Bought by Her Italian Boss
Until her mind drifted to hearing the shower in the night.
Why had Vito risen to shower at 2:00 a.m.? He’d been hard against her butt. She remembered that. If she hadn’t been so drained, she might have turned and let him do something she would be regretting right now.
Had he touched himself in here? Pleasured himself?
When he could have had her out there?
The thought struck like a blow, tightening her midsection, making her miserable all over again. She had to stop thinking there was any sort of potential between them. Maybe sex was an option. He’d told her to go ahead and use him, after all. But that’s all it would be: empty sex. There was no room for romance. They weren’t lovers. Despite appearances, they weren’t dating. They weren’t even friends.
This was all fake.
And her life was a complete disaster, she confronted anew as she stepped from the shower and faced a choice between last night’s sparkling evening wear and his rumpled white shirt. She was not in a fit mental state to start any kind of relationship.
She pulled on the robe from the back of the door. It had an embroidered sailboat on the left lapel and was made of thick, comforting chenille. She knotted the belt and emerged to scents of ham and eggs, coffee and sweet pastries. Her stomach contracted. When had she last eaten, she wondered? Vito had forced a few morsels on her last night from the extravagant buffet, but she hadn’t been interested.
He was closing the door behind someone as she came out and waved at a stack of clothing that had been delivered. “See if that fits.”
She didn’t know what to say and found herself fingering through the clothes. There was a clean shirt for him, a short-sleeved, collared one in cobalt blue along with clean socks.
For her, he’d ordered clean underpants, a camisole with a shelf bra in butter yellow, palazzo pants with a subtle floral print and a sheer top that picked up the colors in the pants with splashes of emerald and streaks of pink.
“We’re going shopping so you won’t have to wear it long if you don’t like it,” he said, making her realize she was frowning.
“No, it’s fine. I thought I’d be wearing the robe back to the house.” She looked for price tags, didn’t find any and started to worry. How would she pay for this?
“Let’s eat,” he said, indicating the set table before the now open window.
Their view looked onto the red umbrella tables six stories below, the marina of bobbing, million-dollar boats and the deceptively placid lake glinting in the cradle of mountain peaks.
“Is the shopping really necessary?” she asked, breaking the yoke of her poached egg with the tine of her fork.
He shrugged. “It’s a parade for the cameras and you need clothes for all the circulating we’ll be doing over the next few weeks, so, yes. I would say it is.”
She watched her fork tremble as a fresh wave of helpless anger swamped her.
“I would like to remind you that I don’t have a job. How am I supposed to pay for a new wardrobe?”
“You are so cute, Gwyn,” he said, so patronizing. “I am indulging my innamorata. It’s what besotted men do.”
Her appetite died. She put down her fork, vainly wishing she wasn’t sitting here naked under a robe he had funded. She wished she had a better choice than walking out of here in clothes that were borrowed or an outfit chosen and paid for by him. She wasn’t used to being this powerless. Even when Travis had been unknowingly annihilating her sense of self-worth, she’d had a job and enough savings to get herself and her mother started over in a cheap room if Henry had called off the wedding.
“Women love shopping, Gwyn. Why are you so upset by the prospect?” Vito asked, tucking into his breakfast with gusto.
“Because this isn’t like me,” she said, tartly quoting her stepbrother. “My mother didn’t have much. She made ends meet, but we lived very simply and I still do.”
She typically ate scrambled eggs she cooked for herself, not delicately poached orbs on toasted ciabatta with garlic and a pesto hollandaise, garnished with shallots and plum tomatoes. She drank orange juice she mixed from concentrate, or instant coffee, not mimosas and rich, dark espresso that made her want to moan in ecstasy with the first taste.
She swallowed her tentative sip of the hot, bitter brew and set down her tiny cup, noting that Vito was watching her, like he was deciding whether to believe her. She hesitated to open up, but figured it was better to be honest about her background than to hide it.
“Mom met my stepfather while working as a janitor in his office. Travis was not impressed by his father’s choice in second wives. He was at university and I moved into his old room for my last year of high school. I guess it was weird for him to suddenly have this geeky girl underfoot whenever he visited his dad. Strangers living in his house.”