Chapter Eighteen

Harper

“Oh, my God,” I say as I pace my room. “Oh, my GOD!”

Back and forth, back and forth, the queasiness in my belly seems to grow with each step. I can't believe what I just saw – or rather, heard. I mean, I can't say for sure that Mr. Rossi was in the office watching me while he masturbated – but I have a pretty good idea that's what he was doing. It sure sounded like it from where I was standing.

I walk into the bathroom and strip off my bathing suit, hanging it on a peg in the walk-in shower. I turn the water on, waiting for it to warm up, and try to focus my mind somewhere else. Anywhere else. Stepping beneath the cascade of water, I let it rain down over me, let it soothe me – and still can't get my mind off the thought that Mr. Rossi was watching me from his office as he pleasured himself.

I'm certainly not a prude, and even though I've never had sex with a man before, I've done other things. So, it's not like I find the fact that Mr. Rossi was masturbating a gross thing, necessarily. I mean, who hasn't gotten themselves off before?

It just – surprised me.

I'm not going to lie – even though given the situation I'm in, I hate to admit it – but, he's a very attractive man. Tall and trim, he's got broad shoulders, a thick chest, and a strong jawline with a neatly trimmed beard. Even beneath his fancy, well-tailored designer suits, I can tell that he's got a body that seems like it was chipped out of marble. His hair is darker than midnight and grayish-green eyes that are alluring and seductive. He's a powerfully handsome man, there's no denying it.

But, given our situation, sex with him is about the last thing on my mind. Which makes it surprising that he's thinking of me in that way.

I wash myself and turn off the water. Pressing my forehead against the wall, I stand there for a moment, letting myself drip-dry as I try to get my head on straight, now that the shock of it has worn off. By the time I grab a towel, dry off, and get dressed in some pajama bottoms and a t-shirt, pull my hair back into a ponytail, I'm feeling a lot better about the situation.

And I can't deny that there is some small part of me that's actually a little bit – flattered. Shocked, but flattered that he'd see me as such an attractive woman that he'd watch me.

I'm a virgin, yeah, but that's not to say that I don't have my own needs and desires. My own wants and maybe, even a bit of a kink to myself. It's a part of me I've not shared with anybody before – at least, not fully. And it's not because I'm saving myself for marriage or any silly, romantic notion like that.

I just never found anybody – outside of Landon – that I'd want to sleep with. Add to that, the fact that growing up in a town where girls regularly got pregnant by their sixteenth birthday, and I had plenty of reasons to avoid sex. The last thing I wanted was to be tied down with a kid and some deadbeat redneck who drinks too much and likes to beat me – something else I saw plenty of in Blackburn.

I have dreams and goals. I have ambitions. And because nobody in Blackburn could understand or relate to me, I focused on doing what I needed to do to get out of there. To follow my heart. I figured that when the time came and I found somebody worthy enough, I'd sleep with them then, and maybe even think about raising a family with them.

But, it wasn't something that was a pressing need for me – I've always had toys and an active imagination to keep the worst of my burning desires at bay.

And I have to admit, if only to myself, that a man as good looking and successful as Mr. Rossi jerking himself off to me – it kind of turns me on. At least, now that I've had some time to absorb and process it all.

I sit cross-legged on the bed, wondering what to do. I can sit up here and hide out. Or, I can have a little fun and make Mr. Rossi feel even more awkward than I'm sure he already does. Talking to Carla earlier today was educational. It really gave me some insight into the man and showed me that most of my initial assumptions about him were way off the mark.

Not that I feel like I really know him, but I'm relatively sure that he's not some psycho serial killer. And although not all of my fears have disappeared completely, most of them have dissipated. They've gone enough that I decide to have a little fun at his expense.

Stripping out of my pajama pants, I slip into a pair of tight boxers and an even tighter t-shirt – an outfit that really accentuates all my curves. I know that when I used to parade myself around Landon's place in it as I tried to get his attention, he had a hard time taking his eyes off me. Not that he ever acted on it.

I can only hope Roberto Rossi has just as much trouble.

Taking a deep breath, I open the door and step out into the hallway. I walk to the landing that overlooks the foyer and can hear somebody rustling around in the kitchen. Given that Carla has already gone for the day, I assume it's Mr. Rossi.

Padding down the staircase, I turn down the hallway that will take me to the back of the house and the kitchen. As I get closer, I hear a couple of voices speaking in a hushed tone – probably one of his bodyguards.

And when I step into the large kitchen, I see his man Miguel leaning against the island that dominates the middle of the room, eating a sandwich. Mr. Rossi is on the other side of the counter making them, and they're both watching SportsCentre highlights on the large flat screen TV that's hanging on the far wall.

Ella and Fitz are sitting patiently beside the island, their eyes focused on the food on the counter. Mr. Rossi takes the skin off a couple small pieces of chicken and tosses a piece to each of them. The dogs catch the morsels in mid-air, swallowing without even chewing, and look at him expectantly.

When I step through the doorway, Ella and Fitz give me a look and a quick wag of their tails before turning back to Mr. Rossi – clearly, I don't rate above food on the importance scale to those two. Miguel's eyes though, widen and I see him give me an appreciative look up and down before he swallows hard and turns away.

Mr. Rossi, on the other hand, looks positively stricken when he sees me. His face is almost ashen and he refuses to meet my gaze as he turns the volume down on the television. I see his eyes dart around the kitchen, almost like he's looking for a quick way out.

“I'm – uhhh – I'm gonna go, boss. The night crew is here, so I'll hand off to them,” Miguel says. “Thanks for the sandwich.”

“Sure,” Mr. Rossi replies and then clears his throat. “Thank you, Miguel.”

Miguel gives me a quick smile and a nod as he practically runs out of the kitchen and it's all I can do to keep from laughing. I slowly walk around the kitchen, never taking my gaze off him. Every now and then, I'll see him sneak a peek at me, but he does his best to focus all of his attention on the sandwich he's making.

He clears his throat again. “C – Carla made some Chicken Parmesan for dinner before she left,” he says. “I wasn't sure if you'd eaten or not, but I can make you a plate, if you're hungry? Or they make great sandwiches, if you'd prefer.”

“Sure,” I say. “Whatever you're having.”

“Great,” he says, still not looking up. “Coming right up.”

I move languidly around the kitchen, acting as if I'm not paying attention to him, but making sure he has a nice view of my body. From the corner of my eye, I can see him looking up at me every so often, a look of absolute hunger and desire on his face – but I can also see the color in his cheeks and know that he's embarrassed. Whether he's just uncomfortable around me, half-naked as I am, or if it's because of the incident earlier, I'm not sure.

But I'm enjoying seeing him squirm, and it only fuels my fire.

He finishes the sandwiches and puts a nice big dollop of potato salad on the side of the plate. “Your sandwich is ready,” he says, his voice tight with awkwardness.

I move over and lean across his body, making sure he gets a nice view down the scoop neck of my t-shirt, pressing my breasts – which are straining against the fabric of my shirt – against his arm as I grab the plate.

“Thanks,” I say with a flirty little smile and walk around the island, taking a seat on a stool across from him.

He opens a drawer at his knees and pulls out a bag of Doritos, opens it, and puts it between us.

“I have a weakness for Doritos,” he says. “Always have. If there's something else –”

“No, no, they're great,” I say. “Thank you.”

As we dig into our food, I'm taken aback by this little scene. And aside from the sexual tension and awkwardness I created, it's just so thoroughly – normal. Just two people having a meal together. And it's in that moment, I'm thunderstruck by the realization that I feel – comfortable.

I've been so keyed up about the situation – with Landon, with feeling like a captive here – that I never really let myself feel anything but tension and anxiety. But, somehow, having the upper hand and messing with Mr. Rossi like I am, I realize that I don't feel as anxious or scared as I did before.

I'm sure that talking with Carla helped in more ways than I even realized at the time, but when I look at Mr. Rossi, I don't actually fear him. I actually believe that he'd never do anything to hurt me. And when I look closer, see how painfully shy and awkward he is, I can see that he's not a bad or evil man.

In fact, when our eyes meet for the briefest of moments – before he quickly looks away – I see that shadow of loneliness that Carla had mentioned when we spoke. But even more than that, he looks a little sad. Maybe, even haunted by something. And whatever it is, it's deep.

There's a lot more to Roberto Rossi than I first realized. Maybe, because of Carla, I'm seeing him as a person for the first time.

He lets out a long breath and finally looks at me, holds my gaze. “Okay, listen,” he says. “We should probably just get the elephant in the room out of the way.”

“Oh?” I ask, popping a chip into my mouth. “Is there an elephant in the room?”

His cheeks flush again and he lowers his gaze, an awkward smile touching his lips. His squirming is growing even more intense and I have to keep myself from laughing.

“Yeah,” he says and clears his throat. “About earlier, I –”

“Earlier?” I ask, feigning innocence. “What do you mean?”

He sighs and the red of his cheeks seems to grow even deeper. His embarrassment and seeing him squirm as hard as he's squirming is just so – delicious.

“You're not going to make this easy on me, are you?” he asks.

I look at him, a small grin tugging at the corners of my mouth. “Should I?”

“I'd probably appreciate it a whole bunch.”

I cock my head and pretend to give it some thought. “Yeah, it’s not quite enough of an incentive.”

His laugh is soft and rueful. “Yeah, didn't think it would be,” he says. “Anyway, I'm mortified. Really, really mortified. And I'm sorry for – what happened.”

“And what was it that happened, Mr. Rossi?” I ask, not willing to let him off the hook so easily.

He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Wow,” he says. “You're really crucifying me here. And please, I'm begging you, call me Rob.”

I shrug. “Maybe a little.”

“Look, Harper,” he says. “You're an exceptionally beautiful woman. And I – I just got a little caught up and carried away. I'm truly sorry if it makes you feel uncomfortable.”

Hearing him say I'm beautiful sets off an explosion of unexpected emotion in me. I feel myself flush and my pulse quickens a bit. I'm flattered by his compliment – I know that he's a man who could have virtually any woman he chose to. And yet, he'd chosen me.

Mr. Ross – Rob – looks so painfully awkward, shamed, and humiliated that I feel a little bad for grinding him as hard as I have. Only a little though. But, I can probably let him off the hook now.

“It's okay,” I say. “I'm not uncomfortable. Just surprised, is all.”

“Thank you,” he says and lets out a long sigh of relief. “Though, you can't be surprised that a man finds you as stunning as you are.”

Now, it's my turn to feel the heat rush to my cheeks. I look away from him, flattered, but still a little awkward about taking a compliment. Always have been and probably always will be. That's just how I am.

“Thank you,” I say softly.

And just like that, the awkward tension that had saturated the air from the moment I walked into the kitchen evaporated. All of a sudden, we're just two normal people, sharing a meal together. Well – as normal as we can be, given that he's a billionaire mob boss and I'm just a struggling artist.

Other than that, it's all perfectly normal.

“Do you like sports?” Rob asks.

“I'm from the South,” I say, smiling wide. “We love our football down there.”

“So, I've heard,” he says, returning my smile.

He picks up the remote and turns the volume back up. A couple of talking heads are going on about the week's matchups. A clip of Brady Keating speaking about his team comes on and I boo.

“Not a fan of the Copperheads?” he asks.

“Nope. They seem to beat my team every time they play,” I say. “And I'm definitely not a fan of their owner and his super fake Matthew McConaughey accent.”

Rob laughs and I look over at him. “Copperheads fan, huh?”

“By default, mostly,” he says. “Brady is a pretty good friend of mine, actually. And I can assure you, his accent is very real.”

“Oops,” I say, feeling my cheeks flush again.

We laugh together and it's like a dam bursts open and our conversation starts to flow free and easy, as does our laughter. We talk about ourselves, our lives, and I learn so many things about Roberto Rossi that I never would have guessed about him – like the fact that he donates a lot of his time and even more of his money to local animal shelters. Though, given how much he dotes on Ella and Fitz, it shouldn't surprise me all that much.

Although he graduated with a degree in International Business and Finance, it was really surprising to me that he'd wanted to major in Comparative Literature. He's incredibly well read and we share a lot of the same favorite novels and writers. But he said that his dad more or less forced him into business – said it was a more practical degree.

The more we speak, the more I'm shocked to learn just how much we have in common.

I lose track of time as we talk, but the next thing I know, I look up and it's well after two in the morning. I stifle a yawn and give him a smile.

“I didn't realize it had gotten so late,” I say.

“Yeah, why don't you go get some sleep,” he says.

I grab my plate at the same time he does, and our hands touch. Where his hand meets mine, it feels like he's holding a live wire to my skin. Electricity runs through my veins and my breath catches in my throat. Our eyes meet and we gaze at each other for a long, awkward moment and I'm overcome with the urge to kiss him. And in his eyes, I feel like I can see the same.

But, the moment passes and he steps back, giving me a small smile. “I'll get these,” he says. “You go on and go to bed.”

“Thank you,” I say and slip off the stool.

I still feel that electric tingle in my hand from where he'd touched me as I head toward the doorway. I'm about to step through when his voice stops me and I turn around.

“Thanks for talking to me tonight,” he says. “Maybe it sounds silly, but I enjoyed it. A lot.”

“Yeah, me too,” I say – and really mean it.

“Good night,” he says.

“Goodnight,” I reply and head back upstairs, my heart and mind suddenly a maelstrom of thoughts and emotions.