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Unlike her ex, Daniel, who had walked away from her when her reality show life had proven too much, Cristiano hadn’t seemed to judge her for it. Instead, he’d seemed to understand, toempathizeeven. It had her feeling distinctly off-balance and uncertain, because experience had taught her that her past would always be used against her, thatshewould always be judged by it. She’d taught herself it would be naive to think it would ever be any different. To protect herself against future hurt. And yet Cristianohadreacted differently.
Her heart beating far too loud in her chest, her legs a little unsteady, she sat down on a low concrete wall while she waited. When several minutes had passed and it seemed to be taking Cristiano a long time to return with the car, she got up and went looking for him, too tired and exhausted to sit still. Found him standing near the valet stand, talking to a tall, leggy blonde.
The woman’s honey-colored hair cut into a chic bob that skimmed her shoulders, she had delicate, finely boned features, big blue eyes and effortless style in the sapphire-blue sheath dress she wore. An air of confidence that came from her roots in one of Milan’s oldest, most aristocratic families made Alessandra Grasso the perfect choice for Cristiano, according to the models who’d pointed her out earlier. Everything she was not.
It had been the subject of a full-fledged gossip discussion, Ming Li looking on with avid curiosity while the models had engaged in innuendo-fueled speculation. Whether or not Cristiano would finally pull the trigger and marry Alessandra. How, even if they’d had their rocky times, she was still destined for him—the heir to an Italian textile dynasty, who could unite two Italian fashion legends. And Alessandra, according to the models, tended to get what she was after.
Jensen felt as if she’d been socked in the chest as she watched them talk, Cristiano’s dark, handsome head bent to Alessandra’s, the intimacy of the moment clear. She really had to get over this infatuation she had with him. The belief that there was something between them, when in actual fact, she was the last female he’d ever get involved with, even if there was a blatant attraction between them. Because he would end up with a woman like Alessandra Grasso, not someone like her. It was preordained.
His family had made it clear what they thought of her tonight. That she was the kind of scandalous American reality show trash she was so often billed as. To think Cristiano would think differently, despite his outward empathy, was naive. Which meant she needed to get her head together and fast.
When Cristiano finally returned, car keys dangling from his fingers, her composure was restored. “Are you all right?” He eyed her with a look of concern.
“Perfect,” she murmured. “Just tired. Are we ready?”
He gave her a long look, then nodded and held the car door open so she could get in. Then he got behind the wheel of the low-slung sports car. They made the drive home in silence, a palpable tension throbbing between them she made no attempt to address. When they stopped in the circular driveway of the villa, and Cristiano got out to walk around to her side of the car and open the door for her, she slid out and took a step backward, away from his tall, overpowering presence.“Buona notte,”she murmured. “Thank you for a lovely night.”
Jensen couldn’t sleep. Her head was too full, her thoughts too disordered since she’d walked away from Cristiano earlier. Which should have been the right decision. Whichwasthe right decision. But she couldn’t stop thinking about it. About that moment between them on the dance floor. Couldn’t get it out of her head.
She was also hungry.Starving. She’d done so much socializing, intent on showing Ming Li a good time, she’d barely eaten anything. Her stomach rumbled, a headache threatened, and a vision of Filomena’s delicious homemade bread filled her head, topped with a thick slice of Italian cheese. And once there, she couldn’t get rid of it.
She was never going to sleep. And, given she needed a good rest before tomorrow’s shoot, waking up with a stormy head wouldn’t be an auspicious start. Gathering her hair into a ponytail and pulling on delicate, bejeweled flip-flops, she slipped out the door and headed toward the main house, the interior of the villa cast in darkness in the late hour.
Filomena was off tonight, but she’d told Jensen to help herself if she ever needed anything. Slipping into the warm, inviting kitchen, where a lamp was always left on in case someone needed something, she poured herself a glass of milk and made a sandwich with the thick, delicious bread. Seated on the marble countertop, she absorbed the peace of the night, an army of cicadas singing their song through the big, open bay windows, moonlight flooding the fragrant gardens outside.
She had just finished her sandwich and was reaching for her glass of milk when Cristiano walked into the kitchen, another pair of those dark, sexy denims slung low over his lean hips, a black T-shirt hugging his muscular torso. Distracted and disheveled, as if he’d pushed his hand through his hair a dozen times, he looked up to see her perched on the counter, the glass of milk poised halfway to her mouth.
She wasn’t sure what rendered her off-balance more—how insanely good he looked in the casual clothes, clinging to all of that honed, delicious muscle, or the fact that she was perched on his kitchen counter in a camisole and short pajamas that had seemed perfectly appropriate in the intimate confines of her cottage, but now with his dark perusal raking over her, absorbing every detail, felt far too revealing.
He moved his gaze down, over the long, bare length of her legs, up over the smooth skin of her thighs, then higher, to where the camisole clung to her curves. This time, when he lifted his gaze up to hers, he didn’t attempt to hide the dark embers that glimmered there. To deny this crazy attraction between them. Instead, he moved closer, coming to a halt a few inches in front of her.
Jensen set the glass on the counter, her fingers shaking slightly. She could feel the heat that emanated from him, bleeding into her skin. Her bones. She’d never met a man somale, in the true sense of the word. So earthily attractive. And she worked with some of the world’s most beautiful men.
A flush bloomed in her chest, moving up to consume her cheeks. It felt like she was on fire, but she was fairly certain most of that was the internal combustion they created together.
“I thought,” she said haltingly, “that everyone had gone to bed. I haven’t eaten much all day. Filomena said to help myself. So I—” she waved a hand at the cupboard “—made a sandwich.”
“You were busy with Ming Li. You must be hungry.” He thrust his fingers through his hair in an action that only increased his disheveled look. “I had a conference call with Brazil. It ran late.”
She absorbed the deep shadows underlining his eyes. His palpable exhaustion. “You should get some sleep,” she murmured, her breath feeling a little trapped in her throat. “You have Zhang in hand. Everything else can wait until the morning, no?”
Cristiano knew he should. Go to bed. He was beyond coherent at this point he was so exhausted. But he couldn’t seem to make himself move. Not when she looked like his every fantasy come true in those provocative silk pajamas, which put those long, incredible legs of hers on full, magnificent display. Not when every brain cell he possessed was focused on the voluptuous curve of her breasts the silky material hinted at, making him wonder what she’d feel like in his hands. When beneath the vulnerable curve of her mouth and the wary cast of her eyes lay the same burning fire consuming him.
He tightened his hands into fists at his sides. Unfurled them slowly. Fought it valiantly, because surely this was a bad idea. He’d been telling himself that ever since she’d walked away from him earlier, as if the hounds of hell had been at her heels. Over the past couple of hours, as he’d sought to find a solution to Zhang’s aggressive demands that his family and the board could live with, a delicate minefield he had to tread carefully. Which had been the smart thing to do. Was still the smart thing to do.
He exhaled a deep breath. Moved to the water cooler, where he poured himself a tall glass of water, and stood, leaning against the counter as he downed half of it in one go. Inhaled a deep breath to deliver some much-needed oxygen to his brain, which he wasn’t sure was going to do much good with the heat smoking through the kitchen. “Zhang threw a few monkey wrenches my way tonight. I’ve been trying to untangle them.”
She cocked a brow. “What kind of monkey wrenches?”
“A larger say in what FV does. Creative input in the brand. A seat on the board, which I had anticipated. The rest not so much.”
“Oh.” She absorbed the information. “That won’t go over well with your family, will it?”
“No. My grandfather was not for giving up any control of FV to outside influences. Neither is Federico. I’ve convinced him we either make this play, or we dig our own grave as we lapse into irrelevancy. Zhang, however, is driving a hard bargain.”
She sank her teeth into her lip, worrying the tender flesh. “Nicholas is undeniably brilliant. He understands the global marketplace and he understands how customers are consuming fashion. Get Ilaria to pull the spring campaign he did for Kyra and show it to Federico. When you dig into it, it’s a complete masterpiece. It will demonstrate his worth.”
“That’s a good idea.” He rubbed a palm against his temple. “Maybe I will. Zhang also thinks we should expand our influencer base. Develop some branded lines to target different lifestyle segments. You could be valuable input on this.”
