Venice Nights (5 page)

And if she was here now, she’d make walking through the door a little easier
, I thought glumly, gripping Jacob’s arm as an older gentleman opened the back door.

The man before us was barely five feet tall and probably a hundred pounds soaking wet, but he held himself like a gladiator about to make his name in the coliseum. He was dressed modestly in a t-shirt and vest, tufts of gray hair sticking out from his newsboy cap.

“
Signor
Whitmore.” His gravelly voice matched his tough exterior, but his fierce, sun weathered face softened as his lips spread into a grin. “Everything is ready for you.”

“
Grazie
, Giancarlo,” Jacob said, returning the smile. He looked down at me, blue pools caressing my nerves until I stopped shaking. “This is my Leila.”

My Leila
. My cheeks burning with a heat that left no part of me untouched.

Giancarlo removed his hat, nodding. “
Signorina
. Giancarlo Fignorino, at your service.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” I said softly, still tingling from the way Jacob turned my name into the sweetest thing I had ever heard.

“Shall we?”

Jacob held the door for us, and I followed Giancarlo into the restaurant. The smell of baking bread wrapped around me like a warm blanket, and I inhaled, taking off my shades.

“It smells delicious,” I said, mouth watering. We stepped into the kitchen. The cook acknowledged us with a slight nod, then went back to work. The kitchen was rustic with a charm that reminded me of the simplicity of my grandmother’s kitchen. It was welcoming. Relaxing. I knew every dish that was served was made with care and heart.

Giancarlo stopped beside the oven, cutting into a slice of bread wrapped in a towel. He brought it over to me.

“For you.”

I brought it to my lips and took a bite, rosemary and butter colliding on my tastebuds. I let out a moan that summed up how delicious it was, better than any words could have.

“Careful—you’ll make me jealous,” Jacob joked.

“Try this.” I held it to his lips.

He took a bite, chewing it slowly. When he finished, he nodded in agreement. “We’ll take a loaf of that.”

“
Benissimo
,” Giancarlo said. He turned to the cook and spoke a few words before leading us out into the dining room.

It was as quaint as the kitchen. It was not like we were at a restaurant at all, but guests at Giancarlo’s home. I looked at the other patrons, all enjoying their meals and chattering excitedly. I relaxed, glad I left the house.

“This is nice,” I said softly as Giancarlo pulled out a chair for me.

“I wouldn’t steer you wrong,” Jacob said smoothly. He picked up the bottle of red wine at the center of the table and poured it into my glass. He wisely filled it as much as possible while allowing it room to breathe.

I settled in my seat, preparing to remove my scarf. Glad for a little bit of normal. But a flash of light sliced through the moment, reminding me that we could not enjoy a meal out, even here.

Giancarlo’s face darkened with anger as he excused himself and stormed out the front door. He stared down every single one off them, even though the jerkiest of the bunch still had their cameras going, ignoring the terse words he spat at them.

The older man came back inside the restaurant, a weary look on his face. “I’m sorry. They can’t come indoors, but I can’t stop them from taking the pictures from outside.”

“It’s all right, Giancarlo,” Jacob said, taking a tight sip of his wine. “We just want to enjoy our meal. We’re sorry to inconvenience you.”

“You are no inconvenience,” Giancarlo said furtively. “I will check on your bread.”

I gulped down the wine, ignoring the droplets that spilled down my chin. I focused on the body of the wine. I squeezed my eyes shut, like that would make it go away.

I popped a single eye open when the flow stopped. I had run out of wine. I put the glass down and reached for the bottle, my hand trembling. Jacob covered my shaking hand with his steady one, his voice low and comforting.

“Let me.”

He poured the remainder of the wine in my glass and signaled for a second bottle.

I looked at the tablecloth, my cheeks burning as dark as the merlot. “I probably shouldn’t. It’s not even five.”

“Nonsense,” he interrupted. “This is Venice. The appropriate time to drink is whenever you feel the urge.”

I tucked a rebel tendril back beneath my scarf. “That could be...dangerous.”

When I finally met his eyes, I knew that he saw right through my sad effort to pretend I was okay.

“Are you ready to be honest with me?”

I licked my dry lips, cringing inwardly at the slice of pain as my tongue hit the chapped surface. I tried to sit up a little taller, fighting to keep eye contact with him and not the window behind him. The photographers were still clicking away.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” I said, gripping the arms of my chair.

“You’re not nearly as good a liar as you think, Leila.” Jacob stroked the stem of his wine glass, lighting an erotic fire in my belly. I wanted to surrender to that—anything but the truth. But Jacob was not letting me off so easy.

“I know you’re stressed out about the paparazzi. What I don’t know is why you won’t talk to me about it.”

“Right,” I scoffed at that. “What do you want me to say, Jacob? That I’m paranoid? Trapped in a constant state of nervousness?”

“Sure.”

I jutted out my chin. “I don’t want to talk about who weak I am or how crazy this is making me.” I pulled the knot that held my curly locks at bay, tossing the silk onto the table with disgust. What was the point? They knew who I was.

I unbuttoned my coat, angrily pulling my arms free. “You’re not fazed by any of this. What good is moaning and complaining?”

“Because this is as big a culture shock to you as going to a foreign country,” he replied, leaning back in his chair. “You shouldn’t be ashamed, Leila. Hell, if you didn’t go a little crazy with all of this, I would have been a little leery. There’s a certain kind of person that thrives under nonstop attention—and that’s not the kind of person I’m interested in sharing my life with.”

My lips worked, but no words came out. I was genuinely surprised he wasn’t giving me the ‘man up’ speech.

He leaned back in his seat. “My earliest memory of the paparazzi is going shopping with my mother.” He paused, eyes flitting to the tablecloth like he had second thoughts about a walk down Memory Lane before he focused back on me.

Always the pillar of strength. Ready to take anyone or anything on.

“The nanny was sick, and my father was out of the country, so she had no choice but to bring me along,” he continued. “I had my coloring books, so I was good to go. It was even a little fun, watching how happy it made her the more stops we made. The way her face brightened when she stood in front of the mirror and took her reflection in.

When we left the last store, there were a group for men with cameras, creating a barrier between us and the car. The driver was out, trying to make his way to us, but there were too many photographers. I gripped my mother’s hand just as a question rang out above the others: Where’s Carlton, Alicia? Is he with one of his whores?”

I shook my head with disgust. “I’m so sorry Jacob.” We were in the publicity business, and paps who went too far were part of the package—it still didn’t make those that forgot about the innocents on the other end of their harassment any less of an asshole.

He shrugged a shoulder, almost selling the nonchalance, but I knew him. Despite his act of indifference, I saw that the experience scarred him.

“I was only six or seven, but I was afraid. It’s natural to be afraid that those flashes reveal things you don’t want to be revealed. They peer into dark places that you’d rather not bring to light.” He let out a bitter laugh. “And there are some photogs who would sell their kidney for a top dollar shot.” He reached for my hand. “I am truly sorry that you can’t enjoy your time here without wearing a disguise.”

“Well, eventually they’ll find something more interesting than me stuffing my face with food, right?” I said with a weak smile.

“Absolutely,” he said firmly. “It will get better, Leila.”

I clung to his hand, wanting to believe it. Needing to believe it.

Chapter Six

I stood at a safe distance from the windows, clutching my jacket tight around my body.

Jacob came back inside, locking the door behind him. “All’s clear.”

I eyeballed him skeptically. “There’s no photographers outside?”

He had abided my paranoia all afternoon, allowing me to squeeze his hand like a woman in labor and peeking over my shoulder every five seconds to ensure we did not have a tail.

It made conversation over lunch awkward to say the least. When he asked me if I just wanted to go home, I barely let him get it out before I said yes. Hurt darkened his gaze and he had said few words to me since, barely acknowledging my request for him to do a sweep of the property to make sure no one was hiding behind his perfectly landscaped hedges.

But his patience had limits.

He zeroed in on me, bright blue eyes narrowed and annoyed. “Generally, when someone says all clear, that means all is clear.”

I knew I should have apologized for second guessing him, especially considering he’d opened up to me, sharing a painful memory involving the paparazzi in an effort to let me know he understood where I was coming from. But he did not understand. Not really.

I bristled at his otherwise calm demeanor. He was completely unfazed...while I was quickly losing my mind.

I put a hand on my hip, glaring right back. “Maybe being stalked is business as usual for Jacob Whitmore, but I assure you it is maddening for a normal person.”

“Normal?” He arched an eyebrow, not saying a word for a long moment.

He snapped his fingers and I gasped at the unexpected sound, my heart skipping a beat.

“If you think it’s normal to be so on edge that you jump out of your skin when I snap my fingers, you are mistaken.”

I flipped my hair over my shoulder, masking my nervousness with a scoff. “You’ve been living with this your whole life. This is a whole new world for me.”

I turned in a circle, remembering the first time I walked through the door of the villa, doing the exact same spin. I had been in awe of the beauty of this place. The exposed wooden beams. The priceless vases and paintings. The effortless style that came easily to someone that had no budget.

Jacob’s villa was just as beautiful and breathtaking as before, but I was not wide eyed and innocent nor oblivious to what it all meant. Jacob and I were from totally different worlds.

“Tell me what’s going on in your head.” His deep voice roped me in, drawing me from my thoughts. Out of the clutches of fear. Face to face with the eyes I could not hide from.

“I’m just tired,” I said, walking past him toward the stairs. “I think I need a nap.”

“Do not mistake my tone for weakness.”

When I faced him, I knew I was in trouble.

His tie was balled in his fist, his kissable lips a brutal line of disapproval. He tilted his chin downward and dark hair swept across his forehead. His icy eyes held me in place.

“I asked you a question. I expect an answer.”

Indignation flared in my cheeks. Were we really doing this now? “Is this some BDSM thing? Because I can tell you right now—”

“You forget your place, Miss Montgomery,” he said coolly. “Don’t worry—that’s why I ‘m here. I know what you want. What you need.”

“What I need is...”

He released the hold on his tie, blood red silk dripping to the floor as he advanced. The look in his eye was one of carnal hunger. A look that rendered me unable to say anything but a single word.

“I...”

The smell of cloves, mint and his natural musk filled my nostrils. His eyes stripped me down and I quivered for him, brought alive and he had not even touched me. Oh, but he would—and he would make me regret crossing him...in the most delicious way.

“Turn around.”

His deep command went unchallenged, my heart quickening in my chest as I turned my back to him. The heat, the unbridled need he stoked in me, was enough to bring the fireplace before me cackling to life. He had an uncanny ability to make me moist with desire with a single look. To make me melt completely with the slightest touch.

Touch...I held my breath, waiting anxiously for him to touch me. To rake his fingers over my hot flesh. To spank me until the embers were flames that consumed me in equal parts pleasure and pain.

I knew he was close. My body hummed with the nearness of him. Yearned for him. But he denied me.

“Jacob?” I murmured, my eyes fluttering closed. Saying his name like a prayer.

“Tell me what’s going on in your head.”

“I want you,” I said instantly, words flowing out of my mouth. “I want you so badly that I...it’s physically painful to stand here and not see you. Not touch you.”

A moment passed, my revelation hanging in the air.

“Put your arms behind your back,” he ordered, his voice low and enticing.

I tensed, but obeyed, placing one hand on top of the other, arms locked behind me.

I sucked in a breath when he touched me, electricity shooting through my body. The current intensified as a soft material caressed my wrists, then gripped them tight. He was securing my hands behind my back with his tie.

The unnatural feel of being bound and completely in the dark about what he had planned sent lust pooling in my panties. I was sopping wet, waiting with bated breath for what came next.

His fingers weaved in my curly hair, removing the clip that held the locks at the nape of my neck. He swept them over my shoulder, and I bit my lip to hold in a squeal of delight when he gripped my zipper. I had wondered about the function of a dress with a zipper that ran from top to bottom, but at the moment, I was considering sending the designer a thank you card.

My breaths were shallow, each one shuddering as I fought to keep it together. I knew there was beauty in the buildup, but I just wanted him to rip my dress off and thrust inside me, balls deep.