Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
Serena
T he steam from the shower swirled in the air. Pressing my back to the door, I closed my eyes and counted to ten. I inhaled deeply on each count, but still I couldn’t suppress the arousal that rocked me to the core. I opened my eyes once more. The air seemed to shimmer, as if there were sparks of electricity crackling and dancing all around.
Anton’s gaze had burned into me, scorching hot, and left me aching. His onyx eyes had been filled with a mix of desire and something deeper. The way he’d looked at me made my pulse quicken, causing a rush of heat to spread through my body, creating a throbbing ache between my legs. Despite having a solid wood door between us, I could feel the intensity of his stare even now.
I wasn’t sure how long I’d allowed him to look at me. A few seconds. A minute. In those moments, all sense of time had ceased to exist. I didn’t know what had come over me .
Why did I let him stare for so long?
I bit my lower lip.
The question should have been, why did I want him to stare?
My cheeks flushed with embarrassment when I thought about how easily I could have melted into him—a perfect stranger—while he was pulling the bobby pins from my hair. I didn’t know anyone in New York, I was almost broke, and I was in the home of a man who had seen me naked—twice—without my permission. And oddly, I was okay with all of it.
Am I so desperate for affection that I can just ignore the precarious spot I’m in?
Anton’s proximity was more potent than any drug could ever hope to be. He was dangerous, and he stirred something in me that I hadn’t felt in too long.
Desire.
Moving to the mirror, I ran a brush through my wet hair and considered the reasons that could explain my surprising ease with the situation.
Why Anton and why now?
I’d avoided men for the better part of the past year. I learned the hard way that no good could come from having one in my life. They couldn’t be trusted, and I’d happily committed to being the hero in my own story.
But then I met Anton Romano—the man who dared me to trustfall.
I’d never encountered anyone quite like him. The feelings he stirred were hot and addicting, and not at all welcomed. Not when so much was at stake.
Once I was dressed, I felt more like a human being with a clear head. Ideally, I’d love to be on a plane home today. But I also knew that booking a same-day international flight to Italy would likely pose a challenge to my already thin wallet. I’d probably need to find a hotel to crash in until I could get an affordable flight. I just wasn’t sure if the cost savings would be worth it. However, before I did anything, I had to call home.
Moving to the bedroom, I retrieved my cell phone from Anton’s nightstand. I began to dial my mother but paused when I caught a glimmer of something inside the bedroom closet. The door had been left open a crack, allowing a glimpse of what was inside. Curious, I pushed it just enough so I could see better.
The closet screamed luxury, with perfectly organized rows of suits, each tailored to perfection. Stepping further into the space, I couldn’t help but run my fingers over the luxurious material. Like the bathroom, not a thing was out of place. Each suit hung perfectly—almost too perfectly—presenting like a museum showcasing masculine colors and styles. I marveled at the meticulous organization.
But what had caught my eye from the bedroom were the sparkling glints reflecting off a large display of cufflinks. They shimmered in the soft light, each pair more dazzling than the next. From classic gold to sparkling gemstones, they highlighted Anton’s impeccable taste. It was clear that no expense had been spared, yet I found the sophisticated accessories to be at odds with the dangerous vibe he gave off.
Who are you, Anton Romano?
I suspected he had a story. What it was, I didn’t know. He both intrigued and scared me, yet I still wanted to know more about the man behind the polished exterior. Perhaps, in another life, I might have been afforded the opportunity. But not in this one. I had responsibilities that dictated my every move, and men who looked like Anton Romano were not on the agenda.
With a sigh, I left the closet and headed out of the bedroom with my suitcases in tow. When I stepped into the hallway, I was confronted with a sizzling sound and the smell of bacon. My stomach growled. Following the scent, I navigated through the penthouse in search of the kitchen.
Despite my unease about the unfamiliar setting, it was hard not to appreciate the lavish surroundings. The penthouse was a sweeping display of luxury, from the modern crystal chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings to the plush, deep burgundy couches. The walls were painted with rich colors and adorned with expensive artwork, and the tall windows offered breathtaking views of New York City.
I entered the kitchen at the same time Anton placed a steaming plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, fresh fruit, and toast on the black marble topped island. Like the rest of the penthouse, the kitchen was sleek and modern, with polished stainless-steel appliances and granite countertops. The walls were painted a warm gray with glossy cream-colored cabinetry lining them.
Despite its splendor, the décor seemed to blur into the background. All I was able to see was Anton.
When I’d first met him outside the Met Gala, he looked debonair and irresistible in a tuxedo, exuding wealth and privilege. But here, in the penthouse, he looked different—more casual and at ease in his dark denim and T-shirt.
I felt a tightening in my core. The casual version of Anton was so much more potent. Seeing him like this was deadly, making him seem more relatable even though we lived worlds apart.
His jeans were comfortably loose, yet still managed to mold around his hips and thighs. His fitted T-shirt accentuated his broad chest and thick muscular arms. Music was playing. I recognized “In The End” by Linkin Park coming from speakers hidden somewhere in the room. The dark lyrics about personal struggle only seemed to amplify Anton’s sex appeal.
The muscles in his shoulders rippled as he leaned forward, bracing both palms on the countertop. My stomach twisted, and my heart raced.
Focus. Put one foot in front of the other. You aren’t sixteen.
As I approached the large island in the center of the room, I practiced nonchalance. I wanted to appear confident, even though I felt anything but.
Anton glanced down at my suitcases and frowned. He seemed annoyed to see them but didn’t comment.
“Sit,” he told me, pointing to one of the six cushioned barstools that lined the long countertop.
“What is this?”
“Food. You haven’t eaten in two days.” I shifted my eyes to meet his ever-observant stare. Heat rose into my cheeks as I recalled his gaze on my body. He spoke so casually—as if he hadn’t just seen me stark naked in his bathroom.
It was awkward.
Once again, I asked myself why I’d allowed him to stare for so long.
I was about to insist that I wasn’t hungry and should head out, but my traitorous stomach growled again. Reluctantly, I decided to at least have a fast meal before attempting to find a hotel room.
“Thank you. You didn’t have to do this, but I appreciate it all the same. I’ll eat quick, call my mother, and then—” I paused, noticing that he wasn’t making a plate for himself. “Aren’t you going to eat?”
“I don’t like to eat before bed.”
“Oh, I…” I frowned, once again aware of the time. My body clock was so screwed up. “I’m sorry to keep you up so late.”
“Don’t apologize. Although this is a little later than usual, it’s not far from the norm. Rarely do I fall asleep before one in the morning.”
“Oh?”
“I keep late hours and don’t typically get up until eight or nine. It all depends on the day,” he explained. “Weekdays, I just try to be up before the market opens.”
Market?
I frowned and thought back to what Madeleine had told me about Anton the night of the gala. He must be referring to the stock market. Madeleine had said he’d made his money on cryptocurrency and was a millionaire many times over.
“I don’t know much about stocks or crypto,” I admitted. “I just assumed people involved in that line of work started their days early.”
Anton raised an eyebrow. “So, you know who I am then?”
I shrugged, wondering if I should be embarrassed that I hadn’t known until Madeleine told me.
“My dress designer, Madeleine, filled me in after you left the gala.”
“I see.” He pressed his lips together in a tight line, clearly displeased about something. “What else did she say?”
“Not much. She just said that you’d made your way with cryptocurrency. Is that what’s keeping you up late tonight? Worried about the current value of Bitcoin?” I teased, attempting to ease the sudden tension.
He didn’t answer me. Instead, he glanced down at my plate and said, “You should eat before it gets cold.”
He took a seat on one of the stools further down the island. His careful gaze was intimidating, so I quickly looked away and began to eat the eggs.
“I haven’t had bacon and eggs in years,” I told him.
He raised a curious brow. “Do you not like them?”
“Oh, no. I do, very much. It’s just very American. Bacon and eggs aren’t really a thing in Italy. Back home, a typical breakfast is a hard roll with Nutella or sweet biscuits. Sometimes we’ll add toast with thin slices of meat, like prosciutto, salami, or mortadella.”
He didn’t say anything but continued to watch me curiously. Every once in a while, he’d take a small sip from the glass that sat in front of him. It contained an amber liquid that I assumed was some kind of whiskey or scotch. He swirled it, causing the large ball of ice to clink against the sides of the glass before raising it to his lips. The action caused his T-shirt sleeve to shift just enough for me to catch a glimpse of dark ink curling over his bicep. The sharp lines disappeared under his shirt, teasing at a story I suddenly wanted to know more about.
My pulse quickened as I imagined tracing the design with my fingertips and wondered what other secrets might be under his shirt.
“Do you like to cook?” I asked between bites, needing a distraction from the inappropriate thoughts in my head.
“Not particularly.”
His response was cool, and he didn’t seem to be in a talkative mood. Still, I was intrigued by the stranger whose bed I’d slept in, so I pressed on.
“Have you thought about hiring a chef or a housekeeper?”
“I haven’t considered bringing on anyone after my last household employee didn’t work out.”
“Oh?”
“I hired a majordomo about a year ago, but it didn’t go well.”
“Wow. Fancy—and not cheap from what I’ve heard. Was the person not any good?”
“On the contrary, he was stellar. His training was impeccable. I was the problem. I didn’t like his hovering.”
“But isn’t part of his job to do exactly that in order to better serve you?”
“Perhaps. But I like my privacy. I don’t easily trust strangers, especially in my personal space.”
I pressed my lips together and contemplated his words, thinking back to the night we met. Although he divulged very little about himself, he’d been charming and convincing when he told me to trustfall. The suggestion had come easy to him, yet here he was talking as if he trusted nothing and no one.
“That sounds strange coming from the person who expected me to trustfall so effortlessly. Why so many trust issues, Mr. Romano? ”
“Why so many questions, Dr. Martinelli?” he countered. I met his onyx gaze and found him studying me with a mixture of amusement and something else I couldn’t quite place. He broke eye contact first, shifting to look down at my plate. “You aren’t eating.”
“You’re changing the subject,” I pointed out as I added more eggs to my fork.
He eyed me again, seeming hesitant. It was as if he were assessing how much he wanted to say.
“I’m a private person. I don’t live a conventional lifestyle. The fewer people I let into my circle, the better.”
I frowned, mentally dissecting his response as I nibbled on a strip of bacon. I stole a glance in his direction, wishing I could get a read on him. At times, he seemed so much the gentleman. And at others, he gave off an edgy vibe that made him seem more calculating and ruthless.
I could sense his intense appraisal of me, and I did my best to ignore it. However, after several moments, his persistent observation won, and I met his stare. As nice as he was to look at, the most captivating thing about him were his eyes. It was nearly impossible to resist the piercing onyx that seemed to see through to the most secretive parts of my soul. Their intensity caused a flush to creep up my neck to my face.
He slid off his stool and made his way toward me, his swagger ever so prominent. When he leaned against the counter next to me, I swallowed hard.
He was close.
Too close.
My breath caught.
“You’re blushing,” he stated matter-of-factly. The corner of his mouth twitched with amusement.
My eyes widened. Mortification crept in.
“Am I?” I looked away, feeling the burn in my cheeks deepen .
“Yes, you are.”
“Maybe the fever is coming back,” I muttered awkwardly. Looking at the plate, I scraped the last of the eggs into a neat pile before bringing them to my mouth. Swallowing them down, I shifted off the stool. “Thank you for the breakfast and the shower. I have a few calls I need to make, so if you’ll excuse me...”
I made to step around him, but he moved in front of me, blocking my path.
“No, you don’t. Not yet,” he said, catching my arm.
He studied me with such an intense scrutiny, I felt like I was being hunted by a lion. My insides twisted into knots. He was preparing to pounce on his prey. If I let my guard down, he could easily strip my soul bare. No man had ever affected me this way, and I didn’t know how to respond to it.
“The longer I wait, the longer I’m stuck in New York. I love the city, but I can’t financially afford to waste time dawdling. The sooner I…” I sucked in a breath when his hand lifted to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.
“You worry too much about money.”
“Says the guy who has tons of it,” I replied. The words came out breathy despite my attempt at sarcasm. I just couldn’t think while he was standing so close.
His piercing gaze remained fixed on mine. I was exposed in my khaki capris and off-the-shoulder sweater. My cheeks flushed deeper under the intense examination. I couldn’t decipher the thoughts behind his stoic expression, but a hint of uncertainty flickered in his eyes. His unrelenting stare made me suddenly aware of every movement I made.
“Who are you, Serena Martinelli?” he asked, breaking the tense silence.
“I’m sorry?”
His eyes shone with a predatory gleam as his hand traced the curve of my shoulder. I bit down on my lower lip, my heart seeming to stop at his touch.
“You’re nervous,” he said in a deep, throaty voice.
“No, I’m not.” The lie was obvious.
“Why are you afraid?”
“I’m not afraid. Cautious would be a better word. I don’t know the first thing about you. My surroundings are unfamiliar and you’re…”
You’re making me feel things I shouldn’t feel.
But I didn’t complete the sentence. I couldn’t.
“I’m what?” he pressed.
“Nothing.” Unable to withstand his blistering gaze, I turned my head and focused on the undefined gold veins in the black marble countertop.
“Look at me, princess,” he demanded, using one hand to turn my chin toward him. There was something dark and dangerous lurking behind those piercing onyx eyes, and I wondered if he was going to kiss me.
My insides trembled. I couldn’t speak. I was a complete mess. The air was thick and suffocating, making it hard for me to breathe. His nearness clouded my senses, shattering any intelligent or rational thought. I tried to take a step back, but he grabbed hold of my hand and held it firmly.
He leaned in closer, and his breath warmed the side of my neck. The scent of pine mingled with something fresh and clean enveloped me. It was intoxicating and left me feeling helpless.
“I want to suggest something,” he murmured. “But I can’t help but feel like it will be a bad idea.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
He pulled away and took a moment before responding, as if selecting his words carefully.
“I’ve been around women my whole life. I usually have no problem understanding them, but you’re a puzzle.” A sardonic grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. “It’s a puzzle I want to solve, and that includes learning why you were at the Met Gala. You mentioned seeking investors.”
“Oh, um. Ye—yes,” I stuttered, caught off guard by the shift in conversation. It felt like ages since that night, yet it was the sole reason I’d come to America in the first place.
“I want to hear more about it. But not right now. It’s been a long couple of days, and I need to get some sleep. We’ll have dinner together—tonight. Be ready to go at seven.”
I blinked at the finality in his tone.
Did he just order me to have dinner with him?
It was as if there would be no discussion about it whatsoever. I bristled. Instinct wanted me to resist. I wasn’t one to take orders without question.
But that was a different version of myself. Things had changed, and I was in no position to challenge anyone—especially someone like Anton. He wanted to know why I was at the gala, and that question opened the door to a discussion I desperately needed to have. Anton had money—and lots of it. He might be the solution to all my financial problems.
I most likely wouldn’t get a flight out until tomorrow or the day after at the earliest. What harm could come from having a simple dinner with the man? I had to eat, after all, and I’d be foolish to squander the golden opportunity.
He took a few steps back and I exhaled, suddenly able to breathe again.
“I suppose I can do that,” I agreed, my mind already spinning with ideas of how to pitch my proposal to him.
Anton nodded, looking pleased as if the matter were settled.
“Good. Now, since I’ve allowed you to take over my bedroom, I’m going to lie down in one of the guestrooms. Feel free to use the penthouse to do what you need to do. However, my office is off limits. The wi-fi is my last name, R-O-M-A-N-O. The password is Rebecca67, capital R.”
And with that, he turned and headed toward the bedroom. I was left gaping, unsure what to think about this strange turn of events.
I didn’t know what he expected me to do all day—or I should say, all night—in this lavish space, but if it bought me time until I had to shell out more cash for a hotel room, I was more than happy to make do. I began a mental list of all the calls I had to make and emails I needed to send.
I also found myself questioning who Rebecca—capital R—was to Anton.
Four hours later, I stared out the massive windows of the living room. The city lights twinkled like a thousand tiny stars. Dawn was fast approaching, and my thoughts were a chaotic whirlpool as I struggled to digest the bizarre situation I was in.
I’d tried to call my mother, but she hadn’t answered. More than likely, she was busy at the shop on Via Fillungo where she sold hand-sewn dresses to locals and tourists. In a way, I was relieved that she hadn’t picked up the phone. It allowed me to leave her a brief, nondescript voicemail explaining my travel delay, saving me from an incredibly awkward explanation. I could practically hear her shock and disapproval if I’d have told her exactly where I was and how I’d come to be here—never mind that a strange man had undressed me and tucked me into his bed.
An image of my mother making the holy sign of the cross filled my mind and I smiled. No doubt, this would make her feel compelled to attend church twice a day for the next month.
I had a good relationship with my mother, but she wasn’t who I needed at that moment. I needed Caterina, my best friend. Her familiar voice was the anchor I desperately wanted, but she hadn’t answered my call either. All I could do was send her a quick text asking her to call me back. That had been three hours ago.
I reached up and rubbed my temples before moving my hands around to squeeze the base of my neck. From the whirlwind events of the Met Gala to my unexpected sickness, everything was a blur. Add in how I’d willfully allowed a stranger who looked like a Greek god to see me naked, and it was all too much.
This wasn’t who I was, but somehow things just seemed to be happening to me. I wasn’t known for spontaneity. Structure and order defined my days. Strangely, a part of me was drawn to the chaos. It both fascinated and terrified me.
What am I doing here?
I pinched the bridge of my nose as I further contemplated the situation.
I should leave before Anton wakes.
I could easily touch base with him about dinner once I was settled in a hotel. However, I wasn’t sold on the idea of having dinner either. After all, there was no reason we couldn’t conduct business over the phone—long distance, where I wouldn’t be distracted by those onyx eyes. Heaven knows, it would be much easier to present a proposal if I didn’t have to physically look at him. He was so attractive, it hurt.
Perhaps I should skip it.
An evening with Anton would only heighten this unexplainable desire I had for him. It was better if I kept a safe distance.
I glanced around the penthouse as if somehow the walls would provide the answer to what I should do. The expensive artwork and sconces stared back, silent witnesses to my struggle. They offered no guidance, only more uncertainty.
Pressing my lips together in a tight line, I shook my head. I’d indulged in nonsense long enough. Decision made, I went to the master suite to collect my things. It was time to go.