I cleared my throat and took a deep breath as I let his voice guide me, visualizing him and his hardness, and the way he’d touch himself. His face was a mask of want, his gaze intense with the need to please me. I pictured his eyes and their stunning green color, and his strong fingers as he moved over my breasts. I clenched my legs together to intensify the tension that was slowly building between them at the image of his majestic erection slick with want. My heart was racing in my chest, beating frantically against my ribs as I let his expert voice guide me.

“Can you see me?” Jett asked.

“Yes.” Surprisingly I could.

“I’m brushing my lips across the back of your neck until you can feel my breath on your skin. I start kissing your shoulder and spine while my hands move around your waist so I can part your legs.”

My skin tingled from his gruff, assertive tone.

“Your back’s pressed against me, and my hand’s stroking your slit. You’re turning me so on, I’m bending you over until you’re on all fours. I’m licking you and taste your arousal for me. Can you feel it?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” A raspy pause, then, “I want you to touch yourself like I’d touch you. Do it well, baby. I want you to describe the way your fingers feel inside you.”

Following his command, I spread my legs and slipped my fingers between them, stroking gently, then with a little more fervor before thrusting two fingers in after he instructed me to take all the time I needed.

“Tell me what you feel, Brooke.”

“I’m wet,” I whispered.

“How wet?”

“Very, very…wet.”

“And your fingers?”

“Two inside.”

“Keep moving, Brooke.” His breath came heavy, sending my fantasy into override. “You make me so hard it hurts. Keep going.”

I plunged my fingers in and out of me to the picture of him in my mind and the sound of his voice caressing my senses.

“Imagine my erection between your pussy. How does that feel?”

“I like it.” And I did, because my memories with him…made me wetter.

He laughed hoarsely. “I’m moving inside you slowly, imagining you wet and tight, and it feels so good for me. How does it feel for you, Brooke?”

“Good,” I breathed. My thumb circled my clit, setting it on fire, my fingers between my legs, eager to follow Jett’s next command.

“I’m sliding into you and as slow as I can I start to fuck you. Just inches at a time, until you begin to moan my name.” He whispered so low I had a hard time focusing through the hazy curtain of sexual frustration urging me to seek fulfillment. His own arousal was apparent from his labored breathing and the picture of him touching himself shattered my last ounce of insecurity. Biting my lip hard, I rubbed my fingers through my wet folds, struggling to find my pleasure in his absence.

His voice became faint in my head as he told me how deep he plunged into me and how good it felt to be inside me. I couldn’t listen anymore. I dipped my fingers in and out of me, imagining it was his body pinning me down, his erection slicing through my skin. I whimpered and pressed my temple against the cold satin pillow as my body began to shake and twist like a flame against the hard caress of my hand.

“I’m coming,” I whispered a moment before the world blackened out and I lost myself in the sweet contractions of my climax.

When it was over, the phone was still pressed to my ear and the other end of the line was so quiet I wasn’t sure he hadn’t hung up.

“Jett?” I asked, sitting up and wrapping my sheets around my naked body. I was hesitant and suddenly ashamed. Had he heard it all? Was he shocked, maybe disgusted, by the way I had let myself get into character?

He cleared his throat but the coarseness of desire was still there, making my heart twitch in my chest.

“I’m really jealous of your fingers, baby,” he whispered. I smiled. “And I think I have a problem.”

“What problem?” I grinned, knowing that he was about to say one of his sexy things.

“I think I can’t get enough of you,” he whispered. “Do you have any idea how much I wish you were here? How much I wish I could have seen you come?”

I smiled thankful he couldn’t see the blush burning my cheeks. Seriously, I could do this all night, listen to his deep voice whisper sweet nothings—or in this case naughty nothings—into my ear.

A thud echoed in the background, followed by a male voice saying something, and Jett’s ‘fuck you’ reply.

He wasn’t alone. Maybe even in a public place. The heat scorching my face intensified from both mortification and excitement.

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow at twelve same place like last time.” His tone was composed. Business-like. And then it dropped to a whisper. “And Brooke, I’m hurting all over for you, baby. You owe me the real deal and I’m going to take it. Running from me isn’t going to help you because I’ve never been a quitter.” The line went dead.

He had hung up on me.

Even though I had just climaxed, my body was still earning for him. I could never have imagined anything like this would turn me on—or him. It wasn’t that I was uncomfortable with dirty talk. Call me cliché, but I always thought seedy phone conversations were reserved for lonely guys on a lonely night far away from the convenience of an internet connection. I shrugged back into my clothes and typed up a text message.

Don’t get your hopes up. I’m never sleeping with you again.

My fingers hovered over the send button, but ended up pressing delete instead. Why warn him when I could let him simmer all night and then dash his hopes. After the stunt he just pulled on me, the jerk deserved a little pain.

Chapter 9

“So let me get this straight. You want to go back to Bellagio and leave me all alone here?” Sylvie asked over a hearty breakfast consisting of egg omelet and orange juice. Apart from cereals and pre-made waffles, it was the only thing Sylvie and I knew how to prepare, so naturally, we indulged in it whenever we couldn’t make it to the nearest café.

Nodding, I put down my fork and pushed my empty plate aside. “I need to run some errands. You can do whatever you want. Go shopping, lounge by the pool, update your Twitter status.”

“It’s Facebook.” She grimaced, like I was an idiot for not remembering. “I know you’re supposed to do something for the old man. I thought I could come with you.”

“It’ll be boring.” I tried to sound convincing—and failed miserably. “ I’d rather you have a nice day because it’s supposed to be a vacation. Go enjoy yourself. Do what you feel like doing.”

“And that is?”

I shrugged. Normal people went on a sightseeing tour or lay on a sunbed, reading a book. Sylvie was a totally different species.

“Go to Milan, shopping. It’s not that far. I’ll be back around seven.” I had no idea what Jett had in mind. My best guess was lunch, in which case we’d be done by mid-afternoon, give or take a few hours.

“You know, I might just do that,” Sylvie said. “I’ve always wanted to visit Milan. It’s the shopping capital of Italy, and I can finally get one of those Italian silk scarfs and a new Prada bag.” Sylvie swooned and her eyes glazed over as she entered shopping heaven. I could almost see the Prada logo reflected in her blue eyes.

“Just do me the favor and don’t go home with a guy.”

“I’m not that stupid.”

I sighed. “I know.”

Hopefully I wasn’t the one making a mistake by going out with the hottest, most persuasive guy I knew. Sleeping with Jett when he was my boss was bad enough. But going out with him as my ex-boss, who also happened to be the best lover I ever had, might be worse. It spelled instant trouble.

***

The taxi driver parked in front of the spa. I paid and got out quickly, almost tripping over my two feet as I spotted Jett leaning relaxed against his Lamborghini. Dark shades hid his eyes, making it impossible to discern whether he was absorbed in the newspaper in his hands, or watching me approach.

My heart began to thump a little harder, and my tongue flicked over my suddenly dry lips as I stared at six foot two of toned muscles. He looked so damn sexy dressed in jeans and a black shirt. His thick dark hair was shiny and unruly. I wondered whether he’d taken a shower and didn’t bother to comb it before driving to pick me up. The picture of me running my hands through his hair, pulling him on top of me, made me blush so hard my skin was on fire. He was pure sin. Whoever invented the word must’ve done so with Jett in mind.

As if on cue, his head snapped in my direction and a devilish grin lit up his face. He folded the newspaper and tossed it through the open window into the car, then strolled toward me.

“Well, hello, I’m Jett Mayfield.” He grabbed my hand in a very intimate grip. “I’m the crazy guy who called last night.”

He had me at hello and crazy.

I forced a smile on my face, and prayed he’d mistake my blush for the beginning of a sunburn. Just thinking of yesterday’s phone conversation with him and knowing the sound of his voice was enough to make me give in, was not only awkward—it was embarrassing and agonizingly stupid. Now was the right time for earth to swallow me up whole and make me disappear forever. Maybe I was lucky enough, and Jett had been drunk and with no recollection of my lack of refusal.

Yeah, it was possible. Stranger things happened.

Don’t be stupid, Stewart. Just look at his grin. He knows it!

“What are you doing?” I asked, trying to sound as casual as possible.

“Establishing a clean slate.” He winked and interlaced his fingers with mine as he walked me to his car. “Starting all over again. With you.”

“Really?” I laughed, unable to look into his eyes. The serious undertones in his voice made me nervous.

“You look beautiful.” He kissed my cheek and lingered there a bit longer than necessary. A soft tingle ran down my spine. “In Italy you don’t really say I miss you. People say ‘mi manchi’, which means ‘you are missing from me.’ I feel that way, Brooke. Whenever you’re not around, I feel like a part of me is missing.”

A hot shudder ran through my body and every inch of me longed to touch him. That he was hot and sexy was bad enough. Did he have to be nice, too? I wanted to say something witty. But, as usual, I couldn’t think straight around him.

Smiling, Jett opened the door and I entered. The smell of expensive leather hit my nostrils. It didn’t surprise me in the least that people were staring at us. They probably thought we were celebrities, which couldn’t be further from the truth. At least in my case.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“It’s a surprise.” He started the engine and pointed at the newspaper before steering out of the parking lot. “Turn to page eight.”

The newspaper was older than I thought, folded and used many times, the front page torn in several places. I flicked straight to page eight. The main headline mentioned a gallery opening. Further down was something about a charity event and pictures of high society socialites in their evening gowns, holding champagne flutes. The last paragraph mentioned various art purchases made on that evening. The date read May 8th 1991.