Chapter Twenty-nine
“What are you smiling about while you dream, mon petit ange?”
Emma’s eyes sprung open at the sound of his deep, resonant voice in her head.
Vanni looked down at her from where he sat at the edge of the bed. He wore a blue-and-white striped shirt and cobalt blue tie along with a pair of gray pants. The bangs of his brown hair had fallen forward, parenthesizing his sea-colored eyes. She’d never been so glad to see anything in her whole life than she was his face in that moment.
She reached up and touched the scruff on is lean jaw, assuring herself he was there.
“You,” she replied with sleepy honesty.
The small smile faded from his firm lips. He leaned down and kissed her, his slow, patient cadence quickly turning faster and more forceful. His hand trailed down her side and cupped her hip, rolling her closer to him. She moaned into his mouth and delved her fingers into his hair, losing herself in his taste.
“I don’t appreciate you depriving me of this,” he firmed his hand on her hip and plucked at her lips, “for four whole nights.”
“I was . . . mad at . . . you,” she reminded him, kissing him back hungrily.
“Are you still?” he murmured, biting gently at her lower lip. Emma shivered in delight, and he pulled her closer into his arms.
The truth was, it was nearly impossible to stay mad with him nibbling at her mouth and his scent filling her nose, especially when she hadn’t seen him for days. “Sort of,” she mumbled, returning the favor and scraping her teeth along his lower lip, her actions completely at odds with her words. He gave a low groan and swept his hand along her waist and ribs, stopping next to her breast. He cupped her side. “I don’t like being manipulated, Vanni.”
“I wasn’t manipulating you,” he said, glancing up to meet her stare. “I only have you for so long, Emma. Do you really blame me for wanting you every minute I possibly can? I was trying to ensure that by calling Mrs. Ring in advance. You say I did it for myself, and maybe I did. I told you I was selfish from the beginning.”
For a moment, she didn’t speak. She understood he wasn’t used to being in relationships. He handled her like he would any other task in his busy world.
“I’m not something to check off your work list,” she said quietly. “But I do understand that you were doing it with good intentions. It’s just that my work is . . .”
“Your domain. I understand,” he said soberly. “I won’t do anything like that again. But I can’t regret it this time,” he said pointedly, his nostrils flaring slightly as he looked down at her. His hand slid down to her ass. He cupped a buttock and kneaded it with his large hand, making her thoughts scatter. “I wanted you here.”
“And whatever Vanni wants, Vanni gets?” she asked dryly, although she knew full well it was the absolute truth most of the time.
“Obviously not, or you would have been here sooner. But yes, I was willing to do whatever was necessary to make it happen. It didn’t happen as quickly as I would have wanted, but you’re here now,” he said, his gaze narrowing on her face as he squeezed her buttock and stroked the slope of her hip, his manner intent and thrillingly possessive. “I’m too happy about it too apologize.”
“Congratulations on the Montand car winning the time trials today. Marco told me,” she said softly.
“Luck came with you,” he said, leaning down to capture her mouth with his. By the time he lifted his head from their kiss a moment later, her flesh had gone warm and tingly, her sex soft and liquid.
“I do regret one thing about my protest, now that I’m here,” she said, scraping her fingernails along his neck and feeling the slight shudder that went through him. It was intoxicating, knowing how her touch affected him. She saw his dark brows go up in a query when he noticed her anxious expression.
“Mrs. Denis told me about the dinner tonight,” she explained. “You said not to bring anything in the message you sent through Amanda. Is the wardrobe you bought me here in France?”
“You said you wanted me to return it all, so I did,” he said, his expression deadpan. Her heart seemed to plummet into her belly. She hadn’t actually expected him to say that. She’d never regretted her angry outburst more. “Isn’t that what you told me you wanted?” he prodded quietly.
She nodded, trying to look happy about his decision. She couldn’t be both miffed at his heavy handedness and desirous of his gifts at once. But she didn’t want the glamorous clothing for herself, she wanted them because she didn’t want to embarrass him . . . or herself, she added fairly in the privacy of her mind. His handsome mouth quirked slightly in amusement.
“You don’t really think I’d leave you without resources after insisting that you attend the race with me, do you?”
“What do you mean?” she asked, confused. “Did you return the clothes, or not?”
“I did,” he said briskly, straightening. He took her hand. “But I had Marco go to the Breakers and get something else for you there. My aunt Michelle—Dean’s wife—helped me arrange it. And this something I’m referring to truly is yours. You won’t have to worry about accepting anything from me.”
“What?”
“Come here,” he said, tugging on her hand when she just stared up at him in amazement. She followed him across the room to the trunk Marco had taken off the plane. He flipped it on its side and opened it. Inside, there were several garment bags that had been folded once, one on top of another. He drew some keys out of his pant pocket and grabbed several of the garment bags.
“Follow me,” he said, turning. She trailed him to a door. He used a key to unlock it and swung it open. He flipped on a light, and Emma followed him into a large walk-in closet. Very quickly and efficiently, Vanni unzipped the two garment bags, scooted aside some of his neatly hung suits, and placed what appeared to be dresses upon dresses on the rack.
“Oh, they’re gorgeous,” Emma whispered, stepping forward to touch a stunning, gold evening gown, then a showstopping black textured gown with a fitted white bodice and cutout back, followed by a darling red day dress . . . they went on and on. She looked up at Vanni in confusion.