“Are you hot?” I asked her.
Simone arched a brow and said. “It’s sixty-eight degrees in here, Mr. Moretti. Just as you like it. Perhaps the girl is feverish.”
“I’m fine,” Eva swished a hand through the air.
I left it alone and returned to the topic of differences.
My family’s beginnings were humble. Hell, only a couple generations ago, Morettis were poor as dirt. As my father liked to joke after he became wealthy, he wasn’t a rich man; he was a poor man with money.
I’d acclimate Eva to my environment and acclimate her good. All it took was patience and time. Neither of which was in steady supply. But for now, I’d avoid the subject of how I aimed to fuck her tonight. How I needed to fuck her tonight. And I’d lull her into believing I won’t take what I want from her like a thief; a thief that she’d eventually beg to steal from her.
My fingers traced the delicate softness of her lower lip. I cupped her head and bent my neck to kiss her lips. “Open your mouth. Let me see that pretty, pink tongue so I can remember it tonight in my bed.”
The sharp and softness of her lips against my mouth set off a wild arousal. I cupped her head in my hand and used it to pull her further into my mouth, and emitted a begging snarl when she tasted me deeply with her tongue.
I pulled her closer, rewarded by the soft pillowing thrust of her tits against my chest. It was all over; I groaned and deepened the kiss, leaning towards her and knocked her champagne glass over with my elbow.
She leapt up to avoid the spill of bubbling liquid onto her lap. I dabbed at her with a cloth napkin to blot it up.
Mess contained, I stood with Eva and yanked her to me, one hand splayed across her delectable ass. Suddenly, her hands were in my hair, pulling me to her open mouth. She sucked on my tongue.
I stared at her and said, “The way I’m drawn to you is new for me, Eva. If you’re trying to seduce me, you’re doing an outstanding job.”
Her grin was playful, inviting. “Nah, kissing’s not seducing. Seducing is asking if you think I’m wearing panties.”
10
Eva
Even though I insisted Roberto drive me back after dinner so I could sleep alone, Moretti wove through my dreams, brushing past me in heated strokes, until I thrashed between the thousand something thread count sheets at his family home and woke up with a heavy throbbing between my legs.
It was too much having a drop dead, gorgeous, multi-gazillionaire fascinated with me.
I wasn’t going to hop in the sack with him for buying me a pretty bag and pampering me like a princess.
No matter how much I want to.
I wasn’t for sale.
One thing was certain. My judgement flew the coop when Roberto was around.
The enthusiastic rapping on the door told me it was Gia. “Come in!” I hollered. She stepped through the door, swinging it wide open so the short, stout housekeeper could enter with a tray holding a pot of coffee and something that smelled like it needed to be in my mouth.
“Good morning, sleepyhead!” Gia chirped.
“Morning. What time is it?” I looked at the clock which read seven a.m. “Why are you so cheerful at such an ungodly hour?”
Gia remembered I took my coffee with a spoonful of honey and cream and brought a steaming cup of it to my bed, making me forgive her a little. “Here you go.” Her eyes sparkled from within. “How was your date last night?” She rested her chin in her hands and gaped at me.
“You’re funny,” I said. “I got to see the Moretti tattoo.” I wiggled my eyebrows. “Naked.”
She held up a palm to stop me. “Don’t tell me the gory details, he’s my brother.” She frowns, “Gross.”
“I’m just kidding. We kept our clothes on and had dinner in his beautiful home. That’s it.”
“It is a nice place, isn’t it? He says he wants you to come over again tonight after you, me, and Livia go to the flea market and maybe Sprinkles for cupcakes after.” Her romantic eagerness and innocence were qualities I’d abandoned a long time ago.
This girl’s upbringing was enviable. What was it like to grow up a pampered princess? Never knowing what it was like to go without food, shelter, or medical care? “Gia, I have to figure out what I’m doing with my life. I can’t just stay here forever, you know?”
Her expression was that of the cat who got the cream. “What?” I ask her.
“Nothing,” she said.
“Tell me!”
“It’s cute that you think you have a choice in the matter.” She sipped her cappuccino. “Once a Moretti male sets his heart on you, there’s no escaping him.”
“His heart?”
“Yes, Eva. His heart. Why do you think I’m excited? Roberto is smitten with you. His curse can finally be broken.”
“Curse? What curse?” I asked, my stomach plunging towards the mattress at hearing bright and peppy Gia use a phrase so dark.
“Never mind. I’m just happy Roberto found you and brought you here. Just enjoy it. Let him treat you like a princess. It’s not the worst thing in the world.”
I’d take up this topic of a “curse” again later. Even if I had to ask Roberto about it.
The Moretti sisters insisted on dressing me for our girls’ day out. Livia joined us for coffee and stood in front of “my” closet, viewing outfit options. “You’ll carry the Berkin, obvs.” She slid the hangers with slick authority over the clothing rack, piercing the room with its metal-on-metal sound.
“Not like I’ve got other bags to choose from,” I reminded her.
“It was so smart of us to get you neutrals. Elegant yet sexy is a look that suits you. Here.” She tosses the outfit she’s chosen, so it splays across the bed. “This body con tank in black, the velvet pencil skirt in beige, and black pumps to match. And this,” she held up the cashmere coat with a shawl collar, placing it over my shoulders like a queen’s robe, pièce de résistance.
Gia stepped up with a cellophane wrapped rectangle in her hand, “Nope.” She slid her palm under the bottom of the packet for emphasis, “These are.”
I looked at the photo on the front of the package, and it featured a model wearing black, sheer thigh high hose, topped by three black accent rows which held up each stocking.
“Hm. Okay. You win.” Livia conceded. “Get dressed, Eva. If we’re not there early other buyers will get the best pieces.”
Jack drove us down the hill into town again, but today we headed twenty miles beyond Briarville into Bonita where the flea market took place.
In the back seat, Livia dug to the bottom of her purse and pulled out two fat envelopes, “At the flea market, cash is king. Put these in your bags.” She handed over thick stacks of hundred-dollar bills to Gia and me.
Jack parked directly in front of the fairgrounds and Livia directed us further, “You two get in line and I’ll nab us cocktails. We shall conduct no deals without a buzz. Eva, do you want a Cosmo, Tequila Sunrise, or Moscow Mule?”
“At nine o’clock in the morning?” I asked.
“Hey, it’s our custom. If we don’t carry cocktails while we’re on the hunt, we won’t find treasure. Can’t risk cursing our luck by bucking tradition.” She yanked down the skirt of her grey, tie-waist sweater dress, a Vero Moda, and marched towards a corrugated tin booth where drinks were being sold.