Chapter 3

HIS SISTER EMME HAD always had spectacularly bad timing, and this was no exception. Another five minutes and he would have been buried inside the blonde—Skye? —making love to her until he couldn't even think about his parents, and how they'd been lying to him.

"What the hell has gotten into you?" she demanded, storming into the room and pausing mid-step when she realized they weren't alone. Still, they'd gotten used to having an army of servants around the house growing up. But at the sight of his bare chest, her eyes narrowed, and she glanced from Skye to him with a look of dawning comprehension.

No one can know.

He'd promised her.

She'd been so earnest about it, and he wasn't stupid enough to ignore his relative comfort in life. Where he was beholden to nobody and nothing, the same was very likely not true for a woman working in her kind of position.

He held up a hand to forestall whatever else Emme had been about to say and reached into his pocket for his wallet. It wasn't there. He'd left it in the kitchen earlier. He crossed to it and withdrew a one hundred dollar bill at the same time he subtly folded it around a business card.

"Don't worry about the carpet," he muttered, stalking to Skye, painfully conscious that his cock was at her eye height when she blinked up at him. Damn it, hardness threatened to stir and it took all of Leandro's willpower to resist it. "Send housekeeping up in the morning," he said.

"The stain will set."

"Then it sets."

Her eyes flicked to Emme. Skye frowned and then nodded.

He held out the money; she glanced at it, paling.

"A tip," he explained.

Was he imagining the sheen in her eyes? The hurt there too? Dear God, did she think this was some kind of payment for intimacy almost rendered?

His gut twisted and he wished his sister would get the hell out of there so he could explain properly, or better yet, finish what they'd started.

"I'll leave this here and send housekeeping up in the morning." She placed the spray on the nearest countertop, moving towards the room service trolley with the same graceful athleticism he'd just been witnessing up close.

"Good evening, sir. Ma'am."

Emme's arms were crossed over her chest, and it was only the fact his younger sister was watching him like a hawk that stopped him from staring at Skye's delectable backside the whole way to the door. She had to back out of it with the trolley, and then it was her breasts he wanted to stare at. They were absolutely beautiful, but it was more than that: he couldn't bring himself to look at her face and see the recriminations there.

"Tell me you're not resorting to screwing hotel staff?" Emme muttered, reaching for a chip and chewing on it. "Cristo, Leandro, what's gotten into you?"

"Nothing," he snapped the lie. He wasn't going to tell Emme or Max a damned thing about this until he'd had time to get his thoughts straight. Who he was, where he belonged, whether he still wanted to have anything to do with their damned family business, what he'd do if it wasn't this?

"I did not screw her," he said witheringly.

"Oh, really? Do you think I'm an idiot?"

"I think you should mind your own business."

"She works for us. Do you have any idea what kind of Me Too problem we could have on our hands if it comes out that you banged the maid?"

"She works for the hotel chain we happen to own; I am not her boss."

"So you were banging her?"

"Don't speak like that."

"Don't you go lecturing me."

"I didn't sleep with her."

"And if I hadn't turned up?"

"She was here to deliver food, and clean up my mess," he gestured to the carpet. Emme reached for another chip.

"And you're not wearing a shirt because…?"

"Because I'm not."

Her eyes narrowed. "Whatever. I don't care. That's not why I'm here."

"Then why are you?" He glanced at the clock on the wall. It was almost midnight. What time did Skye's shift finish?

"Because you ghosted your own brother's wedding, and you haven't come to a single family thing since."

"I've been busy."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Running the business while Max is on his honeymoon. But that's no excuse. We're flying back tomorrow—you should have been at dinner."

"I didn't feel like it."

"Really? You weren't hungry?" She scoffed, gesturing to the mountain of food. "You sure about that?"

He grunted.

"Look, it's your life," she said, lifting her hands in the air placatingly. "But if you want my advice, call our mother. She's miserable, and clearly worried about you. I don't like seeing her like that."

His brow furrowed. He ignored the instant inflection of concern. Of guilt. He didn't particularly like to think of Patrizia like that either. It had been a long time of considering her to be his mother, the woman who'd held his hand on the way to school and always made sure his favourite cookies were in the kitchen, who'd sat in the audience at every speech night, come to his university graduation and cheered louder than anyone when his name was called, who was his champion no matter what his success. She was the woman who'd raised him, but somehow, the fact that she'd been such a great mother, and that he loved her so much, trusted her so implicitly, made the dishonesty hurt all the worse.

"I'll consider it," he said.

Emme swore softly and Leo chastised her.

"You're just being such a bastard," she said with a shake of her head. "I don't know what's going on, but I suggest you sort yourself out, and fast." She stalked towards the door. "And try not to sleep with everything in a skirt while you're staying at the hotel, okay? We don't need the HR mess—or PR mess, for that matter."

Alone in the staff elevator,Skye went to scrunch the hundred dollar bill into the palm of her hand, but it wouldn't give. She unfurled it to discover a crisp white business card in the centre with strong gold lettering.

It said only two words and then a string of numbers.

Leandro Valentino. And going from the country code, a landline in Italy.

Her heart pounded. Her stomach dropped, independent of the way the fast-moving elevator carriage always threatened her sense of spatial awareness.

Leandro Valentino.

As in the Valentinos. The multi, multi billionaire family that owned, amongst other things, this hotel. And a heap of hotels around the world.

The Valentinos who'd just been in New York for a high-society wedding.

"Oh, God," she groaned, keeping her head dipped forward when the elevator opened into the kitchen, and she could dispose of the trolley. She returned to her station, grateful to see a message from her boss asking her to arrange the following day's sightseeing for another one of their VIP suites. A music studio executive, his lingerie model wife and their four-year-old daughter wanted to do something ‘fun', that included animals, pizza, a baseball game and some cocktails.

She booked a limo to take them to the zoo first up, including a private feeding of the lions, then lunch at a pizzeria just over the other side of the Brooklyn Bridge. Not only did it have the best pizza in New York—in her opinion, anyway—but the view back towards Manhattan was amazing from there. The hotel routinely had tickets reserved at some of the best ball parks in New York; she chose the game at Yankee Stadium, added in a selection of VIP snacks and some activity packs for the four year old, as well as team merchandise, then booked a sitter at the hotel and a place at one of the hottest rooftop bars for the parents to enjoy later in the night. All in all, a walk in the park for Skye. Sometimes she had to laugh at the ridiculously extravagant lives the hotel's guests led, while she was struggling to make ends come close to meeting.

The tip from Leo burned a whole in her mind, right on cue. She'd have loved to rip the money up and throw in the nearest trash can. To hell with him and his generous ‘tip'. As if she wanted to be tipped after what they'd just almost done! But even when her pride was dented, she couldn't waste the money. She wouldn't.

Every last cent she received was for Harper. So Harper would never, ever wind up in the same position Skye had been, making the same choices. No. Harper was going to be financially independent. She was going to know she could go to college if she wanted to. She was going to have as much of the damned world at her feet as Skye could give her.

She jammed the money into the small pocket of her skirt, ignoring the business card that it was still wrapped around. She'd throw that out—later. At home. Not here, where anyone might see it and wonder how Leandro Valentino's business card had ended up in the staff area.

Her feet hurtand she was tired, so when her boss came into the nook she was working from, Skye kept her fingers crossed that the shift wouldn't end with another request. She'd had a busy few hours despite the fact it was the small hours of the morning. For their clientele, that was when things really got started.

She'd taken up food, made last minute reservations at clubs, basically seen to whatever whim the VIPs had, and she was exhausted.

Not just exhausted.

Frustrated.

Her body had started to zip and hum when Leandro had touched her, and it hadn't stopped. Dissatisfaction at not having gotten what she wanted was a rising tide inside of her. One she had to ignore.

"One last request," Susanna grimaced her apology. "But it shouldn't take long."

Skye arched a brow. Please let it not be Leandro.

"Would you mind running this up to the Presidential Suite?" Susanna asked, holding up a large brown envelope. "Some important documents, apparently. So important they can't wait until morning." Susanna's good natured roll of her eyes was the kind of thing they often did. A little light-hearted teasing of their guests' many weird whims. Did she know who was ensconced in that suite? Probably not. Susanna was nothing if not ambitious. Skye suspected the chance to wait on a Valentino would have been too hard to resist.

Skye had a choice.

She could tell Susanna, in a ‘by the by' gossipy kind of way, who their guest was, and Susanna would suddenly be volunteering to do all the running herself.

Or she could go back up there, and…

And what?

Confront him?

Have sex with him?

She couldn't answer that. Sparks filled her veins.

"Sure," she said with a calmness that she definitely didn't feel. "I can do that."

"You're a peach. Then clock off for the night. I hope Harper's feeling okay."

Skye's heart twisted. She did, too.

Glancing at the clock above the wall, she took the envelope and strode towards the staff elevator, waiting for the doors to ping open. Once they did, she stepped inside, turned around and ignored the accusatory look in her own eyes.

This was stupid.

Definitely stupid.

But it was also the most alive she'd felt in years. Possibly ever. How could she resist that?

Until he openedthe door and saw her on the other side of it, he hadn't been sure she'd come back. Her eyes swept past him, as if looking for someone else—Emme?

"She's gone."

"I see." Skye stayed on the other side of the door, her features taut. "Here are the documents you asked for, sir."

"Leandro," he corrected.

"No, you're not Leandro." She tapped a finger against the side of her mouth. "You're Leandro Valentino." She said his name with an exaggerated role of the R, and it made his pulse race.

His scowl deepened. The world tilted. Valentino.

"You should have told me."

Yeah, right. Like he was going to tell anyone he was a Valentino at the moment. It was the last thing he felt like. But how could he say that to this woman? This woman who was virtually a stranger, regardless of what had happened between them?

"It didn't come up."

She rolled her eyes, holding out the documents.

He didn't take them.

"Would you like to come in?"

Her eyes flared to his. She hesitated. He didn't back down, his expression carefully blanked of emotion, his gut hollow despite the burger he'd eaten after Emme had left.

"I—why?"

His eyes probed hers. Damn it, she was so beautiful, so distractingly, hauntingly so. She was just what Leandro needed right now: to be distracted. To lose himself in a stunning woman for a quick, no strings attached affair.

But what if that didn't suit her? What if she wanted more?

He was in New York for ten more days, after that he'd be back in Rome, to his normal office, his normal life. Or at least, to something like it, figuring out what he would do next. Now that he knew the truth.

There were limits to what he could offer, to what he wanted, and there was no way he was going to risk drawing someone else into this vortex of disaster. His life was a mess but hers didn't have to be.

"Because I want to finish what we started," he said, choosing his words carefully. "But first, we should talk."

Her lips pulled to the side, her eyes softening a little.

"And because I wanted to explain about the tip." He hadn't been able to forget the hurt in her eyes, the look that showed she thought he'd been paying her for what they'd shared.

"Fine," she said. "But I can't stay long."

It waslike stepping over the threshold into another world. Everything looked the same as it had earlier, but it was different. Because she knew who he was now, and what he wanted from her.

And what do you want, Skye?

That was easy.

She wanted the same things she had earlier. She wanted to lose herself in this, in him, and forget all about Jay. She wanted to prove to herself that she was no longer under Jay's thumb. It felt like an important first step in properly reclaiming her freedom.

But how did that even work? Skye wasn't the kind of woman to go in for casual affairs. She had no idea how to do that without it seeming tawdry and cheap, and the last thing she wanted was to risk losing her job. So, while she wanted to finish what they'd started as well, she knew she couldn't.

It was a conversation better had in privacy though, hence she'd stepped back into the penthouse.

The plates had been cleared and stacked neatly on the side of the sink, the wine stain was gone, and the scotch bottle was still full. Catching her eyes on it, he gestured towards the counter. "Would you like a drink?"

She shook her head, moving to the carpet. "You did well."

She turned back to face him. "What did you want to talk about?"

His brow furrowed. "I don't do this kind of thing either. Not really." He gestured from himself to her. "I don't remember the last time I drunkenly propositioned someone to make love."

Her gut churned.

"And without wanting to cause you offense, you are different to the kinds of women I usually…date." The slightest hesitation before that word made her think he meant something entirely different. Like ‘have sex with'.

She didn't need to ask in what way she differed. She would put money on Leandro Valentino having dated a whole string of rich heiresses and model slash actresses, the kinds of guests Skye usually took care of. Women whose fingernails were always done and never missed a waxing appointment, who could afford all the maintenance and upkeep that was way out of Skye's reach.

"Thanks?" She muttered, her tone making it clear she was being sarcastic.

But he didn't apologise, and he didn't change tack. "But I think we could have some fun together," he said, frowning though, as if ‘fun' was the last thing he wanted to think about. "Actually, I think that's pretty much exactly what I need right now." His features tightened. "But what about you, Skye? What do you need? What do you want?"

Her breath caught in her throat.

He was a fascinating mix of powerful command and courtesy. Far from being a toxic alpha male who was determined to have his way or else, he was laying it all out carefully, saying what he wanted, but also asking what she needed. Skye's whole body seemed to relax; she hadn't realized how badly she needed that.

But her job… "I think you're very tempting," she said with regret. "But I can't lose my job."

His brows knit together. "I can assure you, that won't happen."

"We're forbidden from having relationships with guests. It's in the contract."

"I'm not a guest."

"You are to me."

Her whole body was torn between fire, flame and ice. She was so desperate to go back to doing what they had been doing earlier, to enjoying everything he had to offer, to relishing this small pocket of time when she could just be a desirable woman, and he could be the experience that showed her she was well and truly out of Jay's control.

But her daughter, and her job, had to come first.

"I think we could have fun together too," she continued wistfully. "I think that's exactly what I need right now as well," she added. "But I can't risk it." She passed the envelope to him, and this time he took it. "I'm sorry."