From the Baroness’s Diary III

Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

I can tell by the way her cheeks turn pink that she was not expecting this: me. But though she is undoubtedly surprised, what is that I see? Her eyes cloud, her pulse shudders in her throat. Is that a little lust, too?

I know she is conflicted by finding me here and I wonder what she is thinking.

“Principessa?” Salvatore questions, his glance volleying between us. The heat in the kitchen has risen a thousand degrees. “So, you two are already acquainted?”

“Non,” she blurts. “Well, yes, actually.”

Unable to meet my stare, she entwines her fingers in front of herself and looks down at the floor so intently I wonder if she is counting how many tiles it takes to pave the kitchen. Is she suppressing a resurgence of desire?

I thought I had enough p***y to last me a lifetime. But when I saw her…Dio mio! When she fell into my arms, I knew I had to have her. And a few days after, when I heard her friend saying my brother’s name, the pieces clicked in the puzzle and I knew why: she is the one.

Over the years, sharing a woman became sparse but it has always been a favorite way of mine and Salvatore, our escape, our little slice of paradise. We can’t help ourselves. It might be in our blood.

The moment I laid my eyes on Fleur…Chloé…mia principessa, the moment she spoke in her delicious French accent, I knew I was done. But I didn’t know she was Salvatore’s woman until our last night together. And even then when I did have s*x with her it was not in spite of that but because of that.

I wanted her even more when I knew she was Salvatore’s.

And because I felt—still feel—an inexplicable attraction to her. It is more than the cliché of a butterfly attracted to a flame, it’s as if I can breathe easier when she is around. As if the boulder which weighs my heart is not here when she is around.

I bet she didn’t explain any of what happened between us to Salvatore, or anyone else. Perhaps she may have mentioned it to her friend, but I am doubting that. Our little Chloé has secrets. Secrets she keeps only to herself and I can see how much these secrets weigh on her. It’s in her eyes.

Salvatore raises an eyebrow as Chloé’s face turns a bright shade of red.

“We met. Before, briefly,” she sputters, and I can tell she is desperately trying to figure out if I am going to tell my brother about our tryst or not.

Of course, I will, and it will not be a problem. In fact, much to the contrary.

But she does not know that yet.

And it’s fun to see her squirm here, just the way she did when I had my tongue inside her.

“Yes. We met…where was it, Principessa?” I ask her, teasing her by pretending to think about it.

“In Mario’s house,” she murmurs, then manages a smile at Salvatore. “Your brother was very kind to me when I turned on my feet and stumbled.”

Sí. I suppose I’d been very kind to her.

Salvatore gives me an inquisitive look. He knows my brand of kindness with ladies, and it is not quite offering encouraging words or bandaging sore knees or hurt feet.

“I’ll take her upstairs,” I say to Salvatore, hopefully letting him know I am more than okay with Chloé being here.

She is easier to read than I initially previewed, there are so many conflicting feelings inside her and they all show on her face, so many feelings to do with me—and Salvatore, and who knows, hopefully in time with Angelo, too—and no ability to put them into words.

As she continues to stare—no, gawk—at me, I feel a corner of my mouth turning up in amusement and I decide to take her out of her misery.

I guide her toward her room, a room that has never been occupied before by any woman since my mother moved to a smaller house behind this one, saying she had too many memories here.

It’s upstairs on the second floor of our house and situated between my room and Salvatore’s. It’s the biggest room of our house. Angelo also has access to it by a private hall from his own room, but since Salvatore and I were never certain about Angelo’s reaction to our idea, we never modified the original blueprints.

I enter the rooms through the sitting room door, which connects the hall to her room, and I show her the en-suite bathroom and the dressing room. It’s all spacious and airy, the bathroom done in Carrara marble and the dressing room in maple wood.

“They’ll be hauling up your belongings. Perhaps you’ll take refuge in the bedroom until they’re finished?”

“Oh, oui. Definitely. If I stay here, I’ll only be in the way.”

I lead her through another door to what I hope will be her bedroom—our bedroom—and shut it behind us just as Anna is bringing up the first load of her bags with a dark scowl on her face.

But I don’t give the teenager a second look because I don’t have eyes for anyone but Chloé.

I lock the door and turn to her, eyes intent. “So…Fleur.”

“Let’s not do this.”

I try to make myself look innocent, widening my eyes but I know exactly what she’s talking about. “Do what?”

She rolls her eyes at me. “My maiden name is Chloé de la Fleur.”

“I already know that.” But I still don’t know why she was using her maiden name, so I insist, “Who are you afraid of?”

“Men who don’t tell me the truth.”

Ah. Smart girl. She has turned the tables on me. “I didn’t know you were Chloé…at least, not in the beginning. On our last day, sì, I made the connection. But the question still remains.”

“Is that why you spanked me?” she deflects.

“No.” And it’s not a lie, but not the whole truth. “I did it because I wanted and because I knew it would be so good.”

“I—”

“So f*****g good.” I lean close to her, breathing in her hair. Inhaling her. I know I’m acting like a caveman, but Dio, I can’t seem to control myself around her. And she doesn’t seem to care also. That makes it all the better. More primal. More real. “Maybe I should spank you again.”

She glances at me like she’s never seen me before. Like I am a lion hiding in the tall grass. And maybe she is right. By the time the gazelle sees me, it’s too late. For the gazelle and for Chloé.

She’s beautiful. Long, thick chestnut hair, wide cinnamon eyes, perfect smooth pale skin, with pouty red lips, and sì, cazzo! full breasts and a very nice round ass.

The whole f*****g package.

She’s got the kind of curves I would have died to touch when I was a younger man but didn’t know how to handle. And even having sold my soul to the devil, I lost the woman.

Now?

Ah.

Since Amalia left me, I have been dedicating myself to know how to pleasure such women and how to get them in line and take my pleasure from them in return. While all this goes through my mind, my eyes devour her.

I recall how I felt inside her, how she squeezed me, driving me to loftier heights.

I can feel her even now.

And I want her. I can’t possibly wait.

She steps back. “In Mario’s house, I…kind of understand. But now, here? You would do that with your brother downstairs?”

“Why not?” I shrug and stalk her.

“What would you say if I told you I spent the last few hours making love to your brother, that I love him?”

I smile and smooth a hand over her hair. “I’d say it makes me pretty damn happy.”

She gives me a look of utter disbelief. “Happy? I’m acting like some kind of…slut…and you…and that makes you happy?”

I scowl at her. “I won’t tolerate you talking about yourself that way.”

She looks down, avoiding my gaze. “That I am a…slut?”

“That’s the last time you will refer to yourself in this way.”

I hesitate a second, almost explaining it all to her, but no.

“Take off your dress, Principessa,” I say, palming my already hard c**k through my pants. “I need it bad. I can’t wait much longer.”

“But—”

“Now,” I order in my most dominant voice.

I can tell she is confused, not only by my words, but also by her feelings. I wish I could explain it all to her, but I am not good with words, that’s Salvatore’s talent.

Plus, I don’t normally talk about myself. I don’t like digging too deeply into the reasons why or into the past. I’m the kind of man that lives for the present and tries to enjoy every moment.

She runs trembling fingers to the end of her dress, as if wondering if she has an alternative.

I almost laugh at the conflict on her face but this is for her own good. Once she knows she has to obey me, everything is better. I’m being a jerk, I know, but she’ll understand it all soon.

“Quick, Principessa,” I tell her. “Before my brother comes to see what is taking us so long.”

I don’t know what it is about her that gets not only Salvatore, but also me—and Angelo—interested. Because Angelo may say whatever he wants, I know my little brother. One look and he is a goner. That is why he reacted the way he did when he saw her in the kitchen.

Now that she is here…

Whatever my plans are, they are totally forgotten as she doesn’t obey my command and just looks around and then crosses her arms over her chest, making me salivate.

“Distracted, Principessa?” I ask her, gaining her attention. “When I am in the room, your attention has to focus on me.”

“You think too much of yourself.” She raises her chin. “I am not distracted. I am simply not doing anything with you.”

Oh. But I love a feisty woman. A woman who knows what she wants and has no fear to defend her point of view.

Dio. If I was hard before now I am in pain.

The Di Luca Villa is bound to catch fire again.