Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Anton
I sat on the edge of the bed, carefully removing the bobby pins that held together Serena’s complex hairstyle. It was hard to see in the dim light, so I had to feel my way around.
She wasn’t burning up, and I was pleased that her fever had broken. She wore nothing but my oversized T-shirt, the soft fabric draping over her curves in a way that made my dick twitch. Despite her illness, she projected the same sex appeal and quiet strength that I’d found intriguing the moment I met her outside the Met Gala.
“What time is it?” she asked.
“Just after one in the morning.”
“I feel wide awake. My body must still be on Italy time. But that doesn’t explain why you’re awake at this hour.”
“Couldn’t sleep,” I told her with a noncommittal shrug. I could have explained further, revealing that being the owner of Club O usually kept me up well past midnight. However, I wasn't sure how she would respond to learning that I owned a sex club, nor did I know her well enough to divulge one of my biggest secrets.
As one pin after another came loose in my fingers, Serena’s locks fell around her shoulders like a dark chocolate curtain. Her hair, once meticulously styled for the gala, now tumbled in silky waves against her skin. Her eyes fluttered closed and a soft sigh escaped her lips. It was as if the tension were melting away with the removal of each pin.
I watched her reaction with curiosity, wondering about her ability to place such blind trust in me. There was something intimate and raw about the moment, stirring unfamiliar thoughts and desires deep within me.
“How do you know how to do that?” she asked.
“Do what?”
“Hair. Most men don’t even know what a bobby pin is.”
“I’ve seen my mother remove pins from her hair enough times. It isn’t all that difficult.”
“Does she wear her hair up regularly?”
“Before she died, yes.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Serena murmured.
Not wanting to invite a conversation about my mother’s death, I didn’t reply. I continued to work on Serena’s hair instead. There had to be at least a hundred pins wedged in every which way. It was no wonder she had a headache.
When I tugged the final one free, the last tendril fell to complete the messy masterpiece.
“All done,” I told her, letting my fingers linger on the dark strands, savoring the satiny feel of them. I envisioned it braided, trailing down the middle of her back, ready to be wrapped around my hand the moment I wanted her.
Serena tilted her head slightly, meeting my gaze with interest. There was a question there, unspoken yet palpable.
“That feels so much better,” she finally said. “Thank you. ”
“You’re welcome.”
Silence fell and she glanced down awkwardly.
“I, ah… I should probably get dressed. I need to return to my motel and check out.”
“I’ve taken care of it.”
Her head snapped back up to look at me, her expression heavy with concern. “You took care of it? But what about my belongings?”
“I retrieved your things while you were sleeping, just like I told you I would.”
She frowned as if searching her memory before saying, “That’s right. I remember you mentioning that. Were there any problems with check out?”
“No issues,” I replied quickly, deliberately not mentioning that her hotel room had been ransacked. A part of me wanted to confront her about what I’d found at the Midtown, but I needed more answers about who she was first. It would be best to wait for the background check so that I’d know who I was dealing with. Hopefully, Zeke would have information for me by the time the sun came up.
“I should have gone with you. I’m sorry. I just felt so out of it. Getting sick had not been on my agenda for this trip, but I have more of a clear head now.” She paused, her eyes darting around the room, suddenly looking panicked. “I need to call home. My mother will be out of her mind with worry when she finds out I’m not back as planned. Where’s my phone?”
Before I could answer, she slid out of the bed and moved quickly toward the chaise lounge to where her belongings were. Pulling her cellphone from her purse, she muttered something before tossing the phone back onto the chaise. It took me a second to figure out that she was speaking to herself in Italian.
Amused by her unintelligible ramblings, I felt the corners of my mouth pull up. “What’s wrong?”
“I need to find my charger. The battery is dead. ”
“There’s a charging cord in the nightstand.” Reaching for the drawer, I pulled out the charger and handed it to her. “Do you always check in with your mother?”
“Not always, but ever since my father…” Serena seemed to get lost in thought for a moment before shaking her head. “It’s barely seven in the morning in Italy. I don’t want to wake her if she’s sleeping. I’ll just let my phone charge for a bit, then call her in an hour. She should be up by then.”
She raked both hands through her hair. The simple action of raising her arms caused the T-shirt to rise above the tops of her thighs, exposing the red thong she wore underneath. Catching herself, she quickly pulled down on the hem as a visible flush of heat spread to her cheeks.
I raised a brow at her show of modesty.
“No need to be shy, princess. I’ve already seen most of what there is to see.”
Her blush deepened and I suppressed a smile.
“Look, Anton,” she began, choosing not to acknowledge my comment. “I’m feeling better, but it seems like I might be here for a bit yet—at least until I can get my affairs in order and figure out what I need to do next. I don’t want to impose, but is it okay if I took a quick shower? It’ll be good to wash off the sweat before I attempt civilized society again.”
I nodded. “Of course.”
I motioned for her to follow me into the ensuite bathroom. The smooth marble floors were cool beneath my bare feet as I pointed out where she could find clean towels and toiletries. Then I went over to the large, walk-in shower, and turned the valves to adjust the temperature of the waterfall shower head. The sound of running water filled the room, and I turned back to face Serena.
My breath caught as I took in the sight of her underneath the muted lighting. I was normally a satin and lace kind of guy, and if the mood struck, I could get into leather, too. But the way she stood there, barefoot in my white cotton T-shirt, I didn’t think I’d ever seen anything sexier.
A vision of her naked body in my shower, water flowing hot and wet over every curve, flooded my mind. The muscles in my arms and chest tensed, betraying the sudden wave of pure, carnal desire that washed over me.
I craved her. Desperately.
I barely knew her, yet all I wanted to do was take her to my bed and worship her tight body, licking and biting every sensual curve before savagely claiming her as mine.
Fuck. What is this woman doing to me?
I shook my head and stepped away from the shower. After making my way back toward the bathroom door, I turned to face her again. Suppressing my thoughts, I cleared my suddenly dry throat and said, “Take all the time you need.”
Leaving her alone with the steam of the shower so she could feel human again, I withdrew to the bedroom, my mind and body buzzing.
Restless, I moved into the living room and headed toward the wet bar. After pouring two fingers of Bowmore 27 single malt over a ball of ice, I went into my office and looked out the large windows overlooking 5th Avenue. I lifted the glass to my mouth, feeling the cool liquid over my tongue just before the burn hit the back of my throat.
I ran a hand through my hair as I took in the nighttime view of the city. I had barely lived here long enough to appreciate its luxuries, but they weren’t why I’d bought it. My interest in the property was rooted in its historical significance.
Having developed a fascination with the rich and powerful throughout history, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to buy the home that had once belonged to the late Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis. I had to have it. The purchase may have seemed ostentatious to anyone who knew where I’d come from, but it didn’t matter what they thought. The street rat they once knew was dead. My home symbolized who I was now—and I would never go back.
Sitting on the northeast corner of 85th Street, the penthouse was only one block north of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the very place I’d met the mystery woman in my shower.
My thoughts drifted back to Serena once again, the image of her delicate silhouette veiled by steam haunting my mind. She was a complex puzzle, each piece more alluring and captivating than the last. But for every one I put into place, there were others I couldn’t match. They only added to her mystery, and for some reason, that made me desire her even more. I didn’t want ordinary and only coveted the extraordinary—and Serena checked all the boxes I craved.
I tried to push aside the feelings she incited, burying them beneath layers of control and detachment that had served me well over the years. Still, there was no denying how much she affected me. It didn’t matter if she was a mystery. I wanted her naked and kneeling. I imagined her under me, her legs wrapped around my hips as I drove into her. I hadn’t lied when I told her I didn’t ogle her body when I undressed her.
But I wasn’t blind either—and Serena was perfection.
I needed relief. Something—or someone—to ease this unwelcome sexual frustration. But it was the dead of night, and I couldn't think of anyone who would be available for a late-night rendezvous. For once, I regretted my own strict rule about not hooking up with the patrons of Club O. At least there, willing bodies were around at all hours of the day. However, even if that were an obstacle of my own design, I didn’t want just any woman.
I wanted Serena.
Lost in thought, I swirled the whiskey in my glass, the ball clinking against the sides. The faint sound of the shower shutting off caught my attention. Serena would emerge soon, wrapped in a towel, her skin glistening with droplets of water .
I tried not to think about all the things I wanted to do to her and tilted the glass until the last of the whiskey flowed past my lips. The liquor burned my throat, and I savored the layers of sweet toffee, subtle spices, and hints of oak. Setting the glass on the desk, I went back to the living room.
A door creaked quietly, and I glanced down the short hallway that led to the bedrooms. Serena stepped out, her skin glowing pink from the heat of the shower. Droplets of water traced paths down her delicate collarbone, disappearing into the towel that wrapped around her body.
I eyed her carefully, wondering what it would take for me to get this Italian goddess to submit to me. She didn’t strike me as someone who took a lover without consideration. She would need to be wined and dined and given the respect she deserved. But that didn’t stop me from imaging her reaction if I decided to rip that towel from her body, bend her over the back of the sofa, and begin to make every one of my fantasies a reality.
She stared at me with a mix of uncertainty and something more challenging, as if she expected me to either look away or make a move toward her. She was wary—as she should be.
If she had any idea about what I was thinking… About what I want to do…
“Thanks for the shower,” she finally said, albeit hesitantly as she bit her lower lip. “Where are my things so that I can get dressed?”
With a lift of my chin, I nodded toward the sofa—and the two pieces of luggage tucked against it.
Serena went to the suitcases. She tried to maneuver both of them with her free hand, while the other struggled to keep the towel clutched to her body. I smirked. As much as I would have loved to see the plush terrycloth fall to her feet, I thought better of it. She would be too much of a temptation. My self-control was good, but I wasn’t sure if I wanted to test it right then.
Instead, I moved to help her. She flashed me a grateful smile when I took over, then followed behind me as I pulled the baggage through the bedroom and into the bathroom.
With a half nod, I turned, and went back to the bedroom to allow her privacy. However, before crossing the threshold into the hallway, I noticed the bathroom door slowly shift open. The latch was faulty. I had meant to get it fixed, but it hadn’t been a priority. After all, I lived alone and never brought women into my space. It didn’t matter to me if the door to the ensuite bath latched properly.
As the door opened further, the more I could see. Serena’s back was to me, bent over, as she rifled through the contents of her suitcase. The towel was still wrapped around her, but barely covered her backside. It draped low on her back, kissing the skin where her ass began to curve.
Mesmerized, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her as she shifted to stand. She gracefully unwrapped the towel, letting it fall to the floor. It was wrong to stare, but I couldn’t help myself. Every line and curve of her body was like a work of art, beckoning me to explore it further. The gentle bend of her spine led to the delicate lines of her waist and the curve of her hips. Her olive skin was smooth and flawless, her movements a testament to effortless grace.
She glanced at the mirror and our eyes met. I froze, holding her gaze. Instead of rushing to close the door like I thought she would, she stood perfectly still. I couldn’t move as her stare drilled into me through the reflection. The tension between us crackled like electricity and something flashed in her eyes.
Curiosity. Confusion. Fear.
I thought it might be a combination of all three.
I allowed my eyes to travel over the front of her body reflected in the mirror. I took in the smooth slope of her shoulders, her tight breasts and erect nipples, down to the soft lines of her stomach and the thin patch of hair at the apex of her thighs .
A mischievous smile tugged at the corner of my lips when I watched her conflicted expression shift to challenging. She straightened her spine, turned, and took a calculated step toward me. Her movements were fluid and determined. But just as I thought she would emerge from the bathroom completely naked, she instead reached for the door and closed it with deliberate force. The click of the lock signified that the door was truly latched this time.
I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.
“Fuck,” I muttered under my breath. I barely knew this woman, yet somehow, I was certain she would be my undoing.