Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Serena
I wandered aimlessly on the sidewalks of New York, determined to find some semblance of peace before I got on a plane to return home. The past few days had felt like a whirlwind, even if I had been sleeping for half the time.
After I’d left Anton’s penthouse, I tried to get a room at the motel I’d been staying at before, but when I arrived at the Midtown, I’d found it swarming with police. Everything had been roped off with crime tape. I overheard some of the conversations had by those loitering around and was able to piece together fragments of their chatter. A member of the hotel staff had been found dead. The presence of crime tape suggested foul play. I recalled Anton’s warnings about the seedy motel, and I was glad I hadn’t been there for whatever had gone down.
Not left with much choice, I ended up at a hotel a few blocks south. It was nice, clean, and three times the price. But I was past the point of caring. Cash would be low for the foreseeable future, so I’d pulled out the emergency credit card. Within thirty minutes, my only zero balance card carried the financial burden of a hotel room, a one-way ticket to Rome, and an overpriced bottle of Sauvignon Blanc.
Living in Italy had trained my tastebuds to appreciate a fine wine, and this bottle had failed to hit the mark. But beggars couldn’t afford to be choosey. It was an unnecessary splurge, but I’d earned it, and had happily consumed two glasses of the mediocre wine before heading out for a walk.
I meandered slowly, appreciating that I had nowhere to be for the evening—even if that hadn’t been the original plan. When I left the penthouse, it was merely to create some space. Once I was settled, I had every intention of calling Anton about dinner, but then I realized I didn’t have his phone number. After hours of indecision, I decided I would have looked stupid if I went back after leaving so abruptly. So, now here I was, committed to looking him up once I was back in Italy where I could safely do business over the phone.
I browsed the store fronts and landmarks as I walked. It was getting late. Other than a smattering of restaurants and bars, most places had closed up hours ago.
My thoughts wandered back to my short time with Anton. I pictured piercing onyx eyes, razor sharp cheekbones, and the knowing smile that made my pulse quicken and my stomach twist. I was familiar with desire, even if it had been a long time since I’d last felt it.
I’d wanted to give myself over to it—to flirt, to fall into a game of seduction, and see where it led. In hindsight, I wasn’t sure why I hadn’t. I was a grown woman after all, not a blushing virgin, despite what my mother might think. Catholic guilt was real, and she was quick to lay it on thick whenever the opportunity presented itself.
I’d never been promiscuous and had always been in a steady relationship with the men I took to my bed. Perhaps that was why I’d hesitated with Anton. I didn’t know how to have a one-night stand. Emotional connection held too much value for me to allow one to happen.
I wasn’t sure how far I’d walked or where I was, but it didn’t matter to me at that moment. The noise from Midtown Manhattan had long since quieted, and I found myself on less eventful streets with few cars and even fewer pedestrians. My mother would say that a woman walking alone at night in such a big city was reckless. Perhaps it was. That was the thing about parents. No matter how old we were, some lessons stayed with us forever. The GPS on my cell might get me back to where I needed to be, but echoes of her warnings ensured I stayed ultra-aware of my surroundings.
A flash of light to my left caught my attention. At first glance, it looked like I was staring down a dark alley. However, upon closer inspection, I realized it was a driveway. The light had come from a car’s headlights as it turned and disappeared into blackness. I squinted into the night, trying to make out where the car had gone but the moonless sky left me blind.
As if they had a mind of their own, my feet began to walk in that direction. After a few moments, I was able to make out the outline of a large, wrought iron gate. I continued up the drive, slowing my steps when I realized the gate was closed.
I was about to turn back, but a shimmer of glass to the left of the nondescript entry caught my eye. Illuminated only by a nearby streetlight, the tall glass casement was built into one of the two stone pillars flanking the entrance. The statue inside is what gave me reason to pause.
I placed my hand on the brick pillar, needing a closer look at the artistry of the carved stone statue. It was a full body rendition of a woman with her head tipped back slightly. One hand covered a naked breast while the other was buried between her thighs. Her gaze stared out into the unknown, defiant almost, as she captured her pleasure .
At her feet, glass flames rose up to meet her, a symbol of the burning hot orgasm that she’d gifted to herself. The blown glass was a balance of color and form, blue and orange flames that evoked a sense of movement and energy. The vibrant colors gave life to the gray marble statue centered within. The translucency and depth of the glass made it feel alive with the flickering essence of fire, allowing light to pass through and enhance the vivid colors.
“Beautiful,” I whispered.
I found myself wondering what I looked like in the throes of an orgasm—what I would look like to Anton if I’d allowed his hand to press between my legs.
Would I look like this woman? Could I allow the world to completely fall away, fully embracing the sensuality of the moment?
Emotion washed over me without warning, and I blinked back the unexpected tears.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I wasn’t the overly emotional type. I was most likely caused by the two glasses of wine I’d consumed. Fantasizing about a what-if moment with a man I barely knew was pointless. I’d probably never see him again. That’s what I’d wanted, after all—to conduct potential business over the phone so I didn’t have to look into those gorgeous eyes.
I needed to go back to my hotel. Wandering aimlessly in the dark, having no idea where I was, was foolish and dangerous. I pivoted to retrace my steps but stopped short when I crashed into something—or someone.
“Oh!”
My hands came up between me and the person in front of me only to find a wall of hard muscle. I looked up and found myself staring into the pair of onyx eyes I’d been trying to avoid.
Anton.
He felt all too familiar, his expression exactly the same as the night we met—scorching hot—burning into my memory. I couldn’t get a read on them then, and I couldn’t get a read on them now. All I saw was an assortment of complex layers that were undecipherable.
There wasn’t even an inch of space between our bodies. I could feel the heat coming off him as my thighs brushed intimately against his. One strong hand cupped my elbow while the other rested at the small of my back, his fingers splaying possessively.
“Princess. We really need to stop meeting like this.” His words were innately sexy, and I wondered if that was deliberate or if the huskiness in his voice was part of his natural sex appeal.
“Hi,” I said, my voice breathier than I’d intended.
“I thought we were having dinner together tonight, but you disappeared on me.”
“Yeah… I, ah…” I was embarrassed by my abrupt departure—especially after the way he’d taken care of me while I was sick. The least I could have done was left a note. “I’m sorry. I was going to call. I just wasn’t comfortable imposing anymore. I thought it was best for me to find a hotel.”
He pressed his lips together in a tight line, seeming annoyed by my answer. “What are you doing out here all alone?”
My stomach flipped and I blinked, my heart beginning to race as I recalled what I’d been thinking about right before he showed up. I flushed as if he could possibly know, trying to ignore how every second of contact with him only made more nerve endings come to life. I craved his touch on every part of me.
My eyes darted to the sculpture of the naked woman, and too many erotic possibilities filled my head. My nipples tightened, tingling and hardening to embarrassing peaks. I stepped away quickly, hoping he wouldn’t notice. The hand at my elbow fell to his side, but the other shifted to rest on my hip. I tried to ignore it and flashed him an uncomfortable smile .
“I could ask the same of you. Do billionaires regularly take nighttime strolls by themselves?”
“Some would say that’s the only safe time for us to take a casual walk. Less chance of being seen.”
“Is that what you were doing?”
His eyes narrowed and I could feel the twitch of his hand at my hip, carefully assessing me as he weighed his response.
“I had business in the area that ended earlier than expected. A walk seemed like a good idea, so here I am.”
There seemed to be a challenge in his deep, rough-edged voice, as if daring me to question him. I gave him a casual once over. My modest skinny jeans, cream-colored gauzy shirt, and navy flats made me look like a peasant next to his pristine white shirt, dark tailored pants, and tie. He was clearly dressed for business, yet I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of business dealings a crypto trader would have at this time of night.
“This feels like déjà vu. Except this time, we know each other better,” I said casually, my tone holding more confidence than I felt.
“Yes, we do. Much, much better,” he acknowledged, emphasizing his words in a suggestive way. “But not nearly as well as I would like.”
Heat rushed into my cheeks as he held my gaze captive. His dark eyes twinkled in the dim streetlights, and a devilish smile turned up one corner of his mouth. It was blatantly sensual, and I knew he was thinking about the times he saw me naked.
I stared at him, unable to deny the desire building inside me. It was an ache I couldn’t describe. His hand on my hip was possessive—as if he didn’t need permission—intensifying my desperate want for him. All I had to do was lean in. It was so tempting.
Liquid courage flowed through my veins, the two glasses of wine I’d consumed giving me a jolt of confidence to explore the possibilities. God knew, without the aid of alcohol, I was anything but confident in front of this man.
I groaned inwardly and cursed the wine. It was making me reckless, enticing me to toss away my inhibitions without a second thought. Pushing aside all thoughts of stripping him bare right there on the street, I returned his smile and took another step back to create a respectable distance between us.
“I was just admiring the statue,” I said, angling my head in the direction of the display case.
Anton glanced up at the life-sized marble. “She’s beautiful.”
“My thoughts exactly. She completes the flames. Or perhaps the flames complete her.”
He turned back to me, his gaze curious. “You have a sharp eye. One wouldn’t look right without the other.”
I studied the glass and marble artwork inside the case. “I always thought the flames were missing something.”
“Are you familiar with them?” he asked, his question revealing his surprise.
I glanced his way and smiled. “Of course, I recognize them. I’m the creator. I don’t know how the flames came to be here, but I’d recognize my art anywhere.”
“I’m sorry. But did you just say you’re the creator?” His normally reserved expression took on a look of disbelief.
“Yes. I created this piece a few years back.”
“I didn’t know you were an artist.”
“I wouldn’t go so far as to say I’m an artist. Blowing glass is a part-time hobby that I mastered when I was in college. But I only create when I need to.” I shrugged. “Not enough to make a living on, but it helped pay for a bit of my college expenses.”
“A hobby? No. This is more than a hobby. It’s real talent. Clearly the purchaser of the piece thought so too, or it wouldn’t be displayed here so prominently.”
I silently considered the flames. I recalled shaping the molten glass with the blowpipe and manipulating the form. The end result was a vibrant exchange of colors, where the calming blue contrasted with bright orange.
Still, despite its beauty, my glass creation paled in comparison to the sculpture of the woman placed strategically behind it. She defined art. Even though I loved what I had created, I’d always felt that the flames were missing something, and now I knew why. They needed the passionate woman to give reason for their existence.
“Perhaps,” I said with a small sigh. “I’ll admit, I’d hated to part with this particular piece. I’d always felt that this was one of my better works. But life happens. I had bills to pay, and a gallery in Florence offered me a price I couldn’t turn down. I often wondered who the gallery had sold it to, now here it is in front of me, against all odds. I mean, the chances of me stumbling upon it an ocean away must be slim to none.”
“Ironic indeed,” Anton mused.
My eyes darted to look beyond the iron gates but all I could see was a driveway disappearing into the darkness. “What is this place, anyway?”
“Private property,” he replied evenly.
I looked at him, thinking he would explain more, but he didn’t. Instead, Anton’s gaze bore into mine, his expression inexplicably intimate. I returned his dark, magnetic stare, attempting to measure what he might be thinking. Those piercing onyx eyes held steady. And once again, my thoughts drifted to what he would be like in bed.
Unable to stand his scrutiny any longer, I tore my gaze from his and turned my head to look at the glass case once more.
“My parents’ neighbor, Enzo, had a little glassblowing shop. I was fascinated by the art and used to watch him work for hours. During my third year of upper secondary school—or eleventh grade as it’s called in the States—he began to teach me,” I explained .
My thoughts strayed to the past, remembering my first solo piece created under Enzo’s supervision.
“Go on,” Anton prodded.
“He passed away suddenly, leaving his glassblowing workshop to me. He had no family, so I suppose it made sense since I was the only person who spent time with him. I’d lose myself in the shop for hours, allowing time to just slip away.” I paused again as I recalled what it had felt like to be in the heated embrace of a roaring furnace. I breathed deep, imagining that I was filling my lungs right before pushing air into the blowpipe, giving life to an unknown creation. “It’s like weaving magic from fire and sand.”
“You love it,” he stated.
Blinking, I pulled myself from my reverie and angled my head to look at him. He scanned my face, studying me as if I were the work of art, and not the statue beside us.
“I do. Very much.”
“Yet you dig up bones for a living. Another mystery,” he added. “Why archaeology over doing what you truly love?”
He posed the question as if it had a simple answer. The truth stalled in my throat, and I stayed silent for the span of a few heartbeats. Perhaps it was because a small part of me was disappointed in myself for not following my dreams. I had always considered myself strong and independent, yet I’d chosen to walk a path that had been predetermined for me rather than forge my own.
“Like I said, there was no money in it. So, I chose archaeology for my father.”
He moved closer to me once again, reaching for my hand and encasing it in his. As much as I knew I should pull away, I couldn’t bring myself to. Instead, I found my fingers involuntarily lacing through his.
His free hand moved up, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw. I shivered from the contact .
“You intrigue me.” The low, erotic rumble of those three little words made my stomach flip. Powerful, unbridled heat sizzled though my veins as his penetrating gaze seemed to bore deeper. “I keep asking myself the same question over and over again. Who are you, Serena Martinelli?”
“I’m nobody.”
“We both know that’s a lie, princess. You’re unique and extraordinary. It’s why I’m attracted to you. I’m bored by the mundane and, somehow, I know I’d never get bored with you.”
“I’m really not that interesting,” I insisted. My words sounded hoarse and breathy, even to my own ears. My reaction to him was unlike anything I’d ever experienced before, and I didn’t understand it.
“I disagree. You’re fascinating, and it’s why I want you.”
I sucked in a breath as my world seemed to tip on its axis.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
“Don’t you have a girlfriend?”
“No. What makes you think that?” he asked, sounding genuinely surprised.
“Your wi-fi password. It’s Rebecca. Who is that?”
The corner of his mouth turned up in a sardonic smile. “Jealous, princess?”
“No,” I lied, despite knowing I had no business being jealous. It shouldn’t matter if he had a girlfriend. I had no claim to him.
“Rebecca was my mother’s name,” Anton explained, and I suddenly felt extremely foolish.
“Oh.”
“You don’t have to worry about other women, Serena. Relationships are more effort than they’re worth.” I tended to agree but didn’t let on as he continued. “I’m not a hearts and roses kind of guy.”
My brows pushed together. “What’s that supposed to mean? ”
“It means that despite my desire for you, I don’t know if we’d be a good match. You seem like you would need…more. And romance isn’t my thing.”
I never had any illusions that he was the romantic type. On the contrary, I thought he was the exact opposite. My eyes skimmed over his corded neck and strong, square jaw. Five o’clock stubble darkened his features, making me wonder what it would feel like brushing against the insides of my thighs right before his mouth closed over my sex.
“Who said I wanted romance?” I challenged.
“You seem the type.”
“You don’t know me well enough to know what type I am.”
“I’m a pretty good judge.”
“I might surprise you.”
“Alright, princess. I’ll indulge in this game of cat and mouse. But let me warn you. I’m the predator, and I always catch my prey.” He stepped closer to me, filling the space as if he owned it.
“And when you do?” My voice was steady even if my heart was racing. I held my breath, preparing for an answer that I somehow knew would shatter the fragile foundation I was standing on.
“I don’t play in the conventional way. I fuck. And I fuck hard. If or when that time comes for us, I won’t be gentle. I’ll possess you in a way that will make you forget any other man ever existed. Do you think you can handle that?”
A ripple moved down my spine, raising the hairs on the back of my neck. My nipples hardened almost painfully, and my body hummed to life. I wasn’t sure how or when the conversation took such a dramatic turn, but I was here for it. Angling my chin in defiance, I embraced his suggestion.
“I think you underestimate my wants and desires, Mr. Romano. I’m a thirty-one-year-old woman in tune with my sexuality. You seem to suggest that I don’t appreciate a good, hard fuck. As for possession, no man owns me.”
“Make no mistake. When the time comes, you will want me to own you.” His eyes darkened and he leaned forward. I thought he might kiss me right there on the street. I breathed in, preparing for the thing I so desperately wanted. But instead, he bypassed my parted lips and brought his mouth close to my ear. Then he whispered, “When you look at that statue in the flames, what do you see?”
My body purred as Anton invaded my senses. Without thinking, I gave him my unvarnished opinion.
“She’s a woman who understands and accepts who she is. Unafraid to bend to her own needs, she defies societal norms and takes what she wants, owning her pleasure without seeking permission.” The words tumbled out of me, making me feel exposed and vulnerable.
And then, unexpectedly, tears pricked at the corners of my eyes when I realized how much the marble statue revealed about myself. I wasn’t her, but I wanted to be.
“What else?” he asked, the heat of his words like a caress over the shell of my ear. The air turned heavy, and it felt like Anton and I were the only two people in the world.
“I-I don’t know,” I stammered.
“I think you do. You’re just holding back because of the stigmas surrounding pleasure and fantasy. There are far too many of them. Why live life pretending pleasure—in all its forms—doesn’t exist? I want you to let go of everything you know and tell me what you desire.”
My heart raced as I considered his demand. What I was thinking—what I was feeling—seemed sacrilegious. But I told him anyway.
“I want to be her. I want to know what that kind of unashamed pleasure feels like.” The words were barely a whisper. I should be horrified by the revelation, yet I wasn’t. I didn’t know what it was about this man that made me divulge so much raw emotion. For a moment, I wondered if it was because I knew he would understand.
“I want you to do something for me.”
“What?” My breath hitched as his mouth moved to hover over mine. His lips couldn’t have been more than an inch away.
“Trustfall. Can you do that?”
That single request was as smooth as velvet. The cautious side of me warned that I was approaching dangerous territory, but I didn’t care to listen to it. It was all too easy to let every ounce of my self-preservation to slip away. Unable to stop the word from slipping from my tongue, I gave him the answer he was searching for.
“Yes.”