Venice Nights (The Billionaire's Girlfriend Prequel)

by Ava Claire

  I dropped onto the bench, forcing my eyes forward and not around, finding every dark corner. I focused on Allegra.

  “Thanks for meeting me,” I said. “I know it’s kind of last minute.”

  “You sounded like you could use a friend,” she said, her eyes still warm with concern. “I’m glad you called me.”

  Her face was the first that popped into my head when I left the villa. It took me an hour in a taxi, a water bus ride, and another taxi ride to get to the small town Allegra lived in, but it was enough time to get a hold of myself. To squash the overwhelming urge to cry every time I opened my mouth.

  My best friend was usually the person I called after an argument with a boyfriend; when I was so angry and hurt that I could not see straight. But my best friend was a million miles away in the States—and she had barely digested the fact that Jacob and I were a couple in the first place. There was only one person that I trusted that was local, and knew firsthand how frustrating Jacob could be.

  “I don’t even know where to begin.” I wrung my hands, not meeting her eye. I knew she would not pressure me for details, or ask me leading questions. Just like the last catastrophe we faced when Jacob and I broke up, she waited patiently for me to open up and spill my guts.

  The barista brought our drinks and I wasted no time digging in.

  “So Jacob and I are a couple,” I said, after my hearty gulp. “Officially.”

  “That’s great news,” Allegra said brightly. She took a sip and added, “You’re good for him.”

  I felt a rash of pride at her words and took another swig. “The paparazzi seem to think he’s going through some sort of quarter-life crisis.”

  “Your career is one thing, but since when do you give an audience to the things those people say when it comes to your personal life?”

  “Since I no longer have a personal life,” I sighed. “The last time I had the balls to actually go online, they had tracked down someone I knew in high school.” I glared into my mug, remembering how I’d almost hurled my iPad across the room when I saw who they found to shine a light on what I was like.

  Marissa Scott could hardly be called a friend. When she came back from summer break twenty pounds lighter, she had forgotten every friendship bracelet, every secret exchanged.

  You would not know it from her gushing answers. She told them my favorite color was purple (not even close), and made up some story about how we used to drive out to the country and talk about being famous someday.

  The blog ended with a tease—their next feature was with someone that knew me from college, who preferred to remain anonymous.

  “I’m not even the same person I was a month ago,” I grumbled, pushing a sugar packet around the table with my pointer. “But all these people are coming out of the woodwork, trying to say who I am.”

  “And who are you, Leila?”

  I pondered that for a minute. “I’m...me?” I said with a shrug. “I usually say what’s on my mind and it usually gets me in trouble. I don’t give up on things easy and I’ll do just about anything not to admit defeat. I jump in headfirst and think about consequences later.” I trailed off, even though it had been a complete statement. A complete truth. Still, my last sentence echoed in my ears. I did not look before I leaped—was that why I was in over my head with Jacob? With the press?

  “Everything is happening so fast.” I gripped my cup, ignoring the discomfort as the scalding porcelain branded my palm. “I was just his assistant before. Don’t get me wrong—I love him, but there are all these things expected of me now. To smile even though I know the pictures are going to be used to dig even deeper into my past and find out every secret I’ve buried. I’m supposed to stand aside and look away if something happens at the villa that I disagree with—”

  “What’s going on at the villa?” Allegra interrupted, surprising me. Her whole demeanor changed, something indiscernible flashing in her eyes before she gulped down her coffee.

  Still watching her, I answered, “Not what. Who. Isabella Moretti.”

  Allegra coughed, nearly dropping her cup. She put it aside and covered her mouth, her coughs rattling my lungs.

  “Are you okay?” I handed her some napkins and she took them, dabbing her reddening face.

  “I’m fine,” she answered tightly, reminding me of my response when we met outside. My lie.

  “Do you know Isabella?” I probed.

  Allegra’s eyes avoided mine as she blotted a coffee stain on her blouse. “Yes. Well...I did. A long time ago.”

  I leaned forward, my mind jetting back to how weird things were when I brought up how cold Isabella was to Jacob. My joke that he should hire Allegra.

  How did Allegra know her? And what did she mean she did, as in past tense?

  My phone vibrated in my purse and I was set to ignore it, until Allegra looked up and I saw she had no intention of discussing Isabella any further.

  “One second,” I said softly, glancing down at the phone. I did not recognize the strange number. “It’s coming from (+39) 041—”

  “That’s a local number,” Allegra interrupted. “Probably Jacob.”

  I rolled my eyes, but accepted the call anyway. “Look, I really don’t want to—”

  “Is this Miss Leila Montgomery?”

  I shifted my eyes to Allegra, confusion pulling my mouth into a frown. “Yes, this is Leila. Who is this?”

  “This is regarding Mr. Whitmore,” the caller said, ignoring my question. “I’m outside the cafe.”

  Chapter Ten

  “No answer on his cell,” Allegra said, her voice heavy with worry. “It could be an emergency. I’ll follow your car.”

  I was almost out the door by the time I heard the word ‘emergency’. A black sedan was parked in front of the cafe, a man in a chauffeur’s uniform standing at the rear. When he saw me, he opened the door and stood aside to let me in.

  “Miss Montgomery.”

  My heart clenched into a fist. “Is Jacob okay?” Allegra was beside me and while neither of us were ready for a ‘no’ answer, we held our breath, preparing ourself for whatever might come out of the man’s mouth.

  His squirrely eyes darted between us. His appearance did not calm my nerves. His legs trembled and he kept licking his bottom lip, like he was harboring some terrible secret.

  “Mr. Whitmore,” he began ominously, volume lowered to the point that Allegra and I had to move closer just to hear him, “Is perfectly fine.”

  Allegra and I exchanged looks of confusion.

  I turned back to him. “If Jacob is okay, why are you here?”

  “I was sent to pick you up and take you to him,” the man explained, stroking his pencil thin mustache before gesturing at the open door.

  My pulse slowed as I digested the information. A thought entered my mind briefly when the man called, that Jacob was keeping tabs on me. I had pushed it away once ‘emergency’ was uttered.

  After our last confrontation and he dismissed me like some king on a throne, he had the nerve to summon me?

  “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” I muttered, not making a move toward the door.

  Allegra was still figuring it out. Her voice was as haunted as it was when we rushed from the restaurant. “Jacob is okay?”

  “Yeah,” I said, shaking my head at the nerve of the billionaire. “Well enough that he sent someone to fetch me.”

  The final pieces clicked in place and Allegra’s jaw tightened. She stepped up to the lanky driver, turning her anger on him. “Questo è ridicolo! You came here to pick her up on his orders? She is no child! Jacob Whitmore does not own her!”

  “Signora, I do my job,” the man said defensively. “Mr. Whitmore says pick her up, I pick her up.”

  I pulled my phone from my pocket, calling Jacob before Allegra ripped the driver’s head from his body. The man was right—he was just doing his job. There was someone else that deserved the anger: the person that sent the car in the first place.

  Jacob an
swered after two rings.

  “I hope you’re calling me from the car,” he said smoothly.

  I pulled the phone from my ear, glaring at the screen like I was glaring at the man himself. “I’m calling from outside the car. The unsolicited car!”

  “Your instructions were simple, Leila,” he said icily. “Get in the car. Failure to comply will only increase the severity of your punishment.”

  My jaw dropped, along with all will to fight. Want rushed over me like an unrelenting flame.

  One word made my body ache with the possibilities.

  Punishment.

  Allegra was still pissed off and took the phone from my hand, before I could say I had every intention of obeying. While she fussed at him in her native tongue, I slid into the backseat.

  She took notice of my compliance, slack jawed. “Leila, you don’t have to talk to him until you’re ready to.”

  A simmering heat warmed my belly as I gave her a shaky smile. I did not think either of us were too keen on talking. We had other things in mind.

  “I know.” I answered steadily. “It’s okay—I’ll go to him.”

  She twisted her mouth in displeasure, growling into the phone. “Non siamo finiti.” She handed it back to me, but did not close the door. “We’ll finish the coffee soon?”

  I nodded. “Thanks for letting me vent.”

  I watched her out the back window until the driver turned onto a side street. Her concern for me followed after me, making me smile. I clutched the phone in my hand, then gasped when I realized Jacob was still on the line.

  I brought the phone to my ear. “I’m on my way.”

  “Good.”

  The line went dead and I glanced at the screen. He had hung up.

  Not even his abrupt departure could dull the excitement coursing through me like electricity. The driver was not taking me back to Jacob’s villa, which added to the intrigue. Where were we headed? And what did Jacob have planned?

  The car turned down a familiar street. I recognized the cafe Jacob and I had gone to a few days ago. The owner was out front, flashing a toothy grin that was contagious. We took another right and pulled up to the museum Jacob had attempted to take me after lunch. Outside the property, a group of people were lined up, looks of anger on their faces.

  I rolled down the window, trying to catch the conversation.

  “Closed?”

  “What do you mean it’s been reserved for a private tour?”

  When the driver turned down the alley, the car sandwiched between two historic buildings. I felt doubly guilty. Jacob had obviously pulled strings so we could finish the tour we began—and I had to close my eyes as the corridor tightened. If we got stuck here, it would just add insult to injury.

  I sighed with relief as the car safely pulled into a back courtyard. I opened the door and stepped out, taking in the bright colors of the painted building, barely faded even though I knew it was at least a hundred years old.

  I followed the driver to the back entrance, pausing when he stepped to the side to let me pass.

  “Mr. Whitmore is waiting for you inside.”

  I smoothed the front of my wrinkled t-shirt, clutching my sweatshirt in my arm as I walked through the door. I expected bright lights; hues that presented the grand art, caressing every contour of the marble, and highlighting every stroke of the paintbrush.

  Jacob Whitmore was all business to the world, but to me, he was my Dominant. So I was sure he brought a piece of art himself; a spanking bench, some travel Saint Andrews Cross.

  I paused at the door, darkness swallowing the afternoon sun. The building looked completely empty. Closed for business.

  I glanced over my shoulder, thinking there must be a mistake, but the driver had already abandoned me, inching toward the alley. Leaving me here alone.

  Not alone, I thought, panic waning. Jacob is in there...somewhere.

  I gulped, taking a small step forward.

  “H-Hello?”

  My answer was silence...and the return of a fear that raked across my skin like nails. Just as I was about to book it after the car, a deep, sensual voice rose above the silence.

  “Follow the light.”

  Jacob.

  I relaxed, bringing a hand to my chest as I caught my breath. Follow the light? What light? But as I peered into the darkness, a dull glow shimmered just ahead. I walked inside, biting the inside of my jaw to keep from crying out when the door swung shut behind me.

  I moved forward, walking into the unknown. I did not know if I was about to run into a wall, or send some priceless artifact crashing to the floor. I just saw the amber flicking close. With a few more steps I found that it was not alone; multiple candles lit the way.

  The row of candles winded down to one, higher than the others. I squinted and smiled when I felt his presence. The contours of his body were in shadow, but I knew them well enough to make them out in the near dark. Strong, powerful calves, that led up to defined thighs. The cut of his pelvic muscles, a delicious V that led the eye to his groin. The answering clench of my inner muscles because they knew they were about to be pulled to the point of no return. Stretched wide for his demanding bulge.

  My mouth fell open when I realized that I was not filling in the blanks with memory. He was really standing in front of me. Naked.

  Still in awe, I reached out, fingertips grazing a wall of muscle.

  “You’re—” I stammered, feeling hot and bothered. Flustered—and like I was definitely overdressed. “You’re—”

  “Waiting,” he finished. The flame did things to his eyes, turning them into blue orbs that made me tremble.

  I wanted him so badly I could not stand it.

  My eyes flickered down, seeing the outline of his cock, his fist wrapped around the shaft. I looked back to him. “Waiting?”

  “For you to get on your knees.”

  It was what I wanted; to taste his salty warmth on my tongue. To feel him in my mouth, every tremble of pleasure doubling my own. But places like this had cameras with night vision. They would see everything.

  “You want me to...” My cheeks swarmed with heat as I cleared my throat, unable to say the act out loud. “Here?”

  His free hand came out, fingers lightly brushing my neck while his eyes flashed angrily. “Do not make me repeat myself.”

  I sank to my knees. The floor creaked as I made contact. The candle’s flame was dangerously close to my head. Looking forward, I saw his cock was dangerously close to my mouth.

  I parted my lips and pulled him inside. The corners of my mouth strained as I opened wider. His musk filled my nostrils, a heady aroma that was all Jacob; as intoxicating as his taste. He drove himself deeper. Pushed further, harder, until I could not keep up and swayed. He caught me, cradling the sides of my head, giving me a moment to collect myself until he went back to fucking my mouth.

  I flicked my tongue over his mushroom tip, letting out a moan—and he unleashed one that rattled the windows. His body shuddered as he melted in my mouth.

  After he regained his composure, he offered me a hand, pulling me to my feet. I took in the room from a different angle. I thought the candles were leading me to Jacob, but the light shimmered past us, the flames creating a path that stopped in front of a specific painting.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  His face twitched with emotion. Or was it a trick of the light?

  “Let me show you.”

  I followed him. He picked up the last candle in front of the painting, illuminating it.

  In the painting, a woman was on her knees, her arms stretched toward a stormy sky. When I peered closer, I saw that she was surrounded by headstones.

  “The Grieving Mother,” Jacob said beside me.

  The painting’s namesake gave it a whole new meaning and I stepped closer, my heart wrenching at the grief-stricken look on the woman’s face. It was so real, so visceral, that I could almost touch the tears streaming down her face.

  “It’s
beautiful.” I turned to Jacob, but his attention was locked on the painting. I touched his shoulder and he blinked rapidly, glancing over at me like he had forgotten I was beside him.

  “I said it’s beautiful,” I repeated softly.

  “Beautiful?” he murmured, buttoning his shirt with jerky movements. “I think tragic is a more appropriate word.”

  I dropped my hand, feeling the invisible wall he put up to keep people out rebuilding before my eyes. He moved away from the painting, but I would not let it go that easy.

  “Why this painting, Jacob?”

  He stopped, his voice low and melancholy. “I think it’s time we talked about Isabella.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Now that my had eyes adjusted to the room around me, I had a better gauge of my surroundings without relying on the candlelight—or holding both hands out in front like a mummy.

  The room was not quite as large as I first thought. There was not multiple rooms, but sections for each type of art: one with paintings and sketches, another with furniture and antique pieces, and the final was for sculptures.

  Jacob stalked to the counter in the center of the room, picking up a bottle of wine. “Care for a drink?”

  I followed him, eyeing a pair of wine glasses lining the counter, flanked by brochures. “Is it that kind of a story?” My sorry attempt at a joke fizzled, his face still hard as stone.

  He put the wine bottle down for a moment, letting it breathe. “It centers around my father, which means it’s certainly not a happy story.”

  Based on the little I knew about Jacob’s dad, Carlton Whitmore, the man lived his life as loudly as the action movies he starred in during his career in the 70’s. He had big, fancy houses spread throughout the world, jet-setting with different women every day of the week—despite having a wife and son back home in the States.

  I knew of Carlton and Allegra’s affair, but I had no idea that there was another Italian woman that Jacob not only knew about, but obviously cared enough about to give her a job at his villa.

  “My father used to say there were two things he loved about Italy: the food and the women.” Jacob poured wine in the first glass, filling it halfway. When he reached for the second, he nearly poured it to the rim. I expected him to pass the full one to me, but he handed me the other. “Salud.”