Chapter 12 Enzo
I planned the whole thing, obviously.
The guest cottage setup, the timing, even the bullshit excuse about towels and wine. All carefully set up to create exactly what I wanted. Madison Sullivan's been too comfortable, too confident in her supposed safety. She needed a reminder of who runs every aspect of her new life.
What I didn't plan was how I'd react to seeing her.
I've seen plenty of beautiful women. Had women who were more experienced, more sophisticated, knew how to play the game. But standing in that doorway, watching water run over her skin while she looked at me with those wide blue eyes. Something shifted that I wasn't ready for.
She was completely exposed, completely vulnerable, and instead of fear or anger, I saw heat. Want. The same attraction I've been fighting since I met her.
And that kiss. Fuck. I nearly lost control completely.
I walk back to the villa with the image burned into my memory. The way she felt pressed against me, how she gripped my shoulders like she needed something to hold onto, the little sound she made when I deepened the kiss.
By the time I reach my study, I'm hard and pissed at myself for the weakness.
This is not how this was supposed to go.
Madison Sullivan was meant to be temporary entertainment. An innocent American I could control until I got bored. She wasn't supposed to make me feel anything beyond mild amusement.
But the way she responded to that kiss. As if she wanted me as much as I want her, has completely fucked up my carefully laid plans.
I pour whiskey and try to get perspective back.
She's still the same foolishly optimistic woman who walked into my meeting with coffee and pastries. Still completely clueless about what I really am, still thinks we're legitimate business partners. Nothing's fundamentally changed.
Except now I've tasted her, and she's seen the want in my eyes, and the careful distance I've been keeping has evaporated entirely.
My phone buzzes. Emilio: "Boss, the Naples situation needs attention. Tonight."
I stare at the message and realize I don't want to leave. For the first time in my career, business feels like an inconvenience instead of a priority.
This is a problem.
I text back: "Handle it. I'm unavailable."
Emilio's response is immediate: "Everything okay?"
No. Nothing's okay. I'm letting a debt-ridden American tourist interfere with operations that need my personal attention. I'm making decisions based on wanting to spend an evening with someone who doesn't even know what I do for a living.
But I type: "Yes. Report tomorrow."
I set the phone aside and head to the kitchen to prepare dinner.
Cooking focuses my thoughts when situations get complicated. Tonight, I need that focus more than usual.
I select ingredients for something that'll impress her without being too elaborate.
Fresh pasta with seafood, salad from the villa's garden, wine that costs more than most people make in a month.
The kind of meal that reminds her of the luxury I can provide while keeping up the illusion this is casual dinner between business partners.
But as I work, my mind keeps going back to the bathroom. The way she said my name when she was trying to find words. The breathless quality when she told me I shouldn't have come in. The fact that she didn't immediately tell me to get the hell out.
Madison Sullivan is attracted to me. Not to my money or power. She doesn't understand either, but to me. The man she thinks I am.
It's been so long since someone looked at me without fear or calculation that I'd forgotten how addictive it could be.
The realization should worry me. Instead, it's making me plan ways to see that expression again.
By seven-thirty, dinner's ready and I'm dressed in clothes that are casual enough to seem relaxed but expensive enough to remind her of the differences between us. I'm back in control, back to thinking several moves ahead.
At eight o'clock exactly, I hear her footsteps on the path.
When I open the door, she's wearing a simple blue dress that brings out her eyes and moves when she walks. Her hair's down, still slightly damp from the shower, and she's clearly made an effort to look good for me.
"Hi," she says, and there's a shyness that wasn't there before.
"Madison. You look beautiful."
The compliment makes her blush, and I realize I could get addicted to that reaction.
"Thank you for dinner," she says as I lead her to the terrace where I've set the table. "And for everything. The cottage is perfect."
"Good. You settling in okay?"
We sit, and I pour wine while she looks out at the view. The sun's setting over the water, painting everything gold and amber that makes her skin glow.
"About earlier," she begins, then stops.
"Yeah?"
"I should probably apologize for the situation."
"What situation?"
She looks at me like she's trying to figure out if I'm serious. "The bathroom situation. Where you saw me... where I was..."
"Naked," I say helpfully.
Her blush deepens. "Yes. That."
"Why would you apologize? I was the one who walked in without permission."
"You brought towels,” she says.
"A bullshit excuse."
She stares at me, wine glass halfway to her lips. "You're admitting you did it on purpose?"
"I'm saying if I wanted to see you naked, I'd find a way to make it happen."
The honesty surprises even me. But there's something about her directness that makes me want to match it, at least partially.
"That's..." She sets down her wine. "That's not exactly reassuring."
"I'm not trying to be reassuring. I'm trying to be honest."
"About wanting to see me naked?"
"About wanting you."
The words hang between us. She takes a sip of wine, studying my face like she's trying to read something there.
"You don't know anything about me," she says finally.
"I know enough."
"Like what?"
"I know you're smart enough to see through bullshit when you want to. I know you're brave enough to move halfway around the world for a house you'd never seen. I know you kiss like you've been thinking about it as much as I have."
Her cheeks flush again. "Have you? Been thinking about it?"
"Since the first day I met you."
She laughs, and the sound does something to my chest. "You have serious issues."
"Probably."
"And I'm in debt to you for fifty-eight thousand euros."
"Fifty-seven thousand, nine hundred and twelve. But who's counting?"
"You, apparently." She takes another sip of wine. "This is complicated."
"Everything worth having is complicated."
"Is that what this is? Something worth having?"
The question catches me off guard. She's looking at me with those blue eyes, waiting for an answer I'm not sure I can give honestly.
"I don't know," I tell her, which is the truth. "But I want to find out."
She's quiet for a moment, turning her wine glass in her hands. "What if we find out it's not?"
"Then we deal with that when it happens."
"And my debt?"
"Remains your debt."
"So, this doesn't change our business arrangement?"
I lean back in my chair, studying her. "You think I'd forgive fifty-eight thousand euros for a kiss?"
She lets out a laugh. "I don't know what to think about you."
"It’s better to keep it that way."
She frowns. "Why?"
"Because the moment you think you've got me figured out is the moment you stop being careful."
"Should I be careful? Around you?"
The question is loaded, and we both know it. She's asking if I'm dangerous. If she should be afraid. If the attraction between us is something she should run from.
"Yeah," I say quietly. "You should be very careful."
"But not tonight?"
"No, tonight, you're safe."
"Promise?"
I reach across the table and take her hand. Her skin is soft, warm, and I can feel her pulse jumping under my thumb.
"Tonight," I promise, "you're exactly where I want you to be."
She doesn't pull her hand away. "And where's that?"
"Close enough to touch. Far enough away that I can still think straight."
"And if you couldn't think straight?"
The question sends heat straight through me. "Then we'd both be in trouble."
"What kind?"
"The kind where we stop pretending this is just business."
She meets my eyes, and I can see her weighing options she doesn't fully understand. "Maybe I'm tired of pretending."
"Maybe you should eat your dinner before you decide that."
She laughs again, but doesn't let go of my hand. "You think food will change my mind?"
"I think you need to be sure about what you're saying."
"Why?"
"Because once we cross that line, Madison, there's no going back."
"To what?"
"To simple. To safe. To you being just a debt I'm collecting."
She's quiet for a long moment, and I can practically see her thinking through the implications.
"And if I decide I want to cross that line anyway?"
I squeeze her hand. "Then you better be ready for the consequences."
"What consequences?"
I bring her hand to my lips and press a kiss to her palm, watching her eyes darken. "That's what you'll have to find out."