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His other hand tightening around the soft flesh of her hip, he held her still while he devoured her with his mouth, his intimate caresses so shockingly good, she couldn’t even muster a protest. Her hands in his thick, dark hair, she rode out her release, his hot, insistent exploration sending her spiraling up the ladder of need once again, until she came apart again, her orgasm tearing through her.
So shattered she could barely breathe, she was limp and spent as he lifted her down off the ledge of the pool and into his arms, guiding her mouth back to his for a hot openmouthed kiss that shook her to her core, because she could taste herself on him, and it was the most intimate thing she’d ever experienced.
“Let’s go inside,” he said huskily.
She murmured her assent, unable to muster anything more coherent.
Scooping up her bikini top with his free hand, he held her against him with that awesome physical strength of his that held her in its thrall, her arms and legs wrapped around his muscular body, as he carried her out of the pool. Acquiring one of the thick towels they’d left on a lounger, he dried her off, moving the fabric over the smooth skin of her shoulders, then the rounded curves of her breasts, paying reverent attention to the rosy peaks, hard and aroused in the moonlight.
“Bellissima,”he murmured.
She melted. He wrapped the towel around her, drawing her toward him, his palm splayed over the curve of her buttock as they shared a passionate, sensual kiss. It took her a full second to register the flash of light that exploded behind her head, she was so caught up in him. Cristiano, however, was faster, a dark curse leaving his mouth as he released her and set her behind him, his broad shoulders blocking her from the blinding series of lights that exploded on the night air.
Camera flashes, she registered belatedly, her stomach plunging to the ground.Oh God. Shoving her bikini top behind his back, Cristiano barked at her to put it on. Her hands shaking, she fumbled in her efforts, cursing herself weakly as her fingers refused to cooperate. Finally, she managed to get it on, tying it clumsily behind her back and neck. By that time, Cristiano was on his phone, issuing terse instructions to his security staff, an infuriated note to his voice.
How they had ever penetrated the ironclad perimeter of the estate, she had no clue. Unless, she registered numbly, they had somehow taken advantage of the activity surrounding the wrap party, and the various suppliers who had worked it, to slip in undetected. Which would take a sophisticated, experienced paparazzo with extensive connections.
A feeling of dread wove its way up her spine. This bore all the hallmarks of one of her mother’s operations. She had the means to do it and stupidly, perhaps, even the motivation after Jensen had texted her back earlier that she was happy the campaign had wrapped and looking forward to the party to celebrate. A carrot she’d offered her mother after not replying to dozens of her texts in an attempt to stay focused. And, she conceded, a part of her had been worried about how she was doing, anticipating another one of her vicious plunges.
Oh no.Please, God, no.
Cristiano barked a final order into his phone, then slid the device into his pocket. The camera flashes had subsided, his security crew undoubtedly hot on their heels. But she knew the damage was done. The intimate sort of photos they could have taken. How disastrous this was going to be.
“I need to sort this out,” he murmured, a furious look on his face. “Go inside.”
“Cristiano,” she murmured, desperate to say something,anythingthat would rescue this situation before it spun out of control.
He set a palm to her back and moved her bodily inside. “Stay here. I’ll find you later.”
CHAPTER SIX
BUTCRISTIANODIDN’Tfind her later. Jensen waited until after midnight for him to return, and when there was still no sign of him, she finally went to bed and fell into an exhausted, restless sleep. When she woke, she was shocked to find it was eight o’clock, the sun blazing a path into the sky, and remembered she hadn’t set her alarm because they’d finished shooting and she was free for the day. Which would have been lovely, if not for the disaster of the night before. What she had to face.
She picked up her phone. Checked her notifications. There were dozens. A brief scan of the headlines revealed it couldn’t be good. Her heart plunged, resting somewhere above her churning, misplaced insides.
Davis Drops Prince for Fashion Magnate, read the headline of a British daily newspaper.Caught in the Act!blared a spicier UK tabloid.The CEO and the Supermodel, the clever title for an Italian tabloid, known for its juicy stories.
Oh my God. Her heart dropped further, if that was possible. She clicked on the first story, from the gossip page of one of Britain’s daily newspapers. Below the headline was a story suggesting she’d left Alexandre for Cristiano, in a fortuitous swap, alongside an intimate shot of them in the pool together, her wrapped in his arms, locked in a passionate kiss. Which was likely as racy as the newspaper had been willing to go. The tabloids, on the other hand, had no such scruples.
She opened the British tabloid, known for its scandalous coverage, terrified at what she’d read. Under the headlineCaught in the Act!were two photos, one of her and Cristiano on the dance floor from the Associazione Nazionale della Moda Italiana party, suggesting speculation had been rife about their relationship ever since the intimate dance at the party. Beside it was a photo of Cristiano carrying her out of the pool the night before, minus her bikini top. His arm was shielding her nudity from the camera, but her half-clothed state was apparent, as was the fact that they only had eyes for each other.
Her heart went into a free fall.This couldn’t be happening. Not now. Not when everything had been going so well. When she’d been doing her job exactly as Cristiano had mandated, when the scandalous headlines about Alexandre had dissipated and the campaign was set to be a brilliant success. When Cristiano had said those monumental things to her last night about wanting to get to know her. About wantingher.
Her stomach churned, bile rising hot and insistent in her throat. Her mother had done this. She was sure of it. That she would do this to her, take advantage of her like this, despite her explicit instructions to leave her alone, was a betrayal that rose above all others. She couldn’t believe she’d done it. But she was more angry at herself for being naive enough to think her mother could employ that type of rationality when she was in such a desperate state. It had been a massive mistake.
She read everything so that she knew the damage that had been done, then dressed in a T-shirt and shorts, shoved her hair into a ponytail, and slipped on running shoes. Then she headed up to the villa, dread in her every step. Filomena was in the kitchen, making coffee, a delicious aroma permeating the sunny space.
“Buongiorno.”She murmured a greeting. “Has he gone to the office?” she asked, not even attempting to avoid the subject, because she knew Filomena would know. Would have gotten the full report from the staff.
“He’s here, in his office, on a call,” the housekeeper replied. “You look like you need some coffee. Sit.”
She sank down on a stool, eyes bleary. Filomena handed her a steaming cup of coffee and a pastry, but Jensen refused the croissant, her stomach churning too violently to entertain the idea of eating. She took a sip of the coffee. Eyed the housekeeper. “Has everyone seen the photos?”
“Si.”Filomena leaned a generous hip against the island. “It’s the talk of the estate. They weren’t able to catch them. They must have escaped via the water. There was so much coming and going last night, things weren’t as strict as they normally are.”
Jensen’s head began to throb in earnest. She pressed her fingers to her temples and willed it away.
“Let’s be honest,” the housekeeper said quietly. “It was only a matter of time before this happened between you two.”
