The Correttis (Books 1-8). Кейт Хьюит
of keeping. His reputation served as enough of a warning and fool was the woman who might think he would change.
Ella wasn’t a fool.
She’s simply refused to give in to the want that sometimes curled inside when he was around. Her career came first, but this morning, knowing she was perhaps leaving, for a few dangerous moments she had given in.
And look at the consequences.
It was supposed to have been a kiss. She hadn’t been prepared for the chemistry lab to ignite.
Ella spent the morning fielding calls, trying not to think of the man lying naked in bed just metres away, but in the end she gave in talking on the phone. She was sick of the name Taylor Carmichael, sick to her stomach about the questions being asked about Santo’s family, and so she diverted all calls, except any from Alessandro. She turned on Santo’s computer and, logging into the account she had on there, she checked her emails, her heart stopping for a moment when she saw that Luigi, the man who had interviewed her over a week ago, had finally replied.
She sped through the polite chatter at the beginning of the email, where he apologised for taking so long, and then she read the news she had been waiting for—in a month’s time she would be junior assistant director on an upcoming film that was being shot in both Rome and Florence.
Everything seemed to stop for a moment. She had waited for this for so long—okay, it was a junior assistant director’s role, which was probably more like a barista, but she had a title and she would be doing more than she was doing now. Santo was so fierce about his films, so protective of them, and she didn’t really blame him for not giving her a chance.
Ella closed her eyes as her mind wandered back to the man in the bedroom.
She knew a lot about Santo’s relationships—they were in days and weeks at best. A brief flash of devotion was all any woman got from Santo—a swamp of texts and phone calls, dinner, bed, breakfast, flowers, champagne. Ella paid his bills and did the bookings after all, and then, just as quickly as it all started, it would be over…and left to Ella to field phone calls and mop tears.
The hotel phone trilled. It was reception wondering what time Santo would be checking out or if he would be staying another night and Ella answered it, cold from a lack of sleep last night and stiff from sitting in the chair.
‘I’m not sure.’ When you were speaking on behalf of a Corretti, such answers could be given, especially as the press were no doubt nagging the desk for details.
She walked into the dark bedroom and took a moment for her eyes to accustom. Santo was deeply asleep—she could tell from the regular breathing and just the stillness in the room and the distinct lack of a smart comment from him.
‘Santo?’
He rolled onto his stomach, pulled the pillow over his head.
‘Santo!’ She said it more firmly. ‘It’s two o’clock. The desk wants to know if you’re checking out.’
‘Did Alessandro call?’
‘Nothing,’ Ella said. ‘Santo, it’s time to get up.’
‘Another hour…’ came his sleepy voice, and then perhaps remembering it was Sunday after all and that he had taken up a lot of her time, he said the right thing. ‘You go home.’
Then he said the wrong.
‘Or—’ he rolled now onto his side, a lazy smile on his sleepy mouth ‘—you can climb in.’
And she could go now, Ella knew. He could sort out the hotel himself. He was sober enough now to drive and she had loads to do—she was joining him on location in a couple of days and there was plenty to sort out. She turned and stood for a moment watching as he returned to sleep and then she left the bedroom.
Except it wasn’t to collect her bag and leave.
Ella headed into the bathroom and stood there for a very long moment.
She trusted no one—it was absolutely safer that way. She didn’t, thanks to a few months ago, even trust her own mother. And yet, in a bizarre way, she had an inkling of trust in Santo. He made no excuses and he never lied. Happily he put his hand up to claim his appalling reputation and somehow his honesty made her bold.
Because yes, Ella had wondered what it might be like to be made love to by Santo. Of course she had. After all, she had seen the most beautiful women shed hopeless tears over the man. Now, with one kiss, a little better she understood, but more than that, his kiss, his skill that had led her so close to willingness, it had made her curious.
Ella had never particularly enjoyed sex, possibly thanks to her poor choice of partners, for they had never ensured that she might, but she knew things would be different with Santo.
She just knew and, more than that, she wanted to know.
But she wouldn’t cry over him.
Unlike the others Ella had no expectation to change him, knew that was never going to happen. She just wanted her sex lesson from the master, Ella told herself, wanted to go back to where his kiss had led.
It was for that reason she did as offered and changed her mind! There wasn’t a romantic bone in her body—Ella knew that as she undid her blouse. She stood in the bathroom undressing and then headed into the bedroom and watched him sleeping for a moment. Then, naked, she looked at the warm bed and the man in it and, toes curling, she prepared to dive in.
She was cold, because as she joined him he told her she was.
He pulled her right into him and caught her feet between his calves and pressed his warm body to hers. For a moment she thought he had gone back to sleep, and then had a slight panic that he didn’t even know who she was, because Santo was very used to not sleeping alone. He’d rung her once from a hotel bathroom, terrified to go back into the bedroom because he completely couldn’t remember his date’s name and had needed Ella to tell him.
She had to remember that.
‘You feel better than you look,’ Santo said, running warm hands over her breasts and then down to her hips, ‘and you look amazing.’
Ella did not close her eyes. She would not give in to his effortless, well-used lines, would not allow herself to believe they were exclusive to her, even if he sounded as if he meant them.
‘Am I dreaming, Ella?’
‘No.’
‘Because I won’t be able to look at you if I am. This is going to be a really filthy dream….’ He purred the words to her ear and she concentrated on the hands that were expert, that ran over and over her body till she was no longer cold and far more than warm. She felt the deep kiss on the back of her neck which would ensure her hair was worn down till late in the week as she was branded by Santo, and it felt good.
It felt good for Santo too.
That she had come to his bed was the most pleasant surprise. She was the strangest mix, direct at times and then so evasive, the one woman he had no idea about and yet he wanted to. ‘What made you change your mind?’ he persisted. ‘Tell me so I know for next time.’
‘There won’t be a next time,’ Ella said. ‘Remember, we’re writing off today.’
‘Oh, there will be…’ Santo would make sure of it. ‘I’ve wanted you for so long.’
She squirmed as his mouth moved up and he kissed her ear. Ella tried to move away, but he clamped her down, his thigh over hers and trapping her still. His arm gripped her tight, his mouth unrelenting. It was horrible and wet, but he persisted till she found out she liked it, till her mouth was parting, till she wanted to crane her face to meet his mouth. He just kept on going and then stopped and taunted her wet, sensitive skin with words as his erection reared higher up the backs of her thighs.
‘What made you change your mind?’ he persisted, but still she did not answer, so he moved in with a different approach,