Chapter 4

THE VERY NEXT NIGHT, when she was dispatched to the Presidential Suite, her heart was in her throat the whole ride there. She had told herself she'd avoid going to him if he asked for her—somehow, she'd just known he would ask—but then she'd found herself staring at the switchboard lights all night, willing him to call down for something. In the end, she'd missed the call, but came back to the request for a bottle of champagne, two glasses and a tray of chocolate dipped strawberries. Her heart fluttered in the hopes he had organized this for her.

Then in dread, because she wasn't sure she was strong enough to say ‘no' again.

In the end, she didn't get the chance to say yes or no, because Leandro was no longer in the Presidential suite. A couple of boy band members were in situ, wearing matching hotel robes and slippers, too engrossed in each other to even notice Skye.

Back to regular programming, she thought, eyes straying to the carpet—now immaculate—before she placed the champagne and strawberries on the table and lit a small candle for good measure.

She let herself out discreetly, her stomach in knots as she hopped back into the elevator. It was several hours later before she screwed up the courage to ask Susanna, with faux nonchalance, as to where Leandro was.

"Checked out," Susanna shrugged.

Checked out. And gone where? Back to Italy? Without saying goodbye?

Inwardly, she practically rolled her eyes. Why should he have said goodbye? Because what they'd shared had been so important? It had been nothing. He had been drunk. He'd propositioned her. She'd easily gone along with it. So he'd thought she was going to be an easy lay, and he'd propositioned her again. She supposed she should be glad, now, that she'd said no. This would have been so much worse if she'd actually fallen into bed with him last night.

Or would it have been?

It wasn't like she wanted any great relationship. Heaven forbid. After Jay, Skye heartily hoped she'd be single forever. She valued nothing more than her independence, and her ability to parent without interference. After Jay, she wasn't even sure she could be in a relationship. He'd been pretty easy to deal with in terms of custody. The one weekend per month he had requested was still a bitter pill to swallow, but he could easily have asked for more, and that would have destroyed Skye. He had that in his pocket, and she didn't doubt he'd use it, if he thought she'd actually moved on with her life.

So, no.

No relationships. Not for many, many years, if ever, and Skye didn't care.

Perhaps she should be feeling regretful that she hadn't fallen into bed with Leandro. No strings sounded like a heck of a lot of fun for someone like Skye, who'd come out of a brutally committed relationship and still had the emotional wounds to show for it.

Skye's shift finished at ten that night—the fourth night in a row she'd missed putting Harper to bed. Such was the schedule she kept. She hated missing out on seeing her little girl in the evenings, but her mom sent pictures to her phone and at least Skye knew Harper was happy. Harper had always been an excellent sleeper—Skye knew how lucky she was. It would be another ten hours or so before the little one stirred and Skye could make her breakfast and have the day with her.

As she stepped out of the staff entrance to the hotel, she registered the presence of a sleek black four wheel drive with tinted windows, a man standing outside of it, but it was the sign he held that caught her attention. Skye it said. No last name, but definitely her first name.

She tugged her handbag over her shoulder, frowning a little.

"Hello?"

"Skye?"

"Erm, yeah. Why?"

"Signore Valentino sent a car for you." The driver opened the rear passenger door. "Ma'am?"

Skye stopped walking and stared, her heartbeat accelerating rapidly. "He did what?"

The driver's expression didn't change. Maybe the hotel mogul did this kind of thing regularly, because the driver looked totally at ease.

"He said I should advise you that he only wants a little of your time, then I'll drive you home."

Skye's pulse was gushing through her ears, making it hard to think straight.

An hour ago, she'd thought she'd never see him again. She'd thought he'd left the hotel without a backwards glance—and she'd been disappointed. Surprisingly, crushingly so. And now? He was here—or his driver was—wanting to see her again.

As perplexing and out of character as it was, Skye started to walk again, towards the car, swallowing nervously as she slid into the plush back seat. The interior was all a creamy brown leather, and it smelled brand new. She ran her hand over the seat beside her, feeling the softness with admiration, before buckling up her seatbelt.

The driver started the engine—it was practically silent, so she guessed it was electric—and pulled out of the laneway behind the hotel. He drove with ease through the Manhattan streets, away from Midtown and towards the park. Halfway along Park Avenue, he pulled up in front of a steel and glass monolith, one of the newly built skyscrapers and stepped out of the car, coming around to open Skye's door. Mouth dry, she joined him on the sidewalk, eyes taking in every detail of the luxurious building behind him.

A man emerged in a very fancy suit and top hat, like a parody of a doorman, and approached the driver, who handed him the car keys.

"This way," the driver nodded towards the revolving glass doors, where two more doormen stood, wearing white gloves and polite smiles on their faces.

Skye was wearing a pair of jeans and a cashmere sweater she'd had for about ten years and loved to bits, and the comfortable shoes she'd bought for work. She was definitely about twenty notches shy of fancy-enough to enter a place like this. Nerves made her stomach zip and fire.

But the driver was looking at her expectantly, and she'd come this far…

Balling up her courage, she fell into step beside him, moving into the foyer and expelling a breath of amazement at how stunning it was. The ceilings were treble height, the floor was marble, the walls were wood paneled, the lights were crystal and gold chandeliers; it was excessive but also elegant.

At the elevator, the driver swiped to summon the lift, and then when the doors opened, he swiped the card again. No need to press a call button; the card evidently unlocked the floor. The driver stepped back out.

"I'll see you when you're ready," he said, and she wondered, vaguely, where he was going to sit and spend time while she was with Leandro.

With Leandro.

Oh, God.

The knots were back, turning her stomach into something barely recognizable. What had she been thinking, to come here?

In the hotel, despite the luxury, it was also very familiar to Skye, almost ordinary, by virtue of the fact she was in those suites every night. This was something else altogether.

Her stomach stayed in the lobby while she travelled at high speed up, up, up to what must be one of the highest levels of the building. The doors pinged open, right into the foyer of an apartment. A penthouse? A…something. Her eyes went wide as saucers as she took in the details of this place. Like the lobby downstairs, the floor was marble, the ceilings were high, the lights were chandeliers. But up here, it was all about the view, with enormous windows showing Manhattan in all its glittering glory, as well as the darkness of Central Park. And at the sound of the elevator doors whooshing open, Leandro appeared, strolling from the lounge room towards the foyer with an expression on his face she couldn't read.

"You came," he murmured, a nod of approval.

"I don't know why," she blurted. "I just—you checked out."

He stood where he was, bare feet planted wide on the tiled floor. "Si. It seemed to be a prerequisite."

"To what?"

A grin flickered on his lips, surprising her. She realized he hadn't smiled much last night. At all? "To this."

Her heart thumped. She looked around again. "Are you saying you moved here so I'd sleep with you?"

He lifted one shoulder. "I've been looking for a place in Manhattan."

She shook her head. "You mean you bought this?" She gestured to the luxury sky home behind him, jaw dropping. "When?"

"Right after you left." His eyes glittered when they locked to hers. Her stomach tightened. "I didn't particularly want to be in the hotel anyway, so do not take this as anything other than what it is: a convenient investment. The place was empty, owners wanted an immediate change of hands. No pressure."

"No pressure," she repeated, looking around.

"Come," he gestured inside. "Have a drink with me."

"A drink." She was parroting; she couldn't help it.

"A drink," he confirmed.

"I—," she what? Didn't feel like a drink? Didn't she? The thought of something to take the edge off her nerves was suddenly immensely appealing. "Yeah, okay," she agreed, fidgeting her fingers a little. She was overly conscious of her handbag and how tatty it was—canvas and with stains from where one of Harper's food pouches had leaked a year or so ago. It most definitely didn't belong in a place like this, and nor, Skye thought, did she.

If she'd been overawed by the view from the foyer, then stepping into the living area was something else entirely. Not only was it grand and luxurious, but she couldn't get over how well designed it was. Every window had been framed in some way to capitalize the view. One had a morning bench against it, for sitting and having coffee and bagels, another two armchairs angled to enjoy the outlook of the park. Then there were the French doors that opened out onto a terrace. She shook her head, completely over-whelmed.

"You just…bought this?"

He concentrated on opening a bottle of champagne. Even that was expensive—she knew from the hotel wine list. Not that she'd ever had any herself. He poured two glasses and brought one to her.

"We can think of tonight as a housewarming," he said with something approaching a wink. Only his voice was graveled and husky, laced with intent.

"I don't understand," she said, honestly. "You're a really hot guy, and obviously very, very rich and sophisticated and you could have literally any woman you want. Why the heck would you go to all this trouble for me?"

"It was no trouble."

"That's not really an answer."

"Okay," he stopped right in front of her, handing the glass over. She took it, but didn't sip. "I could tell you it's because we started something last night and I want to finish it. Or I could tell you it's because you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, and I just want to look at you a while longer. Both are true. But even more so, Skye, I want to be distracted right now. I want to lose myself in you, the way I started to last night. I want you to help me not think about things I'd prefer to ignore. Of all the women I've known, I think you might be best at that."

"At making you forget?"

His eyes hooked to hers and though he didn't speak, she felt the answer pulsing from him.

"What are you trying to forget?"

"Talking about it won't help."

She bit into her lower lip. He stared at her mouth and her body felt quivery.

"I am only in the States for a little over a week."

She sipped her champagne, mainly because her mouth was as dry as the desert and she needed some relief.

"After that, I'll go back to Rome."

She nodded slowly.

"I don't come here often. My business is mainly in Europe."

"And yet you've just bought this place."

"Don't think about that."

"I'm sorry, I'm having a hard time not thinking about it. I can barely afford gas for my car half the time…"

His eyes softened a little. She bit back the rest of the sentence. She didn't want sympathy from a filthy rich tycoon.

"My point is that I'm not offering anything long term."

She took another sip of champagne.

"After this week, we wouldn't see one another again."

"Right, it's not like we really move in the same circles," she joked nervously.

"And I want to be very clear about that. The last thing I need right now is guilt over hurting a woman needlessly."

Her brows knit together. "You won't hurt me," she said almost robotically. "I'm not interested in a relationship, believe me."

He lifted one brow. "No?"

She shook her head with gusto. "Definitely not."

"Sounds like there's a story there."

"If you get to avoid talking about your issues, then so do I."

"Vero. So, no need to go into our issues, suffice it to say, we are on the same page about commitment."

"Yeah, it sounds like it."

"So, you'll spend the night?"

Her heart twisted and she shook her head with true regret. "I can't."

He didn't react visibly. She sucked in a breath. "I can't spend the night," she repeated, slowly, in a state of suspended disbelief that she was agreeing to this. "But I can spend an hour or so…"

Leandro had beenwith plenty of women, and in plenty of short-term scenarios, but he'd never laid out the terms for a fling with such clarity before and he had to say, he was pretty happy with how the conversation had gone.

It felt good to know that he and Skye were in agreement about the boundaries of what they were going to do. He'd meant what he said: he didn't want her to be collateral damage to his messed up reality. Just because his whole world was shifting and changing and he was struggling to make sense of who he was now, he didn't have a right to draw her into that. So, boundaries were good. Great.

And the not spending the night thing? Even better. It kept it so much more containable, so much less emotional.

He placed his barely touched champagne down on a side table, so his hands were free, then gave Skye the full force of his attention.

"You're sure about this?"

Again, she licked that full lower lip and his body jerked in a visceral response.

"Uh huh," she nodded quickly. "Definitely."

He wondered about her life, despite what they'd said. She definitely had a backstory that was shaping her decisions. Though he wasn't a betting man, he'd have put money on her needing to forget something too. Or someone?

"So…" her voice trailed off a little and she cleared her throat. "What do we do next?"

His lip flickered with the hint of a smile.

"Would you like a massage, Skye?"

Her eyes widened.

"A massage?"

He made a throaty noise of agreement.

"I…can't remember the last time I had a massage," she said on a husky laugh that was just about the sexiest thing he'd ever heard.

And even though they only had an hour together, he wasn't going to rush this. He wanted to savour every minute of the buildup, because he suspected that having sex with Skye was going to rock his world.

He reached down and laced his fingers through hers. "Come with me."