Stone's Revenge, page 9
“And here I thought my cousin would loosen up a little now that he found you.”
Found me. Maybe she does know of the farce. “He’s a bit uppity but I’ve been working on it. I’ve found his buttons and have had fun pushing them.” I squeeze his hand and am disappointed when he doesn’t squeeze back.
Elena barks out a laugh. “I like you. And I’m glad the clothes fit. Shopping isn’t my thing. Rocco assumed since I have breasts I enjoy that type of thing. He didn’t allow me to shop off the list. I hope I did okay?”
“You’re the one who bought all those clothes? And shoes?”
“With his plastic.” Elena pats Stone on the back.
“It all makes sense now.”
“What does?” Stone asks.
“My wardrobe is incredibly impractical, especially for living on a vineyard. I don’t plan on running through the vineyard in these heels for the next two–” I stumbled over my words. “Um, two hundred years.”
“You have nothing but the best.”
I roll my eyes and turn to Elena. “That rod is so far up his ass.”
Elena laughs again, this time tears coming out of her eyes. “Oh, I like you.”
“I mean, where are my sweatpants? Oversize sweatshirts? Does he really expect me to wear fancy lingerie every night? Come on...where’s the comfort in that?”
“No,” Stone growls behind me. “I expect you to sleep naked.”
My cheeks burn, as do Elena’s. “And on that note, I must get back to work. Grab a seat and I’ll bring you a bottle. The usual?” she asks Stone.
“I’d love to do a tasting. A flight of five?” I point to the chalkboard sign behind the bar.
“I have bottles of every wine up at the house.”
“That’s nice.” I pat Stone’s chest and slip my hand from his. “I’d like a flight. Mixes of reds and whites, is that okay?”
“That’s more than okay. Would you like a meat and cheese plate as well?”
I eye the small food menu. “Just a veggie plate, please.”
Elena snickers on her way back to the bar.
“I knew this was a mistake,” Stone mumbles as he pulls me through the tasting room and out the doors to the patio.
The outside is just as cute as the inside. Cute isn’t a word I thought I’d use for Stone’s winery, but it is. There are just enough people to make it a happening spot, but not so many where I feel crowded. I don’t miss the curious stares by many.
“You don’t need to put on a show for Elena.” He pulls out a chair for me.
“I’m not. I like her. She’s nothing like you.”
Stone sniffs. Or laughs. I can’t tell. “You are too much alike.”
“Which is what made you fall helplessly in love with me and led to you asking me to marry you out here on the patio while sipping from a flight of your wines.”
Elena delivers our wine and vegetables, adding a small plate of cheese for Stone. “We’re super busy tonight, and now that you two are here, I can’t imagine the crowd dying out any time soon. If you need a refill, Stone can get it. It was nice meeting you, Gia. I’ll see you at the wedding.”
She’s off before I can reply. “She doesn’t know, does she?”
“Elena? No. She doesn’t know about...anything.”
“Tell me about her.” I pick up the first glass of white and read the description of the wine and flavors.
I sip, nibbling on a celery stick and some of Stone’s cheese while he tells me about Elena. They played together a lot as young children, then their fathers had a disagreement and stopped talking. They hadn’t talked for six years. Not until his parents’ and sister’s funerals. And not again until two years ago when he asked her to run Parlatore Wines.
“Why did you stop running this? It’s beautiful.”
“Elena’s doing. She tore down what I had and made it more modern. She wanted to appeal to a younger crowd. It was a good business choice.”
“Since you’re not busy with the day-to-day work here, you have more time to...”
“Find you.”
I pick up the fourth glass of wine and drink. The rich red has sharp notes of cinnamon and coffee. “That could be a great line for Father Paul Michael, but it kinda sounds a little stalkerish.”
“Searching. Not stalking.”
I point a carrot at him. “Searching, then stalking. Then kidnapping.”
“Minor details.” He sips from his glass of chianti.
I laugh. It’s the first time Stone has said something funny, twisted as it may be. For the first time, a genuine smile curves his lips. I swear the patio grows silent as I get lost in those sexy-as-sin eyes and the beautiful lips that promise they can make me forget all about my troubles.
It’s too much. Too powerful. If one little smile can make my panties get in a twist, chances are he can do things to me I’ve only dreamed about getting from my book boyfriends. I’m in big trouble. I see the heat in his eyes, and I have no doubt he notices how my nipples harden in response.
Even though his gaze hasn’t dipped lower than my mouth, he can tell. Hell, he could tell I was wet for him an hour ago without even touching me. Well, without touching me there.
Needing to break the spell, I hold my wine glass close to my chest and sit back in my chair. “Okay, tell me more about Rocco ‘Stone’ Parlatore. When you’re not stalking and kidnapping, what else do you do for fun?”
And just like that the chemistry is gone. Back is the serious man who hides behind hooded eyes, harsh words, and fancy suits.
“I have no time for fun.”
“That’s not the kind of man I’d marry. Father Paul Michael will see that about me. What is it we do when you’re not busy doing your secret mission mafia stuff?”
“I’m not in the mafia,” he bites out under his breath.
Okay. I touched a sore spot there. “You have mafia vibes.” Buttons. Pushed. It’s the only way to get him to open up.
“I’m. Not. Mafia.”
“That’s good.” I finish the wine and set the empty glass down. “I’d never marry into the mafia. Our priest would see that too.”
Stone’s shoulders are stiff, as are the lines in his face.
I lean forward and nudge my vegetable platter toward him. “You know that rod I was telling your cousin about? It’s back. Have some broccoli. It’s high in fiber.”
He angles his head slightly to the left. Yay! A sign of life.
“Lighten up, dude. You’re causing a scene. Eat something besides cheese. It’s binding.” I can’t believe I just said that, but it did the trick. It isn’t a full-fledged grin, but the eyebrow quirk and the corner of his lips lift for half a second. Maybe less.
“I enjoy running.” He pushes the plate back to me.
“For real?”
He narrows his eyes before picking up his glass again. “For real.”
“I do too. Maybe some morning we can run the trails around here. I assume you have running trails?”
“I have a treadmill in my gym.”
“You have a gym? I wouldn’t know because my host is a rude bastardo and makes me go exploring on my own.”
Stone does his sniff laugh thing and rests his elbows on the table. Such improper manners for the polished suit. Another point for me.
“It’s in the pool house.”
“You have a pool? How did I miss that?”
“And a jacuzzi,” he adds, the heat returning to his gaze.
“Tell me you have a movie theater and that’ll be how you win my eternal love. Father Paul Michael will absolutely give us his blessing if you promise me a pool and a theater.”
A third chuckle in less than an hour. It is nice to see Stone loosen up, especially if I have to spend the next two years with him.
“It’s not a theater, but I have a large screen, a state-of-the-art surround sound system, and reclining seats.
“Microwave popcorn and root beer floats?”
“Root beer floats?”
“Mama and I discovered them when living in Tennessee. They’re amazing. Trust me.”
His smile softens. “I do, Gia.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
What the hell am I doing? I have no right getting friendly with Gia. I don’t miss the side glances and the obvious gawkers from the patrons on the patio as we drink and talk. And laugh. Gia has done what she set out to do and made me crack.
Only Elena can do that, and even then, it isn’t often. She constantly complains about me being too serious. Had she witnessed what I’ve witnessed and lived my life, she’d be serious too. Or dead.
She had been at university in France when I was at my lowest. Or highest, depending how I looked at it. Learning to bury my emotions and how to kill were skills I mastered from my uncle. The only good in him was keeping his life of crime away from Elena and promising to teach me what I needed to know to get my vengeance.
Uncle Sal may have been close to Lorenzo’s level of evil, but he loved his brother and his daughter. When my father was killed, he took me under his wing and taught me his business, and when he saw the life of crime was not in my blood, he promised to set me free, but only after I fought by his side until he took over his biggest enemy’s territory.
I paid my dues and walked away nearly unscathed. Uncle Sal and his men, however, were overrun and were killed in the massacre. Making good on his promise, Sal had made provisions for Elena, keeping her distanced from his business. For the most part, she’s unaware of the level of crimes her father had committed, and my role in any of it.
Gia, on the other hand, has her own share of demons she fled from. They didn’t disappear when she ran, and still haunt her.
My vendetta against Lorenzo isn’t for her, but she’ll benefit just as much as I. Maybe not just as much since I’ll be stripping away her fortune and will have the satisfaction of eliminating the monster who’s haunted my dreams for the past decade.
As quickly as my thoughts go to revenge, Gia says something to pull me back to the now. Her jokes, her mission to push my buttons, have been more fun than I expected, which is how I find myself in the recliner next to her in my home theater eating pizza from a plate in my lap and sipping on root beer floats.
Marco is paid well not to ask questions, but I could read the shock in his eyes when I asked him to bring us to a pizzeria while I sent him to the store to search for root beer and ice cream. By the time he came back, our order had been ready.
Gia insisted we go back to the house to eat, which is ironic since she’s been complaining about feeling trapped in her gilded cage, as she likes to call it.
“Since I’m the guest I get to pick the movie.” She holds the remote in one hand and a slice of mushroom and green pepper pizza in the other.
We couldn’t agree on toppings, so I ordered two pizzas. Classic pepperoni for me and the fungus and rabbit food for her. It has been a long time since I’ve had pizza, and an even longer time since I lounged in the theater room, as Gia refers to it, watching a movie.
To me, it’s just another living space. It happens to have a floor to ceiling screen and three rows of recliners. Fifteen of my closest friends and family can watch together. Only I have no family. And I have no friends.
“Oh, I love this movie.” She stops scrolling and turns up the volume. Whatever she picks will be new to me. I don’t waste my time staring at a wall watching fictional lives play out. The only reason I caved tonight is because of our meeting with the priest tomorrow.
Lying to him will be impossible, which is why Gia insists we go through the motions tonight. And if I’m being honest, it isn’t as tortuous as I expected it to be.
“Have you seen it before?”
“No,” I answer without looking up at the screen.
“It’s a classic. Julia Roberts is phenomenal in all her movies, but Pretty Woman is hands down my favorite.”
“I take it it’s not a drama or action adventure?”
“Romantic comedy.”
“Wonderful,” I groan.
“She’s a prostitute and he’s a billionaire who hired her for the night. But then he hires her for the weekend and then they–”
“A movie about a prostitute doesn’t sound like a romantic comedy.” None of the women I call up to fuck are funny. Or romantic. I’m not ignorant either. They are glorified prostitutes. I’m a hypocrite fucking them, but I have Marco do extensive background checks on each woman I bring in.
They give their bodies by choice, not because anyone forces them into it, or because they have bills to pay.
“You’ll see. When they–”
“Let me guess. You’re the type of person who talks through the entire movie asking questions, ruining the plot, and making your predictions known.”
“Wow. Aren’t you grumpy? If it pisses you off that much, we can watch one of your mafia movies.” She picks up the remote and continues scrolling again.
“If a romantic comedy is the way to your heart, then that’s what we’ll watch.”
Holy fuck. My men better not be within listening distance. If they are, they better have heard the sarcasm and my reluctance to cave to Gia. Even though I don’t fight it too hard.
The end result will be worth it. I’ve been fighting back my sexual needs for days, but I can only last so long. I made progress today in my office. She’s craving sex just as much as I am. Or almost. I can smell her want. Her need. I can see the desire in her eyes.
She claims it’s the joy she finds in pushing my buttons, but there is more to it. I can tell when a woman wants me. I’m not vain. I’m not narcissistic. I know I have a sex appeal women fall for. If I didn’t have it, I would have had to master my charm to get inside a woman’s panties.
Thankfully I don’t need to work on my personality.
Until Gia. She fights me off with every ounce of willpower she has. A woman with her natural beauty and sex appeal who needs no help from surgeons or makeup artists should understand what it’s like to have people falling at your feet.
Maybe she’s tired of it too. The easy sex. Maybe this is her foreplay. Playing hard to get. The chase. It isn’t what I’m into, but neither is watching romantic comedies or eating pizza from my lap or drinking wine samples at my vineyard.
And neither is marriage.
Only, the marriage is a farce. A means to an end. One more step toward my goal. A goal that I get closer and closer to every day.
***
“Your legs are longer than mine. I ran faster though,” Gia whines between breaths.
She surprised me this morning by showing up in my office in her running clothes, challenging me to a race of endurance.
“I believe you said this wasn’t a sprint but a nice leisurely run around the vineyard.”
“I figured you’d have trails. I hadn’t anticipated the rocky ground or dodging vines and wheelbarrows. You should put in a path along the edge that leads down to the water.”
“Sore loser, I see.”
“It wasn’t a race.” She swats at my chest.
I took off my sweatshirt and T-shirt a mile into our run, and she ditched her top, running in a sports bra and leggings. I deserve a fucking medal for not dropping her the ground and fucking her brains out down by the shore.
I watch as a bead of sweat falls from her neck and makes a river in between her breasts. We walk the final half-mile to cool down, stopping at the pool house for a bottle of water. I put on a clean shirt and sweatshirt from the closet, and we make our way back to the house.
“Shall we do a treadmill challenge next time?”
“Boring. Only when it’s cold and rainy out.”
“Don’t think you could keep up?”
“Please.” She snorts and hip-checks me.
I like how free she feels around me now. Although, her behavior will have to change in public. It’s okay for her to be more relaxed in the safety of my home and around my staff. When I take her out, when I need her to play a part in my plan, she’ll have to be prepared.
“I can think of a hundred other challenges I’d like to take on with you.” I pin her to the archway with my gaze.
Her breath hitches as her amber eyes lift to mine. I lean into her, placing my hands on the wall above her head. She looks so small and helpless. No, not helpless. That’s the Gia from last week.
This morning, she’s red and sweaty, and on fire. She licks her lips in invitation, but I don’t want her mouth. I want to fuck.
Someone clears their throat, which has me glaring over my shoulder and Gia ducking under my arms.
“I apologize, sir. I sent you a message when he arrived.” Tio nods toward the inside of my office where Father Paul Michael sits, watching.
I fumble for the pocket of my running shorts and take out my phone. Sure enough, Tio has left two voicemails and four texts. Somehow, I missed them. My ringer is on and the phone is set to vibrate as well. Running, laughing, and teasing Gia distracted me from hearing it.
Not good.
“Father Paul Michael. I wasn’t expecting you until later.” I reach for Gia’s hand—something new to me yet I do it out of instinct—and step into my office.
“One of my parishioners passed away last night and the family is in need of my prayers. I apologize for coming so early.”
“We were out for a run.” Gia covers her sports bra with her hands. Not exactly the appropriate attire for meeting a priest. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
I hand her my sweatshirt. She thanks me with her eyes and slips it on. I immediately miss all the skin but seeing her in my clothes has my stomach tightening.
“Father Paul Michael, Rocco has told me much about you and your church.”
I give her a sideways glance. I’ve done no such thing. She tugs me to the chair across from the priest and wedges herself in it with me. The leather chairs are large, big enough for two small people to squeeze in, but I’m not small.
I don’t mind having her body pressed up against me, even if it is only from hip to knee, and we have a priest interviewing us. She keeps our hands interlocked and moves them to her lap. If I stretch out my fingers and shift our hands two inches to the north, I’d be able to feel her pussy. I’m not that much of an asshole, but the thought does cross my mind.
Found me. Maybe she does know of the farce. “He’s a bit uppity but I’ve been working on it. I’ve found his buttons and have had fun pushing them.” I squeeze his hand and am disappointed when he doesn’t squeeze back.
Elena barks out a laugh. “I like you. And I’m glad the clothes fit. Shopping isn’t my thing. Rocco assumed since I have breasts I enjoy that type of thing. He didn’t allow me to shop off the list. I hope I did okay?”
“You’re the one who bought all those clothes? And shoes?”
“With his plastic.” Elena pats Stone on the back.
“It all makes sense now.”
“What does?” Stone asks.
“My wardrobe is incredibly impractical, especially for living on a vineyard. I don’t plan on running through the vineyard in these heels for the next two–” I stumbled over my words. “Um, two hundred years.”
“You have nothing but the best.”
I roll my eyes and turn to Elena. “That rod is so far up his ass.”
Elena laughs again, this time tears coming out of her eyes. “Oh, I like you.”
“I mean, where are my sweatpants? Oversize sweatshirts? Does he really expect me to wear fancy lingerie every night? Come on...where’s the comfort in that?”
“No,” Stone growls behind me. “I expect you to sleep naked.”
My cheeks burn, as do Elena’s. “And on that note, I must get back to work. Grab a seat and I’ll bring you a bottle. The usual?” she asks Stone.
“I’d love to do a tasting. A flight of five?” I point to the chalkboard sign behind the bar.
“I have bottles of every wine up at the house.”
“That’s nice.” I pat Stone’s chest and slip my hand from his. “I’d like a flight. Mixes of reds and whites, is that okay?”
“That’s more than okay. Would you like a meat and cheese plate as well?”
I eye the small food menu. “Just a veggie plate, please.”
Elena snickers on her way back to the bar.
“I knew this was a mistake,” Stone mumbles as he pulls me through the tasting room and out the doors to the patio.
The outside is just as cute as the inside. Cute isn’t a word I thought I’d use for Stone’s winery, but it is. There are just enough people to make it a happening spot, but not so many where I feel crowded. I don’t miss the curious stares by many.
“You don’t need to put on a show for Elena.” He pulls out a chair for me.
“I’m not. I like her. She’s nothing like you.”
Stone sniffs. Or laughs. I can’t tell. “You are too much alike.”
“Which is what made you fall helplessly in love with me and led to you asking me to marry you out here on the patio while sipping from a flight of your wines.”
Elena delivers our wine and vegetables, adding a small plate of cheese for Stone. “We’re super busy tonight, and now that you two are here, I can’t imagine the crowd dying out any time soon. If you need a refill, Stone can get it. It was nice meeting you, Gia. I’ll see you at the wedding.”
She’s off before I can reply. “She doesn’t know, does she?”
“Elena? No. She doesn’t know about...anything.”
“Tell me about her.” I pick up the first glass of white and read the description of the wine and flavors.
I sip, nibbling on a celery stick and some of Stone’s cheese while he tells me about Elena. They played together a lot as young children, then their fathers had a disagreement and stopped talking. They hadn’t talked for six years. Not until his parents’ and sister’s funerals. And not again until two years ago when he asked her to run Parlatore Wines.
“Why did you stop running this? It’s beautiful.”
“Elena’s doing. She tore down what I had and made it more modern. She wanted to appeal to a younger crowd. It was a good business choice.”
“Since you’re not busy with the day-to-day work here, you have more time to...”
“Find you.”
I pick up the fourth glass of wine and drink. The rich red has sharp notes of cinnamon and coffee. “That could be a great line for Father Paul Michael, but it kinda sounds a little stalkerish.”
“Searching. Not stalking.”
I point a carrot at him. “Searching, then stalking. Then kidnapping.”
“Minor details.” He sips from his glass of chianti.
I laugh. It’s the first time Stone has said something funny, twisted as it may be. For the first time, a genuine smile curves his lips. I swear the patio grows silent as I get lost in those sexy-as-sin eyes and the beautiful lips that promise they can make me forget all about my troubles.
It’s too much. Too powerful. If one little smile can make my panties get in a twist, chances are he can do things to me I’ve only dreamed about getting from my book boyfriends. I’m in big trouble. I see the heat in his eyes, and I have no doubt he notices how my nipples harden in response.
Even though his gaze hasn’t dipped lower than my mouth, he can tell. Hell, he could tell I was wet for him an hour ago without even touching me. Well, without touching me there.
Needing to break the spell, I hold my wine glass close to my chest and sit back in my chair. “Okay, tell me more about Rocco ‘Stone’ Parlatore. When you’re not stalking and kidnapping, what else do you do for fun?”
And just like that the chemistry is gone. Back is the serious man who hides behind hooded eyes, harsh words, and fancy suits.
“I have no time for fun.”
“That’s not the kind of man I’d marry. Father Paul Michael will see that about me. What is it we do when you’re not busy doing your secret mission mafia stuff?”
“I’m not in the mafia,” he bites out under his breath.
Okay. I touched a sore spot there. “You have mafia vibes.” Buttons. Pushed. It’s the only way to get him to open up.
“I’m. Not. Mafia.”
“That’s good.” I finish the wine and set the empty glass down. “I’d never marry into the mafia. Our priest would see that too.”
Stone’s shoulders are stiff, as are the lines in his face.
I lean forward and nudge my vegetable platter toward him. “You know that rod I was telling your cousin about? It’s back. Have some broccoli. It’s high in fiber.”
He angles his head slightly to the left. Yay! A sign of life.
“Lighten up, dude. You’re causing a scene. Eat something besides cheese. It’s binding.” I can’t believe I just said that, but it did the trick. It isn’t a full-fledged grin, but the eyebrow quirk and the corner of his lips lift for half a second. Maybe less.
“I enjoy running.” He pushes the plate back to me.
“For real?”
He narrows his eyes before picking up his glass again. “For real.”
“I do too. Maybe some morning we can run the trails around here. I assume you have running trails?”
“I have a treadmill in my gym.”
“You have a gym? I wouldn’t know because my host is a rude bastardo and makes me go exploring on my own.”
Stone does his sniff laugh thing and rests his elbows on the table. Such improper manners for the polished suit. Another point for me.
“It’s in the pool house.”
“You have a pool? How did I miss that?”
“And a jacuzzi,” he adds, the heat returning to his gaze.
“Tell me you have a movie theater and that’ll be how you win my eternal love. Father Paul Michael will absolutely give us his blessing if you promise me a pool and a theater.”
A third chuckle in less than an hour. It is nice to see Stone loosen up, especially if I have to spend the next two years with him.
“It’s not a theater, but I have a large screen, a state-of-the-art surround sound system, and reclining seats.
“Microwave popcorn and root beer floats?”
“Root beer floats?”
“Mama and I discovered them when living in Tennessee. They’re amazing. Trust me.”
His smile softens. “I do, Gia.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
What the hell am I doing? I have no right getting friendly with Gia. I don’t miss the side glances and the obvious gawkers from the patrons on the patio as we drink and talk. And laugh. Gia has done what she set out to do and made me crack.
Only Elena can do that, and even then, it isn’t often. She constantly complains about me being too serious. Had she witnessed what I’ve witnessed and lived my life, she’d be serious too. Or dead.
She had been at university in France when I was at my lowest. Or highest, depending how I looked at it. Learning to bury my emotions and how to kill were skills I mastered from my uncle. The only good in him was keeping his life of crime away from Elena and promising to teach me what I needed to know to get my vengeance.
Uncle Sal may have been close to Lorenzo’s level of evil, but he loved his brother and his daughter. When my father was killed, he took me under his wing and taught me his business, and when he saw the life of crime was not in my blood, he promised to set me free, but only after I fought by his side until he took over his biggest enemy’s territory.
I paid my dues and walked away nearly unscathed. Uncle Sal and his men, however, were overrun and were killed in the massacre. Making good on his promise, Sal had made provisions for Elena, keeping her distanced from his business. For the most part, she’s unaware of the level of crimes her father had committed, and my role in any of it.
Gia, on the other hand, has her own share of demons she fled from. They didn’t disappear when she ran, and still haunt her.
My vendetta against Lorenzo isn’t for her, but she’ll benefit just as much as I. Maybe not just as much since I’ll be stripping away her fortune and will have the satisfaction of eliminating the monster who’s haunted my dreams for the past decade.
As quickly as my thoughts go to revenge, Gia says something to pull me back to the now. Her jokes, her mission to push my buttons, have been more fun than I expected, which is how I find myself in the recliner next to her in my home theater eating pizza from a plate in my lap and sipping on root beer floats.
Marco is paid well not to ask questions, but I could read the shock in his eyes when I asked him to bring us to a pizzeria while I sent him to the store to search for root beer and ice cream. By the time he came back, our order had been ready.
Gia insisted we go back to the house to eat, which is ironic since she’s been complaining about feeling trapped in her gilded cage, as she likes to call it.
“Since I’m the guest I get to pick the movie.” She holds the remote in one hand and a slice of mushroom and green pepper pizza in the other.
We couldn’t agree on toppings, so I ordered two pizzas. Classic pepperoni for me and the fungus and rabbit food for her. It has been a long time since I’ve had pizza, and an even longer time since I lounged in the theater room, as Gia refers to it, watching a movie.
To me, it’s just another living space. It happens to have a floor to ceiling screen and three rows of recliners. Fifteen of my closest friends and family can watch together. Only I have no family. And I have no friends.
“Oh, I love this movie.” She stops scrolling and turns up the volume. Whatever she picks will be new to me. I don’t waste my time staring at a wall watching fictional lives play out. The only reason I caved tonight is because of our meeting with the priest tomorrow.
Lying to him will be impossible, which is why Gia insists we go through the motions tonight. And if I’m being honest, it isn’t as tortuous as I expected it to be.
“Have you seen it before?”
“No,” I answer without looking up at the screen.
“It’s a classic. Julia Roberts is phenomenal in all her movies, but Pretty Woman is hands down my favorite.”
“I take it it’s not a drama or action adventure?”
“Romantic comedy.”
“Wonderful,” I groan.
“She’s a prostitute and he’s a billionaire who hired her for the night. But then he hires her for the weekend and then they–”
“A movie about a prostitute doesn’t sound like a romantic comedy.” None of the women I call up to fuck are funny. Or romantic. I’m not ignorant either. They are glorified prostitutes. I’m a hypocrite fucking them, but I have Marco do extensive background checks on each woman I bring in.
They give their bodies by choice, not because anyone forces them into it, or because they have bills to pay.
“You’ll see. When they–”
“Let me guess. You’re the type of person who talks through the entire movie asking questions, ruining the plot, and making your predictions known.”
“Wow. Aren’t you grumpy? If it pisses you off that much, we can watch one of your mafia movies.” She picks up the remote and continues scrolling again.
“If a romantic comedy is the way to your heart, then that’s what we’ll watch.”
Holy fuck. My men better not be within listening distance. If they are, they better have heard the sarcasm and my reluctance to cave to Gia. Even though I don’t fight it too hard.
The end result will be worth it. I’ve been fighting back my sexual needs for days, but I can only last so long. I made progress today in my office. She’s craving sex just as much as I am. Or almost. I can smell her want. Her need. I can see the desire in her eyes.
She claims it’s the joy she finds in pushing my buttons, but there is more to it. I can tell when a woman wants me. I’m not vain. I’m not narcissistic. I know I have a sex appeal women fall for. If I didn’t have it, I would have had to master my charm to get inside a woman’s panties.
Thankfully I don’t need to work on my personality.
Until Gia. She fights me off with every ounce of willpower she has. A woman with her natural beauty and sex appeal who needs no help from surgeons or makeup artists should understand what it’s like to have people falling at your feet.
Maybe she’s tired of it too. The easy sex. Maybe this is her foreplay. Playing hard to get. The chase. It isn’t what I’m into, but neither is watching romantic comedies or eating pizza from my lap or drinking wine samples at my vineyard.
And neither is marriage.
Only, the marriage is a farce. A means to an end. One more step toward my goal. A goal that I get closer and closer to every day.
***
“Your legs are longer than mine. I ran faster though,” Gia whines between breaths.
She surprised me this morning by showing up in my office in her running clothes, challenging me to a race of endurance.
“I believe you said this wasn’t a sprint but a nice leisurely run around the vineyard.”
“I figured you’d have trails. I hadn’t anticipated the rocky ground or dodging vines and wheelbarrows. You should put in a path along the edge that leads down to the water.”
“Sore loser, I see.”
“It wasn’t a race.” She swats at my chest.
I took off my sweatshirt and T-shirt a mile into our run, and she ditched her top, running in a sports bra and leggings. I deserve a fucking medal for not dropping her the ground and fucking her brains out down by the shore.
I watch as a bead of sweat falls from her neck and makes a river in between her breasts. We walk the final half-mile to cool down, stopping at the pool house for a bottle of water. I put on a clean shirt and sweatshirt from the closet, and we make our way back to the house.
“Shall we do a treadmill challenge next time?”
“Boring. Only when it’s cold and rainy out.”
“Don’t think you could keep up?”
“Please.” She snorts and hip-checks me.
I like how free she feels around me now. Although, her behavior will have to change in public. It’s okay for her to be more relaxed in the safety of my home and around my staff. When I take her out, when I need her to play a part in my plan, she’ll have to be prepared.
“I can think of a hundred other challenges I’d like to take on with you.” I pin her to the archway with my gaze.
Her breath hitches as her amber eyes lift to mine. I lean into her, placing my hands on the wall above her head. She looks so small and helpless. No, not helpless. That’s the Gia from last week.
This morning, she’s red and sweaty, and on fire. She licks her lips in invitation, but I don’t want her mouth. I want to fuck.
Someone clears their throat, which has me glaring over my shoulder and Gia ducking under my arms.
“I apologize, sir. I sent you a message when he arrived.” Tio nods toward the inside of my office where Father Paul Michael sits, watching.
I fumble for the pocket of my running shorts and take out my phone. Sure enough, Tio has left two voicemails and four texts. Somehow, I missed them. My ringer is on and the phone is set to vibrate as well. Running, laughing, and teasing Gia distracted me from hearing it.
Not good.
“Father Paul Michael. I wasn’t expecting you until later.” I reach for Gia’s hand—something new to me yet I do it out of instinct—and step into my office.
“One of my parishioners passed away last night and the family is in need of my prayers. I apologize for coming so early.”
“We were out for a run.” Gia covers her sports bra with her hands. Not exactly the appropriate attire for meeting a priest. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
I hand her my sweatshirt. She thanks me with her eyes and slips it on. I immediately miss all the skin but seeing her in my clothes has my stomach tightening.
“Father Paul Michael, Rocco has told me much about you and your church.”
I give her a sideways glance. I’ve done no such thing. She tugs me to the chair across from the priest and wedges herself in it with me. The leather chairs are large, big enough for two small people to squeeze in, but I’m not small.
I don’t mind having her body pressed up against me, even if it is only from hip to knee, and we have a priest interviewing us. She keeps our hands interlocked and moves them to her lap. If I stretch out my fingers and shift our hands two inches to the north, I’d be able to feel her pussy. I’m not that much of an asshole, but the thought does cross my mind.
