39

Alex
Jenna’s smile crashes when I mention her father, and I quickly try to remedy the mistake. “I was worried about you.”
But it’s too late-the moment is gone. Jenna backs away from me, out of the bathroom, and she hurries to get dressed.
I somehow resurrect the gentleman in me and turn my back to give her privacy.
It’s probably just as well she retreated. I shouldn’t be getting involved with the mafia princess. Just because Don Giuseppe sent me here to get her doesn’t mean he gave me permission to claim her. In fact, for all I know, he might take my interest in his daughter as a supreme disrespect and put a bullet through my head.
I don’t think so-the old man loves me like a son-but you never know.
So I’ll just have a conversation with Jenna about last night being a mistake and we’ll keep it our secret. But my resolve vanishes when I turn and find her dressed in shorts that cover less than a pair of panties, and her bikini top.
In fact, I choke on my own spit.
“What the fuck are you wearing?”
Her smile is all cock-tease-the same one she used as a drop-dead gorgeous eighteen-year-old when she’d saunter past me to the pool in nothing but a string bikini.
“You’re doing that on purpose,” I growl. My balls are already blue from last night and our little scene in the bathroom. Now, need turns me rough. She grabs a piece of fruit from the plate I ordered in, takes her keycard from the table, and walks out the door.
Growling, I yank off my tie, toss it over the sofa arm, and follow her out.
She sashays ahead of me, swinging her hips more than should be legal. I raise my eyes heavenward.
“Jenna, where are you going?”
She tosses her chestnut-brown hair over her shoulder when she looks at me. “For my morning walk on the beach.” Her eyes drop to my polished dress shoes. “You’re going to have a hard time in those.” She keeps walking, shaking that ass.
I sigh and push my hand through my hair. What am I even doing? I came here to bring her home. Antagonizing her wasn’t my goal. “Wait-Jenna.”
She must hear the change of my tone from bossy to sincere, because she stops and turns, cocking a hip. “Yes?” She’s enjoying herself immensely.
“Do you want me to come?”
Her smile wobbles, the confident facade falls away. Now she’s being real, too. “Um, yeah. I guess so.”
The glimmer of her vulnerability makes my chest squeeze. “Come here.” I hold out my hand.
She loses the swagger when she comes back to me and places her hand in mine so easily. So trusting. Just like last night when she told that asshole Russian I was hers. Damn straight, I’m hers. I’m glad she knows it.
“Let me get changed, okay?”
The way she looks up at me with those long-lashed hazel eyes makes the floor tilt. “Sure.”
We head to the room I booked in the same hotel. “I’m going to have to go shopping for beach clothes,” I admit. I brought swim trunks, but that’s about it. My Chicago wardrobe doesn’t have much Tommy Bahama.
“I’ll go shopping with you,” Jenna pipes up.
I chuckle at her enthusiasm. She got her degree in fashion merchandising and her father always complains about how much she and her mother shop. “Are you going to be my personal stylist?” I take off my button-down and pull off the undershirt. I might as well get a tan while I’m here.
“Definitely.” There’s a twinkle in her eye and I enjoy the way she watches me, like she’s drinking in the sight of my bare chest and tattooed arms.
“Like what you see?” I wink.
She smiles, but blushes.
I look right at her while I change into the swim trunks, daring her to keep watching. My cock is still thick for her-it’s a twenty-four/seven problem when she’s around. It salutes her when it pops out of my boxer briefs.
A stain of pink colors her cheeks, and she drags her lower lip between her teeth, eyes glued to my member. I pull on the swim trunks.
She keeps watching.
I gotta get out of this room before I lose control. I grab my keycard, shove it in the Velcro pocket of the swim trunks, and hold out my hand. “Let’s go, bambi. Before you get yourself into more trouble than you can handle looking at me that way.”
I go barefooted, which sucks until we reach the soft sand of the beach. “I’m buying flip-flops first thing,” I declare as my toes sink into the white sand.
“We’ll find you everything you need.” I like the confidence in Jenna’s tone. Like this is her job and she knows how to do it. I think her father always thought it was a shit degree, but he didn’t care. Everyone knew college was just time to stall Jenna’s arranged marriage to Nico Tacone.
“You really enjoy shopping for other people?”
“Yes!” She smiles up at me. “I can make anyone look good. Any size or shape. It’s all about waist placement and body shape. Dressing with the right layers and lines for the body.”
I’m an idiot for not knowing there’d be science behind fashion design or styling.
“Oh, yeah? I’d love to watch you work, sometime.”
Her step falters and she peers up at me, shading her eyes from the sun. “Are you making fun of me?”
“Fuck, no! Why would you say that?”
“I know my dad thinks I wasted my education.”
“Who gives a shit what your dad thinks?” I say it automatically, before I even realize how blasphemous it is to say about the don, the man I owe everything to.
Her eyes widen and that’s my clue I disrespected him.
“I mean, don’t tell him I said that, but bambi, if you’ve found what you love to do, and you’re good at it-well, that’s a gift. Most people spend their whole lives looking.”
“You really think so?” Her hand tightens in mine.
“Yes.”
“Because I have this idea.” The words come out rushed, and her face lights up in a way that makes me want to kiss her. “It would be online styling. They send me photos showing me their shape and taste and I put together a buy list. Like ten to twelve items. Everything that’s in style, custom picked to their body shape, personal style, and budget. I could get high-fashion labels for the movie stars, or fashionistas, and off-brand stuff for those people who don’t have money to waste.”
“And they’d pay you a flat fee?”
“Yes, but also I could work out a commission from the stores, you know? So I get money on both ends. And as I grew the business, I’d add stylists. Train them in my method and have people under me…” She stops speaking and adjusts the straps of her bikini top, like she’s suddenly self-conscious. “I don’t know, it’s just an idea. But it’s something I could do from anywhere, you know? Even here.”
I stop and tug her around to face me. “You’re thinking about staying here?”
She doesn’t quite meet my eyes. Probably because she knows there’s no chance in hell I’m not going to bring her home. Even if she runs again, I will track her down and follow her. The only reason I wasn’t here months ago was because Don Giuseppe had word the Tacones had bankrolled her disappearance, and she was safe.
“I’m not going home, Alex.” Her hazel eyes are wide and serious.
“There’s nothing to run from anymore. Surely you know the marriage contract is off? Nico Tacone married a girl last week. You’re free now, Jenna.”
Something flickers in Jenna’s face. Pain. The deal may be off, but the wound her father inflicted is still there. Well, I don’t blame her for being bitter.
I frown and pick up her hand again, tug her toward the ocean. “Come on, I’ll race you to the water.”
She only hesitates a half-beat before she takes off, her long legs streaking for the waves. I give her a head start, then follow, catching her when she’s ankle deep in the ocean and spinning her around.