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My playboy reputation had been a source of pride for me once too—but it was less so now. The refreshing candour with which Jessie had bargained with me this morning—to preserve her pride and independence—suddenly made me ashamed of that man. She expected so little from me, it made me oddly determined to defy her expectations.
I frowned. Maybe that unfamiliar impulse would pass too, after three weeks of indulging ourselves.
‘Tell Carmine he’ll need to arrange a stylist,’ I said, inspired as I recalled the small luggage I had noticed in the hall on my way to the gym this morning, which had had me immediately detouring to the kitchens.
The panic which had assailed me, at the thought she might be planning to run out on me, had only intensified when I had caught her there and spotted the note she had jotted down for the new chef. How I had managed to remain calm and persuasive I would never know, because my insides had been churning with a vicious combination of anger and fear. And desire.
Somehow, I had become fixated on her. On the brief night we had shared four years ago and on the time we had shared together since she had come back. Not to mention our frantic love-making in the cove. Enough to know I needed her—and only her—to help me return to myself the rest of the way.
There was something about the artless way she looked at me, that intoxicating mix of wariness and desire, which had already helped to rebuild my confidence, as a lover as well as a man. She had held nothing back last night, responding instantly to my touch, even though the whole encounter had been clumsy and rushed.
Is that why she had kept her identity a secret from me? Because she was scared of the intensity of our connection? I liked to think so. I also knew our chemistry was something I was going to take great pleasure in exploring properly over the next three weeks.
She was a beautiful, incredibly stimulating woman. But why would she not embrace that?
‘I do not think she has the wardrobe to attend an event like the Allegris’,’ I said to Henri. I had only seen her in jeans and T-shirts and her luggage was not the kind to contain designer gowns. ‘I want her to look stunning at the ball.’ Because shewasstunning, I thought, as I recalled the red dress which had once captivated me too.
No doubt it would be a major struggle to get her to accept my gift. She was nothing if not fiercely independent. But I would enjoy persuading her. Plus I was consumed by the desire to ensure she enjoyed the ball. It would be her reward, I decided, for being what I needed, when I needed it.
‘No problem,’ Henri replied. ‘I will tell Carmine to hire a stylist. Do you have one in mind?’
‘Just tell him to hire the best,’ I said. ‘Also, I’ll be attending the next management meeting via a video link.’
‘That’s... Yes, Renzo! That would be incredible.’ As I heard the pleasure in Henri’s voice—who’d been begging me for months to get more involved in my businesses again—it occurred to me that my appetite for so many things had returned since Jessie Burton had come back into my life.
I dismissed the sentimental thought. I was not a romantic. But who knew sexual desire could be linked to so many other things? I did not, until I had lost it.
As I ended the call, I imagined what I would do to Jessie tonight, to make up for my poor performance yesterday. Tonight, I intended to feast on her as she deserved. I would make her beg for mercy. Then I would be another step closer to being the man I once was again.
A man in control of his own destiny.
Jessie
My fingers shook as I unpacked my small number of belongings and placed them in the heavy antique dresser in the suite which had been provided for me in the chateau. The sun had dipped towards the horizon, casting the redolent glow of twilight over the room’s luxury furniture. Night was approaching and I hadn’t seen Renzo all day, not since I had agreed to become his part-time mistress.
But the lightness I had felt then had disappeared during a long day of agonising over my decision.
What was I thinking? Believing this was a good—or even workable—arrangement?
I paused, as I placed the last of my underwear into the dresser.
Perhaps I should just tell him I’d changed my mind?
The truth was I’d become more and more aware how untenable the situation was, and how uncomfortable it made me feel, all day.
Even though the head of the cleaning crew, a young man called Eduardo, had been totally unfazed when he had informed me the suite had been made ready for me on Renzo’s instructions, I had been mortified.
And then there was the moment when I had to tell Matteo, the new chef, that the terms of his employment had been changed and I would still be working during the day—so he would only be required to make the evening meal. Matteo was a nice man, and as we had worked on a list of menus together, he hadn’t questioned the change in arrangements.
But still I felt guilty. And embarrassed.
So embarrassed, I couldn’t bring myself to tell Matteo that Renzo and I were an item and he would be cooking supper for both of us tonight. So, I had snuck out of the house, and made myself scarce for the last three hours, going for a long walk in the grounds, then having a swim in one of theothercoves, so I would not be in the chateau when Matteo served Renzo dinner.
When I had crept back into the house ten minutes ago, I had come up the back stairs to my new suite, careful not to pass the doorway to Renzo’s rooms next door.
But all my doubts were coalescing in my stomach now like a ball of lead.
Was Renzo in his room? Waiting for me? Was he expecting me to turn up in a negligee or something? Ready for sex?
