“Just making sure my passenger is in—nice and tight,” Massimo confirmed as he straightened—and rubbed—her legs. Stepping down, he uttered, “I would hate to see those long, sexy legs fall out, dropping you into a shark’s mouth somewhere over the Mediterranean.”
“Ha! Your airplane humor is lost on my American wits.” She pulled on the straps, showing she could manage fine without him. His focus on her ass, breasts and safety reminded Lex what she’d been missing while working away, building Easton Essentials. A man—a fifty-two-inch chested, six foot three standing, brown eyed, black haired, hundreds to billions dollars rich, hung as a horse, cocky, conceited, alpha man.
He went around to his side and hopped in. The cabin packed tighter compared to the racecar as Massimo’s arm jammed up against hers. He nudged her and joked, “Do you see room for a third person to fly us?” Familiar with the dashboard, he slammed the door and worked the instrument panel.
Lex half closed her eyes thinking about him touching her again—and again. I hate him.
The control panel lit up, resembling Manhattan’s downtown skyline, welcoming his command.
When Lex’s conscious returned to Earth post I Hate Him Please Fuck Me and her tongue sharpened, she bleated, “Most fitting for you, Prince Massimo Tittoni, to be flying this plane.” He’d been in charge since the get go. Massimo exuded many extraordinary talents, so much so it pissed her off and turned her on at the same time.
“Meaning?” he prodded as the jet started lunging them forward.
“You’re an adrenaline junkie.” She crossed her hands over her chest, covering her aroused nipples of which he’d become aware. “They have support groups for you guys back in the States—Adrenaline Addicts Anonymous.”
This man loved everything high tempo—racecars, big business, rich lifestyles and his many poolside lovers. It scared her for reasons familiar. Her father died the same way. He lived life in fifth gear to the point where no one returned without getting hurt.
You junkies never settle down.
Her ears popped as they took off. She peeked out the rattling window, surprised she enjoyed the prince’s flying much better than his driving. Hidden under her Tom Ford sunglasses, she hid her exhilaration from zooming over the Tyrrhenian Sea.
Shades shimmering in cyan, turquoise and ultramarine blended into the waves below.
She tried to take in the thin air supply without hyperventilating from the thrill, convinced she’d come in her seat if he hit an air pocket.
Chapter Five
Thank God, Gianni Versace and Alexander McQueen
My cock…is…precuming. Oh bella. The jet hit turbulence soaring over Genoa toward Milan. Massimo found Lex’s hand in his whenever the plane bounced against the vertical draft. He didn’t steer the aircraft into commotion on purpose, but he couldn’t help playing into it once he realized the cause and effect. Holding Lex’s hand gave him an erection and what he could feel was a little precum in his trousers. When he glanced down at his crotch, he noticed a quarter size wet spot on his slack’s front. Oh shit!
Lex laughed.
“Scusi,” he apologized. He took a deep inhale to calm his arousal. She smelled fresh and sweet, kiwi again.
Silence between them gave him time to fill his mind with dirty thoughts. Thoughts where he’d take this woman to his Milan mansion—kissing her, lacing her lips with his own, sucking on her tits, tracing each nipple with his tongue, filling her with his cock.
A black Maserati Quattroporte, driven by two Girasoli security guards, picked them up at the airport and shuttled them through the cobblestone streets to the factory. Located in Milan’s garment district on Via Monte Napoleone, the Girasoli center took up three city blocks. Today the factory was deserted.
“You weren’t kidding about it being closed, were ya?” she acknowledged as she stepped out from the limo into the hot sun.
“Italians take their holidays with feverish intent.” He typed in a ten key password to the main entrance. After deactivating the alarm, he pushed open the security door and motioned her through the main lobby.
“We are standing in the textile plant. This is where we bring the fabrics in from France, India and our own smaller factories in the northern countryside near Trent. The fabrics are dyed and cut, then sent to our second building, where they are stretched, packed and shipped.”
Lex walked through the aisles, and he watched in admiration as she glanced over silk and cotton. Her legs were longer than he’d remembered.
“Is this where the fabric is treated, as well?”
“Sì. We dry spin your fabrics with the elastin fabrics and blend the cotton.”
He walked her from room to room, passing the consumer showroom, a large department store mockup. His team had designed it to resemble Selfridges in London.
“I’ve seen your showroom in the magazines. The write up in Vogue Italia three years ago prompted me to call your sales office. I can’t believe I’m here in person, with you.” Her grin stretched ear to ear.
“It is my honor to share this with you.” It made him feel good to see her happy after yesterday’s pique. But he couldn’t give in to her demands.
“What’s this?” Lex walked into a space set up to resemble a boudoir.
“This is our new branded retail line going to the States next season.”
“This is your Easton Essentials knockoff?”
“I would not say it is a copy, Lex. You are here to witness how different our concept is. Maybe we are using the fabric the same way, but mine is more fitting to the female form.”
“How…different it is. It’s interesting,” Lex’s face turned sour. With each garment she picked up, a deeper frown pressed.
“What is it? Why are you making such a displeased look?” He stepped closer. Massimo expected her to be unenthused, but not repulsed.
“It’s nothing, you’re right. These designs are not copies.”
Lex took one off the hanger and went over to the mannequin form in the room’s corner. “This dress form is about a size four.” She slid the Girasoli over the mannequin and spun the form around, pulling the garment’s bottom. Stepping back, eyeing him with a questioning pop in her eyes which annoyed him, she tested, “Do you not see it?”
Never one to be quizzed, he attempted to retain composure. “I see a very sexy dress from compression fabric. It will go into production in six colors and be available with a scoop, X or V neck.” Not a copy reverberated in his head as he put his hands in his pockets to play with his loose change. What was she getting at?