Beautiful Distraction (33 page)

“Brooke,” Jett moaned into my mouth. The tone of his deep
voice with the slightest hint of a sexy Southern accent vibrated inside of me,
tugging at the right cords. His palm moved to my neck as our tongues entangled
one more time before he let go. Leaving us both breathing heavy, he returned to
his seat, his eyes fogged over with lust.

Don’t stop.

If there wasn’t a table between us, I would have clung to
him, begging him to finish what he started. But there was the table. And
reality.

Thank goodness for reality.

It kicked in pretty hard and fast. Drawing a long breath, I
folded my shaky hands in my lap and gazed up at him. His burning eyes were
shaded by long lashes that brushed his tan skin as he closed them for a second.

“We should eat. Dinner’s getting cold.” As though to
demonstrate his point, he retrieved his fork. I watched him take a bite, and
then wash it all down with half a glass of wine. “Aren’t you eating?” he asked,
not looking at me. His voice seemed slightly detached, as though he didn’t know
how to deal with the situation, which was strange coming from someone who had
presented me with a no strings sex agreement.

I wasn’t hungry, at least not for food, and yet I nodded. It
was rude to leave the food untouched when he had made the effort to prepare it.

Taking a bite I forced myself to chew slowly. “Where did you
learn to cook like this?”

“You mean where did I learn to prepare more than the
contents of a can?” He looked up with a strange glint in his eyes. “Let’s just
say I wasn’t always who I am now.”

“You weren’t always rich?” The question slipped past my lips
before I could hold it back. Luckily, my directness didn’t seem to irritate
him.

“No, I wasn’t.”

Thinking he’d elaborate I waited a few seconds, but he
remained silent. His reticence didn’t come as a surprise. There were only two
types of guys: the ones who talked about their childhood to get sympathy and
cheat their way into a woman’s panties, and the ones who bottled up because
talking about the past, be it good or bad, required them to open up more than
they wanted. While Jett didn’t look uncomfortable, he definitely belonged in
the second category.

I thought back to everything I knew about Mayfield Realties.
The company had been a major player in the real estate market for over fifty
years, with a profit margin of several hundred million. Jett’s family had been
rich long before he was even born, so his statement made no sense to me. But I
knew enough about men not to press the issue. For one, it wasn’t really my
place as Jett’s employee. And then there was also the fact that most men find
questions prying. We hadn’t yet reached that particular level of intimacy that
sanctions curiosity.

“Did you take a look at the contract?” Jett asked.

Oh, boy.

Heat immediately rushed to my cheeks. I put my fork down and
drained my wine glass. He hurried to refill it. “As a matter of fact, I did.”

“And what do you think?” His voice was nonchalant and his
expression non-descript. If he felt the least bit embarrassed talking about a
sex contract, he showed no signs of it.

Damn him and his overinflated confidence. I bet he got at
least a dozen women to sign contracts like this. The thought sent a bolt of
jealousy straight to my heart, which should have made me reconsider my
decision. Yet it didn’t. I wanted this just as badly as he did, maybe even
more.

“It looks well-drafted. You put much thought into it.” I
gritted my teeth at my own words. Yep, he put much thought into it the first
time around with the first woman he wanted. Now it had probably become nothing
but standard procedure.

“Actually, my lawyers did all the work.” He crossed his arms
over his chest and leaned back in his chair with a devilish grin. “Will you
sign?”

I laughed. No pressure there. “I don’t usually sleep with my
boss.”

“I know. James is gay.”

“That’s not what—”

“Brooke,” he cut me off. “I’ll have to be honest. When I first
saw you, I felt an instant attraction. I told you I wanted you and still do,
more than ever.... but I can’t make mistakes. Not in my position.”

He was rich and successful, and that’s what rich and
successful people do to protect themselves. “No need to explain.” I moistened
my lips nervously, unable to peel my gaze off him as he continued.

“You can’t deny the attraction. And,” he paused briefly, as
though to prepare his words, “I think we’re fooling ourselves in thinking we’ll
be able to get over it. There’s no way this constant sexual tension won’t make
working together hard, if not impossible.”

His eyes searched mine as his fingers slid over the table to
caress my cheek. “I want to get to know you. You can stop any time; get out any
time you want. I just don’t want things to be awkward between us just because we
have those needs.”

He was right. Once more, I was reminded of the fact that
desire would probably render us unable to work together. I was a grown woman
with needs, living in a sexually liberated world. Guys do it all the time, so
why not women too? Where’s the equality in that? Sylvie liked to mention the
same argument whenever she engaged in sexual activity outside of a
relationship.

I was all for equality. I just had values. Was that so
wrong? Maybe it was time to push my old-fashioned values aside.

Jett stood and pulled me up, wrapping his arms around my
waist. We were so close his hot breath lingered an inch away from my mouth,
singing my skin. “What are you afraid of?” he whispered.

You. This.

The fact that I had never felt this much lust for anyone in
my entire life. Sure I got horny like everyone else, but the want currently
consuming me wasn’t natural. It was sinful, naughty,
scary.

“Let me show you what real sex is like,” Jett whispered,
tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “Let me make you come like you’ve
never come before.”

Oh, god.

I opened my mouth to speak and in my head there was this
long list of points that needed negotiation. My imaginary speech was elaborate
and articulate, yet the only word that made it out was a simple and choked,
“Yes.”

I don’t know how I made it through the ‘talk’ without
fainting from sheer mortification and growing arousal, as Jett started
negotiating the things he wanted to do to me and some of which he expected in
return. The expectations were pretty sketchy because, to put it in his own
words, he left them to my imagination
which, to be
honest, was already running wild. I had never met someone who could talk about
sex so openly and in such a controlled yet sexy manner. Maybe it was his deep,
rumbling voice, or the details he seemed so happy to discuss, but by the time
we finished the ‘talk’ I was so turned on, I couldn’t wait to get started.

In the end I picked up the contract on my way back from the
restroom, and we talked some more until we decided to give it a two-month trial
run, see how it went, and take it from there. By the time we had eaten our
dessert, a delicious tiramisu Jett said was bought at a pannetteria, we had
also finished the wine bottle and had drunk our way through half of the second.
The kitchen was spinning, the cabinets had become a big white blur, and my
glass seemed to be constantly empty while his never seemed to empty at all.

“I think I’m drunk.” I giggled as I tried to stand and
miserably failed, falling back into my chair. How much time had passed? It
seemed as though we had been talking for hours.

Jett smiled, though I couldn’t really tell with all the
spinning. It might have just as well been a smirk. “You’re not much of a
drinker, huh?”

I tried to shake my head, signaling that I wasn’t indeed,
but the motion didn’t bode well with my stomach.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” I said, shame burning
through me. I didn’t mean to drink the whole bottle. It must have been my
nerves.

Seriously, Steward, how can you get that drunk in front
of your boss…twice?

Maybe it was that seafood. It was a bit salty and made me
thirsty, but that I wouldn’t tell him. He was the first man who cooked for me.
He deserved my respect and praise.

“Let’s get you some fresh air,” Jett said. His arms traveled
around my waist to steady me as he guided me through the hall and out onto the
balcony.

The night sky was pitch black with a million stars sparkling
like tiny diamonds. He sat onto a recliner and pulled me onto his lap. My ass
settled against his crotch and I instantly froze. The drunken bubble around me
lifted, maybe from the cold air that rustled the leaves and stirred the water
shimmering in the moonlight. Or maybe it was his hot and heavy breath on my
neck that made me realize this was it. We had signed the contract and now he
wanted to seal it.

Jett’s hand moved up my abdomen but instead of the fondling
I expected, he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me back against his chest
until his heat seeped into my clothes, warming me up.

“Feeling better?” he whispered.

I nodded.

“Then relax.”

His words were a sharp command, which I didn’t dare ignore.
Taking a mouthful of fresh air, I ordered my muscles to relax and my mind to
clear.

“When I fuck you I want you to remember each and every kiss,
every moan, every scream, every sensation about the way I feel inside of you,”
Jett whispered. His arms tightened around me as he moved his crotch against my
jeans. The coarse material rubbed through my wet panties against my swollen
folds, making me ache with desire. My heartbeat accelerated and the tender buds
of my breasts tightened.

Leaning into him, I trailed my fingertips up his shirt and
brushed my lips against his. His mouth tasted of wine and
him
. The cloud in my head lifted as my pulse spiked with desire.

“Obviously you’re intoxicated, Brooke, and I’m not going to
risk you not remembering half of what we’d be doing,” Jett continued. “I’m not
going to take you tonight. You’re safe…for now.”

His deep, dark voice sent a pulsating sensation between my
legs, and in that instant I regretted drinking so much.

“The Lucazzone files,” Jett said, tossing a thick blue file
on top of my desk. The sound travelled all the way from my ears into my brain,
causing a few neuron fibers to fire up pain in the process.

And dammit, did he have to shout like that? Or look so damn
yummy when all I wanted was to roll into a ball to die?

I shot him a desperate glance. “I’ll have a look at it.”

As soon as I can keep
my eyes open without flinching from the glaring light flooding in through the
high bay window.

“I need you to familiarize yourself with it, but don’t take
too long.” Jett’s brows furrowed into the sexiest frown I had ever seen. “The
owner’s health is deteriorating. We want his estate before—” He trailed
off, leaving the rest to my imagination.

I knew what he was about to say.

Before the old man
kicks the bucket.

“Have you made an offer yet?”

“Only about twenty in the past ten years.” Jett’s expression
darkened. I sensed a hint of the wrong kind of determination and couldn’t shake
off the feeling Mayfield Realties’s reputation was well-earned. The Lucazzone
estate was their latest acquisition-to-be, and I was about to be dragged into
Mayfield’s strange work ethics, which apparently included not giving up on a
project even if that meant trying to change the opinion of an old man who
clearly didn’t want to sell.

“Ten years, huh?” I bit my lip, forcing myself to keep my
mouth shut, and managed to do so for all of three seconds. “Maybe he loves that
house and doesn’t want to part with it.” My gaze traveled up to meet Jett’s
gaze tentatively. He measured me up and down, probably considering whether to
tell me off for expressing my opinion when I was a mere employee.

Eventually he just sighed and inched closer. His fingers
clutched my chin and forced my head up as his dark eyes descended into my soul.
“Look, Brooke, I appreciate your input, but this isn’t Sunrise Properties, and
I don’t really have a choice. The board members want that estate, and I’m the
one who has to make it happen. It’s either getting the old man to sign, or be
kicked out of my own company.” His lips trailed down the left side of my face
to my ear. “You smell good,” he whispered, his hot breath grazing my skin.

An involuntary shiver of pleasure traveled all the way down
into my panties. I held my breath, but a low moan escaped my throat
nonetheless, betraying my unsolicited state of arousal. Jett peeled his lips
off my earlobe and put a few inches between us, grinning. “I have to make some
calls. Catch you later?”

Holy mother of hell, he had noticed. What gave me away this
time?

“Yeah, sure,” I grumbled, and looked away—mortified.

“You know I’d help you out if I weren’t too busy. You could
ask me to stay and I might be able to squeeze you into my tight schedule.” Jett
trailed a finger down the nape of my neck, circling the spot where the tip of
my ponytail touched my naked skin. His touch was so tender, yet sensual, it
sent another jolt through me.

I wanted him. Badly. But right now I also wanted him to go away
so I could gather some self-control to do my work and stop being so
unbelievably horny. This whole thing, whatever it was that just made me feel so
attracted to him, had to be reined in because it was taking up all space in my
head.

“I’ll get the file back to you ASAP.” My tone ended up
harsher than intended. His finger flinched away from me and he put a few inches
between us. I ignored the sudden urge to reach for his hand and tell him that I
didn’t mean to be so abrupt.

“I’ll be upstairs in my private office. Second door to the
right.” He barely looked at me as he turned around and left, closing the door
behind him.

I breathed out, relieved, and yet not quite able to feel at
ease. I doubted I’d ever feel relaxed with Jett in the same room, or with him
in the same house. The guy was a mystery. One moment he picked up a drunken
woman from a bar and ended up naked in her bed; the next he claimed he didn’t
take advantage of women under the influence of alcohol. For some reason I had
believed him last night when we were sitting outside on the balcony, right
before he helped me get into bed, barely touching me in the process. Either he
was inventing and changing his own rules as we moved along, or he was playing
some sordid game pursuing the incentive of—

What incentive would
that be, Brooke?

I had signed the contract and was willing to sleep with him.
What else could he possibly want?

Groaning, I shook my head at my own thoughts. It had always
been like this. Whenever a guy I liked showed the slightest bit of interest in
me, I couldn’t take it at face value, and my brain concocted some morbid story
about everything else he might want from me: attention, getting over an ex,
easily available sex. Never just me. I thought they couldn’t possibly want me
for who I was. In the end I always ran, and ended up with someone like Sean, an
emotionally unavailable narcissist who’d dump everything and anyone as soon as
he saw a benefit elsewhere.

At least Jett was honest and didn’t pretend to have feelings
that weren’t there. What was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I stop looking behind
a guy’s intentions and just enjoy his attention? Was it because I still couldn’t
trust a guy after all that happened in the past?

Opening the Lucazzone file, I gulped down a glass of water
to get rid of the dry sensation in my mouth, and focused on the task at hand.
Alessandro Lucazzone, the current owner, was one of the most well-known and
respected men in the area. He inherited the Lucazzone estate, including hundreds
of miles of vineyards, forests, and fields, from his father who in turn
inherited it from his father, and so forth. The estate had been handed down
from generation to generation for centuries, withstanding revolutions and
recessions. The Lucazzone family hadn’t always been rich. A few times they lost
most of their money in bad investments and gambling, but they always bounced
back from their financial hardships, usually by marrying a rich spouse.
Alessandro Lucazzone had managed to keep the estate in order and the vineyards
thriving through World War II with the help of his wife’s money. He and Maria
had no children, and when she died of cancer he never remarried. At
ninety-seven the old man was dying, leaving no apparent heirs behind. According
to Jett’s research, the estate would fall into the hands of local charities,
and I couldn’t help but feel they deserved the money. They could certainly put
the grounds to better use than Mayfield Properties.
Besides,
it felt wrong to tamper with the possibly last wish of an old man who seemed to
believe in a good cause.

Taking a sip of my lukewarm coffee, I almost choked on it as
I flicked the next page, finally realizing why my boss would be so interested
in a remote estate in Italy where the price of acquisition and upkeep made no
sense in terms of profit. My fingers slowly traced the jagged contours on the
map. The west side was situated around a private lake about the size of Lake
Geneva, with mountain views surrounded by untouched nature. Combine that with
the sunny Mediterranean weather, a clean beach, and lots of privacy—and
you had prime real estate ready to cater to the rich and famous.

I pulled out the architectural plan and shook my head in
disbelief. Mayfield Properties was planning to build ten homes: each a
five-room, three-bath, mansion-like holiday home, with ground to ceiling glass
windows overlooking the shoreline and mountains in the distance. Each property
would boast a large tiled hallway, a lounge, dining room, study, several
bedrooms with walk-in closets, and bright open-plan kitchen and living areas.
They would have a private garage, a swimming pool, a security system worthy of
the White House, and a level of privacy ensured by high gates to protect the
owners from prying eyes. Basically, they were about to rebuild the Hollywood
Hills amidst the Italian countryside. Another oasis for the rich and famous. Given
that the Italian government wasn’t known for their cooperation, it was an
ambitious project. However, a multi-million dollar corporation like Mayfield
Properties always finds a way. No doubt about that.

I tossed the sheet aside, disgusted
with
the company’s plans to destroy parts of the Italian countryside. Disgusted I
had to help them make it happen. This was the reason why I had been more or
less happy working for James. He wasn’t hell-bent on finding and annihilating
the last spots of untouched nature on Earth to build a few houses for people
who already owned more than they needed. I wasn’t your usual environmentalist,
but I prided myself on recycling my garbage and not supporting the chopping
down of trees and the asphalting of mountain paths by greedy corporations. And
Mayfield Properties was one of them.

It was a matter of integrity vs. going against my boss’s
wishes and possibly losing my job in the process. If I consented and helped
Mayfield acquire the Lucazonne estate, I was no better than all those
money-hungry, designer suit-wearing corporations I always despised because of
their work ethics. If I refused to do my job, Mayfield had no reason to keep me
employed, meaning I might face unemployment within the week. What could I
possibly say to prospective interviewers as to why I lost the job within a few
days of commencing it?

The decision was out of my hands, but even though I knew I didn’t
really have much choice, I wasn’t less disgusted with myself. Mayfield
Properties was just a stepping stone, I reminded myself, and soon I could boast
enough experience to get a job with Delaware & Ray. Taking a deep breath, I
stood and smoothed over my skirt, vowing to stay true to my convictions as much
as possible given the circumstances, while still doing my job.