his agreement. “At the same time, I’m a realist. As stupid as this is, correct me if I’m wrong, but neither of us seems able—or willing—to put an end to it.”
“We have to,” she groaned. “Seriously, Salvatore. The risk to both of us, to our families, and for what? This is never going to go anywhere. There’s no future here. Why would we risk possibly harming everyone we love, just because the sex is?—,”
“Yes?” he prompted, teasing once more, before sobering.
“Fantastic,” she offered, aware the word was totally insufficient.
“Absolutely,” he agreed, and the warmth that was buzzing inside of her spread right to her fingertips. “Mind-blowing.”
She flushed. “I’m glad I’m not alone there.”
“Definitely not.”
But the sense of warmth and relief were short-lived. “This is a disaster.”
“It’s less than ideal,” he agreed. “But it doesn’t have to be.”
“I can’t see any way we can keep doing this…”
“We just need some firm rules,” he said, and once again, she could see that they’d moved firmly into his territory. He was confident and steely, results-oriented and determined. “As long as we’re on the same page, and do this carefully, I think it’s viable.”
“Viable?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll indulge you,” she said, slowly. “Talk to me about the rules.”
“First of all, we need to be realistic. This can only ever be a physical thing. I don’t want to like you, and I don’t want you to like me. Any problems with that?”
A smile tickled her lips. “Not only do I not have a problem with that, I think it would be physically impossible for either of us not to hate each other.”
“I don’t hate you,” he said, after a beat, frowning a little. “Your family, yes, but not you.”
“I’m a part of my family.”
He shrugged. “I probably wouldn’t hate either of your brothers, either, if I met them face to face. It’s more…the abstract concept of your family. The myth of the Valentinos…”
“For me, it’s actually your family,” she quipped, then nudged him with her shoulder.
“So not liking each other shouldn’t be a problem,” he said, with a confident nod.
“Definitely not. What else?”
“We only do this in a hotel. I don’t want to see your house, I don’t want you in mine. The less we know about each other the better.”
She considered that, lips pulling to the side, and nodded. She liked the idea of making it as impersonal as possible. Apart from anything, it made it conceivable to have sex without letting herself like him. She didn’t want to know those little details, like what he had on his bedside table and what brand of cereal he preferred. It was too…humanising, and humanising him would lead to complexity.
“Yeah, that makes sense.”
“Anything else?” he prompted.
She sipped her champagne. “I think it’s a good idea to put a time limit on this,” she murmured, thinking aloud.
“Agreed. I don’t remember the last time I was with a woman for more than three dates anyway.”
“Then why bother having this conversation? By my count, we’re done after tonight.”
He raised both brows. “ Touché. Turns out, the forbidden fruit is hard to resist.”
She pulled a face. “Tell me about it.”
“So, how long?” he prompted.
Emilia considered that. “Well, it’s my birthday in a month, and I always go home to spend the weekend with my parents. I’ll probably stay in Italy for a few weeks, catch up with friends. That seems like a natural end-point to me.”
“A month? Easy.”
“Or sooner, if we want.”
“Great.” And there was such confidence in his tone that it was easy for Emilia to let it seep into her body and push away any lingering reservations she held. She knew it wasn’t her best life decision, but at the same time, so long as she and Salvatore went into this with their eyes open, and took care to make sure no one ever found out, what possible harm could there be?
Absolutely none. They’d be careful, they’d be care-free, and when the time came, they’d both walk away without a backwards glance. It was a recipe for success, and suddenly, Emilia was relishing the prospect of throwing herself into a month of no-holds-barred sex with the hottest guy she’d ever known. Starting with right now…
“ Cristo, I’m going to have to work on my stamina for the next month, if I want to keep up with you,” he teased, later, when their food had arrived and they were surrounded by the wreckage of their meals.
She stuffed a french fry into her mouth, then shook her head. “If you’re fishing for compliments, you’re barking up the wrong tree.”
“Oh?”
“You know there’s nothing wrong with your stamina.”
He grinned. “I’m pleased to hear you think so.”
She rolled her eyes. “Anyone would think so—and I can’t believe it’s not something you haven’t heard a million times.”
“A million? Slight exaggeration there.”
“You know what I mean.”
He took a drink of mineral water.
“Can I ask you something?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“Does it breech our rules?”
She considered that. “How about I ask, and if you don’t want to answer, you don’t have to.”
“Fair enough.”
“Do you really sleep around as much as the internet would make it appear?”
“Yes.”
She wondered at the sudden drop in her gut.
“You look surprised.”
Damn it. She’d have to be more careful around Salvatore. For whatever reason, he seemed to possess the ability to read her like an open book.
“I suppose I thought it might be an exaggeration.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re photographed with a lot of different women.”
“Yes.”
“You’re saying you sleep with all of them?”
“Not all.”
“But most?”
“I don’t keep a tally.”
She frowned. That sounded like a lot.
“What’s the problem? You don’t approve?”
“No, no, it’s not that.” Her brow furrowed as she sought for a way to explain. “It’s just—a point of difference between us.”
“You’ve already told me that you don’t make a habit of this.”
She nodded.
“But you’ve had some experience,” he prompted.
She nodded again.
“How much?”
“You don’t keep a tally, what makes you think I do?”
“That’s a clever way of side-stepping the question.”
She had to admire him for that, too. Yet another way in which he seemed to innately understand her.
“I could torture it out of you, you know.”
“Torture?”
“Pleasure.” He reached out and brushed a hand over her exposed thigh so she gave a husky little uneven breath as her body—so tired and pleasured already—experienced the stirrings of need, all over again. Her eyes shifted to his and scanned his face, almost as though it was committing his appearance to memory.
She blinked away, reaching for another french fry.
“I’ve dated. But I’m generally careful before I let it get physical.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, this isn’t the norm for me.”
He nodded slowly, like he was going to accept that answer, but then, all of a sudden, he was moving, bringing his body over hers, uncaring for the food that was between them and the way the chips spilled out onto the sheets. And a second later, she was uncaring, too, because his mouth was at her throat, kissing her, sucking, tasting, and then flicking lower, to her breast, his breath warm against her skin. Her nipples, already sensitive from so much attention, sparked the second he touched them, and she whimpered. A plea. To stop, to never stop. She wasn’t sure.
“Ten men?” he asked, rolling her nipple with his tongue.
She groaned. “No.”
“Less? More?”
She arched her back in a silent invitation, her whole body stirring now and needing everything he could give her. Again.
“Emilia?” his tone was sharp as he lifted his head, eyes linked to hers, but then, his fingers were at her other nipple, rolling it, then squeezing, just hard enough to send arrows of need through her overwrought body.
“You’re making it hard to think straight.”
“Want me to stop?”
She shot him a fulminating glare. “No.”
“Good answer. Now, give me another one.”
“Another what.”
“Answer.” She bit into her lip as he moved his mouth to the breast he’d just been squeezing, and pressed the same pressure points, so she was practically exploding already.
“Fewer than ten.”
“Nine?” he asked, bringing his hand between her legs and separating them, hovering right at her sex so she was holding her breath without even realising it.
“Fewer,” she almost screamed, the need, pleasure, pressure, all too much.
“Interesting.” He slid a finger inside of her wet core and she bucked against his hand, heat spreading through her body and to the roots of her hair.
“Eight?”
“Fewer,” she panted, as he began to move, and her cells trembled with the promise of what he was offering.
“Seven men?”
He placed his mouth over her other nipple, tormenting this one now, as his fingers pushed inside of her mercilessly, until she was whimpering and digging her fingernails into his shoulders, the word ‘please’ tumbling from her lips over and over.
“Salvatore,” she cried. “I—can’t—think?—,”
“Then don’t think,” he said, moving his mouth higher, to claim hers, his body over hers now, the weight its own kind of delicious, addicting pleasure. “Just float.”
She groaned, riding the wave he was building inside of her, with his skillful fingers, mouth, and proximity, so she was almost on fire with delirium, and then, the flames licking through her caught, sending fire through her entire body. She was in free fall and she didn’t care—she only cared that it wouldn’t stop.
“I—can’t—I?—,”
“I know, I know,” and then he was kissing her hard, absorbing her frantic cries, his mouth effortlessly dominating and delighting her, so she couldn’t think of a more sublime moment in her life. And then, she was coming, again, fast, recklessly and completely, at his mercy, in a way it didn’t even occur to her to mind.
“You’re leaving?”
It was still dark out. Well, as dark as Manhattan was capable of being, given the sparkly lights in each and every high-rise. “I thought you were asleep,” she murmured. Now fully dressed, she turned back to the bed.
“I think I was.”
She smiled without realising it. “We both were.”
He shifted his weight, propping up a little and resting his head on one palm.
“Let me rephrase. Why are you leaving?”
She hesitated at the foot of the bed, the conversation she’d been playing out in her mind for the last twenty minutes still going back and forth on repeat. But she knew she’d come to the right conclusion in the end. “New rule,” she said, keeping her tone light.
“I’m listening.”
“No sleeping over.”
He arched his brows. “No?”
She shook her head.
“What’s wrong with sleeping in the same bed?”
She bit into her lower lip. “It’s just too intimate.”
“Emilia, I have tasted you and been insides you. Yet sleeping in the same bed is where you draw the line?”
She flushed to the roots of her hair. “You know what I mean. It’s different. Like being in each other’s apartments.”
“I have no issue with sharing a bed,” he said, moving to sit properly now, then standing on the carpeted floor. “But if that’s a hard no for you, it’s fine by me.”
“It is,” she said, on a wave of relief. For some reason, it just felt more personal, somehow. Like there was more scope for getting to know each other. Liking each other. What Emilia wanted was to keep this—whatever it was—to a strictly ‘wham, bam, thank you, ma’am,’ kind of scenario. Because she wasn’t used to this. And for all they’d put guardrails in place, she suspected it was going to be harder for Emilia to keep the lines between them unblurred than it would be for Salvatore, who’d slept with so many women he’d lost count. In fact, the sooner she got out of there, the better.
“Okay,” she nodded. “I’ll go.” She moved to the door, holding her breath for no reason she could think of.
His raw laugh chased after her though, and a second later, his hand curled around her wrist. “Wait a second. What’s the rush?”
She glanced up at him, hit powerfully by their height difference. And his broad shoulders. And muscled torso. And incredibly hypnotic eyes. She swallowed past a constriction in her throat.
His hand lifted, curving around her cheek. “Is a kiss goodbye against the rules, too?”
Her lips parted, and something in her chest kerthunked. “I didn’t have you pegged as the sentimental type.”
His grin was almost her undoing. Sexy and slow, it made her insides turn to mush. “Believe me, there’s nothing sentimental about the way I kiss.” A second later, he was showing her why—with a kiss that was, instead, a promise of what was to come, next time. A kiss that was pure seduction and skill, desire and desperation. A kiss that left her knees trembling and her pulse racing, so when he dropped his hand and stepped back from her, Emilia could only stare at him for several seconds before remembering where she was—and that she was in the process of leaving.
She stepped outside before she could do something stupid, and leap right back into bed again.