Page 15 of Wicked (Wicked Billionaires #2)

RAVEN

We return to the villa an hour later, and we have quick baths. They are carefully timed and agreed at six minutes each. Washing in water I know his naked body will soon lay in makes me wet, and I fight hard to not think of his body or him taking me in here.

As we pass each other in the hallway, half-naked, we have to pass sideways, stomach to stomach.

I am naked in a towel, and his hands are low, near his junk. We don’t say anything, and we do not avoid eye contact. As we slide past each other under the arches, our chests and lips are close.

I can even smell him, and he smells of suede, cinnamon, and man.

As I trip, distracted, his hand helps me. There is another spark of electricity between us, and I do not know what it is.

All I know is that it is enticing.

But it is likely not good for me. I don’t care! I do not want to be teased anymore. I want to be taken for once in my life.

After I pull on my sexiest thong, I work my way into the incredible gown. I do it up carefully, and I feel like I’m in another world and time.

As I carefully sit, I work on my hair and face.

I decide to go with smoky eyes, and as I paint my lips, I decide on my hair. I try something different, and I slick my naturally dirty blonde hair down to go with the cream and gold dress. The combination makes my blue eyes pop, not that anyone would ever notice.

It’s a new look for me but screw it.

Nothing in the past has ever worked, and I feel different. Almost mature, international, and risqué.

As I exit my door, turn and lock it, I turn to find Dante. He is dressed in a perfectly cut dark suit, and he looks divine. He also looks like a male model, and it’s hard to imagine he’s a mere caretaker. “You… you look great,” I say. “The hottest caretaker ever!”

Dante smiles and his impeccable style has thrown me. He was rugged and hot before, but now, now he is sophisticated and gorgeous.

“And you…” Dante says, pausing and taking me in.

I blush then follow him downstairs toward the Range Rover. Maria walks out of the dining room, hands on her hips. “Bellissimo. Bravo! Would you look-a at you two?”

I grin, embarrassed, but Dante doesn’t seem phased at all.

“It’s nothing, Maria,” he says. “A cousin’s wedding and a good chance to show Raven Italian culture.”

As Maria steps up to me, she touches my cheek with her hand. I blush even more. “Bellissimo. Bellissimo.”

“Don’t be silly,” I say. “Just having some fun.”

“Is she not spectacular, Dante?”

Maria and I turn to Grumpy, and he simply growls. I have no idea what he is thinking. All I know is that his eyes are darker.

After driving through a stunning Tuscan sunset and past endless grapevines, we pass horses charging freely along the hills and coast.

It is breathtaking and I even catch Grumpy looking across at the sun on the horizon with horses.

“You’re lucky to live here,” I say, my breath taken.

The semi-aristocratic caretaker says nothing, and we turn left to enter a gorgeous property. The long driveway is lined with poplar trees, and in the distance, stylish Italian and European cars are parked on the grass.

Dante parks the black Range Rover near an old marble statue, and he is kind enough to open my door and take my hand.

I am unused to it, but with the heels and gown, I accept the help.

As we walk across the property towards a stunning old villa, or what many would call mansion, Dante explains it’s owned by an old family connection.

He then tells me he’s here to see his sister, his grandmother, and anyone else in the family. No one and nothing else.

We talk about weddings, and he tells me he detests overly formal or stuffy European events. After I challenge him on it, he explains his point of view and reasoning.

That often in Europe, unlike in the States, overly bred people try to outclass each other and prove they have older money or heritage.

I soon start to get it, and I imagine wannabe bluebloods in the Hamptons. I’ve come across some from Manhattan, and some of the old money in Connecticut have reputations.

Like Dante, I believe respect should be earned.

That it cannot be bought or handed down with silver spoons.

As we get closer to the guests, I see everyone is dressed impeccably. Not a hair seems out of place, and I start to get anxious.

“Are you okay?” Dante asks as I fidget and slow down.

“Just nervous,” I say before I catch myself.

“Don’t be, you look great,” Dante says without looking at me.

“Really?” I ask, unsure.

“Really,” Dante growls as he leads us towards tables set outside on a lawn.

We are late in arriving, but Dante told me his plan in transit. The wedding was in a local, large church, but he wanted to miss that, as well as the long-winded sit-down speeches and meal.

I remember his exact words: “Contrived social gatherings.” Dante likes to get in and out without small talk, gossip, and time-wasting.

I get it, and who really likes to listen to gossip about who is marrying who, who is getting divorced, who is now in Rome and a broker?

I was expecting several hundred people, and I’m right.

The newly wedded couple are in their twenties, around my age. They are stunning, perfectly matched, and they appear madly in love.

I’m jealous for a few sad seconds until we are handed flutes of champagne. As we look across the large, festive gathering, the sun continues to set. Soon, all is covered with a perfect golden glow, and I beam and smile.

Italian music comes from a band, and old and young dance, laugh and talk.

As my eyes sweep the estate, I notice the grounds are maintained to perfection. Vineyards head off in all directions, and old Roman ruins lay under trees.

Marble statues are peppered about, and the massive villa sits amongst formal gardens.

“To…?” Dante asks, lifting his drink.

“I’m not sure,” I say, lost for words with the beauty and moment.

“To your first time in Italy.”

We clink our flutes together, hold eye contact, and enjoy the champagne. As we walk on with our flutes, we weave around the outer edge of the tables and dance floor.

Finally, Dante finds an uncle, and they greet in Italian before switching to English.

Dante asks how his wine making is going and the older man beams proudly. “Perfecto, grazie.”

As Dante introduces me, the charming man kisses my hand. “Ciao, Raven, and welcome to Italia.”

“Grazie, grazie,” I say, trying out my best Italian.

“So, my favorite, and only nephew, is back. How is life galivanting around the world? And how is the family castle? Fun to be home and back in it, no doubt?”

I raise a surprised brow. Family castle? What the…

Dante clears his throat, and he avoids my watching eyes. “Wonderful. And how about you?”

Dante’s uncle delights us with colorful stories, and his high energy is refreshing. He is wearing an impeccable suit, and it is clear he comes from money. He has class and style.

It becomes clear he has a vineyard not far along the Tuscan coast, and it’s also clear he has a fascination with ancient Rome and Italian history.

After discussing all kinds of things, he turns to me, putting me on the spot. “Now, what business do you have with this peasant?” Before I can answer, he adds, “Are you here to steal his heart?”

As my eyes meet Dante’s, I’m unsure what to say. Our eyes hold, and I do not know what to say.

“My intentions are pure, sir,” I say. The energy calms before I add, “For now, at least.”

Dante lifts his chin and then his eyes glint before darkening. He looks like he wants to kill me or take me. As long as he kisses me first, I’ll do anything he wants.