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Renzo
‘WHATDOYOUMEAN, she hasn’t signed the contract? She told me she would think about it,’ I shouted down the phone at Henri, becoming frantic.
She couldn’t leave. I didn’t want her to leave. Not yet. I wasn’t ready. I had all but begged her to stay yesterday evening. What more did she want from me?
‘I’m sorry, Renzo. She told me today she is still planning to go tomorrow morning. But don’t worry, she has lined up a replacement chef for you.’
‘Dio!’I slammed down the phone.
No, this wasn’t happening. I wouldn’t let it.
I had been avoiding her for weeks now, as I worked to get my strength back.
The irony was, I had known in the last few weeks, she had been avoiding me too.
But even without seeing her every day, even without our invigorating arguments, I had been acutely aware of her presence in the house—every time I devoured her food, every time I caught a glimpse of her on the estate, every time I crashed into bed each night and dreamt of her instead of my demons.
Knowing she was here had energised and incentivised me.
The work to repair my mobility had been exhausting and time-consuming and a great deal harder than I had expected. The relentless exercise regime had been nothing short of agonising, but the physiotherapist’s conviction I could get a lot more movement back had fired my determination to push through.
That and the visceral yearning which had been there all along, ever since she had first walked into my room. The yearning which had gone into overdrive last night when I had caught her in my suite again for the first time in weeks.
I limped out onto the terrazzo, the hunger pounding back to life all over again. A hunger which had only become stronger the more we avoided each other. A hunger which I had come to realise in the past month had tapered off for other women, long before I smashed up the Destiny prototype on the Barcelona track over a year ago now. Could it be, the hunger I felt for Jessie might actually be about much more than just my recovery?
The awareness made me shiver despite the warm evening. The hazy memories of another woman...a young woman...whose virginity I had taken what felt like a lifetime ago shimmered on the edges of my consciousness, again.
The other women I had taken to my bed since that night—casual encounters which I had always found wanting—had never been as exciting, or exhilarating, as her.
Until now.
I frowned in the moonlight.
Stop thinking about that girl.
I recalled I had mixed that girl up with Jessie before, when she had first arrived. But I knew now that had been a nasty little joke fate had played on me just to mess me up even more.
But even so, I felt like Jessie had to be the key. And if I could make her stay, I could somehow figure it out.
As I struggled to unlock my brain and worked on a plan to ensure she signed the contract, I noticed the lights flicker on below the pool. It was nearly midnight, way past my usual bedtime, but the full moon glowed, illuminating the slim figure making their way along the path towards the private cove, where I had once thrown lavish parties.
Who could be swimming now?
But then the figure—dressed in a one-piece swimsuit of black spandex and holding a towel—stopped for a moment under the lamp which lit the steps down to the cove.
Jessie. Except...
The feral blast of memory streaked through my body and made the hot blood flow south. My mind reverberated with shock.
I recognised those high firm breasts—which had once been cradled in red satin—and the long slender legs, which had been wrapped around my hips as I drove into the tight wet clasp of her body.
Jessie, but also that girl.
I jolted upright, the shock of recognition doing nothing to halt the vicious spike of arousal feeding the hunger which had been building for weeks. The hunger I had been struggling to explain or contain ever since she had arrived.
I flinched as my leg protested at the sudden movement. But as I watched her disappear into the moonlit shadows, all the other things which had intrigued, and provoked me about her—ever since she had appeared five weeks ago—raced through my mind now faster than the Destiny prototype I had destroyed. And suddenly all those jagged misshapen pieces snapped sharply into place.
Why that masked girl had once reminded me vaguely of Belle Simpson. Because that girl had been Belle’s cousin. Why my reaction to my new chef’s abrasive personality had fired my libido in the same way that girl’s snarky challenges had once done too. Because Jessie Burton and that girl were one and the same. Just as I had sensed when I had first laid eyes on her—but forced myself to discard, because I had assumed I was losing my mind.
