Undressed: 1 (The Manhattanites)

by Aster, Avery

  He rolled his eyes in obvious annoyance at her comment. “Let me get you a robe.” He dropped the sheet covering him and stood—naked. Cock out, he turned his dimpled ass for the bathroom on the opposite side.

  Lex reached her hands up as he returned with a housecoat. Massimo held the cotton wrap out for her.

  Standing, she slipped her arms through the sleeves and tied the cushy fabric around her waist. Lex imagined she would’ve felt less vulnerable but she didn’t. “Thank you.”

  “Di niente.” He went to the bed’s edge and ate his breakfast from the side table naked.

  Overwhelmed by the attraction, Lex distracted herself and went for the espresso while Massimo scoured through the paper. Unable to ease her hangover, she asked, “Massimo, did they put anything in the Bellini other than Prosecco and peach juice? My head is pounding.”

  “Bella, the restaurant mixes their Bellini with—how do you say in English—Peach Schnapps to make it taste sweeter.”

  “And schnapps has liquor in it, yes?”

  He shot her a look to say yes, you drunk. “Sì, you consumed about four grain alcohol shots. I will never tell you what to do.” Massimo winked and acknowledged her headstrong ways. He returned his attention to the paper.

  “I don’t drink often.” As she reached for a sip, ready to bring the spinning room to a standstill, he shouted, “Here we go!” He handed over the paper. “Our stock at Girasoli went up this morning by twenty points on the Borsa Italiana stock exchange.”

  “Fabulous, Massimo. But why?”

  “Bene press coverage equals good stock values. The article illustrated Girasoli’s new alliance with the United States.”

  She sipped her coffee while examining the news. The headline read, “Girasoli Prince Dating New York Fashion Designer Lex Easton.” She read as much in Italian. She coughed as the hot java went down the wrong pipe. “This is the Milano News, not some celebrity tabloid. How does this help your stock value?”

  “Girasoli’s export division is challenged, and for executives to see me last night with a top American designer helps with perception.”

  “Unbelievable. I’m now heading up your foreign relations?”

  “If you think last night didn’t help your image as well, then you are not as smart as I thought.” He raised one eyebrow and glanced at her to turn her attitude around.

  Intellect was her best asset, but she sure as hell didn’t think Massimo noticed. But he was right. She was familiar with how the press built you up, tore you down and then accelerated you higher once again. She’d ridden the PR machine many times.

  A North American spin would soon follow. Taunting memories from the media came unbidden. She thought about Alexandra the Great sleeping with a prince.

  I shared Alexandra stories with him last night. Ughh… But the press may not be negative—not yet anyway. She explained, “All I care about is finishing your designs and getting my own collection completed.” Lex needed to stay focused, not get distracted. Fashion Week was around the corner.

  “The paper is in Italiano. Want me to read it to you?” His voice assured her the article would be fine.

  “Umm…I’m nervous.” She weighed the question. Did she want to bring down her mood?

  “If the article is negative, I will stop reading, sì?” He held the paper in his lap.

  After a few seconds, she nodded. “Read it to me.”

  “Prince Massimo Tittoni seen last night at The Fashion Ball with American designer Lex Easton.”

  So far, so good, no negative jabs. She ate a crunchy bite from cornetti pastry topped with citrus marmellata. The baked bread and jelly melted in her mouth.

  Massimo read on. “Lex Easton, daughter to the late rock ‘n’ roll star Eddie Easton, redefined wholesome glamour at The Fashion Ball. In a signature red vintage Valentino, Easton offered a refreshing contrast to Milan’s scantily clad.”

  A compliment. “Jemma didn’t get upset over my dress alteration. She did give me an idea. A line extension under your label for sexy gowns very Dolceish, I think she’d have fun with it and you’d make a fortune.”

  “We can talk about your genius ideas with Jemma later today. I am sure she would be open to it.” Massimo looked down at the paper and read out loud, “Miss Easton isn’t typical Massimo arm candy. For starters, she runs a multimillion dollar fashion empire.” Hesitation grew as his facial muscles twitched.

  “Why are you stopping? Keep going,” she urged.

  He lowered his voice but continued reading. “Maybe the prince should take this as his cue to settle down as he remains a stallion yet to be tamed. Last night marked a rare occasion for the world to see Tittoni with only one woman on his arm, not two or three. Insiders speculate Easton may keep him on his toes.”

  She giggled and then said. “The article is the funniest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “You think so, do you?” Throwing the paper to the floor, he pulled the sheets back from the bed. “Do we not have some unfinished business?” Massimo looked her up and down as if pleased with his capture.

  “Come make my skin sticky and my body ache.” She held out her hands waiting for him to pounce on her.

  Knock, knock.

  The door flew open.

  “Woof! Woof, woof.” Nicolo, Nino and Noe jumped on the bed.

  “Shit!” Massimo yanked the sheet to cover himself.

  “Buongiorno, my darlings!” Jemma greeted them with a stiff smile. “Scusi to interrupt but the dogs wanted in. I came by to pick up our American but can see she’s not ready.”

  “Morning, Jemma.” Lex noticed Jemma gave her body a good onceover.

  “Lex, I have to buy some supplies. I’ll be at the showroom in an hour.” Jemma turned her attention to Massimo who stood covered, and she shook her head. “Massimo I assume you’ll drop Lex off?”

  “Sì” Massimo sniveled, chewing his lips together, pissed.

  “Ciao, ciao, my darlings.” Jemma turned, leaving the door open wide. Her heels click clacked, echoing in the hall as she headed down the stairs.

  Lex speculated if Jemma’s intrusion was a sweet revenge strategy for her three way surveillance with Luigi and Rocco yesterday. She figured this morning’s false start was a payback.

  His black hair stood on end as he ran his fingers through his hair. He stepped into his slippers without taking his eyes off her. Massimo’s lips curled into amusement as he mumbled in Italian. “You drive me crazy, bella. You fucking drive me crazy.” He paused, shaking his head, holding in his laugh, and then let his humor rumble.

  “Woof, woof.”

  Ouch ouch ouch my head. This place is a zoo. “Where are you going?” Lex asked as she studied his backside. With a dimple on each cheek she’d never fancied herself for a butt gal, but his hiney was adorable. Everything on Massimo is lovable.

  “Eat your breakfast.” Massimo ordered.

  “Come back to bed.” She rested her face against Noe’s belly. The dog crawled up next to her. She stroked his gray coat. “Such an adorable fur baby.” At least she thought it might be Noe, the friendliest of the three. Tongues hanging, the dogs panted, looking at Massimo waiting for their master to acknowledge them.

  At the bathroom’s door he turned and faced her. His cock remained hard, thick and ready to make its mark on her. In annoyance, he stroked it, holding it up higher. “I am going to take a cold shower.” He stepped into the bathroom and slammed the door. Even when Massimo seemed angry and horny, his unwavering ability to laugh made him admirable—among his many other qualities.

  The water started in the shower and she heard him mumble Italian cuss words through the walls. One loud thump sounded, and she estimated he’d punched the spa wall in frustration.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Deconstructing Massimo, Snip Snip

  “Argh, can’t you join us in the showroom?” Lex asked Massimo, as he turned the bright yellow Lamborghini Aventador up to Girasoli’s headquarters. I want to spend more time with you.


  Despite the unapologetic supercar’s V12 engine, Lex noticed his driving in the city seemed less ostentatious and hasty, but heads turned as he maneuvered down the brick side streets. Milan’s fashion district occupants knew his signature roadster collection. People on the curb kept pointing and trying to look through its tinted windows.

  “Luigi requested a last minute meeting with me at the mansion. But would not say what about,” Massimo replied and gave Lex a puzzled look with a shoulder shrug.

  “Spend the morning with us,” she insisted.

  “You two ladies need to do your design thing,” he replied. “I will get in your way. Besides, I will want to take you into my office, make love to you over the fabrics, over my desk, over my lap. I would be a distraction.”

  Love? She bit down on her lower lip, the sharp pain bringing her back to reality. “Please don’t use the ‘L’ word with me in such a context. You mean you want to have sex with me.” He made it pretty clear he didn’t give love—ever. Or had his feelings changing?

  “I will not become your fuck buddy. I do not care for casual terms. Lex—you are more special. Tonight when we have more time we will discuss us.” Massimo shifted the racer into park and hit the parking break.

  “Us? Must you put a term or label or what the heck ever on this?” Lex didn’t want to. “You spoke your piece last night. I’m not one to pressure people.” She attempted to deliver her response with a straight face.

  Massimo chuckled. “Pressure”—he removed both hands from the wheel and confirmed in air quotes—“is your middle name.”

  Annoyed, she grabbed the door handle and realized she didn’t have a clue how to open the hairy chest pounding contraption. This car, like his jet and his home, was a toy and didn’t seem lady friendly. “Please open the car. I don’t pressure people.” I just get what I want.

  He reached across her lap to push the door open then stopped. Massimo placed his hand on her inner thigh. “I will be back tonight to pick you up. We have the Milano Art Show. The evento is the city’s largest celebrazione. It is an epilogue to last night’s Fashion Ball. Call my cell if you have any problems.” He handed her a paper with his number on it from his chest pocket. “I wrote the password to get into the building on the back.”

  “Thank you.” She grabbed the note and slipped it into her purse. Pulling out her Easton card, she handed it to him. “Here’s my cell number. If you get held up in meetings, call me. Tell Luigi I said hello.”

  “Di niente.” His hands slid between her legs edging to nip at her skin. “I do not care for jeans. I cannot touch your—” He lowered his lips to hers and kissed her. His masculine lips kissed her. He then said, “I want my hands inside you, where they belong.”

  Lex enjoyed his kiss, words and touches and cursed herself for allowing Rocco to interrupt them this morning. She imagined being deep under the bedcovers—clit throbbing, skin wet, and listening to Massimo snore in her ear all over again. “Sorry,” she mumbled under his lips.

  “You are the most alluring woman I have ever met, on the inside and out, sì?”

  She’d take his comment back to New York with her as the best souvenir. “Thank you, very sweet to hear.” She held his hand. He’d been right. This seemed more than what a fuck buddy would ever amount to. But she still didn’t want to put labels on it.

  “Here, bella.” Massimo pushed down on the latch opening the door. It rose from bottom to top, not swinging open typical of other cars.

  With much aversion she let go. “I’ll see you tonight.”

  “Ciao.” Massimo gave her a sad face. He didn’t want to let her go either.

  Heady, she walked over to the Girasoli Garment Company entrance and waved her goodbyes.

  Massimo waited until she’d gone inside. He beeped and sped from the parking lot once she’d opened the door.

  As she stepped in the door, her iPhone vibrated with a text. She looked at the screen. It was a European number she didn’t have in her directory. The screen read “Miss U” and was a message from Massimo. Her hand trembled with excitement holding the phone. How sweet you are, my prince. Lex typed back “Miss U 2 xo.”

  * * * * *

  Focus on fixing these wretched designs. Put your lusting and loving for Masi aside. She walked down the hall and into the Girasoli showroom. It resembled the TV show Project Runway’s workroom with sewing machines placed into quads in the spacious room. The walls were corked with sketches, and fabric samples were tacked and scattered about. She spotted Jemma’s area. A carved out corner with images from Jemma’s modeling days with Ford collaged as fond memories. Jemma was no Heidi Klum. Way more exotic with high cheekbones similar to Linda Evangelista with a faultless body. Her glossy hair radiated a rich violet midnight and matched her black eyes.

  “Ciao, my darling.” Jemma situated herself in the front showroom. She’d collected the entire collection and lined the garments up on body forms against the spotlights near the corked wall. Each garment pinned to the front with a sketch and suggested pattern.

  “Jemma, hello there, I drew up the revisions this morning at the mansion. I thought we’d lay them out, cut, add fabric and try them on.”

  “Sì, then what?”

  “Then—we shoot the garments, upload the images and create a digital look book.”

  “Perfetto, after we have look books, then what?” Jemma asked. Panic didn’t suit her striking features.

  “Afterward I’ll phone and email a few buyers.” She spoke with confidence, hoping to ease Jemma’s anxiety.

  “You’d do this for Girasoli, no?”

  “Depending on who and how interested they are in placing a purchase order.”

  “Exciting, so maravilloso,” Jemma rejoiced as she clapped her jeweled fingers together. “Massimo will be pleased. I’ll start cutting.” Jemma removed five platinum bangle bracelets adorning both wrists, her diamond encrusted watch, a Panerai Luminor Marina and two oversized cocktail rings embellishing her middle fingers.

  Lex wondered how Jemma managed at the airport. She bet security detained her for hours with her accessories. Metal going off, the men distracted not by her jewelry but also by her good looks. “Did you have fun at the ball last night?” Lex asked, setting her laptop and two bags on the table. She pulled out her sketchbook examining each design.

  “Five years in a row I’ve attended the ball, my darling. It’s similar to others—though amusing to witness you dismiss Vincent. Karl Lagerfeld thought so too.” She stepped closer, bored with Milan’s night scene. “Luciana gave good face. She cared for you. Approval from the Mother Queen will come in handy when you take your relationship with Massimo to the next level.” Jemma studied her face for a reaction.

  She ignored Jemma’s provocation and removed a garment off the form. “I thought we’d deconstruct this one first. I’m going to show you where to add the stretch fabric. Then we can trim the neckline in a soft satin.”

  Buzzbuzz!

  Buzzbuzz!

  Lex reached for her iPhone and pulled it from her bag. A text from Massimo read, “Jemma playing nice?” She typed back, “Jemma is amazing. Lucky to have her. xo.” Lex slipped her iPhone in her bag and turned to get back to work.

  Buzzbuzz!

  Buzzbuzz!

  She turned back around and grabbed her phone. A message again from Massimo read “xoxo.” Lex felt fifteen again.

  Jemma eyed her actions with interest.

  Sitting next to Jemma, she cut the garment from back to front. Lex didn’t let Jemma’s comment sleep. It ate away at her.

  “What did you mean, when I take my relationship with Massimo to the next level?” She snipped the seam from the back, the delicate fabric now exposed. Snip, snip, snip.

  “Darling, if you and Massimo decide to be an item,” Jemma responded with what Lex assumed as preapproval.

  “Massimo and I as an item will never happen—and you know it.” She laughed, but it even sounded fake to her. Lex spread the fabric out on the cutting t
able.

  Girasoli fabric quality showcased to perfection against the smooth counter surface. Each micro fiber woven, yard by yard, without any flaws. No other textile in the world beat Girasoli.

  “Why wouldn’t you two be together?” Jemma snipped, snipped, snipped.

  “We met five minutes ago. We live four thousand miles away from one another, and neither of us wants a relationship.” She reached for the stretch fabric and turned on the sewing machine.

  “Such an American you are.” Jemma shot her a glare to cut the shit. “You know within the first five minutes from meeting a man—if you desire him.” Scissors held up in the air, she made a loud snip! “You know after ten minutes if you want to fuck him.” Flipping her hair back showing her former runway experience she cat walked. “And you know after fifteen minutes if you want to marry him.”

  “I don’t want anything from Massimo but my fabrics.” She swung the garment in the air to make the message clear, but it wasn’t as impactful as Jemma’s scissor snap, which gave her a chill. But she realized she’d lied to Jemma if not already to herself.

  Jemma snorted, mumbling to herself in Italian. “It is obvious you want the prince. And Massimo, my darling, wants you.” Her lips pursed together as she squinted her black eyes to add conviction to her statement.

  “How so?” Lex stopped her work and gave Jemma her undivided attention.

  “When you strutted into the garden with your Manhattanite intensity in your eyes demanding he drop his fruit salad, let alone his entire vacation and pay you attention”—Jemma pointed at Lex’s face and smirked, then finished—“Luigi, I and the girls knew—Massimo met his match.”

  Lex examined Jemma’s sewing skills. Jemma’s capabilities impressed her. “I suppose. But Massimo and I don’t have the same…” She didn’t have a word for it.

  “Lifestyle?” Jemma helped her fill in the blanks.

  “Spot on, good word for it. We don’t share the same lifestyle.” I’ll have to remember to use it.

  “Deep down inside, you found a sweet guy, my darling. One who survived a bad childhood, one who’s padre did a number on him, no? King Umberto fucked with his head about women.”