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‘I have no intention of behaving like a limpet,’ she said, with a sudden proud tilt of her chin.
That one simple movement was enough to stir the beginnings of another erection, and Salvatore nearly reached for her again, before stopping himself. Because Lina Vitale could so easily become a millstone around his neck—and that would be way too high a price to pay for the fleeting pleasures of sex.
A chill of awareness whispered over his skin.
She knew no one in San Francisco other than him.
Despite her undeniable sweetness and the lure of her lush body, from now on she needed to be off-limits.
He would provide her with a temporary home, yes. He would ensure she met some of his contacts so she could find herself a job. And once she had gained some independence he could filter her out of his life, for good. He could move her on, having taught her a very important lesson.
That she must never grow to depend on him.
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘WE’RE HERE,’ SAID Salvatore curtly as the car glided through noiseless electronic gates to draw up in a sheltered inner courtyard.
They had flown into San Francisco—over the iconic bridge and the wide sweep of water which it straddled—before making their way to Salvatore’s home. He lived in an area called Russian Hill and Lina thought she’d never seen anywhere quite so affluent. Yet from the outside, the property was relatively unassuming, with tall gates concealing the building from prying eyes. But once those gates had closed she found herself staring up at a modern four-storey building, set in surprisingly extensive grounds, studded with brightly flowering shrubs and heavily loaded citrus trees, which reminded her of home.
‘Like it?’ Salvatore questioned, his eyes on her face.
She nodded, not terribly interested in his real estate, but at least it was good to have something to focus on other than the way he had been keeping his distance from her since they’d fallen onto that bed together, high up above the world, in the clouds. Sex on a plane. Nobody could deny that her world was opening up in all kinds of unexpected ways. ‘It’s beautiful,’ she said dutifully.
The front door was opened by a sombre-faced man, wearing a formal dark suit. ‘This is my butler, Henry,’ said Salvatore.
His butler?
‘It’s good to have you ba
ck, Signor di Luca,’ Henry said, with a pronounced English accent and the faint semblance of a smile.
‘This is Nicolina Vitale, Henry. She’s going to be staying here for a few weeks until she’s settled in the city. I thought we could put her in one of the vacant cottages. The one furthest from the house might be best.’
‘Certainly, Signor di Luca. One of your assistants telephoned earlier and the farthest cottage is already prepared,’ Henry answered. ‘Perhaps you would care for me to give Miss Vitale a tour around the compound?’
‘If you wouldn’t mind.’ Salvatore pulled his phone out of his pocket and briefly scanned the screen, before shooting Lina an absent-minded look. ‘Look, I need to work. Henry will answer any questions you may have and you and I will eat dinner later, as it’s your first night here. Eight o’clock, on the terrace. Okay?’
‘Thank you,’ said Lina, watching him walk away and wondering what on earth she could find to say to the intimidating butler. But she hadn’t exactly had much conversation with Salvatore over the past few hours, had she? In fact, their erotic encounter seemed to have created a great space between them. He had treated her with the same polite detachment as he had the stewardesses who had been serving them drinks and food during the transatlantic flight. And Lina had been left trying to focus on that wretched magazine—trying to blot out the aching in her breasts and the memory of him feasting hungrily on her nipples.
She followed Henry through the house and tried to drink it all in, but it wasn’t easy for her to get her head around the fact that one man could own a property this big. It was all clean lines and uncluttered space which contained sleek, modern furniture. A space-age kitchen led into not one but two dining rooms, one of which was reached by a glass elevator. The basement housed a carefully lit subterranean art gallery as well as a private cinema, and outside were more seating areas amid tangles of fragrant climbing plants, and a long, cantilevered swimming pool. The highest point of all was the dining terrace, with its sweeping views all the way to Alcatraz and everything in between.
‘It’s gorgeous,’ said Lina politely, though in truth she found it all a little overpowering. ‘Have you worked for Salvatore for very long?’
‘Five years,’ said Henry. ‘I first met Signor di Luca at a weekend house party in England when he poached me from the host, and I’ve been with him ever since.’ He gave the hint of a smile. ‘He tends to inspire loyalty among his staff.’
‘Just how many staff are there?’ questioned Lina.
‘He has a full-time chef and Shirley, who helps out when Signor di Luca chooses to dine at home. And, naturally, there are cleaning staff, gardeners, drivers—the usual kind of thing.’
Lina nodded sagely, as if the concept of personal staff was something she encountered every day of the week.
‘Was there anything else you wanted to know, Miss Vitale?’
‘No, you’ve been very helpful. Thank you, Henry. And, please, I’d much rather you called me Nicolina.’
Henry nodded but gave no outward response to her request, other than indicating she should follow him, before leading the way through the grounds to a compact cottage surrounded by trees.
Once the butler had gone, Lina stared out of the window, watching the light beginning to leach from the sky and thinking how surreal this all felt. Because it was surreal. One moment she had been living in a village with practically nothing and the next she was staying in the grounds of a billionaire’s mansion, being shown around by a butler.
