Chapter 20
SEBASTIAN
“Iwant you out of my life.”
Sabrina adjusted the strap of a duffel bag on her shoulder as she shifted past me and stormed down the cobblestone street in Le Marais, a trendy, old-world neighborhood for fashion house studios.
“Sabrina, come here.”
She tossed her next words in my direction without turning. “Fuck off, Sebastian.”
I tilted my head back and stared up at the centuries-old limestone and red brick building facades, studying their faded wooden shutters covering drafty windows behind wrought-iron balconies while I prayed for patience.
The idea of kidnapping her and being done with all the bullshit grew more agreeable with each passing moment.
An icy mist fell as I turned up my coat collar and followed her, gesturing to my driver to turn the car around.
Catching up to her, I growled, “Where the fuck is your coat? Why do you keep insisting on walking around in this weather without a goddamn coat on?”
Her hair whipped around her exposed neck as she turned sharply to face me. “I would rather die a cold, miserable death from pneumonia than give you the satisfaction of putting a coat on.”
With that, she turned back to march farther down the narrow street.
I’d pushed her too far, but I easily quashed my momentary flicker of guilt. She would forgive me later when she was surrounded by luxury in Italy.
Following, I reached to at least take the box from her hands.
She swung her arms away from my grasp, upsetting her balance.
Her ankle turned on the wet cobblestones, and she dropped the box and duffel bag while her arms flailed in an effort to keep herself upright.
I whipped my arm out and pulled her against my chest to prevent her from falling.
Glancing down, I realized she’d changed out of the sensible sneakers into a pair of ridiculously tall platform heels. “What the hell, woman!”
“Get your hands off me!”
As passersby took notice of the shouting, I lifted her slight form off the ground and carried her into the bricked archway of a nearby shopping arcade.
“Put me down!”
I placed her on her feet, but before she could scurry away, I pressed her against the brick wall, caging her in with my arms.
She reached toward the sidewalk. “My things!”
I turned her head to draw her attention back to me. “My driver will retrieve them.” I furrowed my brow. “You could have seriously hurt yourself back there.”
“My well-being is none of your concern.”
I focused on her pink lips. “I beg to differ.”
“This needs to stop. It’s pathological. Did you seriously just get me fired?”
“The House of Diamanti is a better career opportunity for you.”
She shoved against my chest. “That is not for you to decide!”
I twisted my hand in the hair at the nape of her neck. “I’m tiring of you fighting me, Sabrina.”
I covered her mouth with mine, cutting off whatever infuriating retort she might have had. Sheltering her from view with my body, I reached under her top to cup her breast through her bra and rubbed my thumb over her erect nipple.
She could protest all she wanted, but her body betrayed her.
Twisting her face to the side, she broke free as her small fists pounded against my chest. “No! I’m not doing this with you.”
She ducked under my arm and backed away. “I’m serious. I don’t know what kind of sick game you’re playing, but it’s over. I never want to see you again.”
I stalked toward her. “Well, sweetheart, that’s going to be difficult since I’m taking you to Italy with me.”
Her eyes widened as she gestured wildly with her arms. “Do you hear yourself talk? Do you have any idea…any idea at all…how fucking psychopathic and insane that sounds?”
She flipped her hands between us. “We don’t know one another. We’re complete strangers.”
Snatching her wrist, I yanked her to me.
With my hand wrapped around the side of her neck, I leaned down to rasp against her lips, “I know the feel of your pussy clenching around my cock. We’re not strangers, mia piccola.”
She didn’t deny it. She couldn’t
Before I could claim her mouth again, she wiggled out of my embrace and backed away. “That was a mistake. One I don’t plan on repeating. I’m warning you. Stay away from me.”
Turning, she strode down the covered archway of the arcade.
When she emerged on the other side, she made a sharp left down another narrow street.
This one had several medieval cream stucco and timber houses wedged between a kosher deli, falafel shop, several patisseries, and a few avant-garde vintage shops.
She disappeared through a rusted gate that protected a small flight of concrete stairs.
I frowned as I followed her.
I knew she had been renting a flat in this area because it was close to the Sauvage-Lafleur studio, but I had no idea it was a basement one.
The gate screeched as I pushed it open and descended below street level.
The first thing I observed was the partially rotted wooden entrance door with its large lattice window. Lower-level flats were notoriously unsafe under normal circumstances, let alone one with a dodgy front door.
I turned the knob.
Locked.
Grasping the knob, I pushed my shoulder against the door, splintering the bolt with ease.
I stepped inside, my blood simmering as I took in the cramped, dingy space. It wasn’t so much a flat as an open basement room.
This was how she’d been living in Paris? Unacceptable.
A thin countertop with a hot plate and a miniature refrigerator masqueraded as a kitchen. A makeshift, sectioned-off corner might have been a bathroom. Narrow mattresses littered the floor—at least eight by my count.
Sabrina knelt on one of them, shoving clothes into an open suitcase. She froze when she saw me then scowled as her gaze darted behind me.
“You’re going to pay for that door! I won’t have my roommates fined.”
Without waiting for my response, she resumed her packing, muttering about arrogant, egotistical men.
Leaning against the wall, I crossed my arms and watched her.
She looked utterly captivating when she was furious. Her blue eyes sparked with anger, her cheeks flushing a deep, vibrant pink that only enhanced her beauty.
She slammed the suitcase lid down and wrestled with the zipper. “Just tell me why.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Why what?”
Her eyes misted. “Why did you do it? Why did you get me fired?”
Pushing off the wall, I took a step toward her, then I stopped. My hand instinctively reached out before I curled it into a fist and let it drop.
She stood, her voice rising with every word. “Do you have any idea how hard I worked for that job offer? The mood boards, the concept development, the brand alignments. I took a pay cut to work like a dog at that fashion show, all for a chance to prove what I could do.”
Her anger was justified; nothing I could say would change that.
She began pacing the small room, stepping around the scattered mattresses. “And it was all for nothing. Nothing.”
“Are you forgetting my offer?”
She whipped off her Prada hoodie, revealing lace-covered breasts. I could still feel the press of her nipple against my palm.
“How could I forget?” she snapped, throwing the hoodie at my head. “It’s the reason I’m in this mess!”
She grabbed a white T-shirt from the floor and pulled it over her head. “I still can’t wrap my mind around any of this.”
Kicking off her sweatpants, she exposed long, slender legs that I’d already imagined wrapped around my waist. Later.
She shook out a pair of wide-leg jeans and stepped into them with forceful determination. “This is the most screwed-up one-night stand in history. It’s like Fatal Attraction but in reverse.”
Her words stung.
“If it helps,” I said dryly, “I have no intention of killing your pets.”
“This isn’t funny. Nothing about this is funny,” she snapped, pointing a finger at me.
Raising my hands in surrender, I conceded. “You’re right.”
She slipped on a pair of black platform loafers, practical but elegant. At least she wouldn’t break an ankle storming off.
Then she shrugged into a navy blue, double-breasted blazer and pushed up the sleeves before rummaging in her purse for silver bangles. As she slipped them onto her wrist, she glared at me.
“You offered me a job, and I very clearly said no. That should have been the end of it. But no, you had to call édouard and ruin everything.”
I rubbed my jaw. “Your suspicious mind always assumes the worst. Have you considered that I merely informed him of my competing offer?”
She squared off in front of me, her arms crossed. “Is that what happened?”
If I thought I could lie and get away with it, I would. But she could call that preening twat édouard and hear the truth herself.
“No,” I admitted with a smirk.
“You’re impossible,” she huffed. Snatching the suitcase handle, she wheeled it toward me. “Please get out of my way.”
I wasn’t moving. And she wasn’t getting past.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
Her lips thinned as she pushed her chin out. “To the airport. My mother was right. It was a mistake to come to Paris.”
“I’ll take you,” I offered.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t trust you.”
“It’s the least I can do.”
She adjusted her bracelets. “Yes, the very least.”
I grasped her arms gently. “Please, let me do this for you.”
With a resigned sigh, she nodded. “Fine, but only because your driver has my bag, and it’ll take forever to get a taxi in this weather.”
She had said yes…but why?
She was finally being quiet and obedient.
Perhaps too much so.
I nodded, slipping my phone from my pocket as she turned to collect her purse. I texted my staff, instructing them to prepare my private plane.
New York was out of the question.
Sabrina’s fate was sealed.
She was coming to Italy with me, and that was final.