Page 60 of Seasons of Sin

“You are an absolute star. I’m so sorry about this. You’re doing three jobs at once.”

“It’s fine,” Saphire assured her. “I like being busy.”

“You’re a gem.”

Saphire rang off and punched the keyboard to life angrily. There were almost fifty emails to be replied to or earmarked for follow up, and it took the better part of the morning to deal with them all. She stood up right before lunch and grabbed the contracts she’d printed.

It was only when she got to the sidewalk outside that she realized she had no idea where she was going.

She dialed his office number instead of his cell and waited for it to connect.

It was not Thaddeus who answered and she was profoundly relieved. “I need to have some papers signed by Mr Konstanides,” she said crisply.

“May I ask who is calling?” His assistant spoke with an accented voice.

“Saphire Morrison,” she murmured, reverting to her maiden name.

“Excellent, Miss Morrison.” The assistant didn’t miss a beat. “Mr Konstanides advised me to expect your call. I can text you his current location for ease, if you’d like.”

She gritted her teeth together. “Yes. Fine.” And as an afterthought, “Thank you.”

The message came through almost instantly. She climbed into a passing cab and gave him the address. It was a long way from downtown Rome. The car climbed out of the city, closer and closer to where the gala had been held less than a week earlier. Only it forked into a different direction somewhere on the outskirts and climbed up a separate hill. Greenery was everywhere, the sky was blue, and on a different occasion Saphire might have found herself enjoying the scenery of urban affluence.

She ignored the rapidly escalating price of the meter. Nothing mattered except surviving the next twenty minutes of her life. Surely it wouldn’t take longer. They’d said all they needed to the night before.

She paid the driver and stepped out of the car, contracts clasped in hand.

The house was spectacular. Of course. It had mansion proportions but in a traditional Italian architecture; the walls were stonewashed a sort of lemon yellow, and geraniums and lavender brightened up the warm afternoon. The roof was covered in red tiles, and a happy little path dotted its way to the door. She moved along it as though she was being dragged towards the fires of hell.

Right before her finger could press the doorbell, he pulled it inwards.

Saphire forced her eyes to stay locked to his, rather than allowing them to drop to his bare chest and low-slung jeans.

“I should have called,” she murmured with a hint of apology in her tone.

“Come in,” he said without responding to her statement.

She nodded, but her feet were glued to the spot. “I just have these contracts for you …”

“Come in and I will sign them.” A teasing smile hinted at the corners of his lips.

She was being childish and she knew it. Curtly, she nodded. “Fine. But I can’t stay long.”

“Understood,” he clipped two fingers to his head in a mock military salute that made her feel even more juvenile.

The entrance was a rustic and simple space, though discretely expensive touches were everywhere. She looked up at him, anxiety suddenly pulsing through her body. It was the first time they’d been truly alone in a long time. And suddenly, in the confines of his hallway, she felt a slick of desire through her body.

It shocked her.

She loved him.

And now it was obvious that she wanted him too.

She stepped back awkwardly, her expression pained. “I really just want to get this finished,” she said rudely, pushing the contracts towards him. Only he used the gesture as an opportunity to bring her to him.

His fingers curled around her wrist and he pulled on her arm, jerking her against his body. Her heart turned over with remembered pleasure as his warmth surrounded her. His chest was glorious. Perfect and sculptured and everything she’d been dreaming of.

“What are you doing?” She whispered, her expression haunted.