Beautiful Distraction (37 page)

As Jett had announced, lunch was waiting for me in the
kitchen. I lifted the lid off the serving plate and inhaled the aroma of some
Italian pasta and meat dish I had never tried before. It smelled deliciously of
herbs and fresh tomatoes. My stomach rumbled in response, reminding me that it
was already well past lunchtime, and I hadn’t eaten since last night. With the
Lucazzone file still clutched to my chest, I grabbed my plate and sat down at
the expensive mahogany table overlooking the lake. From up here, I had a grand
view over the entire east side. Unlike the day we arrived, the lake seemed to
have attracted visitors. I couldn’t see as far as the shore, but I could make
out the colorful flagpoles of two private boats sailing at a leisurely speed.
According to Jett, most of the lake was privately owned, which led me to
believe the owners had decided to fly over for a quick spring trip.

Popping a spoonful of delicious pasta into my mouth, I
wondered what it must be like to be as rich as these people, and not have to
worry about paying the bills or putting food on the table. Even when my mother
lost my father and had to make end’s meet by taking a minimum wage job stocking
shelves in a local supermarket, I never felt like I lacked anything. But being
with Jett in a villa that probably cost more than I’d make in a lifetime, I
couldn’t help but feel out of place.

I worked for him but wasn’t part of his world. And I
harbored no false hope that I’d ever be.

You don’t want him,
Stewart. So get those ‘what ifs’ out of your damn system.

“Damn straight,” I mumbled, opening the Lucazzone file. To
my surprise, it wasn’t the same one Jett had left on my desk this morning. I
finished my lunch quickly so I could engross myself in Mayfield’s strange work
ethic. By the time I leaned back in my chair, I couldn’t help but admire his
dedication.

Jett Mayfield knew what he wanted, and he wasn’t afraid to
take it, no matter how dirty he had to play.

***

The private detective had been following the Lucazzone
family for ten years, sifting through family trees, tragedies, secret bank
accounts, and visitors with hidden motives. As it turned out, throughout
generations the Lucazzone men had played away, taking their pleasure wherever
and from whomever they could get it. Alessandro Lucazzone was no different,
except that he played for the other team. He had wed his rich wife because he
needed her money, which explained why he never fathered an heir. At some point,
one of his lovers moved in, and they began to flaunt their romance until his
wife put a stop to it by threatening to divorce him.

I wondered why she never carried out her threat. Any woman
in her right mind would, and yet Henrietta Lucazzone stayed with Alessandro
until she drew her last breath, her body destroyed by a mysterious disease she
contracted while vacationing in India. Maybe it was her Catholic upbringing
that made her value her vows more than her freedom or a life with someone who
truly loved her. Or maybe Alessandro had an iron grip on her, forcing her into
obedience. He was well known for his charm and good looks, and it was said that
he could even persuade a cobra to hold back her venom at the sight of him.

Obviously, I didn’t believe a word they said. The stories
dated back to his youth, when the effects of WWI had made people poor and
trusting of the high society that offered a free daily meal and gifted their
children clothes to wear. Maybe it was the reason why Henrietta thought
Alessandro Lucazzone got away with murder.

According to Jett’s file, it was the first Sunday in
December 1953. Henrietta Lucazzone had just returned from yet another shopping
spree, of which she was so fond, only to find her husband in bed with another
man. While this had happened before, this time the lover next to Alessandro was
dead. His torso had been slit open from the throat all the way down to his
abdomen. According to her diary, Henrietta never called the police and the body
was later found buried in the woods, naked, the torso torn open.

No one ever asked questions, no one pointed fingers. Around
the time the body was found, Alessandro gave money away to charity, and he was
praised for his generosity. The man was identified as a former soldier in WWII,
hooked on the bottle and in desperate need of cash to finance his next drink.
Mayfield’s private detective only stumbled upon Lucazzone’s secret when he
wasn’t granted a visit entrance to Lucazzone’s home, and he stumbled upon
Henrietta’s diary in the chapel behind the gardens, hidden beneath the kneeling
pad facing the altar.

Although the diary was never sent to the police, the fact
that a body was found inside the villa should have been proof enough that
someone in the Lucazzone house was a murderer. And yet, the family’s good
reputation and wealth protected whoever committed the crime. In his
correspondence with the detective, Mayfield had claimed the man was old and
sick. If he was indeed the murderer, any justice would reach him after his
death. I wondered why Jett wouldn’t just hand the diary to the local
authorities. If Alessandro was found guilty, the Italian government would
auction the estate and sell it to the highest bidder, in which case I doubted
anyone would make an offer in excess of twenty million. It would have been so
easy, and yet Jett seemed to want to take the hard road for reasons
unfathomable to me.

Closing the file, I placed my empty plate in the dishwasher
and headed upstairs for the privacy of my office. Without Jett, the house
seemed unusually quiet. As I booted up my MacBook from sleeping mode, I found
myself easing slowly into work mode. I looked through the file from front to
back cover, twice, without finding anything that could possibly help. The tax
records were fine. The estate had financial troubles, but they weren’t severe
enough to push Lucazzone into selling. I had no idea what else to look for and
was about to close the file when the tiny number printed at the bottom of each
page caught my eye. The last page was numbered 147 of 148, meaning one page was
missing.

Had it been filed with the others? I couldn’t remember
having seen it, but I searched the file twice nonetheless, then my desk and
finally the kitchen, without much success. In the end, I decided to ask Jett
about it and commenced my administrative tasks. By the time I finished
answering his principal business correspondence
and
postponed each and every meeting as per Jett’s request, it was early evening,
and the sound of crunching pebbles beneath tires told me it was time to call it
a day.

***

Jett’s business meeting hadn’t gone well. I could tell by
the way he slammed the door shut, sending a reverberating quake through the
floor and walls. I had no idea what to make of it, so I stayed glued to the
spot, inches away from the clothes hanging in my closet, wondering what to wear
tonight. Until now it had always been one business suit after another,
intermingled with the occasional jeans at night. Tonight I felt a need for a
change, maybe something risky like a skirt or a dress. Something to entice the
man who hadn’t touched me since our outing to the beach. Why? Because I wanted
to get it over and done with.

Anticipation or patience had never been my virtues. I didn’t
like this waiting game, spending hours a day in his presence with his sultry
eyes on me. Every time he looked at me, it felt as though his heated gaze was
undressing me while sending delicious trembles through my lower body. Ever
since he touched me down there, I could think of nothing but his lips on my
skin, teasing, sucking, sending me over the edge. I wanted to feel that
electrifying cascade of emotions again, but I also intended to repay his
efforts this time. The tell-tale tingling of arousal rushed through my belly,
descending into a sensual pull just below my abdomen.

But now wasn’t the time.

Pushing Jett to the back of my mind, I dressed in a pencil
skirt that fell just below the knees and a soft Cashmere top with a plunging V
neck line. I kept my makeup understated—a bit of mascara, blusher, and a
touch of lipstick—and eased my ponytail. My hair cascaded down my
shoulders in countless soft ringlets. Pleased, I inspected myself in the
mirror.

Not too bad, Stewart.

Okay, I admit I was nowhere near model material, but I had a
few things going for me—like my luminous, brown eyes, my round hips, and
my thin waist. Besides, Jett had made no secret about wanting me, so for once
the fact that my legs weren’t long enough and my cup size could use the boost
of a padded bra didn’t bother me.

Biting my lip nervously, I shot the image in the mirror
another look and ventured out in search of my boss.

I found Jett in the living room, standing near the open
balcony door with his cell phone pressed to his ear, and the evening wind
ruffling his hair. His back was turned to me, so I had a few short moments to
regard him before he noticed my presence.

He was clad in jeans that hugged his strong thighs and a
black tee that accentuated his biceps; the moisture in his hair shimmered in
the light of the chandelier, making me want to run my fingers through it to
test whether it was as soft and luscious as it seemed. He looked so yummy I
could have died on the spot and gone straight to heaven. I groaned against the
sudden need pooling between my legs.

Seriously? He didn’t even need to say a word, and I was
already considering begging him to take me. I couldn’t be more obvious.

Easy lay.

Knocking lightly on the already open door, I stepped into
the living room, my eyes fixed on anything but Jett. And then he turned and a
panty-dropping smile jerked his lips upward. My gaze was drawn to him
magnetically, and everything else was sucked out of my vision.

He was so hot it was unreal.

No, he was a sex god.

My breath hitched in my throat for the umpteenth time since
I’d met him.

“Hey. Had a good day?” he asked in a low and throaty tone,
sexy as hell.

I swallowed hard, forgetting my voice. He strolled toward me
and bent down to place a soft kiss on my cheek as his hand moved to my lower
back, barely touching the soft material of my shirt.

Too close for comfort,
too electrifying.

I couldn’t breathe. He was so confident it scared the living
crap out of me.

Smiling bravely, I took two steps back, forcing myself not
to dash for the nearest exit.

“It was good. What about you?” My voice barely found its way
out of my throat.

“It’s getting better now that I’m here with you.” Jett’s
eyes descended into mine, sending my insides into upheaval. His thumb brushed
my lower lip and a frown crossed his features, as though he couldn’t decide
whether to kiss it. I wanted to make that decision easy for him so I gently
pressed my mouth against his thumb while my eyes remained connected with him.
His breathing became shallow as I started to suck his
finger into my mouth, pulling it in and out.

“You’re playing with fire, Brooke,” Jett said huskily. “I
don’t want you to get burned.”

“You promised fire. I don’t mind a little pain,” I whispered
against his hand. This was about the most obvious invitation I had ever spoken
to a man. My heart began to beat wildly against my ribcage, reminding me of a
fragile bird in desperate search for a way out of a cage. And in some way I was
a bird, and my life was a cage. While I’d never let Jett or any other man
inside, I figured I could safely venture outside for a change, in the hope that
I might just forget my past. Be someone else for a while.

We stared at each other for a few moments during which I
barely breathed…and then his cell phone rang, jerking him out of our moment.

Urgh.

Someone
had
to
call at the most unfortunate time
again
.

Jett peered at the caller ID and pressed the response
button, muttering something like, “Hold on.” Covering the microphone with one
hand, his lips crushed mine in a fleeting kiss. “Sorry, I have to take this.”

I shrugged. His gaze darkened, and for a moment I couldn’t
tell whether with desire or annoyance.

“I hope you like barbecue,” he said.

“Who doesn’t?”

“Meet you in the kitchen in ten?”

I nodded, even though he couldn’t see it because he had
turned his back on me, his phone glued to his ear.

***

As I entered the kitchen, the grill was already set up and
covered with a steel lid. Jett lifted it to reveal two servings of ribs the
size of Alabama. The aroma of meat and grilled vegetables made my stomach
rumble and mellowed out my annoyance. Maybe he didn’t take me up on the offer
because he didn’t want to burn dinner?