Chapter 57

It’s true, though; I know Jake well enough to understand a few things about him: one, that he can get insanely jealous, but it’s never a good route to take, as I have already proven more than once; two, he’s better than most people at games, seems to get a kick out of winning and can read people and situations with deadly speed; three, when it comes to me, he always takes care of me obsessively, and even when he’s mad, he still can’t help but be protective. I glance at him for a second, catching his eye as he eats, and look away, a small plan formulating in my head.

This has gone beyond a battle of sex. This has become a game of the upper hand. And if I have to play a low card, like he’s done with his “sexpertize” already, then I will. My strong point isn’t sex, it’s Jake’s inability to see me hurt or cry, his never-ending need to fix things for me. It’s Jake’s love for me that is his ultimate weakness. I soar with internal smugness at figuring this out, purring to myself confidently. I can’t beat him at sex with my inexperience, but I can bend him with emotions. My emotions. Tucking into my food slowly, I keep my face impassive and stare at my plate as I mull it over.

I know how to play this. PA Emma’s cool, emotionless outer shell always drove him crazy.

I stay quiet through dinner, never looking at him even though I can hear him flirting and trying his hardest to affect me, but I don’t react. I don’t want him to see that it’s bothering me a lot because it brings him amusement to see my fiery green-eyed reaction. I do want him to feel it, though. Feeling my emotions hits him differently; it brings out his need to fix it. So, my plan to appear sad and unchatty is put into place. Jake will agonize over what I’m thinking; I know him well enough to know that my obviously closed mood will worry him.

It comes more easily the longer I carry on, and I even start to feel tearful at his over-interest in the women around him. It’s not hard to picture him as Casanova Carrero when I can hear it. Jealousy grows inside of me. With this upset comes my ability to remain cool and devoid of outward emotion.

At first, he tries to up his game when he notices I seem quiet, but as the dinner wades on, I can sense his change in mood from the listless way he fidgets with his glass and cutlery and his small glances at me. He’s tapping his fingers on the table, and I hear the almost bored tone in his voice as he’s lost all interest in his dinner mates. He’s preoccupied, so in tune with me that my mood is seriously affecting him. I wonder if he’s thinking of calling it quits and having to quell the surge of smugness from affecting my expression.

I occasionally converse with Arrick on my right and avoid looking to my left; luckily, the seat next to me is filled with a rather drunk older man who spends the entire night playing with his phone on some online gambling site. He’s an uncle or cousin who never seems to converse with anyone but makes a great barrier between Giovanni and me. I have a feeling he may be Jake’s uncle. There is a slight resemblance to Giovanni. His body is blocking me from his view and letting me get through dinner without his interest swaying my way. Jake has spoken to his father only in Italian, and there seems to be a constant coolness between them. There are enough family members between my seat and Jake’s, further up the table, so there is no need to converse with him. The whole table has been noisy throughout the meal, with people throwing conversation from all angles, and I only have to sit and listen.

I sense Jake’s gaze on me several times as I twirl my hair and chew my lip, but I resist all urges to return it. I can’t tell if my actions are getting to him or not in the way I want them to, as I’m unable to read anything from the corner of my eye. As dessert is served, I become completely silent, gazing at his mother as she tells a story or listening quietly to those around me, but never really engaging. I hope no one else is as attuned to me as he is, or they all might think I’m the most ignorant dinner guest of all time. I hope they assume I am reserved and listening.

I have to play this out if I’m to have any chance of beating him.

Lifting my wine glass to wash down the cream cannoli, my other hand tugging a strand of my hair, I shiver at a small breeze behind me as someone passes. I glance up, expecting to see the maid, but see instead the elderly gentleman seated next to me leaving the room with a puce-colored face and bored expression. Unexpectedly, an arm comes around my shoulder, and warmth envelopes me as a firm, hot mouth kisses me on the exposed skin.

“Hey, bambina, you okay?” Jake whispers, and my inner triumph sparks as he surrounds me with his heat and smell. He’s sitting in the recently vacated seat next to me. I glance down and note he’s brought his glass of wine with him; I push down the urge to beam in his presence, instead keeping my tone controlled and flat.

“I’m fine,” I respond, with just enough of a sigh to portray that I’m not.

I should get an Oscar for this.

“You want to go for a walk or go upstairs?” He sounds concerned, hesitating that maybe he’s pushed things too far. My little boy Carrero is in full flow, so unsure and sweet.

Don’t melt. Stay strong.

“No. I’m good, thanks.” I keep my face turned from him and push the rest of my dessert around the plate absentmindedly. I know it looks to him as though I’m upset.

“You know I would never do anything, baby? I love you; I’d never hurt you like that.” The tone in his voice betrays more than apprehension. He’s trying to reassure me. He’s back-peddling, and my inner smugness rises. I keep my expression blank and my exterior controlled.

“I know.” I smile tightly and pull away from him to get up, announcing I need to go to the ladies’ room and excuse myself quickly. Jake follows close behind me, catching me in the hall.

“Emma, wait.” He catches my arm, pulling me to him and encircling me in his arms. “Baby, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have behaved like that and made you feel this way. Look, can we forget all of this, bambina? You know me. I would never do anything to make you leave me. Come upstairs, and we can go to bed early. Veg out and watch one of those trashy movies you love so much.” His furrowed brow and genuine concern make me melt and even feel slightly guilty.

This is the guy I love to death right here. This one with beautiful green eyes and a loving heart.

“You would do that for me?” I lower my lashes and look away as though I’m surprised he cares, and he falls for it hook, line, and sinker.

“Baby, it was just a game, a stupid game. I don’t need the contract signed. I just need you.” He kisses me and wipes away all my resolve. His arms slide around me firmly, pressing every inch of me against him. My insides almost self-combust.

“Take me upstairs, Jake,” I breathe into his mouth as his hands work down my curves. He doesn’t need to be told twice and grabs my hand, leading the way.

***

Minutes later, in the bedroom, he peels me out of my dress and slip dress and pulls me down on top of him on the bed so I’m straddling him in my lingerie and stockings, my shoes discarded on the floor with his. He’s leaning against the headboard, and I kiss him full-on while unbuttoning his shirt. With his knees bent behind me, they keep me against him, and the need for sex rises inside me.

His hands skate over the soft skin of my ass as he pulls me closer into his groin with a moan, and the heat of our mouths together ignites our passion. He flips us over so he’s on top of me, my legs coming around his waist, and his hands run down the silkiness of my stockings hungrily, finding their way into the lace of my thong. His mouth covers my neck, then the swell of my breasts, trying to burst out of my bra. I’m panting and heaving as he devours me and grinds into me with his hardness, making me even more wanton than I was down at the pool earlier. The unquenched orgasm still lingers inside me, ready to be reignited, almost begging for him. We moan in unison as we grind together.

His hands lift both of mine above my head in the way he seems to love holding me down. His fingers slide up my arms as his lips tease my cleavage mercilessly, fingers trailing up to my wrists. I close my eyes and surrender to my master.

There’s a clink, and a strange noise as cold metal encircles my wrist, causing a startled yelp as I jerk my eyes open. My head snaps up in the direction of the noise as Jake pulls away, sitting back on his haunches with a satisfied smirk. I realize he’s handcuffed me to the bed by one hand. I tug at it, looking at him in confusion.

“I know when you’re upset, Emma, and I know when you’re trying to play me. Sweet dreams, baby. The only way I’m sleeping next to you tonight is if you’re powerless to touch me.” He climbs off the bed and strolls to the bathroom, untucking his shirt and throwing it into a hamper by the door.

“What the hell, Jake?” I writhe and tug at the cold metal, trying to free my hand and glaring at him angrily as it clatters and digs into my skin. My rage ignites, torn between disbelief and sheer mortification that he would do this to me.

“Do you need a pen?” he asks mercilessly, turning away from me as I hurl abuse at him while rolling and trying to get free. “No point in struggling, shorty. Those ain’t coming off unless you rip that headboard off too. And before you ask, I borrowed them from Alessandra. Seems she has no loyalty to which side wins.” He walks into the bathroom, turns on the faucet, and brushes his teeth, leaving me leashed to this goddamn infernal bed.

I manage to maneuver myself to my knees and sit up, pulling with all my might to get free, but it’s no good. The stinging pain in my wrist makes me give in long before the bed does, and I slump. Sitting down dejectedly, the rage rises inside of me crazily. He’s always one step ahead and knows how to shut me down at every turn, even using Alessandra to borrow these cuffs as payback for my borrowing the bikini and my behavior. It’s so typically him! Cold and calculated and ruthless. He has no qualms when it comes to winning; all that somber shit at dinner was an act. Playing me for playing him.

For fuck’s sake!

He finally walks out of the bathroom wearing sweatpants and smirks when he sees me.

“You can’t sleep like that.” He slides onto the bed and flicks the TV onto a chick flick for me, then pulls a book from the bedside table and settles down to read it, pushing cushions behind him and getting comfy.

“You’re really going to leave me like this?” I blanch in disbelief, raising my hands in question, ignoring the bite of the cuff again and the clunk of metal.

“If you lie down and go to sleep, I’ll maybe take it off when I’m sure you’re out cold.” He doesn’t even look my way, turns a page in his book, and crosses his ankles. I am beyond livid. I feel like screaming at him or at least slapping that book out of his stupid hand.

“Fine!” I snap, hauling back the comforter and maneuvering inside of it awkwardly. I slide off my stockings one at a time and throw both at his face angrily. He doesn’t react and lets them fall down his shoulder, leaving them draped there with a satisfied smile on his face. “Well, goodnight then,” I snort and lie down, so my arm is held above my head on a pillow; it’s not wholly uncomfortable, just awkward. I huff and sigh and try to get comfy, but I can’t. The anger simmering inside of me is too much.

“Goodnight, sexy.” He chuckles. Actually chuckles!

Fuck you!

“You’re a jerk,” I snap and turn away from him, leaning my head on my arm as a pillow, close to tears with sheer frustration.

“Sadly, I am,” he jokes but doesn’t move.

“All this over a stupid contract,” I mumble to no one in particular, rage seeping from every pore.

“Nope, all this over you issuing a challenge, dolcezza. I stopped being interested in the contract the second I stopped looking at it,” the arrogance in his voice makes me bristle.

“Well, I take it back, then,” I smart and kick my feet in an attempt to get him, but being under the sheets and him on top means I achieve nothing except awkward wriggling. He doesn’t even acknowledge it.

“Told you, sign it, and we’re done with this. That’s the same as taking it back.” He sounds highly amused, and I want to stab him with my stiletto.

“Go to hell. I’ll never sign it just to show you what an asshole you are.” I pout. My voice is high and childish.

“We’ll see,” he smacks my ass through the sheet and flicks off the bedroom lights. There’s a soft thud as he lays his book down and moves in the bed to get comfy. I flinch at his breath on my back, meaning he’s lying on his side facing me, and I stiffen. The music of some annoying romance movie is playing on TV.

“I guess you better get used to never having sex again,” I retort angrily. “I think handcuffing your girlfriend to a bed just to break her will is unbelievably bad form.”

He laughs quietly at my rage, and it only fuels it further.

“Asshole!” I jerk my body further into a ball to tell him not to touch me.

“Emma, I happen to think you’re even sexier when you’re this seething mad, definitely more amusing, baby. I know that if our relationship has a sex ban placed on it, you’ll be the first one to cave. Women need that physical connection to feel secure more than men do. I’ve more than enough patience if it’s a game of waiting,” he reaches out and runs a finger down my spine, making my body shiver in response. “Besides, if I wanted it, I could make you break easily. I’ve gone easy on you so far, baby… I’m enjoying this way too much.” That voice, laced with complete amusement, makes me grit my teeth.

“Screw you,” I bite back, angered more as he finds even that funny. The overwhelming fury builds to a height where tears start to threaten.

I should never play games with him; he always makes me feel so…soooo…alone.

“Soon enough, sweetheart. Now go to sleep.” He leans forward and kisses the back of my head before turning and nestling away from me in the dark.