Hot Mess
Page 12
How many girls could say they’d had Tate Montgomery’s tongue in their mouth, or his hands gripping their waist so tight it was as though he couldn’t get enough?
A lot, probably. But I refused to think about them.
For those ten or so minutes it took for the plane to reach altitude, nothing else mattered but the feel of Tate’s mouth on mine. His teeth grazed my lip, pulling it into his mouth.
I moaned. Fisted his shirt in my hands. His fingers moved to my seatbelt and released it. I faintly recalled hearing the announcement saying that we were free to move around and the pilot had turned off the seatbelt sign. Tate wasted no time pulling me out of my seat and into his lap.
Why wasn’t he stopping?
Not that I was complaining. I felt cherished. Cared for. Wanted.
I’d never experienced feelings like those before.
My hands were in his hair, pulling, tugging. His fingers traced patterns on my spine, sending shivers through my body.
“Excuse me,” a voice spoke, interrupting our kiss. Again. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I’m going to have to ask you to return to your seat.” The air hostess smiled politely at me. Heat flooded my cheeks, and I lowered my face in embarrassment.
I got caught making out with a guy like a teenager.
But I didn’t regret it.
I reluctantly slid off Tate’s lap and back into my own spot, missing the warmth of his touch. He held my hand though and whispered, “We’ll continue that later.”
I wasn’t sure what he meant exactly. A kiss or... more?
We sat in silence and watched the inflight movie. Though, I could hardly concentrate. I was too busy watching the clock and counting down the minutes until we prepared for landing, just so he’d kiss me again.
I was doomed.
This trip was going to end badly.
“Wren?”
“Hmm, yeah what?” I tore my eyes away from the clock on the screen in front of me.
“Would you like some food?” He smiled politely at the air hostess I failed to notice standing beside me. She was the same one who kindly asked me to move off Tate’s lap earlier. She stood there, a plastered-on smile on her face, but it was her eyes that told me she was annoyed with me.
“No, thank you. I’m fine.” I waved my hand, dismissing the idea of food.
Tate quirked an eyebrow in surprise. I was too nervous to eat. Too keyed up and on edge waiting to see if he would kiss me again as we landed to even think about food.
Chapter Twenty Three
TATE
Florence was fucking incredible.
Giovanni had a driver meet us at the airport and take us to our hotel. He gave us a rundown of the city, pointed out some sights that he said were must see, including some boar statue that was apparently featured in a Harry Potter film. I didn’t know what the hell he was talking about, but Wren seemed quite excited to see it.
Figured she liked Harry Potter.
Her eyes were wide, as she took in the sights that flew by the window while we headed to the hotel.
She repeated words over and over and I didn’t have the faintest clue what she was referring to.
“Ponte Vecchio.”
“Santa Croce.”
“Neptune.”
“The Duomo.”
“David.”
Who the fuck was David?
“You’re mumbling,” I told her quietly in the back of the car.
“Making note of all the places I want to see before we leave.”
And she wanted to see some dude named fucking David?
“Shouldn’t you be writing them down. You know. If you’re making notes.”
She gave me a blank stare. “That’s why I’m repeating them. So I don’t forget.”
“Ponte Vecchio.”
“Santa Croce.”
“Neptune.”
“The Duomo.”
“David.”
“Ponte Vecchio.”
Don’t ask. Keep your mouth shut. Don’t ask.
“Who’s David?” Smooth move, Casanova.
She quirked an eyebrow in my direction, an amused smile played at her lips.
“Jealous?”
“Not at all.” I rubbed a hand over my jaw and watched her reaction. “Is he going to be pissed you’re here with me?” I was totally jealous. It was a foreign feeling. My stomach churned with the violent need to throw up at the thought of Wren and someone else. I never even considered that a possibility.
When had she gotten so far under my skin?
“Do you think we can go to Rome before we leave?” She changed the subject abruptly. Why didn’t she want to talk about David?
“Rome?” I hadn’t really thought about exploring more of the country. But I guessed we could probably go for a few days. It wouldn’t be hard to change our flights.
“Yeah. I really want to get a selfie with the pope.” Wren nodded, a serious expression on her face.
“Don’t think it works that way.” Her set jaw told me there was no changing her mind, and she was dead serious about getting a selfie with the pope.
“I have a plan.” She grinned, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ears.
A plan. She has a plan.
Fuck.
I could see us getting arrested or something. She couldn’t just walk into the Vatican and shake the pope’s hand.
The driver dropped us off at the hotel with our luggage and a promise of picking us up at eight in the morning for the photoshoot.
I checked us in.
Two penthouse suites.
Side by side.
Giovanni didn’t skimp on the details that was for sure.
We were silent in the lift on the way up to our rooms. The tension between us palpable, I could almost reach out and grab it the way I wanted to grab Wren. Lift her up, wrap her legs around me and slam her into the wall.
I walked her to her door and waited while she slid the card into the lock. She turned to me with a soft smile. “You promised me pizza.”
I laughed. “Be ready by seven.” I wrapped my knuckles on the doorframe and walked away.
I was exhausted from not sleeping on the flight. I could never sleep on planes. So I wheeled my luggage into my room, kicked off my boots and stripped off my shirt. I collapsed on the large four-poster bed and closed my eyes without even checking the room out.
I drifted to sleep almost instantly, only to be woken by a knock on the door what felt like thirty seconds later. Sitting up, I stretched my arms above my head and looked around. The room was classy, marble and gold finishes. Just what I'd expect from a man like Giovanni. Another knock at my door caught my attention, and I remembered that was why I woke up.
Pulling the door open, I found Wren waiting on the other side with a smile on her perfect face. She was dressed in a low-cut black dress that fell to her mid-thigh, killer heels and... I stared.
She styled her fucking hair.
It was long and hung in waves. Wiping a hand across my mouth, I let my eyes drift over her once again.
Sex on legs.
Her smile fell as she took in my appearance. Jeans, no shirt, no shoes. Not the reaction I was hoping I’d get from her, but then it hit me.
“It’s seven, isn’t it?”
Wren scoffed. “Do you really think I’d be ready by seven?”
I frowned. Then what was she doing dressed to kill on the other side of my door if it wasn’t time for dinner.
“It’s eight. I was running late. And it seems you’d forgotten.” Hurt tainted her voice as she waved a hand in my direction, pointing at my lack of clothes.
“I didn’t forget. I fell asleep, exhausted from the flight. Sorry.”
“You should have slept on the plane then.” She brushed past me and made herself at home on my bed. I liked her there. More than I should. I couldn’t tell her that I spent most of the flight watching her sleep and enjoying her head resting on my shoulder.
“Let me have a shower and get chan
ged, then we'll go find somewhere to eat.”
“Oh, I’ve already found us a place to eat.”
That surprised me. “You did? When?”
She pulled the hem of her dress down her thighs. “While you were sleeping. I went exploring.”
Something gripped at my insides. Fear. Worry. I wasn’t sure. I only knew that I didn’t like the idea of her wandering around a foreign city on her own. What if something happened? She could have got lost, because knowing her that was likely. Or she could have been attacked. My fists clenched.
“You went alone?”
“Sort of. I found a tour group at the Fountain of Neptune and kind of just tagged along behind them. They didn’t notice me, and I learned a lot about the history of Florence.” Her lips pulled up into a proud smile. She was pleased with herself.
“Fuck.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “What?”
“I wish you hadn’t gone alone. What if something happened?”
Her back straightened and her jaw clenched. “Well it didn’t. I’m a big girl, Tate. I can look after myself.” She pushed up off the bed and walked over to the doors leading to the balcony. “I’ll wait out here while you get ready.”
She dismissed me. Just like that.
I lifted my suitcase onto the bed and grabbed a clean shirt and jeans, before heading to the shower. Somehow, I’d managed to piss her off.
Great start to our trip.
Chapter Twenty Four
WREN
Dinner was awkward. Quiet. Tense. Tate barely said anything, and I had nothing to offer either. Though, I was pretty overwhelmed with all the pizza choices and just wanted to eat in peace.
He gripped my hand tight as we walked through the dark street. Standing close to me at all times, never once removing his hand from my lower back, he ushered me through the busy little pizzeria.
It was slightly possessive and dominating of him, but if I was truthful with myself, I enjoyed it. It provided comfort, even though we barely spoke. And, when he walked me to my room at the end of the night, he pressed a kiss to my cheek and whispered, “Sorry for acting like a dick earlier.” With a gentle squeeze to my hip, he left and returned to his room.
I was up early in the morning. I was never one to sleep in. So, I grabbed my yoga mat and placed it out on the balcony as the sun rose in front of me. Dawn was my favorite time of the day. It was most peaceful.
I went through my yoga practice, taking time to stretch my limbs and relax my body after being cramped on a plane for almost twenty hours. When I finished, I sat there with my eyes closed for a minute, concentrating on my breathing and trying to get my anxiety under control.
I was going to meet Giovanni Russo in a few short hours, and he was going to feature my art in his latest shoot with Tate. It was a little overwhelming and hard to comprehend.
Not too long ago, I had debt collectors knocking on my door and the fear of never eating a pizza again was real. Now, I was in Florence with the stupid, sexy bastard, Tate, about to meet arguably the world’s most talented designer and have my work incorporated into his photoshoot. Surreal was an understatement.
I opened my eyes and stood up before bending down to roll up my yoga mat. When I turned to walk inside, I noticed Tate standing on his balcony, his eyes locked on me. He stood there in nothing but a pair of low-slung gray sweatpants and coffee in his hand.
Did the guy ever wear a shirt?
Seriously. Not that I was complaining. I mean, the view was spectacular.
I stared at him. He stared at me. Neither one of us would back down. He smirked behind his coffee mug.
Stupid, sexy bastard.
“How long have you been there?” I asked, watching the movement of his throat as he swallowed his coffee. Had he watched me the whole time or did he just get there?
“Good morning, Wren,” he said, completely ignoring my question. “We have a big day; you better get ready.” He approached the barrier between our two balconies, pulled another coffee mug out of nowhere and balanced it on top of the post before turning his back to me and walking back inside.
He made me coffee. I smiled gratefully and lunged for the steaming mug of bittersweet life.
Trudging back inside to shower and get ready for the day, I felt lighter than I had in a long time, as if I knew everything was going to be okay.
Tate knocked on my door just before eight a.m. and my stomach churned. I wasn’t ready. Heck, I didn’t even know what I needed to do to be ready. I pulled open the door and huffed out a breath, blowing a stray strand of hair out of my face.
“Oh, babe.” He placed his hand over his heart as he took in my appearance of fluffy knee-high socks, gray shorts and paint splattered t-shirt. “You didn’t have to dress up for me,” Tate said in way of a greeting as he breezed through my door as if he owned the place.
I stuck my tongue out at him like a petulant child.
At least I showered I wanted to say, but instead I went with the more dignified response of, “It’s better to let people think you’re an idiot, Tate, than to speak and prove it.”
“Are you trying to insult me?” He chuckled.
“Nope. Just stating the obvious.” I sat down on the floor and began pulling out all the clothes I’d packed, throwing pieces behind me if I didn’t like the look of them. Nothing was suitable. Jeez, why did I have to have such a relaxed wardrobe? And where was Eva when I needed her?
“I think you should wear this.” Tate’s voice was thick. I whipped my head around to see him holding a scrap of material that looked vaguely like a teddy. I was going to kill her.
Eva had come around the night before we left to help me pack, and I’d bet my last dollar that she’d slipped that into my case without me knowing. She was on a mission to get me laid. Her words. Not mine.
I scoffed. “Really? You think I should wear a lacy black camisole?”
His eyes darkened, and he scrubbed a hand across his jaw. “Yes.”
There was a glint in his eye. He was issuing a challenge. He didn’t really think I would wear it. But I was never one to back down from a challenge—I mean it was how I became a pizza-eating champion—I pushed to my feet and walked over to him.
Snatching the scrap of material from his hand, I smiled sweetly. “Fine.”
I picked up a pair of ripped skinny jeans and black leather stiletto boots and slipped into the bathroom. At least I had the foresight to throw on a nude bra after my shower because otherwise everything would be visible.
I changed quickly and attempted to smooth out my hair. It was still in waves from the night before and didn’t look like I’d put my finger in a power socket, so I took that as a win.
Tate was pacing the room when I returned but stopped the moment he heard the door open. Pinching his bottom lip, he looked me over once and said, “You need a jacket.”
“It’s warm out. I don’t need one.” I folded my arms over my chest and his eyes followed the movement, zeroing in on my chest. Typical guy.
“Then you need to change.” And this time it was my turn to smirk. He picked up a ratty old t-shirt and laughed. “This one will do.”
It was my favorite one. It had a dancing pizza slice sticking his middle finger up and a caption that said, ‘Eat me.’ It was totally inappropriate, so I usually only wore it to bed. I tapped him on the chest, and said, “Sorry. Driver should be here now. Wouldn’t want to be late.” Then I picked up my bag and walked out of the room not even waiting to see if Tate would follow.
He would.
He had to.
Chapter Twenty Five
TATE
The driver picked us up and drove us to Giovanni’s property in the hills of Tuscany. His home was rustic yet elegantly poised on the hill, surrounded by sprawling green acres and its own vineyard where I knew he produced his own wine.
“Whoa,” Wren whispered as we pulled up to the estate. “It’s breathtaking.” Her nose was pressed to the glass window as she took everything in.
The driver opened my door before moving around to Wren’s side and holding out a hand to help her out. She smiled her thanks and stared up at Giovanni. I came to stand beside her and placed my hand on her back. “You ready?” I asked.
Her back straightened, lips spread into a wide, confident smile as she whispered, “Yes.”
We walked up the steps together to Giovanni who reached a hand forward for me to shake.
“Tate, so good to see you. Welcome to my home,” he said, his Italian accent thick and his teeth blindingly white when he smiled. “And this must be Wren.” He turned to Wren and grasped her hand in his before leaning in and pressing a kiss to both her cheeks.
“You must be something special, bella, for Tate to demand you in his contract.” Giovanni’s smile was easy and carefree as he linked his arm with Wren’s and said, “Come.”
He led us through his home to the back where he had a studio set up beyond the pool. His photographer was inside waiting. So was his stylist with a rack of clothes and a makeup artist. The room was bare. White walls. White marble floor. And there was a large white curtain hanging in the center that divided the room. Beyond the curtain was what I assumed would be the sets for the photoshoot; Wren’s artwork, and whatever other props Giovanni wanted.
He waltzed into the room like the king that he was and snapped his fingers, mumbling something in Italian and gesturing to Wren. The makeup artist, and stylist sprang into action, rushing around before disappearing.
Wren gave me a wide-eyed glance as if asking whether I knew what was going on. I shrugged. I didn’t have the faintest clue what that was about.
Giovanni called to his assistant and she promptly poured three coffees and brought them over to us.
“You my dear,” Giovanni placed a hand on Wren’s cheek, “Are magnifico. I wonder, would you do me the honor of wearing a few of my pieces?”