Chapter 4
SANDRO
She doesn’t say a word on the short walk home.
I feel like such an asshole, I can’t even bring myself to make any throwaway conversation.
How could I have thought it would be a good idea to take her into that playroom?
I guess I assumed it’d be okay because she’s been acting pretty offhand about what we’ve come here to do.
In the bedroom earlier I sensed she was keen to get on with it, but I held back because I wanted to take things slowly, to have some build-up – to show her I wasn’t the easy lay she thought I was.
I imagined going to that club might create some anticipation.
That she’d get all hot and bothered at the things she’d see there.
In my mind, it had been just an extension of foreplay.
It’s crystal fucking clear now, though, that all that confidence she’s been projecting about having sex has been a front and I’ve been too distracted by my determination to control the situation to notice.
She’s so subdued as I let us into the apartment, that I’m afraid she’s beating herself up now for not being more gutsy.
My chest aches at the anxiety I’ve caused her.
I need to make it up to her, pronto.
‘Let me run you a bath,’ I suggest as we kick off our shoes in the hallway.
‘A bath?’
From the look on her face, you’d think I just suggested she goes skinny dipping in the Arno.
‘Si. To help you relax after your shock.’ I throw her a teasing smile, hoping a bit of humour might lighten the mood.
She blinks at me, then nods. It’s a jerky movement and I’m suddenly terrified she’s about to cry.
‘I’ll fix you a glass of wine to drink while it’s running,’ I say, turning away quickly and heading for the kitchen.
There is a low pull of shame in my belly as I yank open the fridge door. I can’t stand to see a woman cry, especially if it’s of my making. That’s one of the reasons I don’t do long-term relationships. No emotional fall-out to deal with.
I find an ice-cold bottle of champagne and pour a generous measure into a flute.
Pausing for a moment, I take a breath and give myself a good talking to before heading back to deliver the drink to her.
I find her in the living room, perched on the edge of the sofa as if she’s expecting me to throw her out any second and is primed to leave.
‘Here you go,’ I say, holding the glass out to her.
She takes it with a small, grateful smile and I nod, relieved she’s not burst into tears in my absence.
‘I’ll go and run that bath,’ I tell her, heading straight out of the room before she can reply.
I fill the enormous tub almost to the brim and add lots of lavender-scented bubble bath for good measure. Then I light all the candles that are positioned in colourful little semi-melted mounds around the edge and turn off the main light, casting the room into a soft, comforting glow.
If that doesn’t help her relax, I don’t know what will.
Except for an orgasm, of course. But that’s the next step in my plan to win back her good favour.
She looks at me with wary eyes when I come out to tell her the bath is ready, murmuring her thanks before slipping off, her shoulders hunched and her chin dipped.
While she’s in there, I pace the room, agitation making me antsy.
I know I’ve got a lot of making up to do to restore her faith in me.
The last thing I want is for her to decide to go home tomorrow, convinced I don’t have her best interests at heart.
My father would not be pleased to hear I’d pissed off the youngest daughter of Maxim Darlington-Hume in twenty-four hours flat.
And, to be honest, I’d be gutted not to get the opportunity to get to know Juno better. I’ve really started to like her. She’s such a smart, fascinating woman who clearly has her own issues with family, which has made me feel closer to her. It seems we’re more in sync than I’d initially thought.
Twenty minutes later she emerges from the bathroom wrapped in an oversized towelling robe with her long hair freshly washed, dried and hanging in a smooth sheet down her back.
I have a strong urge to wrap it around my hands and pull her close, to drag that robe from her curvaceous body and do all manner of pleasurable things to her.
But I know I need to tread carefully here.
I don’t want to spook her again. This requires some careful handling.
‘I thought you might have gone to bed,’ she says in a quiet voice, tapping the brush she’s carrying gently against her thigh.
I move towards her, holding up my hands in a peace offering. ‘I wanted to make sure you’re okay.’ Taking the brush from her, I gesture towards the nearest sofa. ‘Sit down. Let me brush your hair.’
‘Seriously?’ she says, her nose wrinkled in surprise.
‘Si. I want to feel it in my hands.’
‘Uh, okay.’ She sits on the seat nearest to her, turning her back to me, and I sit down behind her and take the long swathe of her hair in my hand.
It’s beautifully lustrous and feels soft and smooth against my skin.
I forcibly have to stop myself from letting out a groan of pleasure as the strands slip through my fingers.
I begin to smooth the brush down her hair, from her scalp to the very ends, and I smile when I hear her let out a small sigh of pleasure.
‘You like having your hair brushed?’
‘I love it. Though you’re the first person, other than my hairdresser, that’s ever done it for me.’
‘It’s such a beautiful colour. Like autumn bonfires.’
She lets out an mmm-hmm sort of noise, but doesn’t say anything else.
‘Why do you keep it tamed all the time?’
She leaves a small pause hanging in the air before answering, as if she’s deciding whether or not to tell me the truth. ‘Honestly, it draws too much attention to me when it’s down, and I find that hard to handle.’
I shake my head. ‘Well, I think that’s a travesty.’
Her breathing quickens as I continue to stroke the brush through her hair and after a few moments I see her visibly begin to relax, her shoulders dropping and her back arching as if it’s giving her real pleasure now.
‘I’m sorry about tonight,’ I mumble quietly into her ear.
She tenses a little and I move the brush back up to her scalp and run it from the crown of her head to the base of her neck until she relaxes again.
‘You know, I think I freaked out so badly because I was afraid you might expect me to do sexual things with you in front of all those people,’ she says in a small voice.
I stop what I’m doing and get up from the sofa, moving to sit in front of her instead so I can look into her eyes.
‘That’s not why I took you in there, I swear. I genuinely thought you might find it “fun and… er… sexy”.’ I flash her a humbled smile, hoping she’ll realise I’m referencing the first awkward conversation we’d ever had about sex. That I’m suggesting we’re both as bad as each other.
I’m relieved to see her smile back, even if it is a little restrained.
I rub my hand over my face, wishing I could take tonight back and start again. So much for my reputation as a world-class seducer of women.
‘It’s not that I didn’t find it sexy, exactly,’ she murmurs. ‘I was just surprised by how full-on it was.’
I nod. ‘I guess I’m a bit desensitised to how extreme that place would seem to the uninitiated.
But we don’t have to go anywhere like that again,’ I promise her.
‘And from now on I want you to tell me immediately if something makes you feel uncomfortable. Communication is really important. I want you to feel safe and in control, okay?’
‘You still want to help me?’ she asks, sounding surprised.
I stare at her, dumbfounded. ‘Of course I do. Why wouldn’t I?’
Her shrug is awkward. ‘I don’t know. I guess I thought you’d be disappointed with me for being such a wimp and not want me here any more if I’m not going to be any fun.’
‘I don’t think you’re a wimp, Juno.’ I lift my hand to her face and smooth my thumb over the soft skin of her cheek. ‘I just think we need to take some time to get to know each other. To figure each other out. What I really need is for you to be open and truthful with me when we’re in bed.’
‘I’ll try, but I don’t think I’m going to be good at sexy talk.’ She glances down and frowns at her hands which are so tightly linked in her lap the tendons are standing out.
‘It doesn’t have to be sexy. It has to be honest. If you don’t want to do something, or don’t like something, you have to say so. Don’t do it just to try and make me happy or to spare my feelings.’
I feel her begin to tremble under my touch and I can see from the fast tick of the vein in her throat that she’s nervous.
‘We’ll only go as far as you’re comfortable with. And we’ll take it slow.’
‘In the interest of being honest, I have to tell you… I’m nervous about how inexperienced and… ordinary… you’re going to find me,’ she blurts, colour rising to her cheeks. ‘I know the kind of women you usually date and I’m pretty sure I’m not going to compare favourably to them.’
I shake my head, mystified that she’d be concerned about that. ‘Juno, you’re a very attractive woman with an incredible body.’
She won’t look at me now though and just shakes her head.
‘What happened to you to make you doubt how fucking sexy you are?’ I ask.
‘I’m sure you don’t have any experience of being made a fool of, but it strips you of your confidence,’ she says quietly.
‘Who made a fool of you?’
There’s a small pause before she answers. ‘My first boyfriend, when I was sixteen.’
She lets out a long-suffering sigh.
‘I’d had men trying to get close to me before I met him – because of my family name and the attention it brings – but I genuinely thought Malcolm liked me for me.
He was twenty-three and seemed so mature and cultured.
He was also really possessive and attentive, telling me all the time how beautiful he thought I was.
And even though I know I’m no real beauty I lapped it up.
I really needed to believe it at that point in my life.