Page 81 of Brutal Heir

Sebastian motioned for me to sit on the U-shaped sofa. I perched on the edge, unsure how to relax amidst such opulence. The cashmere upholstery was impossibly soft under my fingertips, its luxury almost absurd.

Worried I might spill, I clutched my champagne flute with both hands. Just for good measure, I straightened my back.

Sebastian stood over me. “Are you comfortable?”

Not even close. “Yes, thank you.”

Sebastian placed a hand on the back of the sofa, leaning down until his lips hovered near my ear. “Dolcezza, when I’m done with my business, I’m going to fuck you on this sofa. So enjoy your champagne. And don’t worry about spilling it.”

Heat rushed to my face as I stared at him, words failing me.

“You can’t just say things like that to me,” I finally managed.

He smirked, brushing a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “And why not, if it’s the truth?”

“This is why I can’t work for you!” I gestured wildly, the motion causing champagne to fizz over the rim of my glass. “Oh my God!”

Before I could wipe it away, Sebastian caught my wrist. His gaze locked on mine as he leaned in, his tongue sweeping over my skin to capture the drops of champagne.

I forgot how to breathe.

He straightened, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “I’ll lick the rest when I return.”

Too stunned to speak, I watched him stride toward the conference room, leaving me alone in the luxurious lounge with my racing thoughts.

With a tilt of the flute, I gulped the remaining champagne, wriggling my nose as the bubbles tickled it. After slamming the glass on the coffee table, I shoved my blazer sleeve down over my wrist, as if I could somehow wipe away the sensation of his tongue on my skin.

He wanted to have sex with me. Again.

I barely survived the first time.

If he brought me to my knees fully clothed in a shower, what would he do on a sofa…or, worse, a bed? These posh private planes always had beds.

A man in a chef’s coat approached with Oliver trailing behind, carrying a three-tiered crystal tray. “Good afternoon, Signora Badalamenti. My name is Chef Alessio Conti.” He gestured behind him. “And I believe you have met my associate, Oliver. We have the pleasure of serving you today.”

Oliver nodded as he placed the crystal tray within reach of me on the table, followed by a small plate, polished silver, and a linen napkin.

Chef Conti gestured to the hors d’oeuvres. “Before the first course, we have a selection of hors d’oeuvres for you. A creamy burrata with a drizzle of truffle oil served on a toasted crostini. Lightly fried crab and ricotta zucchini blossoms. We get the blossoms year-round from an organic hothouse farm just outside of Rome. And finally, some lobster arancini seasoned with saffron and served with a lemon aioli. They pair especially well with the Dom Pérignon. May Oliver get you another glass?”

I covered the top of the flute with my palm. “No, thank you.”

Oliver stepped forward and gestured toward the diamond-patterned lattice wall behind me. “Can I interest you in a different drink? We have a fully stocked bar in the dining area.”

I shook my head. “No. I’ve had enough.”

The chef stepped closer. “May I fix you a plate?”

Overwhelmed, I shook my head. “I’m fine. I’m not that hungry.”

Chef Conti and Oliver exchanged a look of concern before turning back to me. “Apologies. We are under very strict instructions from Signore Diamanti. He is concerned you have not eaten enough today. If nothing here appeals to you, I can prepare something else.”

Unless he'd prepared all this in advance, just assuming I’d accompany him?

Dammit.

After snatching an arancini ball from the tray, I shoved the whole thing into my mouth.

Talking around the savory lobster bite, I said, “Satisfied?”