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‘I had an orgasm, Renzo,’ I managed, surprised I didn’t spontaneously combust at the thought of how quickly I had come—which was surely just one more indication of how susceptible I still was to his touch, even if he was out of practice. ‘I’m not complaining. Really, you have nothing more to prove.’ I glanced down at his crotch, struggling to appear as confident as he was. ‘Everything’s in good working order again,’ I added, my throat drying to parchment, as I spotted the solid bulge in his lap stretching the worn denim.
My gaze snapped back to his face. Was Renzo getting turned on too?
‘So, you can consider yourself good to go,’ I finished, trying to sound flippant, although something twisted inside me at the thought of all the other women who would probably share his bed again now he had rediscovered his libido.
He wasn’t mine, and he never had been. Nor did he want to be. This conversation wasn’t about intimacy, not really, it was about sex—and how he wanted to use me to practice his moves again. If anything, I should be insulted not aroused.
Which just made it all the more annoying I could still feel that stupid bubble of anticipation and desire expanding inside me.
A quick grin appeared on his lips, and the intensity in his eyes softened, but he didn’t release his grip on my wrist.
‘Working order? Yes. And for that I am glad. But good? No, I don’t think so. There is much more I have to prove. And I wish to prove it with you.’
‘Wha-what?’My face flared so hot I was pretty sure it could probably be seen from space now. Worse than my mortification, though, was the deep needy pulsing in my core at the implication he thought I was somehow special, or different. When I knew I wasn’t.
I yanked my arm out of his grasp, and stepped away from him.
‘No,’ I said, as demonstrably as I could manage when my insides seemed to be melting into hot lava. Hot aching, yearning lava. ‘Really, I’m glad I could help you out with your...’ I flicked my gaze over his physique again, then stopped abruptly.
Don’t look at the bulge, you idiot.
I locked my gaze firmly onto his face.
‘Your performance issues,’ I managed, feeling increasingly aroused and increasingly ridiculous. Never a great combination. ‘But now I really have to get going.’
He snagged my wrist, again, before I could make my getaway.
‘Don’t go, Jessie, I need you here, still. For more than just sex.’
His voice had the same edge it had had last night. The edge that told me how hard it was for him to admit a vulnerability.
Ignore it. He’s fine.
But I couldn’t quite bring myself to yank my wrist free again, my ribs tightening around my heart like a vice.
‘Honestly, Renzo. You’ll like Matteo’s cooking, you will, he’s really good,’ I said, because surely that could be the only other reason he still needed me to stay. He liked my cookinga lot. I knew that.
‘It is not your cuisine I am talking of.’ He shook his head, the gruff laugh self-deprecating, and all the more beguiling as a result. ‘Henri insists I must show my face in public again.’ His jaw tensed, and I could see irritation, but also the brief flash of—if not panic, certainly discomfort. ‘The company’s stock has been dropping, ever since the crash. Rumours have been whispered that I am not who I was. That I have lost the drive that made me a good investment. So, I must stop hiding.’ He sounded annoyed, but then his expression became strangely unreadable. ‘Dante Allegri and his wife are holding an exclusive event at his casino in Monte Carlo, in three weeks’ time. A ball. There will be investors there. Celebrities. VIPs. Henri has begged me to attend to destroy these rumours. If I go, I will need a date. But I have no wish to see the pity in the eyes of women I have dated before. You are the only one I wish to have on my arm.’
I was so surprised at the request, I didn’t know what to say for a moment. The thought of being invited to such a prestigious event was exciting, but the thought of being asked by Renzo even more so. A stupid bubble of hope joined the boulder of emotion in my throat, at the thought he might need me.Reallyneed me. Not just for my cooking skills, or to practice his skills in bed, but as a companion, a friend, a lover?
‘You... You’re asking me on a date? To the Allegri Ball,’ I said, dumbly, just to clarify I hadn’t got it totally wrong. ‘But I work for you,’ I added when he nodded. ‘Won’t that just start more rumours?’
‘Belle and Galanti will be there, and you are her cousin. We can use this to explain how we met.’ He frowned, searching my face and I suddenly had the terrible thought he could see right through me, to the needy girl beneath—who had always wanted to be noticed, to be seen, to be important. Not just to her mother, and her father, but also to him.
How had he found the perfect way to make me feel needed? I dismissed the terrifying thought, that he could read me so easily.
Why would he bother? He was asking me for practical help, with his business. This request wasn’t really personal, despite what had happened last night.
Weirdly, the thought he needed my help for purely pragmatic reasons made it feel safer to be tempted, to want so much to say yes.
‘And you are not my employee anymore,’ he continued, drawing his thumb across my bottom lip. I sighed, before I could stop myself. ‘Your contract ended yesterday, is that not so?’ he added, the fierce, but effortlessly charming grin making my pulse accelerate, and sink into my panties. ‘And I do not pay you for sex. This we have already agreed,’ he continued, sealing our deal with a clever logic. ‘If you stay until the ball we can have three weeks to enjoy ourselves. We have both earned it, no? Three weeks more is all I ask of you, then we will go our separate ways.’
He captured my hips and tugged me back into the space between his thighs, making me far too aware of his big body, the hard contours of his chest which had become more defined in the past month, as he’d worked so hard to make himself whole again. The tantalising scent which had always tormented me filled my lungs as I gathered a staggered breath, trying to think past the adrenaline rush of being wanted, being needed, being asked to stay. Here, with him. Not as his chef, but as his...?
I frowned. What exactly would I be? But then the realisation of what he was really asking slammed into me. I would be hislover.
I drew in another ragged breath. And held the thought in my head.
