Chapter 7
7
H E’D GONE BACK AND FORTH on the wisdom of this. The whole thing. Though he’d pretty quickly discounted any thoughts of ending their arrangement prematurely. A month was just a month. No big deal. Particularly not with the rules they’d put in place to protect themselves.
But even within those rules, he’d wondered if they should limit how frequently they saw one another. Was it fool-hardy to have set up a date, for want of a better word, for the second night in a row? Or was it just a mark of one of Salvatore’s defining characteristics: making the most of the time he had. He’d always been someone who’d pushed himself to the limits. Generally that applied most stringently to his business, but in some aspects of his personal life, he took the same, no holds barred approach.
Emilia was clearly going to be one of those instances.
They had agreed to a month together, and he had absolutely no reason to doubt he’d be able to walk away easily at that point. Not only because she was a Valentino, but also, because he was Salvatore—a man who didn’t do commitment, entirely by choice. It probably wouldn’t even last a month. Far more likely was that they’d get this out of their system and move on. To that end, seeing each other often was a great option. The faster this thing burned out and he could get back to his normal life, the better.
Whatever doubts he’d had about the wisdom of organizing this disappeared with each minute she kept him waiting. Ten minutes turned into twenty, turned into thirty, so his nerves were stretched so thin he’d started to pace the carpeted floor of the luxurious suite. Eventually, it occurred to him that she might not actually be planning to come. What if she was toying with him? Leaning into their family feud and having a laugh at the fact he’d been so eager to see her he’d barely been able to wait another night?
By the time he heard the handle turning, he’d gone from pleased and confident in how things were going, to convinced he’d made a monumental, uncharacteristic error and that he should leave before she arrived—if she was even going to arrive.
But then, the door pushed inwards and Emilia, with a small brown leather duffel bag thrown over one shoulder, and dressed in a black, fitted, woolen dress, hair tumbling down over one shoulder, strode into the room. Her lips were painted a deep red, and all he could think about was smudging it off.
No, that wasn’t true. He was also thinking about how to curtail his immediate reaction—of intense, desperate longing. Because he did long for her, body and soul. He ached and yearned in a way that bordered on obsession.
“Did you walk here?” he asked, aware his voice sounded flatly disapproving, even as he moved to her and unhooked the bag from her shoulder and placed it on the ground.
He caught a hint of her floral perfume and his gut twisted at remembered pleasures—from the first night they’d slept together, in Moricosia, when he’d been totally intoxicated by everything about her, including that delicate, feminine smell.
“Have I kept you waiting?”
He tamped down on his irritation. Not with her, but rather, himself, for showing that yes, he’d been waiting. On tenterhooks, in fact.
Then again, why hide it? This was just about sex, and wanting her with the power of a thousand suns wasn’t a sin. Hell, it was why they were both here, wasn’t it?
“Yes,” he said, with a shrug that imitated carelessness. “I’ve been thinking about this all day.”
He dragged her into his arms, dropping his head and kissing her in the same motion, so more powerful memories exploded in his brain—the way she tasted, the way she sounded as she groaned into his mouth, so he swallowed up her eagerness and made it a part of his soul.
He didn’t need her to say anything. He didn’t need to hear that she’d been thinking about him, too. It was obvious, from the way she clung to him, to the way she kissed him back, to the way she lifted one leg, wrapping it behind his calves, like she couldn’t wait to feel him inside her, like she couldn’t wait, full stop.
Curses flooded his body, angry, hot, desperate curses of the need he couldn’t seem to get control of, and then he was lifting her, easily, carrying her to the bed and placing her down, at the same time he pushed her dress higher, so his fingers could run over her soft, smooth skin, all the way to the lace of her thong. He kept kissing her as he brushed it aside, so his fingers could connect with her sex, then push inside her, and she groaned harder, louder, arching her back and pushing forwards, and he heard her desperation then.
He’d thought about organising dinner to be here, waiting when she arrived, but he was glad he hadn’t now, because anything that delayed this would have been unbearable. And it would have sent the wrong message, anyway. They weren’t really dating, and this wasn’t about getting to know each other. When they ate, it would be a case of sharing a meal for the sake of sustaining their energy levels, so they could keep doing this—it wouldn’t be anything more meaningful or significant.
As if to underscore his thoughts, she lifted her arms over her head, giving him access to remove her dress, which he did swiftly, letting out a guttural noise of his own when he saw that she wore no bra. Her beautiful breasts called to him, begging to be touched as he had last night. Her nipples were taut, sweet and demanding his attention, so as she fell back onto the bed he went with her, his mouth seeking first one breast, then the next, while his knee nudged her legs apart.
“Too many clothes,” she panted, when he pressed his teeth into her nipple with just enough force to make her yelp.
“I agree,” he said, and he moved to stand at the foot of the bed, bitterly resenting even that temporary separation. He undressed as quickly as he could, enjoying the fact she couldn’t take her eyes off him, adoring the fact she made no attempt to disguise it. Case in point, as he watched, Emilia held her hands up, a pout on those beautiful, full lips.
“Fuck me, Salvatore,” she begged, and he grinned, for no reason other than in that moment he was sublimely, utterly happy.
“I think this is the best burger I’ve ever eaten,” she said, swallowing her third mouthful. “Or it could just be that I’m ravenously hungry.”
Across the table from her, Salvatore, wearing only a pair of cotton boxers, grinned. His bare chest really was a thing of great art. Perfectly sculpted, but in a way that somehow spoke of general fitness rather than a vain need to work out, with just the right covering of hair, and a deep, golden complexion, she was having to work extra hard to stop her gaze from dropping down, constantly.
“Well, it is after midnight.”
“And I haven’t eaten since lunch.”
“Then it makes sense you’re hungry.”
Heat flooded her cheeks as she dropped her gaze to the burger, aware that her state of starvation had more to do with how they’d spent the last few hours. Her whole body was singing with pleasure from what they’d shared. Whatever ambivalence she’d been feeling about the wisdom of coming to see him for a second night had flown right out the window the second he’d kissed her.
She’d been desperate for him, but it was mutual, which made it a lot easier to just relax into this scenario.
“How was your day?”
His question had her lifting her gaze to his, surprised to find her lips quirking. “Seriously?”
“What? Isn’t that a normal question?”
“Yeah,” she drew the word out, thoughtfully. “But what we’re doing isn’t really normal, is it?”
He dipped his head in something like a nod of agreement, an unspoken concession. “Would you prefer to eat in silence?”
She took another bite of burger, finished chewing, then took a large sip of her soda. His gaze stayed on her face the whole time, letting her know he was waiting for an answer. Finally, she relented, “No, but I don’t know how I feel about making small talk with you, either. You are the enemy, remember?”
His grin made her insides pop like fireworks. “How could I forget?”
She reached for a chip. “Actually, my day was kind of shitty.”
He arched one brow, his face impassive. “Oh?”
She nodded.
“Want to talk about it?”
Emilia sipped her drink, to buy for time. Weirdly, she almost sort of did want to talk about it, but with Salvatore? Given they’d been at loggerheads over who’d get the project? It would be dangerous to let him know how off track they were in their first set of deliverables. Or would it? After all, they had a contract with the Moricosian government, and they weren’t quite at the point of breaching it. Nothing short of a breach would allow the government to cancel their deal, and even then, it would be a bad look.
She shook her head, though. “Just a few fires I had to put out.”
“And did you succeed?”
Even without having confided the details to him, there was something in the deep huskiness of his voice that was somehow soothing.
“It will take some time,” she prevaricated.
“Fires often do.”
“Oh, yeah? Something you have to deal with often?”
“You can’t be in business without having things go pear shaped from time to time.”
“I know,” she said, with a nod. “That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
His smile made her stomach twist. “No?”
She shook her head. “I like predictability. I like people to do what they say they’re going to do. I like things to go according to plan.”
His lips quirked in an expression of amusement.
“Don’t you?” she pushed.
He shrugged. “Of course.”
“Why am I not convinced?”
“Because there is something to be said for the fun of a challenge. The adrenaline rush of needing to think outside the box, to find a solution.”
She pulled a face. “I’ll take your word for it.”
His laugh was deep and throaty. “You must be used to this sort of thing?”
She expelled a breath. “Sure. I’m used to something going wrong, but not everything going wrong, all at once.” She sucked in a breath, aware she’d come dangerously close to saying too much.
“What difference does it make if it’s one thing or ten?”
She rolled her eyes. “Spoken like a man who never has to clean up his own mess.”
“Ouch. And presumptuous.”
“Am I wrong?”
“I tend not to make mess,” he said, winking at her, so her stomach did another unpredictable little roll.
“Sure you don’t.”
“But I’m responsible for fixing other people’s mistakes.”
“Like what?”
He shrugged nonchalantly. “We don’t need to go into specifics. And specifics don’t matter. At the end of the day, you just have to roll up your sleeves and dive right in.”
She sipped her drink. “And you enjoy that?”
It was Salvatore’s turn to stall, as he took a bite of his own burger then placed it onto the plate as he finished chewing. “I enjoy the feeling of success that comes from having achieved my aim. I like results; I like knowing I’m responsible.”
“So what exactly do you do, anyway?” she pushed, even when she knew it was getting close to breaking one of their rules. They weren’t really supposed to be getting to know each other on a personal level. By the same token, there was no harm in it, so long as they both kept their focus on what they were doing. She was more than capable of having conversations like this and still walking away in a month’s time.
“I’m in charge of group Business Development, and on the side, I run my own venture capital firm.”
Her brows raised. “So basically, you’ve got your hands more than full.”
“That’s what I was thinking an hour ago,” he teased, so her insides squelched with awareness and her heart thumped so hard it felt like a hammer throbbing against her ribs.
“I’m serious,” she said, even as a smile tugged at her lips. “You’re a busy boy.”
“ Cara, I left boyhood behind a long time ago.”
She laughed. “You’re hardly an old man.”
He grinned.
“Which do you prefer?”
He frowned. “I don’t follow.”
“Working with your family, or your own business?”
“I don’t think anyone’s ever asked me that.”
“Do you generally make a habit of sticking around long enough to be asked?”
“ Touché.”
“But true?”
He laughed. “Possibly.”
His laugh turned her fast-thumping heart into a tremble, and her pulse into a gushing tsunami.
“So?” she prompted, after he hadn’t answered. “Which one?”
“Both, for different reasons.”
“Such a diplomatic answer. What’s the matter? Are you afraid I’m going to sell whatever you say to the papers? Out you for being disloyal to your family if you say you like your own work better?”
“You and I crossed the line of disloyalty back in Moricosia. There’s nothing you could say about me that I couldn’t say back to you.” It wasn’t a threat, so much as a statement of fact, and yet the hint of a shiver ran the length of her spine. Because he’d so easily invoked the visage of what was at stake for them—of how necessary it was for them to keep this secret.
“I’m not interested because I want to sell your secrets. I’m interested because I’m interested.”
“In me?” he asked, teasing again, in that tongue in cheek way, so it was easy to roll her eyes and act like it was all some big joke. When the truth was, she was genuinely interested in him. By him.
“Could you think of any more elaborate ways to dodge the question?”
He finished his burger and wiped his hands on one of the napkins. “I like working with my family. Contrary to what you’ve been brainwashed into believing?—,”
“Brainwashed?” she said, brows arched.
He continued, but with a dip of his head to acknowledge her interjection. “They’re some of the best people I’ve ever known, and we’re a good team. You might think it would be hard, to have so many decision makers in the room, but there’s something about having grown up together, and the fact we’re working towards a common goal, that just makes it work.”
“I can understand that. It’s the same with us. I mean, sometimes my brothers drive me absolutely crazy, but at the same time, we spark off each other organically. I know what they’re thinking and I know that they’re the two people on earth who would literally drop everything and come help me out, if I needed it.”
His eyes narrowed, though, in a way that made her suspect he was far less comfortable hearing about her family than she was his.
“So why the venture capital firm then?”
“Why not?”
She rolled her eyes and he laughed in a way that made her warm all over.
“I had a sizeable trust fund I inherited when I turned twenty one, and an insane network of friends with money.”
“So you take from the rich and give to the poor?”
He grinned. “That’s me, a modern-day Robin Hood.”
“Except I’m guessing the companies you invest in aren’t actually poor.”
He shrugged. “Sometimes they’re startups.”
“Like what?”
“Some guy in a basement who has a world-changing idea.”
“You can get people to put money into that?”
“Ideas are the best thing to trade in. They’re easy to sell.” He reached for a fry from her plate so she batted his hand away jokingly. “And it doesn’t cost much to take an idea to a prototype, or into the market. At least, not initially.”
“Would I have heard of anything you’ve invested in?”
He shrugged. “Probably.”
“Are you being modest, Salvatore?”
“Me? Never.” His smile was the last word in sexy. She tried to swallow but her mouth felt all weird and non-cooperative.
“So? What kinds of things?”
He sipped his drink, then named a price comparison app for luxurious holidays.
“That was you?”
“Well, it wasn’t my idea, but the funding for it came from me, yes.”
She gaped. “That business must be worth a fortune.”
He nodded. “Seven other firms had passed on the idea before Shelton—that’s the founder—came to me.”
“Why did you invest, and they didn’t?”
“I liked the guy.”
“Seriously? That’s all it takes?”
“I liked his idea, I liked his work ethic, I liked the fact he believed in what he was pitching. And at the end of the day, his ask wasn’t huge. Low risk, potential high reward.”
“And in the end, you were right.”
“I’ve been wrong, sometimes, too.”
“Why do I suspect that’s not true?”
He laughed. “I have no idea.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I. Everyone makes mistakes.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to admit that.”
“My ego’s robust enough to face the truth.”
She glanced down at her burger, simply because she desperately, urgently needed a moment. Her initial impulse had been that they shouldn’t get to know one another. It had been a self-protective mechanism. But she’d never imagined that getting to know him would feel like this. She’d never imagined that he’d talk and she’d laugh, that he’d say something and she’d volley something back. He zigged, she zagged, and that was perilous.
He was a Santoro. The enemy. The devil.
“Your turn.”
She pressed a fingertip to the edge of the table, and forced herself to glance up. Their eyes met and her insides zipped. She should leave…
“For what?”
“You work with your brothers. You were in Moricosia, so I presume business development falls in your remit, too?”
“Actually, no,” she said with a shake of her head. “Not generally.”
“Oh?”
“Both of my brothers were a little preoccupied,” she said, smiling softly. “Recently married, or engaged, babies, pregnancies, you know. Life.”
“So it fell to you to go and win the tender.”
“We worked together on the proposal, but yes. It was easier for me to travel.”
“And you clearly impressed the King.”
“The proposal impressed him,” she amended.
“Then when you aren’t doing your brothers’ bidding, what do you do?”
She reached across and flicked his hand for the subtle dig at her brothers. “It’s not like that.”
His grin showed that he’d intended it as a joke, to get a reaction from her.
“I actually run our charity.”
He was quiet, giving her the space and time to continue, but she was strangely self conscious suddenly.
“Go on,” he prompted, after a few moments of silence.
She pulled her lips to the side, thinking. “It’s pretty self-explanatory. We have a set amount to donate each year—though I do supplement it, from time to time. And like you, I have friends I can bring along to fundraisers with me, or who are willing to make donations for the right cause. I guess you could say I do what you do, but instead of investing in businesses, I give the money away to worthy causes.”
“Which is why you’re always at those events.”
“I could say the same for you.”
His eyes roamed her face and something twisted in her belly. “Actually, I don’t usually attend those things.”
“What a coincidence then to have seen you at two fundraisers in such a short space of time.”
“Oh, yes, definitely a coincidence,” he said, winking a little so something soared in her chest at the implication—and she was sure she wasn’t imagining it—that he’d started showing up at charity fundraisers specifically hoping to see her. She didn’t want to feel warmth blossoming through her body. She didn’t want to feel lightness and joy at the idea of him wanting to see her badly enough that he’d go to parties on the off chance she might be there, too. But she felt it regardless. The best she could do was tell herself it didn’t mean anything, because there was no way she was going to let this thing—whatever it was—get out of hand.
To underscore that, and to prove to them both that this was not about conversation, emotion, or anything other than the physical, she stood up, eyes hooked to his, as she reached for the bottom of her shirt.
“Well, Salvatore, that’s enough talking for one night, don’t you agree?”
His jaw shifted, and he stared back at her silently for a moment, so in the back of her mind she wondered if he was going to disagree, to ask her another question, or reveal something else about himself. But then, he was reaching for her, pulling her into his lap, and kissing her until all those silly concerns about finding him interesting as a man, not just someone she was sleeping with, fell right out of her head. This was just sex; everything was fine.