But first, I need to figure out what to wear for a man who's seen me naked and is clearly planning to see me naked again.
This is either going to be the best decision of my life or the worst.
Chapter 12: Enzo
I planned the whole thing, obviously.
The guest cottage setup, the timing, even the bullshit excuse about towels and wine. All carefully set up to create exactly what I wanted. Madison Sullivan's been too comfortable, too confident in her supposed safety. She needed a reminder of who runs every aspect of her new life.
What I didn't plan was how I'd react to seeing her.
I've seen plenty of beautiful women. Had women who were more experienced, more sophisticated, knew how to play the game. But standing in that doorway, watching water run over her skin while she looked at me with those wide blue eyes. Something shifted that I wasn't ready for.
She was completely exposed, completely vulnerable, and instead of fear or anger, I saw heat. Want. The same attraction I've been fighting since I met her.
And that kiss. Fuck. I nearly lost control completely.
I walk back to the villa with the image burned into my memory. The way she felt pressed against me, how she gripped my shoulders like she needed something to hold onto, the little sound she made when I deepened the kiss.
By the time I reach my study, I'm hard and pissed at myself for the weakness.
This is not how this was supposed to go.
Madison Sullivan was meant to be temporary entertainment. An innocent American I could control until I got bored. She wasn't supposed to make me feel anything beyond mild amusement.
But the way she responded to that kiss. As if she wanted me as much as I want her, has completely fucked up my carefully laid plans.
I pour whiskey and try to get perspective back.
She's still the same foolishly optimistic woman who walked into my meeting with coffee and pastries. Still completely clueless about what I really am, still thinks we're legitimate business partners. Nothing's fundamentally changed.
Except now I've tasted her, and she's seen the want in my eyes, and the careful distance I've been keeping has evaporated entirely.
My phone buzzes. Emilio: "Boss, the Naples situation needs attention. Tonight."
I stare at the message and realize I don't want to leave. For the first time in my career, business feels like an inconvenience instead of a priority.
This is a problem.
I text back: "Handle it. I'm unavailable."
Emilio's response is immediate: "Everything okay?"
No. Nothing's okay. I'm letting a debt-ridden American tourist interfere with operations that need my personal attention. I'm making decisions based on wanting to spend an evening with someone who doesn't even know what I do for a living.
But I type: "Yes. Report tomorrow."
I set the phone aside and head to the kitchen to prepare dinner.
Cooking focuses my thoughts when situations get complicated. Tonight, I need that focus more than usual.
I select ingredients for something that'll impress her without being too elaborate. Fresh pasta with seafood, salad from the villa's garden, wine that costs more than most people make in a month. The kind of meal that reminds her of the luxury I can provide while keeping up the illusion this is casual dinner between business partners.
But as I work, my mind keeps going back to the bathroom. The way she said my name when she was trying to find words. The breathless quality when she told me I shouldn't have come in. The fact that she didn't immediately tell me to get the hell out.
Madison Sullivan is attracted to me. Not to my money or power. She doesn't understand either, but to me. The man she thinks I am.
It's been so long since someone looked at me without fear or calculation that I'd forgotten how addictive it could be.
