“Because. You are better than this.” He reached for her hands and lifted them to her chest. He clasped them between their two bodies, and stroked her palms. “You are better than this.”
She was caught in his gaze, powerless to look away. “Do you really believe where someone lives matters? That the quality of their possessions defines the kind of person they are?”
“No.” His eyes were like black diamonds in his face. “I believe you are kind and good, and that you should be comfortable and content. I know for a fact that I can improve your life with a click of my fingers.”
“And then what?” She said, shaking her head.
“Meaning?” He prompted, truly at a loss as to what she meant with her interruption.
“What will I owe you? What will you expect in return?” Her blue eyes were clouded by pain. “Would you expect me to open my door and my bed to you every time you were in London? To be permanently available to you, because you had ‘improved my life’, as you put it?”
The idea of a quid pro quo had never entered his head. He opened his mouth to say as much when she carried on with her outraged tirade. “Because this place mightn’t be much, but I’m proud of it. And I would rather live here than become your… your… London mistress. Or whatever.” She crossed her arms across her chest and glared belligerently across the room.
Sabato had built his fortune by reading people. He knew enough of Emily’s circumstances to find himself empowered with all the ammunition he needed to bring her to heel. And yet he held off, momentarily, on using it. Emily had, after all, provided him with a far more fascinating angle to play.
“You wouldn’t like being my London mistress?” He asked, teasing her gently.
Emily’s cheeks flushed. She shook her head, but that pulse point beneath the pale skin at the base of her neck was shivering visibly. He lifted his fingers to it now, his expression faintly mocking as he felt the excitement vibrate beneath his touch. Yes. He would get back to the most persuasive argument shortly, but for now… he lowered his head, so that their lips were separated by only a tiny fissure in space. “You wouldn’t like me to sneak into your bed, late at night, and take you in my arms?” Emily’s eyes beat closed, and her body swayed towards him. He had no idea how long they had before they would be interrupted, but he had been starved of her for too long to care. He wrapped his arms around her body and lifted her, holding her tight against him. He kissed her, and he carried her, into the lounge room.
It was not the most salubrious environment, but he could not wait. Sabato removed her pants without breaking the kiss, and then freed himself from the confines of his clothing. He did not bother to undress, only to slip himself from the fabric, so that he could enter her swiftly.
“Sabato!” She cried out, digging her fingernails into his back as her body convulsed with the pleasure long denied to them. She wrapped her legs around his waist and sobbed into his chest.
He was not capable of controlling his reactions to her. She was too beautiful and too perfect for him. In that moment, he knew that he would give her the world if it kept her in his life. An apartment and sex might be all he could offer her, but he would make it the best damned apartment and the best damned sex if it meant he could feel this again and again.
They exploded simultaneously; two frantic, wretched souls, bursting with lust and passion, burning brighter than volcanic ash.
Emily held onto him, while her breathing returned to its usual cadence, and then she pushed him away. Her apartment looked the same, but now it had been added to the list of casualties in her life. The places that would always and forever remind her of Sabato Montepulciano.
Her eyes were haunted as she walked past him, and reached for some clean underwear and jeans. She pulled them on, aware of his silent watchfulness and powerless to formulate a sentence.
“Pack a bag, Emily,” he said quietly. When she angled her head to look at him, he was back to his normal self. Business-like. Efficient. Untouchable.
She swallowed and shook her head. “I’m not interested in what you can give me.” Except his heart. Only his heart.
She was digging in her heels. With every moment that passed, she was becoming more and more intent on doing the opposite of what he wished. Not just what he wished, he corrected internally, but what he knew to be the right course of action. What was the point of having billions at his disposal if he could not improve the life of someone as deserving as Emily?
“I would never have said you are selfish,” he drawled finally, his eyes dark in his face.
“Selfish?” She glared at him and then walked back to the small kitchen. She poured boiling water into the mug, staring at it while the colour from the peppermint tea bag bled through the cup. “How the hell do you figure that?”
He followed behind her, and stopped just inside the doorway. He crossed his arms over his toned chest and reclined casually against the wall. As though they were discussing something banal and convivial, like the shade of yellow used to decorate the kitchen.
“Is this really how you want to raise your brother? Is this what you think your mother and stepfather would have wanted?”
Indignation burst inside of her. “How dare you?” She put the tea down on the bench and braced herself, pressing both hands into the chipped laminate surface.
“Look at this place, Emily. It is fit for drug dealers and whores. You said your brother is seven years old?”
Her mouth opened and closed as the unjustness of his accusation drained through her awareness. “Get out.”
“Not without you,” he said firmly. For the first time since arriving in her apartment, he felt like his plan might not have been wise. Like there was a very real risk that she might firmly stand her ground. He ignored the doubt. It did not serve him. “Would you really make a decision to raise Andrew here, when I am offering you a whole new life?”
“A whole new life with a whole heap of conditions,” she pointed out acerbically, rubbing her temples. She couldn’t think straight with the powerful frame of Sabato Montepulciano only feet away. Her body was still throbbing from receding desire, and her mind was exhausted.
“This is what is holding you back?” He shook his head, and walked slowly towards her. He put a hand on either side of her body, and brought his mouth towards her lips. “You think you’ll be obliged to sleep with me because I want to help you?”
Her cheeks coloured at the characterisation.
“Let me make you this promise, Emily. We will not sleep together again unless you ask for it. Does this set your mind at ease?”
It didn’t. Her insides churned. She shook her head. “Why won’t you just leave me alone?”
He lifted a hand and cupped her cheek. “Life hasn’t been fair to you, Emily, and I can tip the scales back in your balance. Why won’t you just let me?”
Her laugh was almost a sob. “Because I don’t want you to pity me, okay? I don’t want you to look at me and see someone that needs fixing.”
“You don’t need fixing,” he reproached gently. “You need help. Let me give it to you.”
“Why?” She repeated, her eyes lifting to his. “I’m no one to you. I haven’t heard from you in three months …”
He nodded. “True, but that does not mean you are no one to me.” He kissed her lips gently. “Please, cara, pack some things.”
The thought of letting someone else shoulder some of her burden for a time crested in front of her, like an enormous golden orb. She ached to walk towards it and bathe in its warmth, but she knew she would never respect herself if she fell in with his plans.
She lifted her hands to his chest and splayed her fingers across the expensive fabric of his custom made shirt. “No.”
There was iron in her eyes, a look of steely determination that surprised him.
She could feel his warmth through the fabric and it gave her courage. “I’m not your problem. None of this is. You feel some sense of misguided responsibility because of what we �
� shared that weekend. But you shouldn’t.” She lifted a finger to his lips, to silence his objection. “You are mistaken if you think I’m some damsel in distress. I like my life. I chose to work at your hotel because Ewan accommodates whatever hours I can work that fit in with Andrew’s needs. I chose to live here because there’s a basement I can store my canvasses. I wish that my mum and Si were still here, or that my grandparents were at a place where they could help me more. I didn’t choose for any of that stuff to happen. But I chose this. Just because my life doesn’t look like something you would like living, doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with it.”
He was drowning. The water was coming over his eyes, making his chest constrict. He could not leave her living here. He had thought … he didn’t know what he’d thought. But now that he’d seen her long bus commute and walk through less than safe streets, and the apartment that looked a fashionable lamp away from being a drug den, he knew he couldn’t leave her. The worry would consume him.
“Canvasses?” He was outwardly calm, and he latched onto the only part of her statement that he hadn’t understood.
She nodded. Pride was a wave inside of her. She rode it, relieved that she could show him something that might change his mind about her. That might make him realise she was more than just a very financially stretched housekeeper at one of his luxurious hotels. She dropped her hands reluctantly from his chest and stepped away from him. One of her sketchpads was on top of the fridge. She pulled it down for him and laid it open on one of her more recent projects. The portrait.
Sabato wasn’t looking at the thick white book she’d put on the table. He was looking at her. Beautiful, determined, frustrating Emily. Emily who shone like a diamond in the midst of this tiny, run down apartment. Her enormous blue eyes lifted to his face, her auburn hair shone like a swathe of chestnut silk.
She was looking at him expectantly, and finally, he dropped his gaze to the book. And froze. A couple was staring back at him, elderly but full of life. The woman’s hair was looped in a bun high on her head, and he could tell just by looking at it that it was soft and floss-like. The man’s eyes were lined by life’s experiences, and he seemed to be peering out of the page at him. Sabato took a step closer, rendered completely speechless for one of the first times in his adult life. The woman’s hand was clasped in the man’s, and they seemed to be sharing a secret without speaking.
“What is this?” Sabato asked finally, hovering a finger over the paper. He gave into the temptation to touch the page, to assure himself they weren’t somehow real.
Emily’s nerves stretched taut. “This is who I am,” she said simply, flicking the page to show him another of her sketches. This one was just of Milly, one hand lifting to contain an errant twist of her hair, her eyes arched skywards as she focussed on the task. Sabato swallowed, then reached past Emily, to turn another page. Sketch after sketch confronted him, each strikingly brilliant in a different way.
“You did these.”
She nodded.
“This is who you are.”
Her lips lifted into a smile at his repetition of her phrase. “So you see, I’m just another in a very long line of struggling artists.”
He closed the cover of the book so that he could look at the first half of her works. He flicked through the pages, and paused when he came across a sketch of two hands. They were, unmistakably, his hands.
Emily’s cheeks, bright pink, confirmed his realisation. “It’s what I do,” she downplayed unsuccessfully. “I see things and I draw them. Actually, I paint them.”
There was urgency in his gut. He had opened a piece of her, and he was greedy to see more. “Show me. Show me your paintings.”
Emily wanted to. She realised that she really, really wanted to. But she shook her head from side to side slowly. “Andrew will be here any minute. You have to go.”
It angered Sabato. Her obvious desire to push him from her life, to hide his presence from her brother; it rankled.
“I want to see your paintings. Will you show me tomorrow?”
Emily frowned in consternation. “I have to work tomorrow, and you’re flying out.”
“I will change my plans.”
Emily bit down on her lower lip. She didn’t want to owe him anything, and yet she needed to see him again. Knowing she may well come to regret it, Emily found herself nodding. “Yes. Okay.”
Chapter 7
Sabato scanned the contract for the tenth time that morning. It was all exactly as he’d outlined the night before. His chief counsel had done an excellent job of compiling it quickly. It was nothing like he’d ever offered before, but he suspected it might tick all of Emily’s boxes and allow her to accept help, without feeling like she was taking favours.
He tucked it into his coat pocket and eyed the building thoughtfully. There were some spectacular parts of Elephant & Castle. He’d spent a considerable amount of time in London’s East, taking in the boroughs that might be suitable for his investment. Yes, her little pocket had some beautiful history and a sort of urban chic that made it youthful and vibrant. Unfortunately, those areas were a far cry from where Emily lived. Her street was the ultimate in depression and dank filth.
He stepped out of the Rolls Royce he favoured when in London. “Wait here,” he commanded his driver John, not caring that the car was parked on a double yellow line.
“Yes sir,” John tilted his cap and closed the door behind Sabato.
Emily was waiting in the foyer. Her smile, when he approached the door was nervous. Sabato could do nothing but stare at her through the grimy glass of the entrance way. It was the first time he’d seen her in clothes other than her uniform. If he’d thought about it at all, he might have imagined that she got around in jeans and sweatshirts. She had a very fresh and energetic vibe that would suit casual clothes. And yet she was wearing a bright floral skirt that reminded him of his mother’s marimekko cups, and a fitted black sweater. She looked … stunning and natural.
His stomach flipped on its side as he closed the distance between them. Her hair was freshly washed and hung in loose waves down her back. Her makeup was minimal – only a slash of bright red lipstick showed that she’d gone to any special effort for him. His chest squeezed painfully.
“I presumed you wouldn’t want to dice with death again,” she said jokingly, nodding towards the elevator.
He levelled her a look of mock appreciation. “Thank you, Emily.” His eyes devoured her face. His hands ached to pull her to his chest. “How did you sleep?”
How had she slept? She hadn’t been able to sleep, for thinking of him. “Fine, thank you.” Had it been the same for him? Had he lain awake for hours, remembering every detail of their lovemaking? “My work’s downstairs.”
“Lead the way.”
She nodded and walked swiftly through the foyer, to a small emergency exit door behind them.
A narrow, dark staircase gave way to a small storage area. It was lit with fluorescent lights, and a persistent drip, drip, dripping sound told of a leak somewhere nearby.
“Just over here,” she nodded to their left and he walked as she did, carefully dodging old chairs and ladders.
She stopped in the corner. “Here.” She pulled at the edge of a grey blanket, and Sabato moved to the other side. He lifted it with her, to reveal a swag of eight or nine canvasses. “I’ve done hundreds, but these are the best.”
He didn’t gasp. He was not prone to such obvious emotional displays. His silence spoke volumes. His eyes took in every detail of the top canvas. This was a young boy, and he knew, without even asking, that it was Andrew. His eyes were the same as Emily’s, and his smile had the same irreverent knowingness to it.
Without commenting on it, he set it aside so that he could look at the next one in the series. It was Ewan, the manager from the hotel. It brought back a wave of envy, but he ignored it. The man was nothing. Simply a bug he could squash any time he wanted to. He flicked past the canvas. It was brilliant in its
execution, but the subject was a source of irritation.
Within ten minutes, he’d studied each of her most finished artworks – work that she’d poured her heart and soul into – and he’d said not a word. Anxiety was chewing at the corners of her gut.
“I have to get ready for work soon,” she said, to break the silence, and beg for some feedback. Any feedback! Anything!
Sabato flicked her a gaze of irritation and then placed the canvases back in place. “You no longer work at the hotel.”
Emily’s heart dropped as all her fears began to crystallize in front of her eyes. “Excuse me?”
He was careful not to express his anger, but it was there. A tidal wave of fury that someone so talented had been forced by life circumstances to squeeze their art into the gaps of a busy and unfulfilling schedule.
“I want to show you something.”
“No,” she said, her voice shaking with anger. “No, no, no. What gave you the right to make that kind of unilateral decision about me and my life?”
He held a hand up in a gesture of command. “Nothing I have done cannot be undone. Stop shouting and look at this.”
He pulled his phone from his top pocket and opened up the photographs. The first picture he showed her was a large, open-plan room with views of the Thames framed by enormous windows. “What is it?” She sighed, already suspecting where he was going.
“An artist’s studio.”
The surprise was palpable. “An artist’s … studio?”
He made a growling sound of agreement, and then swiped to the next photograph, a bedroom. Then, another. A large kitchen, and so on and so on. When he’d finished, Emily was numb. “I told you last night, I am not going to be… kept by you.”
The proud jut of her chin made his heart twist. “I’m offering you a job.”
Her eyes flared wide, and her indignation made him laugh. “Not that job, though it certainly has merits.” Her innocence was beautiful. He lifted the contract from his pocket and handed it to her. Emily was so shocked that she took it.
Billionaire Brides: An Anthology Page 42
