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"What about it?"
"And from a cup and saucer?" She glances at said objects in fascination.
"So?" I drain the cup and place it on the saucer, then pull up the cuff of my sleeve to glance at my watch. "It’s getting late. Let’s chat on the way."
"But coffee—"
"Make sure you get down here earlier if you want to get your fix." I grab my briefcase from the island and turn toward the door.
"It’s barely seven," she protests.
"It’s three minutes past seven, actually, and I’m already late." I stalk toward the door and hear the clip-clop of her heels against the wooden floor as she rushes to keep up with me. I don’t slow my steps. Not because I’m a sadist—well, not this time anyway—but because I’m not going to make this easy on her. If it were anyone else in that role, they wouldn’t get concessions, so I don’t see why I need to bend the rules for her. Just because she’s my son’s girlfriend—fuck, she’s my son’s girlfriend.
A crater seems to open up in my chest. She’s not mine. She belongs to someone else, and not just anyone else, but my own son. The same son I’ve been estranged from for years, and with whom I’ve thought I’d never have a chance to mend our relationship. I need to keep my eyes and my hands off of her.
What happened last night was a one-off. An incident I need to move on from. Only, I can’t pretend it didn’t happen at all. Not when jerking off to her brought me to orgasm in a way being with other women never has.
I stalk toward the entrance of the house and walk out. I take the steps two at a time, aware that she’s on my heels. I reach the bottom just as Leo, my chauffeur, drives up with my car. I open the door, and turn in time to see her trip on the last step. I move so fast my feet don’t seem to touch the ground and catch her. Her soft curves seem to melt into me. Her scent—strawberry and passionfruit— fills my lungs. My throat closes. My cock lengthens. Every inch of my body seems to light up like it’s the Fourth-of-July and Christmas rolled into one. Fucking fuck.
I place her aside, holding onto her shoulder until I’m sure she’s steady on her feet. She shoves her hair from her face and her fingers tremble. The feel of her shoulder is permanently etched into my fingertips. The air between us seems to sizzle with unspoken emotions. She draws in a shaky breath and so do I. The silence stretches for a beat, another. It’s she who recovers first, while I stay frozen like a teenager caught in the proximity of his first crush.
“Thanks,” she murmurs, not meeting my eyes, then brushes past me. Like a fool I take in another deep inhale of her scent, before she slides inside the car with a flash of her luscious thighs. She pulls her legs in and I close the door, then walk around and seat myself next to her.
I raise the partition between the driver’s seat and the passenger seat. She glances at me then away as Leo eases the car forward.
We drive in silence for a few seconds, then she clears her throat. "Do you always leave for your office this early?"
"I’m late today, in deference to you joining me. Starting tomorrow, we leave at 6 a.m."
"What the—?" She swivels to face me. "Why do you bother coming back home? Even you—"
She takes in the smirk on my face and her features redden. "Haha, very funny." She scoffs.
"You’re easy to get a rise out of," I admit.
"So, you do leave for work at this time every day?"
"Not for the last few days. I was busy helping Massimo rescue his wife, who’d been taken by the man she’d been promised to before Massimo came along and married her."
"Eh?" Her gaze widens. "Did all that happen, for real?"
"Afraid so. When you’re in a position of power, you’re bound to rub people the wrong way. People who then take revenge by hurting those close to you. That’s why it pays to make common cause with those who’s enemies are the same as yours."
"So, you’re in an organized crime group?"
"Would it make a difference to you if I said I was?"
She appears to think it over then shakes her head. "Frankly, no. You are the CEO of your business and a rich man. You couldn’t have gotten to that level without bending the law at some point."
I tilt my head. "Astute observation. Apparently, you’re not just another pretty face."
She flushes. "That’s a very chauvinistic remark. I look good, so it automatically means I can’t think for myself, right?"
"I didn’t say that."
"You implied it."
I raise my hands. "All I meant was that was an insightful remark for someone as young as you."
