Decadent (Dirty Sexy Rich 3)

“Fresh fruits, bread and cheese, and a little wine.”

“Perfect.”

Yes, you are. I smiled, already itching to pull the robe from her luscious body, but I followed her lead and put on the other robe. I supposed I couldn’t answer the door with my dick hanging out, so concessions had to be made. I joined her on the bed, lying on my side. “Do we commence with the awkward chitchat or how do we handle this?” I asked.

“I despise small talk.”

“Me, too.”

She graced me with an approving smile. “So tell me something of value...something of interest about you.”

“Hmm...okay, I’ll do my best to sound interesting.”

“Of that, I have no doubt.”

I settled more comfortably, my gaze drawn to the shadow of her breast peeking out from the slightly open robe. I dragged my stare away and tried to focus but my cock was already priming for round two and the food hadn’t even arrived yet. “Well, I’m the middle son of a wealthy family. My oldest brother, Luca, runs the family company after forcing our father into retirement, and my younger brother, Nico, just got married so he’s playing husband and father. Honestly, I can’t imagine why he’d want to do that, but to each his own.”

“I agreed with you there,” she said.

“I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

She laughed, the sound tickling my insides. “And it couldn’t have had anything to do with these?” Alessandra opened her robe, revealing those glorious breasts, and I nearly swallowed my tongue. It was difficult to play the part of the suave, aloof gentleman when my cock was throbbing like a motherfucker.

My own grin widened as I answered, “They don’t hurt.”

“Are you and your brothers close?”

I paused, not quite sure how to answer that question truthfully. I didn’t want to seem like an asshole but I wasn’t that close to either of my brothers. We got along to a point, but I didn’t understand or agree with half their decisions in life, so that often created friction.

As if sensing my turmoil, she shrugged and said, “Don’t waste time thinking of a suitable lie. Be honest. Your truth doesn’t affect me so there’s no reason to play with your answer.”

“I don’t want anything bad to happen to either of them,” I supplied with a short grin, but she knew I was dancing around the question. “Damn, hardballing me out of the gate. Okay, the truth? We’re not close but we’re not enemies. For a long time there was friction between me and Luca. My father had always groomed Luca to take over the business, even when I was better suited to run the company, and it created some resentment between us.”

“Why? It’s not your brother’s fault that your father chose him over you,” Alessandra spoke plainly, pulling no punches. “If anyone deserves your resentment, it’s your father.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s one way to look at it.” But I’d never felt that way.

Alessandra shook her head. “I see no other way to look at the situation. How can you see it differently?”

The urge to go on the defensive was strong. I didn’t like that she saw through to my deepest insecurity. I admired my father’s shrewd sense of business, that shark mentality that I emulated in my own business dealings, but he’d been a less than stellar father. It wasn’t as if he passed out hugs on the regular. Not that I needed them—I wasn’t twelve anymore.

“I admire my father’s business sense and I’ve always looked up to him. He must’ve seen something in Luca that he didn’t see in me.” Ouch, that hurt even to let the words leave my mouth. Was this part of the act or did I actually feel that way? I wasn’t sure. In my attempt to emulate my father, had I become too much like him? Cold and distant, even with my own brothers, like our father was with his sons? I mentally shook the thought away. “It’s fine, though. I’m still part of the business and I don’t have to deal with the headaches that the CEO does.”

“So let me see if I have this correct—you came to Italy to deliver my winery to your father in the hopes of impressing him because you are always searching for his approval?”

When she put it like that, it sounded pathetic. I forced a grin even as I denied her assessment. “I was just trying to help the old man out and it involved a trip to Italy. In my book, that’s never a bad thing.”

Alessandra sighed, digesting the information before she said, “It seems silly to chase after a dream created in the clouds. If your father hasn’t recognized your worth by now, he never will.”

There was a slight sadness pulling on her words, as if she were speaking to her own situation... I wondered what that was about.

“What’s your story, beautiful?” I asked, drawing the topic back to her. I needed to know what made her tick. I knew how to make her come like a banshee, but I couldn’t exactly use that information to my advantage to press for a sale. “I can already tell your story is five times more interesting than mine.”

But before she could answer, a polite rap at the door signaled the food had arrived. I jumped up to handle the details and returned with a cart laden with delicious fruits, bread, cheese and fragrant olive oil, as well as a nice white wine. We didn’t bother sitting at the small table in the suite, just continued to lie in the bed like old lovers, comfortable in our skin and with each other.

Which, to be honest, was out of character for me. Sex was a physical need I didn’t deny myself, but I didn’t encourage hanging around and shooting the breeze, much less delving into deep, personal conversations. But with Alessandra, it was as if she’d kicked open the gates and strode right in as if she owned the place.

I didn’t have time to question the situation. My actions at this point were reactive.

After sopping up a piece of sourdough bread with oil and crushed garlic, I said, “Don’t think for a second that I’ve forgotten my question to you. It’s your turn. Tell me about yourself and your family.”

“I’ve already told you everything of importance,” she said with a coy smile. “What else is there to know?”

“If your brother hadn’t died...where would you be today?”

Her smile faded and she drew a deep breath as if she hadn’t expected me to go there so quickly. “I don’t know,” she finally answered. Maybe she’d given this question some thought on her own and still came up with the same troubling answer. “I was different before Enzo died. He was the responsible one, I’d been carefree. His love for the business and our family’s place in the history of winemaking was far deeper than mine. If he were still alive, I don’t know, maybe I’d be working the business by his side or maybe I would’ve walked my own path.”

Alessandra’s brow dipped slightly and I regretted bringing up something that made her sad. The mood between us had shifted and I needed to bring it back to a manageable, lighthearted tone...even though I wanted to know more about her.

For now, it could wait.

CHAPTER TEN

Alessandra

HOW DID DANTE know to ask the one question that nagged at me in my quiet moments—the moments when my reflections had a tendency to turn to melancholy?

Enzo’s death had been a cataclysmic event in our family, a nuclear bomb that’d shattered us into a million pieces in our grief. My mother never recovered. She died with a sad heart. My father tried to soldier on but I saw the echo of pain in his eyes every time he looked at me. Enzo and I shared too many features to ignore. Although my father would never say, sometimes I feared he wished it’d been me in that car that night instead of Enzo.

The luscious cheese soured in my mouth. I chased the bitter taste with a sip of wine, allowing the dry white to cleanse my palate. “Perhaps it was better to stick to small talk,” I said, allowing a brief smile as I settled into the bed, my belly satisfied even if my mind was wandering down sad roads.

I never showed this side of myself, least of all allowed a stranger into my p

rivate theater, but I felt oddly safe in this space with Dante.

I didn’t believe in love at first sight, even though my grandparents’ love story had always been a favorite, but there was something about Dante that drew me in, despite all the reasons I should steer clear. Perhaps it was the stress of launching Uva Persa beneath my father’s nose that made me reckless or needy, but I was acting in ways that were out of character.

Dante cleared our food and returned to the bed. It was late. I should go but I didn’t move. I watched with unabashed appreciation for the tease of his solid male form beneath the robe. His body was just how I liked my men—rough, hard, thick and muscular—just enough savagery beneath that civilized veneer to hint at danger. Yes, Dante was all that and more. This was how obsessions started.

As if sensing my mood had shifted, Dante slowly dropped his robe, his cock already hard and ready. I sucked in a tight breath as my heart rate kicked up. He was something of an enigma. He wore a tailored suit like an aristocrat but he had the touch of a blue-collar man who didn’t mind getting dirty.

The dichotomy of the two was a wild, heady combination that ate at my ability to think rationally.

He slowly pushed my robe down to reveal my shoulder, where he pressed a soft kiss that sent tendrils of tickling sensation tripping down my flesh. His lips blazed a sensual trail down my arm as he relieved me of my robe until I was naked like him.

Our bodies fit together perfectly, as if we were made for each other. I didn’t subscribe to that nonsense but how else could I explain how easily he twisted me into a panting she-beast as pleasure ripped through me?