Page 15 of Temptation
“I’m not.” I look away quickly as heat creeps up my neck. Damn him for reading my thoughts, and now I want to wipe that satisfied smirk off his face.
“When can I leave?”
He takes a sip of wine, taking his time answering me.
“You can leave any time you like.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Really? I can walk right out the door? Forgive me if I don’t believe you, but I’ve spent most of the day locked in a cage.”
He chuckles at my snarky tone.
“Sorry about that, coniglietto. I thought you might enjoy it.”
I sip my wine, hoping he doesn’t see the truth: that I did enjoy it.
The waiter comes back in and slides a plate in front of me. It smells divine, and my stomach grumbles. I haven’t eaten since that chicken sandwich in the small hours of the morning.
“Venison with cranberry sauce,” says the waiter.
Lorenzo is silent as the waiter deposits our food and comes back with bread rolls. I keep my eyes on Lorenzo, wondering who the hell he is. I mean, who has a private waiter?
“Thank you, Pietro,” Lorenzo says to the man as he leaves.
Once we’re on our own again, Lorenzo speaks.
“My assistant dropped the dresses off this morning,” he says quietly. “I guessed your size last night and had them flown down from New York.”
I stare at him hard, trying to process what he just said.
“You flew dresses here for me?”
Lorenzo opens his hands and shrugs as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. “Yes.”
My brows knit together, and an uneasy feeling forms in my belly. What kind of a man has a private waiter and flies dresses in for a house guest?
“Who are you?”
Lorenzo spears a chunk of venison on his fork.
“The man who is going to take care of you, Greta.”
The blush blooms on my cheeks. I’m not sure if he means sexually or like, looking after me, but either way, it doesn’t sound too bad.
We eat in silence for a few mouthfuls, and when Lorenzo next speaks his tone is lighter, and I can almost feel like we’re any normal couple on a date. Almost.
“Tell me about yourself, Greta. Where did you come from?”
He swivels his glass as he speaks, and I hear the unsaid question. He wants to know what the hell I was doing wandering in the woods during a rainstorm in the dead of night. I’m not ready to tell him that yet.
“I work at The Lodge.”
He raises an eyebrow. The Lodge is well known in the mountains. It’s part of the Emerald Heart Resort, a pleasure playground for the wealthy. The Lodge provides accommodation nestled in the mountains with easy access to the ski fields. There’s a restaurant on site where I work, not far from the staff cabins where I share a space with my brother.
“You’re a waitress?”
I nod. “How did you know?”
He smiles and this one is genuine, showing the dimple in his left cheek.
