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From the front seat, my assistant cleared his throat. In Italian, he said, “I do not understand what you see in this woman.”
“She is a senior engineer, perfectly qualified for the task at hand,” I replied in our native tongue.
“It is not for her job title that you are here, in person, waiting for her at the airport,” he replied dryly.
“She is beautiful,” admitted.
“You have dated countless beautiful women.”
“She is brilliant as well.”
My assistant shifted in his seat, leather creaking softly. “You have been with brilliant women. Scientists and professors. Politicians and business leaders. Why Amber? Whyher?”
I wondered that myself. I had been wondering about it since my trip to San Francisco. Myfirsttrip, when I was taken to the rooftop deck of Owen March’s restaurant and witnessed the beautiful woman being dragged out by security. I was taken by the woman, so fiery and full of life, and it was an immense delight to see her working for the company in which I had invested.
I could not put into words the desire I felt for Amber Moltisanti, except to say that it existed, and was as strong and immovable as stone. When I fell asleep at night, I saw her heart-shaped face and deep, dark eyes that were like a pool for a man to drown in. Even during my waking hours I found myself staring off, picturing her behind the glow of her computer screen.
We had a connection. I sensed it the moment we met. And since then, I desperately wanted her—mind, body, and soul.
When I didn’t answer, my assistant made a disapproving noise. “This is not the way to win a woman over. You are a busy man. You should play hard-to-get, having her driven to the manor and only meeting with her after you have made her wait sufficiently long. You come on too strong meeting her here in person, and the other things you have planned for her, all the work you have done—”
“I do not want to play hard-to-get,” I snapped. “I do not want to make her wait. I want to give her my true self. I want her to know me for the man I am.”
My private plane appeared as a small dot in the distance, growing as it drifted lower until it touched down on the runway. I got out of the car and waited outside, the wind whipping my suit jacket around my waist while I watched the plane taxi in front of us.
The flight attendant emerged first, and then there she was. Amber stepped off the plane like a goddess visiting the earth. My chest swelled with eagerness at the sight of her, and at the way she smiled when she spotted me across the distance.
One piece of luggage, I noted with a smile as the attendant opened the storage compartment and removed her bag. The last woman I had dated required three huge suitcases for a weekend trip, and was difficult in every manner.
Amber is simple, and easy, and altogether extraordinary,I thought as she approached. When we hugged, it was the hug of friends who were being reacquainted after too long apart. Her cheeks were warm under my lips, and I thought I felt her shiver in my arms.
“Amber,” I said, switching to English. My tongue grew weak in my mouth. I licked my lips and said, “You look marvelous.”
“You’re being nice,” she said with a self-deprecating chuckle, but I noticed her cheeks turning red. The wind, surely. “My suitcase was stowed, so I’m still dressed casually. Want me to change into something nicer for the office?”
“You are absolutely perfect,” I said, and meant it. “You look so radiant and refreshed that it would be a crime to change a thing.”
“Iamrefreshed,” she said, “because I took a bath before we landed. Afucking bath.Sorry for the language, but I didn’t know private jets had full baths in them!”
I grinned at her bluntness. “I am glad you used the amenities to their full potential. Come! I have a car waiting.”
I put a gentle hand on her back as I led her to my car. My assistant gave me a final look of disapproval before opening the car door for us.
I do not need his approval,I thought.I do not need this jet, or my manor, or all of my family’s land and wealth. The only thing I need is Amber Moltisanti.
And I was certain I knew the way to get her.
42
Amber
So this is what it feels like to be a billionaire.
The trip on Furio’s jet was more luxurious than any hotel I had ever stayed at. White leather seats and glasses of champagne. Steak with fingerling potatoes for dinner, and hours of sleep in a bedroom that was cut off from the rest of the cabin space. A morning bath drawn by the flight attendant, with the plane flying so smoothly that the water hardly sloshed at all. And then a breakfast of poached eggs, fruit, bacon, and fresh-squeezed orange juice before we landed.
It was all so wonderful that I was almost disappointed when we began our descent into Rome.
Almost. Furio was somewhere down there on the Italian peninsula waiting for me. And that excited me far more than the private jet experience.
