Chapter 7
MARA
My heart is pounding, and my body is… on fire. I can’t deny it. My initial intention was to defend his daughter, but it has evolved into this situation.
I don’t know if this is all in my head. More than once, I’m convinced his dark eyes have strayed to my breasts and legs.
It feels like his eyes are feasting on me. Do I want him to, need him to?
No. Need? He’s hot, and he’s close, and he’s looking at me like he wants to make good on these physical promises. But I don’t need anything.
“I stand by my decision,” I say. “But I could’ve gone about it in a better way.”
He smirks again. I look at his crotch, which is eye level, just for a moment. Is he—? I must be imagining the bulge, right? There’s no way he’s hard for me in broad daylight on his front lawn.
Sitting, he runs a hand through his thick hair. “You’re something else, Mara,” he says gruffly.
“Because I’m not scared if you go all tough guy on me?”
I need to rein in my mouth. I need this job.
“That’s enough,” he says, voice tight. “Remember your place.”
That riles me up almost more than I can take. I open my mouth, probably to say something that would ruin my career here.
“Remember Sylvie,” he says.
That takes the wind out of my sails. If I push this man too far, I won’t be able to help with his daughter and she has to come first in all this.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“Finally,” he grunts.
“You don’t have to be like that.”
“I can be any way I want,” he grunts, looking at me with tension all over his face and body.
“Yes, you can. But you don’t have to be. I’m sorry for the way I did it, but look at that drawing, Etto… Mr. Bellandi.”
“I run a conglomerate with more businesses than most people could ever understand,” he says fiercely. “Real estate, entertainment, wealth management, security. Every day, I’ve got a thousand fires to put out. I’m doing my best.”
“I know you are,” I say, placing my hand on the table.
He looks at it for a moment. Then he slides his across and takes it. This can’t be an accident. He’s holding my hand, rubbing his thumb over my knuckles. Hot flames burn up my arm, and through my body.
I squeeze my legs together under the table… which is silly. I’m not some lust-wild woman. Never have been. But I do it anyway.
“Do you, Mara? Do you know the weight I carry?”
“Y-yes,” I mutter, annoyed at myself for the stutter.
“Your hand is so warm,” he growls. “So fucking hot.”
Oh my God. Every inch of me is screaming out for this man, for him to keep going down this track, however complicated it would become.
“Is it?” I whimper.
“It’s like you’re boiling inside,” he groans.
“It’s a hot day.”
He looks at me seriously. “It’s not that hot.”
I shake my head.
“Why are you shaking your head like that?” he demands, voice huskily.
“I don’t know.” My voice comes out all breathy. “I just—Ettore, I don’t know.”
“I love the way you say my name, Mara. Really love it.”
“That’s not very professional.”
“Do I seem like I give a damn about being professional right now?”
Slowly, he leans toward me, his eyes on my lips. I know I should pull away. But I don’t want to. I’ve never experienced chemistry like this. Is he going to kiss me? Am I going to let him?
He suddenly stands and steps away from me, hands behind his back. I feel stung before Livia walks onto the porch. “Sylvie is in the playroom,” she says, glaring at me. “Can I get you anything, Ettore?”
“Make up one of the guest rooms for Mara,” he says. “We were just discussing my daughter and how she might need more support. Mara will only stay here when she feels comfortable though, of course.”
Livia hesitates, then nods shortly. “Very well.” She turns and leaves.
“What was that about?” I ask.
“Sylvie needs more connection, doesn’t she?”
“From her father.”
“I’m doing my best. But this world is vicious and confusing. Sometimes, you think someone is the devil. You have all these ideas about them. Scratch beneath the surface and you’ll realize you don’t know as much as you think you do.”
I look at him, confused. Tell me, then. But we’ve already overstepped too many times.
“Anything else?” he asks.
“No, sir.”
He nods and walks away. “I like the way you call me sir too,” he calls over his shoulder.
That night, after reading Sylvie a bedtime story, I go home.
I want to stay at the estate, I can’t lie.
But I’m too turned on. If he visits my bedroom with those smoldering eyes and that intense energy, I don’t trust myself not to act.
But then, this could all be in my head. What about his comment though?
He likes the way I call him sir. That has to be sexual. Or is he just being a snob?
I’m annoyed with myself for not making my point stronger. That was supposed to be about his daughter, nothing else, then he took my hand and everything changed. I replay the moment he leaned in countless times, how close we came to kissing—
I don’t know that. He could’ve been leaning in just to be more intense.
I toss and turn in bed, the sheets feeling tangled around me.
My phone buzzes when it’s gone midnight. It’s Ettore. My breath catches. It’s the first time he’s texted me, not just responded to one of my texts.
Ettore: Did Sylvie eat all her dinner tonight?
Maybe he feels bad too. How that meeting became about us and not his daughter.
Mara: Yes. She told me she hates sweetcorn, but when I turned it into a race, she had to win.
Ettore: That’s smart, Mara. Good thinking. It’s important she’s getting enough nutrition.
I smile in disbelief at his message. He’s gone from passionate and slightly terrifying to robotic. It’s like there’s no middle ground.
Mara: She needs her energy for her ballet. She does a lot of exercise and practicing. She’s so passionate about it. But then, she’s passionate about everything.
Ettore: That’s just one of the things that makes her an amazing person.
Ettore: I want you to know, you weren’t completely wrong earlier.
I laugh.
Mara: Is that your way of saying I was right, sir?
Ettore: I wouldn’t go that far.
Mara: I shouldn’t have gotten so hot and heavy about it.
I send the text, then bite down. My mind goes back to that porch, the way he was leaning in. I feel the touch of his lips, the heat. When he said my hand was warm, it was like he was hinting at it in other places, like he wanted me to drag it down his body or wrap it around his—
I stop myself. If I go there, even once, not going there is going to become far more difficult.
Ettore: You’re doing a great job. I’ve noticed a difference in Sylvie. Livia has too.
Mara: Livia? I thought she hated me.
Ettore: Livia is complicated. But she doesn’t hate you. I can assure you of that.
Mara: That’s good to know.
I send it, then wait for another message. I don’t want the texting to end yet. When he doesn’t reply after a minute or two, I type, feeling a little desperate. But not caring as much as I probably should.
Mara: Your daughter might have a future in business, you know. She takes after her father. She managed to negotiate two slices of cheesecake out of me. By the time I realized what was happening, she’d already finessed the deal.
He reacts with a laughing emoji. But he doesn’t reply.
I put my phone down and close my eyes, trying to sleep. Which makes it far more difficult.
My thoughts won’t stop replaying the porch scene, the touching, the implication of what was going to come next.
I roll over, the sheets clinging to my thighs as if they’re his hands.
On the porch in my head, the fantasy shifts and suddenly he’s got me pressed against the wall, his hand between my legs, his other hand over my mouth.
“Come for me,” He snarls in that husky voice I love. “Right here. Drench my hand. Come for me, baby. Fucking come for me, Mara.”
I sit up, breathing hard, shaking my head as if I can shake away the fantasies. I switch on the light and grab my knitting from the bedside table, forcing myself to focus on it.
I’ve been fooled by a man once before. Not this intensely, not with this physical fire. But in other ways. I need to be careful and remember why I took this job. Money—Sylvie. Not to lie in bed and fantasize about my employer.