When she loves, p.10
When She Loves, page 10
I settle on giving them a smile. “Call me Cleo.”
“What would you like to do today?” Sandro asks cheerfully as we make our way to the garage.
“I need to buy some things.”
Tiny pulls a brand-new cell phone out of his jacket and hands it to me. “Our numbers are in there, as well as the don’s and the house line. Your sisters’ numbers too.”
Oh.
Rafaele actually did as he promised? Something warm unfurls inside my chest. I can call Gemma on the drive. I thought I’d have to beg Rafaele for her number. I feel a tiny pang of premature guilt for what I’m about to do to his bank account. But no, one good deed doesn’t change anything.
I take the phone from Tiny. “Thanks.”
Sandro unlocks a black SUV and holds the door open for me. “Where would you like to go? The Westchester?”
“Take me to Fifth Ave.” I’m not going to waste my time in a nearby mall. I need the help of my trusted sales reps for the damage I’m hoping to do. “Hope you’re ready for a long day, gentlemen.”
An hour later, I’m inside the Dior boutique, buying up their latest collection. Afterward, I pop into Chanel for a handbag and a few pairs of shoes, followed by Hermès, where my rep gleefully offers me a limited edition Verrou handbag. I use the opportunity to order two stunning marble coffee tables and a few lounge chairs from their catalogue. The lounge chairs are thirty grand each.
“They’ll look great in my backyard,” I croon to the rep.
I dip into Bergdorf Goodman next and ask the sales associate to bring me a bunch of things she thinks I’ll like. I spend at least an hour there before going to a few more stores.
By the time five p.m. rolls around, the trunk of the SUV is nearly full. There’s a running tally in my head, and it’s well into high six figures.
I pull out the black card and look at it. I swear it’s looking a bit worn from the workout I’ve given it. The goal is to get Rafaele to send me away, not to murder me.
Then I remember the jewelry vault beneath his house. He’s filthy rich, and I want this to hurt.
To put the final nail in the coffin, I go inside Cartier. When the sales rep sees the glint in my eyes, he takes me to the back and shows me their newest collection. A thick choker that’s studded with emeralds and diamonds catches my attention. When I try it on, it looks incredible, the green contrasting beautifully with my hair.
“How much?”
“Three hundred thousand dollars,” the rep says.
I grin. “Perfect. I’ll take it.”
Tiny, who’s been keeping a great poker face all day, turns a little pale. “Mrs. Messero—”
“Cleo,” I correct him.
“Cleo. The don might not be happy about this.”
“You know, I think you might be right.” I lift my gaze from the display case.
Tiny looks relieved. He pulls out a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes his forehead.
I sigh. “I’ve been buying things for myself all day, and I haven’t gotten Rafaele anything. How thoughtless of me. I should get my husband a gift.” I turn back to the rep. “Show me your watches.”
Fifteen minutes later, we walk out with my necklace and a watch for Rafaele, and I announce that I’m done for the day.
The final tally is one point one million dollars.
Inside, I’m doing a little dance complete with pirouettes and high kicks. I can’t wait to see my husband’s reaction.
CHAPTER 16
RAFAELE
Just as I pull up to my uncle’s house for a meeting with him and one of my capos, my phone rings with a call from my accountant. “Don Messero, your wife is… Well, how do I say it… You see, she’s—”
“Get to the point, Carmine,” I drawl.
“She’s spending a lot of money, sir.”
I frown at the phone. “I don’t pay you to monitor my wife’s spending.”
“Of course, sir. I was just doing your books when I saw the transactions go through in real time. I thought it was my duty to call you. We’re talking about a large sum.”
“How much?”
I can hear him swallow on the other end of the line. “She’s already spent nearly half a million dollars, sir.”
I sit up straight in my seat and eye the clock on the dash. It’s two p.m. How the fuck…
“Where?”
“Dior, Hermès, Chanel— Oh, another transaction just came in. She’s at Bottega Venetta now. That one is forty-eight thousand.”
Incredible. Sandro texted me when they left the house at half past ten. My wife managed to spend over half a million dollars in about three hours?
“As your accountant, I’m advising you lock down the card. If I have your permission to call the bank—”
“No.”
“No?”
“No, you don’t have my permission. Her ability to deploy capital so efficiently is impressive, isn’t it?” Cleo’s clearly not going to waste a second of our marriage moping about her situation. Not a day has passed, and she’s already on the attack.
Carmine makes a surprised sound. “Sir? I’m not sure I understand.”
“Leave the card alone. Whatever my wife wants, my wife gets,” I tell him and hang up the phone.
During the meeting, I pull up my banking app and track Cleo’s shopping spree in real time. She doesn’t let up until about five p.m., when I get another text from Sandro telling me that they’re on their way home. I wrap up the meeting, say a quick goodbye to my aunt, and get on the road.
When I walk inside the house, Sabina accosts me with questions about some contractors.
“Where’s Cleo?” I interrupt.
Sabina frowns. “I’m not sure. I think I saw Tiny bringing some bags into the living room after they returned.”
That’s where I find her. My wife is perched on a sofa by the window, a magazine in her lap, and a sea of shopping bags stretched out on the floor before her.
Sabina is still talking to me and not paying attention to where she’s going. She nearly trips over one of the bags. “Oh my—”
I grab her elbow to steady her. “Careful.”
The house manager gasps as she takes in the scene before her.
Cleo yawns, sits up, and reaches for the small red box on the coffee table. “Welcome home. I’ve had such a long day.”
The room is so full with her things, I can’t even see the carpet underneath. She must have been waiting for me to come back so that she could see my reaction. I keep my expression carefully neutral as she hops over the bags and stops in front of me.
“Guess what?” she asks.
“What?”
There’s a wicked glint in my wife’s eyes as she shoves the red box at me. “I got you a gift.”
I take it out of her hand.
Cartier.
Ah, yes, the last stop on her rendezvous today.
The expression on her face suggests she’s hoping to piss me off with her spending spree. What my wife doesn’t know is that I don’t give a flying fuck about her spending my money. I have plenty to spare. She’d have to establish a relationship with a yacht broker to really make a dent in my net worth. But I’m not going to make it clear just yet that all her effort was wasted. She’s glowing with barely suppressed excitement, and it’s fucking adorable.
I fix my face into my usual cold mask and open the box.
“It’s a tourbillon in a platinum case,” she croons. “When I saw it, I immediately thought of you.”
I tilt the watch, examining the intricate craftsmanship. “Why’s that?”
She drags her fingertip over the edge. “Cold, precise, calculating. Don’t those words ring a bell?”
“I’m flattered. You shouldn’t have.”
She spreads out her arms. “I felt bad getting all of these things for myself and nothing for you. I hope I didn’t overdo it.”
I close the box with a loud snap. “I got a call from my accountant after lunch.”
Her eyes spark. She looks so fucking eager. I don’t think anyone has ever been this excited about the prospect of me losing my temper. “Oh?”
“He was very surprised at the amounts on the transactions. You spent more than a million dollars in one afternoon.”
She grins. “Oops. I warned you I like to spend money.”
“You did.” I step closer and wrap my arm around her waist. “I told him whatever my wife wants, she gets.”
The smile on her face melts right off. “You did?”
“Anything to make you happy.” I lift the box with the watch. “Put it on?”
A notch appears between her brows. She takes the watch out of the box and undoes the clasp. I offer her my wrist, and she slips it on.
“You’re not angry?” She can’t even keep her disappointment out of her voice.
I tighten my arm around her waist. “Why would I be? Looks great,” I murmur, glancing down at the watch. We’re so close her nose is practically brushing against my jaw. Her breasts are pressed against my chest, and when I look down her shirt, I have to suppress a groan. God, I can’t wait to fuck her.
“Have someone bring the bags up to our bedroom,” I command Sabina.
Cleo makes a weak attempt to pull away from me, but I don’t let her. I hold her firmly in my arms until the maids appear and start taking the bags away.
“A gift this beautiful deserves a thorough thank you, don’t you think?” I ask when we’re alone.
Her eyes widen. “Hold o—”
I crush my lips against hers and slide my tongue inside her mouth.
Her sweet taste floods my senses. I push my fingers into her copper hair and tighten my fist, making it impossible for her to escape me.
Not that she’s trying to. I don’t know if it’s because I took her by surprise or because her body knows what she wants far better than her mind does, but she melts against me just like she did in the church and lets me pillage her mouth.
Her heat seeps through the fabric of my suit and sets me on fire. She feels so good in my arms. Images of her flawless body flash in front of my eyes, and my cock twitches. I press it against her thigh so that she knows exactly what she does to me.
When a maid reappears, I break the kiss and press my lips to her ear. “Your mouth is the best thing I’ve ever tasted. But I think I’ll enjoy the taste of your sweet cunt even more.”
She chokes and then extracts herself from my arms. “Keep dreaming,” she stammers, her chest rising and falling with harsh breaths. She picks up a few of the remaining bags and practically sprints upstairs. So eager to get away from me. But I have no intention of letting her go.
“Leave the rest for now,” I say to the maid.
I prowl after Cleo, enter the bedroom, and slam the door shut behind me.
She whirls around. “What are you doing?” she demands, no longer in a good mood. Her skin is still flushed from our kiss.
I take my jacket off and throw it over a chair. She notices the guns strapped to my chest and her eyes widen.
I move toward the ottoman, aka her nest, and sink down in the armchair beside it.
“You spent my money,” I say in a low voice.
Red creeps up her cheeks. She keeps looking at my guns, like she’s worried I’ll shoot her. “So you are angry. Were you holding back because we had an audience?”
I shake my head. “That black card is yours. Use it as you see fit. You are my wife, and you will never lack anything.”
The red turns deeper, and she swallows.
I spread my legs. “But you’re going to show me what I paid for.” There’s no way she bought modest dresses to impress me with her demureness. She wants to play games? Let’s see how well she does when I turn the tables on her.
“Now, Cleo,” I growl when she doesn’t move.
She glares at me but grabs a few bags and disappears inside the bathroom. When she comes out a few minutes later, my fingertips dig into the armrests.
Fuck.
She’s in a long-sleeved black dress that covers most of her, but it molds to her banging body, highlighting every curve. Her hair cascades down her shoulders, wild copper curls that nearly reach her narrow waist.
I’ve never seen a woman as beautiful. Every drop of blood in my body rushes downward.
I lean forward. “Spin around.”
She does, slowly showing me her body from every angle.
I drag my thumb over my bottom lip. “Did you buy what you’re wearing underneath too?”
She gives a jerky nod.
My fingers twitch. “Then I want to see it.”
Tension simmers between us. I challenge her with my gaze and wait to see if she’s brave enough to take off her clothes in front of me.
Again.
She did it without hesitation two nights ago, but now she doesn’t look so sure. She shifts her weight from one foot to another and blows out a breath.
I arch my brow. No?
Her gaze narrows. She reaches behind her, and the soft clicking noise of a zipper being opened pours through the room.
She moves slowly. Carefully. As if she wants to make a point that she’s not in any rush to obey my command. She pushes the dress over one shoulder, then the other. Pulls one arm out of a sleeve, then the other.
I have to hold in a groan when I see what she’s wearing underneath.
Her bra is a scrap of see-through lace. Her hard little nipples protrude through the thin fabric, and my mouth goes dry at the sight. She shimmies her hips out of the dress, lets it fall to her feet, and takes two delicate steps out of it. Her hands fall to her hips. Her expression is pure defiance.
Fuck me.
I drag my palm over my jaw and drink in her body, inch by perfect inch.
Her eyes glint with something dangerous. She glides her palms over her sides and curls her fingers over the edges of her lace panties before gently hiking them higher on her hips. “Do you like it?”
I know what she’s doing with that husky voice and those bedroom eyes.
Torturing me.
And still, I fall into her trap.
“Come here.” My voice is a rasp.
She takes a few tentative steps toward me, taking her damn time. I open my legs wider and tip my chin downward, signaling for her to stand right there. Her bare thighs brush against the fabric of my slacks.
I’m so fucking hot that I’m sweating through my shirt.
“Closer.”
Her knees bump against the edge of the seat between my legs. I’m not sure I’m breathing, but neither is she.
I lift my hand and pluck the little bow at the front of her panties. Then I tip my head back and meet her gaze. “You want to know if I like it?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Find out for yourself.”
Her gaze drops to my lap, and when she sees the outline of my hard cock, she goes very still. Her fingers twitch.
I sit back, spreading my legs further to give her better access. Seeing how far she’ll take this game.
Her desire to prove she’s not a coward wins over her nerves. She leans down, giving me a glimpse of her tits, and cups my erection.
I huff out a breath. Without breaking eye contact, she gives me two slow strokes, and something short-circuits inside my brain. I clutch the armrests, my knuckles white with effort. It’s impossible to breathe.
“You seem to like it a lot,” she says in a velvety voice. She removes her hand and steps away. It takes all of my willpower not to drag her onto my lap.
She turns around and gives me her back. My gaze drops to her ass.
“Enjoy the view,” she says over her shoulder. “That’s all you’ll ever get from me.”
CHAPTER 17
CLEO
That night, Rafaele spends a long time in the shower.
My suspicions about what he’s doing in there make my face heat, and when he comes out, I make sure I’m buried deep under my duvet on the ottoman.
I thought I’d done so well today, so why does it feel like I failed? He didn’t seem to care about all the money I spent, and somehow the day ended up with me standing in front of him in my underwear.
And touching his cock.
Fuck my life.
The worst part is that I felt an embarrassing wetness gather between my legs when I palmed his erection. He was very hard and very large.
I wait until I hear his breathing even out and then I dip my fingers inside my panties. Yep, still wet. I bite on my pillow and get myself off as quickly as I can, making sure I don’t make a single sound.
It’s a good thing Rafaele is out of the house for the next few days, coming home once I’m asleep and leaving before I wake up. I call Gem and Vale a few times to chat and use the rest of my free time to regroup.
On Friday morning, I read over my plan once again. It had seemed so well crafted initially, but now I’m not so sure. I don’t know him well enough to know which buttons to press.
I scratch out the bullet point about bankrupting him. It would take me far too long given how much money he has.
Would he care if I redecorated? It appears he barely spends any time at home. I scratch that one out too.
The dog idea is worth exploring, but I’d obviously have to be the one to take care of it, so I should think about whether I’m ready for that kind of commitment.
I wander into the bathroom to brush my teeth. There’s a Post-it note on the mirror in the bathroom.
“Pick you up at 7 pm.”
It takes me a moment to clue in. I had forgotten about the dinner. I pick up my phone and send him a text.
Where are we going tonight?
His response comes a minute later.
Il Caminetto.
Il Caminetto is one of the hottest restaurants in New York right now, and the rumor is it’s funded by mob money. But it’s all hush-hush since the owner is a big-shot movie producer, and he’s the official face of the restaurant group. If I had to guess, I’d say Rafaele is one of the investors.
Is he hoping to parade me around in front of his business partners?
