Beautiful Distraction (34 page)

Having lived in New York for the last five years, I was no
longer used to silence. Even when you were alone on a weekday afternoon, living
on the sixth floor with the windows shut, some sort of sound inevitably found
its way to you—like boots thumping up the stairs, a car horn beeping in
the distance, or the fridge-freezer combo buzzing in the kitchen slash living
room slash office. But that was the danger of living in an overcrowded,
overpriced metropolis. While I loved New York with its stunning skyline and
busy nightlife, I was more than happy to get away from it for a while and enjoy
the solitude of the Italian countryside. So, naturally, the sudden blaring
sound of my cell made my heart jerk in my chest.

I peered from the caller ID to the closed door, making sure
Jett wasn’t around, and pressed the respond button.

“Hey, you’re harder to reach than the president. How’s my
favorite chief secretary?” Sylvie shouted with a slight slur. Earsplitting
music, voices, and laughter echoed in the background. Judging from the noise,
she was in a club, and it wasn’t the kind you frequent to play bingo. I swear I
could almost smell the booze on her breath and the cigarette smoke clinging to
her expensive clothes—clothes she’d end up taking to the dry cleaner’s
and forget about them.

“Personal assistant,” I mumbled, harboring no doubt that in
her current state, she’d forget it the moment she hung up. I peered at the time
symbol on my MacBook. It was a few minutes past ten here, minus a seven hour
time difference. “Sylvie, why the hell are you calling me from a bar at three
a.m.? You’re obviously drunk, and I’m at the office,
working
, during which I’m sure you know you’re not supposed to have
private conversations.”

“You never called.”

It was true. With the stunning scenery outside and Jett
around, I forgot to call her. Or my mother. Even Sean was history, which was
great. I was moving on.

“I’m so sorry, Sylvie. I meant to, but there was lots to do.
But you could have waited until tomorrow.”

A pause, then, “I was lonely.” Her voice raised a notch,
making her statement sound like a question.

The throb in my head intensified, but Sylvie was my best
friend and she obviously needed me. My fingers began to massage my temples as I
mentally prepared for a long talk. “What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Sylvie, I know your bizarre mood swings and behaviors
better than the back of my hand, and right now you’re lying. So, spill before I
take the next flight up there, bind you to a chair, and torture you into
confessing.” I didn’t mean it literally. It was our inside joke since college
when Sylvie ended up drunk on my couch, bawling her eyes out, and wouldn’t tell
me what was wrong with her.

“Shit. You know me so well, I hate you renting space in my
head.” She let out a long sigh that turned into a whine. “I’m such a fuck up.”
Not really, but I didn’t interrupt her lest she got sidetracked. She hardly
ever talked about her problems, and when she did she barely elaborated on the
real issues bothering her.

“Ryan offered me my job back,” Sylvie said.

“Ryan—as in the a-hole boss who fucked you, and then
broke up with you the moment he feared his wife had found out?”

“Uh-huh. That one.” Sylvie didn’t fall into a tirade of
expletives, which could only mean one thing.

I shook my head, forgetting she couldn’t see me. “No,
Sylvie, you didn’t listen to that idiot, did you? You might be my best friend
and I love you to bits, but you’re a moron.”

She let out another long sigh. “I know.”

“What were you thinking?”

“He sent over flowers and I thought he was serious about it,
so I caved in and listened to his crap. You know I lose my head around guys and
make the worst decisions ever. None of this would have happened if only you
were here.” Now it was all my fault. I rolled my eyes. “You’re so lucky your
boss plays for the other team,” Sylvie continued.

My former boss, I mentally corrected her. The current one
was far from it. This was my cue to assure her I was the even bigger fuck up
but a.) the contract clearly stated I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone about my
arrangement with Mayfield, and b.) I seriously doubted Sylvie would be shocked.
In fact, she’d probably cheer me on and expect a sex tape after I was done with
Mayfield.

“So, what exactly happened?” I asked. “Because if you
believed one word that lying, cheating bastard told you, I swear I’m cancelling
our friendship this instant.”

“I told him to stick it where the sun don’t shine.” She
hesitated, adding something that sounded suspiciously like, “After.”

“After what?”

“After I told him that I’d rather be celibate than sleep
with him ever again. I think you’re rubbing off on me.” Her voice trembled
slightly. Had she been crying?

So why the tears? Unless they were tears of joy, in which
case I made a mental note to drag Sylvie to the nearest bar for a round of
celebratory drinks the moment I arrived back home.

“That’s about when he said he was only looking for a quick
fuck and didn’t mean a word he said. And then he dumped me, for good,” Sylvie
said.

Ouch. “The bastard.” For once he seemed to have told the
truth. Probably the only truth any woman would ever get from him. Okay, Sylvie
was an easy lay, but did he have to be so hurtfully candid about it? You don’t
screw with a woman, her mind or otherwise, and then admit you were only using
her just when she was about to develop a morsel of self-respect by backing out
of your one-way, self-beneficial deal.

“It’s okay. I’m over him,” Sylvie said, sniffing. She
wasn’t. “He’s already off my mind.” He wasn’t.

“You’re beautiful, clever, young, everything he’ll never
be.” I talked slowly and paused for effect so she’d understand just how much I
meant each and every word. “Sylvie, you’re amazing and deserve someone as
amazing as you. Don’t settle for less.”

“You think so?”

I nodded. “Yeah, I do, from the bottom of my heart.” Her
huge smile almost shined down the phone line. “Now go to bed. I bet you’re
three sheets to the wind.”

“I’m what?” She laughed, ignoring my jab at her drunken
state. “How’s that job working out for you?”

“Good.” I had completely forgotten that I was at work and
not supposed to have personal conversations. I rolled in my swivel chair to peer
at the door, almost expecting Jett to be standing there, eyeing me with a frown
and demanding that I peel off my suit so he could spank my backside for taking
the liberty to go against my work contract. The naughty thought sent an instant
smile to my face. I had never been into spanking, but it sort of sounded
hot—imagining him doing the deed. I opened my mouth to tell Sylvie all
about the Italian countryside, but she’d already lost interest.

“Did you find out who sent the letter?” she asked.

Frowning, I tried to remember what the hell she was talking
about. And then it dawned on me. The letter on the coffee table.

Freaking hell, it completely slipped my mind.

“Just open it.”

“Don’t think so,” Sylvie said slowly. “It looks suspicious.
It could be a bomb or something, and I still need my hands.”

Sweetie, if it was a
bomb, your hands would be the last thing to worry about.

“Okay…I’ll check it out when I get back home, then.”

We talked for another minute or two, mostly about her being
bored to death without me. She emphasized how much she missed her best drinking
buddy, by which she couldn’t possibly mean me. I hardly ever managed to have more
than a margarita before I was ready to hit the bed…facedown, while Sylvie partied
the night away.

And then we said our goodbyes and I hung up, feeling
strangely out of place in this huge-yet-beautiful house with this
strange-yet-gorgeous guy. While Sylvie’s stories didn’t usually get to me, the
Ryan episode somehow touched me because I knew Sylvie had fallen for him hard. I
could never allow myself to feel the same way for Jett.

I finished my water, and then got another cup of coffee
before heading for Jett’s private office.

The Lucazzone estate started from just beyond Jett’s huge
property. I couldn’t help but think that even though Jett had the most stunning
scenery I had ever seen, he didn’t buy his holiday home because of its view. I
figured being close to the old man to follow his every move might just be the
reason why he vacationed here in the first place. It was the way the big league
played. They watched their market and competitors but, most importantly, they
kept a hawk eye on the properties they wanted until the owners were ready to
sell, and they all were eventually.

Sitting in the passenger seat of his Ferrari with the roof
down and a warm breeze caressing my skin, I bit my lip hard so I wouldn’t ask
the question that burned a hole in my brain. Jett’s motives weren’t really my
business, and yet I had to know. It was two days since we signed the contract
and Jett hadn’t made any sort of attempt to touch me. He continued to remain a
mystery. I figured finding out why he bought his mansion might reveal more
about his personality.

“When did you buy your house?” Moistening my lips, I focused
my gaze onto the winding road so he wouldn’t pick up on just how much I hoped
to find out more about the real man behind his cool façade.

“A while back.”

A vague answer, of course. I expected nothing less from him.
Why did he have to be so equivocal about everything?

I nodded slowly. “What drew you to Italy, or this part of
the country in particular?”

“The weather?” He shot me a sideways glance, and for a
moment the bright sun reflected in his stunning eyes, making them shimmer in a
million green facets. Dressed in blue jeans and a snug short-sleeved shirt, and
with the wind blowing through his disheveled hair, he looked more magnificent
than ever. His left hand was resting on the steering wheel and the right on the
armrest, inches away from mine. I fought the urge to run my fingertips over the
defined muscles.

“Could you possibly be more vague?” I asked.

He laughed that deep, brief laughter of his that always made
my stomach flutter a little bit. “We used to vacation here a lot when I was a
child. I wanted to preserve the memory by buying my own house here.
Unfortunately, I don’t come as often as I’d like to.”

No hidden motives then. Just a rich man returning to the one
place he adored as a child. I folded my hands in my lap and started to play
with the hem of my shirt, not quite buying into it.

“So it wasn’t because of Alessandro Lucazzone,” I remarked
dryly.

His head snapped in my direction, and for a moment our eyes
connected. There was something in his gaze—a hint of determination, maybe
even fear, I couldn’t really tell—and then it disappeared and his
gorgeous lips curled up into a lazy smile.

“I can see why you would think that, but I assure you it
wasn’t the case. We only recognized the estate’s potential a few years ago. It
was during my first year in college.” He hesitated, as though considering
whether to reveal more. I waited for him to continue, and when he didn’t I
wondered whether there was more to this freshman year story than he let on.

We drove in silence for a minute or two. It was a late
Wednesday morning. Apart from the odd passing car, the street remained mostly
deserted. Jett maneuvered expertly, barely slowing down at the sharper bends,
which led me to believe he knew the way well. Either that, or he was the most
reckless driver I had ever seen. Several times my heart jumped in my throat,
and I clutched the armrest for support as he kept cutting corners, taking us
dangerously close to the steep mountain wall rising to my right.

“You okay?” Jett asked, laughing.

“You drive like a maniac,” I said through clenched teeth.

“That’s not the only thing I do like a maniac, Brooke.” His
hand moved away from the steering wheel and settled on my thigh.

Heat flushed my cheeks. I was mortified, but not from shame
or shyness. Frowning, I lifted his hand off my thigh and placed it back on the
steering wheel, noticing how warm and calloused his palm was. Those bumps
didn’t come from sitting around in an office.

“Just keep a tight grip on that, will you?” I said dryly.
“While I think Italy’s beautiful, I’m not keen on having my brain splattered
all over this place.”

“You’re the careful kind then?” His question sounded more
like a statement.

I shrugged. “Not more careful than most people out there but
definitely more careful than you.”

The car slowed down a little but not enough. I heaved a big
sigh and slumped deeper into the leather seats.

“You’re not living a life in the fast lane?” Jett shot me a
questioning glance. I sensed a deeper meaning in his words.

“Are you?”

His lips quirked up at the corners. “As you can see, I like
it fast and dangerous. I’ll gladly teach you a thing or two about those two
things, Ms. Stewart.”

Whoa, when did the conversation take this particular turn?
My cheeks flamed up, and I turned my head away from him so he wouldn’t catch
just how much his words affected me. Oh, I wanted him to teach me all right. If
only he’d make his threat real. Or was that a promise?

The car slowed down and we came to an abrupt stop. I wet my
lips nervously, unsure what followed next.

“Why are we stopping?”

He turned to face me. Dimples formed in his cheeks as his
gaze lingered on me a tad too long, caressing my face, my breasts, my body.
What the heck was he doing? And why couldn’t I think with him so close?

“What?” I dared not take a breath under his electric eyes. His
gaze narrowed on my lips and stayed glued to them. My blood rushed faster at the
thought of him kissing me and making out in the middle of nowhere.

He leaned forward, tenderly grazing my leg, then my neck.
And then his hand moved to the glove department to retrieve a pair of shades.

“Put them on,” he said gently. “The sun’s strong and we
wouldn’t want you to get a headache.”

They were just words, but his gentle tone conveyed so much
more. Warmth. Caring. I didn’t know what to do or say. I didn’t know how to
protect my heart from the sudden array of emotions filling it.

“Thank you,” I said eventually, slightly choked. “What about
you?”

“I’ll be okay.” He hit the accelerator hard. “Faster’s
always better, but you have to mind those curves. They’re wicked. They can kill
a man in a heartbeat.” He flashed me a grin as the car picked up in speed
again, and for a moment I could swear he had been looking at my chest.

Our eyes connected in the mirror and I realized he had
probably caught everything: the way my fingers seemed to want to rip a hole in
my top’s hem, the way my eyes kept darting toward him, eager to soak up his
every move, the way my knees pressed together tightly so the scent of dampness
coming from my panties wouldn’t give away how much I wanted him to touch me
there.

“Blushing suits you. I should make you blush more often,”
Jett said hoarsely.

Swallowing hard, I put on the shades to hide at least part
of my burning face, even though it probably was useless. I had never been good
at pretending, and it sure had gotten worse around him. I knew I should say
something—anything—but my words remained trapped at the back of my
throat.

“This is it,” he said, taking a sharp right onto bumpy
terrain. The lane was narrow with a ditch on both sides, and barely any space
for oncoming traffic. The trees with rich crowns of leaves gathered into a
thick canopy that filtered the warm rays of sun.

I removed Jett’s shades and craned my neck to figure out
where the path might be taking us. I thought for a moment, and then the penny
dropped.

“This is Lucazzone’s estate, isn’t it?” I asked.

“Yep.”

For some reason, I expected it to be majestic with a
cobblestone path, trimmed hedges, maybe even a glasshouse, and hunting
grounds—and definitely lots of flowers. This looked more like the
forested backyard of a haunted and neglected mansion. It wasn’t less beautiful,
just not what I expected.

“What was your highest offer?” I asked Jett.

“Twenty million.” He didn’t even blink saying the number. I
almost choked on my breath.

“US dollars?”

“Euro.”

“Oh.” That was big bucks for a bit of land and a few walls.
I blinked rapidly as my brain began to do the math. Twenty million Euros
divided by ten mansions equaled two million each. Given the skyrocketing lawyer
costs and the paperwork involved, the labor costs to cut down the forest,
prepare the building ground, and actually build the holiday homes, Mayfield
Properties would have to invest another twenty million. So the actual asking
price would have to be four million to break even, and even more to make a
profit.

Blazing hell, who in their right mind would actually pay
that?

The street widened as we reached a crossroad. Jett took
another sharp right and parked the car a few feet from a sign written in
Italian. I didn’t understand the words, but the red outstretched palm didn’t
need much interpretation. This was private property and we weren’t supposed to
be here.

I peered at Jett who opened the door and exited, then walked
around the car to help me out.

“Thanks,” I whispered, grabbing his hand. The moment our
fingers connected, an electric jolt ran through me. I gazed up into his
moss-green eyes to catch his reaction but, like before, he didn’t seem to feel
it. “What are we doing here? Do we have an appointment?” It was a stupid
question. No one with an appointment would park the car on a country lane and
sneak up on the owner.

“I want you to see this place so you feel its magic,” Jett
said matter-of-factly.

“It’s called trespassing.”

“Lucazzone doesn’t mind.”

“How would you know that?” Crossing my arm over my chest, I
stared at him. He flat out ignored the invitation to elaborate.

“Come on, Ms. Righteous. You’re not being paid for standing
around and asking questions.” He winked and turned his back on me. What other
choice did I have than to follow?

***

It was so hot I felt as though my clothes were about to
melt—and it wasn’t just because of the heat. I let Jett guide me beyond
the path, through the trees and the thick bushes. Even though Jett led the way,
pushing thick branches out of the way so I could step through unscathed, for
once I was happy to have opted for flats rather than my usual kitten heels. Not
least because my gaze kept wandering to Jett’s back and the defined muscles
rippling beneath his thin shirt. Beads of sweat gathered at the nape of his
dark hair, making my mouth water at the thought of making him sweat on top of
me. His slacks strained with every step, emphasizing the hard muscles in his
thighs. I felt like a teenager in lust who couldn’t stop daydreaming about the
hot football captain.

Eventually, we reached the highest point of the incline.
Just beyond the trees and dense bushes stretched out a vast valley. Looking farther,
I could make out the beautiful shoreline of a lake. The blue water caught the
rays of the sun and shimmered in a million facets. Beyond it, on the other side
of the lake, a Mediterranean-style house raised against the picturesque
backdrop of a mountain, amidst yet more trees and bushes. In front of the house
was what looked like a broad path leading to the lake’s shore. To reach it,
anyone would have to cross the lake. I scanned the area, looking for any sign
of a boat, but saw none.

“Is that the Lucazzone mansion?”

“Villa,” Jett corrected. “It’s not that big.”

“But where’s the street?”

“There is none. The Lucazzone family has always been keen on
privacy, so they built the house on a secluded spot and never bothered to make
it accessible,” Jett said.

The word ‘secluded’ didn’t even do it justice. How did these
people go grocery shopping? Did they even have electricity or Internet?

“Do they grow their own crops?”

Jett’s lips twitched. “They might have a few centuries ago,
but currently they have discovered the benefits of the local grocery store’s
home delivery service. Do you see that large oak?” He pointed beyond the lake
to a thick tree with low hanging branches. I nodded and squinted to get a
better glimpse, but couldn’t make out more than contours in the blinding rays
of the sun. “There’s a boat hidden from view. It’s been there for years, and
once a month the old man would row the boat over the lake, meet with the
waiting grocery store owner, stock up on supplies, and then return to the
villa. As kids, my brother and I would be hiding up here, waiting for the old
man in his black cape-like coat to appear. Usually it was in the semi-darkness
of dawn. The way the boat broke through the morning mist clinging to the water
surface made it look like a scene from a gothic vampire movie. For a while, my
brother and I were convinced the old man was a vampire.”