Ache For You

37

At the mention of her name, Cornelia whimpers quietly from under the table. I swear that giant dog is nothing but a giant wimp.

“I’m sure we’ll make do.” The marchesa picks up her fork and resumes eating.

When it becomes obvious that was the end of the conversation, I say, “Okay, then. Great talk.”

Fuming, I leave the dining room and head straight to the kitchen. I know there are soups, stews, and all kinds of other food brought over by Papa’s friends, but right now I need something else. I rummage through the cabinets until I find what I’m looking for, then grab a bottle of whiskey and pour myself a drink.

What could Papa have seen in her? She’s so cold! Sleeping with her would be like sleeping with an ice block! Inside an igloo! In the middle of a blizzard in Antarctica!

I finish the drink and pour myself another. I can’t believe she didn’t ask me a single question. No How long will you be staying? No What’s your plan for the business? No nothing!

Actually that might be better. I mull it over, finally deciding that yes, it will definitely be better if she doesn’t ask questions. She obviously doesn’t want to get to know me, and I definitely don’t want to get to know her. We’ll just stay out of each other’s hair. I can do my thing and she can do hers.

Whatever her thing might be. Probably casting evil spells on the villagers.

“Working late, were you?”

Matteo strolls into the kitchen, smirking, looking like a god in a perfectly fitted midnight-blue suit and white dress shirt open at the collar.

“None of your business.” I wish I knew a few of his mother’s evil spells. I’d give him a hairy wart on the end of his nose and a hump on his back to tear down that ego a few notches.

Standing next to the wooden table, he slowly unbuttons his suit jacket, casually fingering it open until it parts under his hand. He slides it off, drapes it over the back of a chair, unhooks his cuff links, sets them on the table, and rolls up the cuffs of his shirt, staring at me the whole time.

I can’t look away. It’s like porn. You know you shouldn’t watch it, but you can’t stop.

Tailored suits were made for bodies like his. Everything about him is elegant, proportionate, finely made. He’s muscular but not overly so, strong but not bulky. His skin is golden and poreless. It looks airbrushed. He’s got cheekbones even Jenner would be jealous of, and a jawline so sharp it could cut glass.

The man is haute couture.

And my God, those eyes. Achingly blue, hauntingly sensual, they’re the kind of eyes a woman never forgets. The kind of eyes you could drown in.

The kind of eyes that could ruin your life.

I guzzle the rest of my drink, coughing when the fumes sear my nose. “You need to start having these cheerful little family dinners at your house.”

“Oh? Is that what I need?”

Smiling like he has a secret, Matteo strolls over to the cupboard, gets a glass, and pours himself a measure of whiskey. Then he leans against the counter and gazes at me, all lord of the manor and king of the hill, setting every nerve I own on edge.

“I don’t want to have to deal with you every time I get home from work.”

“Deal with me? Interesting choice of words. Brings to mind some kind of punishment.”

When his smile turns smoldering, I’ve had enough.

I set my glass down with a clatter on the counter and level him my most lethal look. “I don’t want you here, all right? Is that clear enough for you? I don’t like you, I don’t trust you, and I want you to stay out of my house.”

The fleeting frown that crosses his face is quickly replaced by a sharky smile that would make his mother proud. “Perhaps we can negotiate.”

I sigh heavily, overwhelmed by so many different emotions I can’t pick one to focus on. I’m a melting pot of feelings. I’m goo. “Please. Just go. I can’t do this right now.”

His look sharpens. “What’s wrong? Did something happen today?”

Is he kidding? “Leave,” I say firmly, staring him down.

“You haven’t heard my offer yet.”

I’m about to stupidly ask, “What offer?” but snap my mouth closed just in time. I fold my arms over my chest and clamp my lips together.

Matteo drifts closer, swirling his drink. “But I suppose if you’re not interested in getting your sketch pad back, we can forget about it.”

I freeze. My neck goes hot, the flush slowly creeping up into my face. “You already said you’re using my designs in your new collection, so it doesn’t make a difference if I get the sketch pad back or not.”

“Is that what I said?” His gaze is piercing. The faintest of smiles plays at the corners of his lips.

He’s toying with me, like a cat with a mouse.

Except I’m no mouse. I’m a motherfucking lion.

“I’m not playing this game with you,” I say, staring him right in the eye. “I’ve had enough of your bullshit. I want you to get the hell out of my house and stay out. If you don’t, I’ll call the police. I own this property. Not your mother, me. If I don’t want you here, that means you’re trespassing.”

He’s still for a moment, just looking at me, then he exhales. With quiet intensity, he says, “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?”

My laugh is small and bitter. “I have a lot of experience with lying playboys. You can take your fake compliment and stick it up your ass with your fake kiss.”

His jaw flexes. He says something in Italian, his voice husky, his eyes on my mouth.