Conquer Your Love (9 page)

Eventually the taxi stopped on a bus lane. I
paid quickly and we got out in front of the large sign advertising the spa
hotel I had stayed at on my first trip to Bellagio.

“Not bad,” Sylvie said, looking up at the
impressive building.

“Good choice, huh?” I beamed at her and
dragged her through the glass doors into the marble floor reception area. The
spa center took in the entire basement. I paid for a full body and facial treatment
package, and the receptionist handed Sylvie a white bathrobe and towel with
instructions where to get changed.

“Aren’t you coming?” Sylvie asked.

“Sorry, can’t.” Sylvie could always look right
through my lies so I averted my gaze, hoping she wouldn’t catch whatever gave
me away. “I’m supposed to do something for Alessandro. Can’t explain now
because I’m running late, but I’ll pick you up when you’re done, okay?”

I pecked her cheek and headed for the door
before she could start her interrogation.

“Don’t be late,” Sylvie called after me.

“Have fun,” I called back. My guilt at lying
to her flared up again. It was nasty, self-focused, and certainly not what real
friendship stands for. I hated doing it but she wouldn’t understand. I
had
to find out what Jett had to say.

Outside the hotel I glanced at my watch. It
was 12.30 p.m. I was running half an hour late. I fished my phone out of my bag
and switched it on with trepidation at the outlook of calling him to pick me
up. The screen came to life with the usual swirls of colors. Three bars loaded
together with a welcome message from an Italian service provider. I scrolled
through my contact list when the text messages and call notifications began to
come in one after another.

Holy.

Cow.

Ninety-eight messages.
And
all from Jett.

And then the phone started to vibrate and the
display showed his caller ID.

I pressed the response button and held the
earpiece to my ear.

“What did I tell you about switching on your
goddamn phone, Brooke?” His deep voice thundered down the line. I gasped at
just how amazingly sexy he sounded. He seemed slightly annoyed, but I could
sense a hint of amusement in his tone. “Have you forgotten about our meeting?”

The idea that he still thought he was entitled
to treat me like he was my boss annoyed me. If he could play this game, so
could I.

“Sorry, is it noon already?” I faked a
surprised pause, making sure I sounded sarcastic. “I didn’t realize. It’s been
such a busy day.”

“Really?” His voice changed, became softer.
Did I detect a hint of jealousy?

“Where are you? You were supposed to be at the
bus station in front of the club.”

I communicated my location.

“Okay, wait there. I’ll have you picked up.
The driver will be there in five.”

 
And with that he disconnected, leaving me
more nervous than before. Was it really such a good idea to meet with him?
Probably not but, damn, I wasn’t going to back off now.

The waiter led
me through an almost empty
restaurant, then up a broad staircase. Soft voices and the noise of cutlery
carried over from what I assumed was the kitchen area somewhere below us, but
apart from that nothing really stirred. I peered around me, wondering why a
restaurant in a famous tourist area would be so unusually quiet at this time of
day.

“Where are we going?” I asked the waiter. He continued to walk, ignoring
my question, which led me to believe he either didn’t understand me, or he was
following specific instructions not to answer any questions. I clamped my mouth
shut, both confused and fascinated. Surprises weren’t my thing, however I had
to admit this one was more than interesting.

 
We passed through a closed
off dining room on the second floor which—by the look of it—was
probably reserved for special events and wedding parties. To our left, chairs
were stacked on top of the tables. To my right, the whole wall was made of
glass, allowing a clear view of the blue sky and the mountain backdrop. Soft
Italian music played in the background—not loud enough to be intrusive,
but loud enough to give a romantic flair. The waiter slid the terrace doors
open and guided me out onto a panoramic patio decorated with flowers. In the
middle, near the white stone balustrade, were a table and two chairs, the white
brocade tablecloth shimmering unnaturally bright in the sunlight and building a
beautiful contrast to the crystal vase holding pink roses. A bottle of
champagne was perched between ice cubes in a silver bucket next to two
champagne flutes. I swallowed hard to get rid of the sudden dryness in my
throat.

Holy shit.

Did Jett pay to have the restaurant closed off to everyone but us? And I
thought by agreeing to just having lunch with him I could avoid exactly this
kind of shocker. From the way the roses were arranged, to the fine tablecloth
and sparkling glass and cutlery, I could tell someone had mulled over every
detail. It would have been the perfect spot for a marriage proposal.

A proposal,
Stewart?
Really?

I snorted at the mad and absolutely irrational direction my thoughts
were taking. Obviously I was still the hopeless romantic, and yet I didn’t
quite want to
be
in love. Not to
mention the fact that I barely knew anything about Jett and his life, while I
had already told him everything about
me and my life
.
The good, the bad, and the horrible.

“Like it?” Jett whispered behind me.

As usual, my abdomen twisted and knotted at the sound of his voice, and
my heart began to beat faster like a helpless butterfly in a glass cage. I spun
around and smiled at Jett, barely able to keep my eyes off him. He was dressed
in a V-neck shirt and tight jeans that barely managed to hide the perfect
sculpting of his hard muscles. The sunlight caught in his eyes, reminding me of
dark-green gemstones.

Oh.

God.

Oh god. He was stunning.

No. He was sinfully perfect, from his dark hair to the way his mouth
twitched at the corners whenever he was about to smile.

Tiny butterflies came to life in the pit of my stomach. I wanted to hate
him so much, to be done with him once and for all, because in some way he was
like a drug—the more I tasted him, the more I became addicted. But the
way he smiled at me, and the way he cocked his head to the side, expecting my
reaction upon seeing him, reminded me that I was human. Weak.
Prone to making mistakes.
And I could only hope I wasn’t
about to make yet another one. Because in the end—no matter how much I
liked him or he liked me—he was still Jett Mayfield.
The
man who played dirty.
The man who played me.

My knees weakened and my mouth turned dry as he moved toward me—so
confident in his stride—until he was close enough to touch me. I inhaled
the earthy scent of his aftershave and let it slowly engulf my mind.

A sexy smile played on his lips. His green eyes looked alluring in the
sunlight. The beginning of
a stubble
shadowed his tan
skin, making me want to run my fingers over it. I turned away from him and
toward the clear blue lake because it was easier than looking at him. There was
still so much pain inside stemming from his actions and the realization that if
he hadn’t lied, if he hadn’t tried to trick me, we might still be together.
There might still be
an
us
.

“Brooke.” His voice was deep and strained. Guarded. Ignoring my
disturbing attraction to him, I leaned over the balustrade as far as I could
and took a deep breath as I tried to control the turmoil inside me. I might not
be able to shake it all off, but I wasn’t going to show him just how big a soft
spot I still had for him either.

“I’m glad you could come. I thought this would be the ideal place to
meet and talk.” He touched the small of my back, oblivious to the storm raging
inside me, reminding me how gentle he was. How amazing we once were together.

“I didn’t expect this.” I turned to face him and our gazes interlocked,
making my knees go weak.

“You said you wanted a public place. I believe the exact words were
‘outside, where anyone can see us.” He leaned against the railing and shot me
an amused look that brought with it the most gorgeous dimples. Dimples that
made you wish you would drown in them.

I crossed my arms over my chest, as if the action could put some
distance between us.

“Yeah, but I meant having other people around, Jett.
Lots
of people.
Think fast-food chain.” Being seen wasn’t much of a put-off
to him. He had made that pretty clear on the lakeshore.

“What’s wrong with the people present?” He nodded at the waiter, amused.

I heaved a sigh in mock exasperation. Whatever I said, my arguments were
lost. I had given in to his request to talk and was ready to listen. But I
could already tell coming here was a mistake. The place was too beautiful; too
perfect. Away from the distractions of a club or the people employed in his
office, any ounce of determination to fight the stupid attraction between us
dissipated into thin air.

“You wanted to see me, so let’s get to the point,” I said. “What did you
want to talk about?”

“Let’s have lunch first.” His tone left no room for discussion. “We’ll
talk later.”

“Fine.” Hungry as I was I didn’t argue with that, even though I doubted
I’d be able to swallow more than a few bites in his presence. Jett guided me to
my chair and held it for me. I slid into the seat, whispering a thank you. He
sat down opposite from me and then we were gazing at each other again, soaking
in each other’s presence over the small table—the way we had ever since
our fateful meeting in a club, which wasn’t quite as accidental as I initially
thought.

“What can I get you to drink?” the waiter asked, startling me.

“Champagne,” Jett said.

“For me water, please.”

Jett raised a puzzled brow, but didn’t comment.

“Why champagne?” I asked him as soon as the waiter had left to get our
order. ”Are you trying to get me drunk?”

“We both know I don’t take advantage of a drunken woman, even though
I’ve got to admit it’s nice to hear all the little things that come out of your
sexy mouth. You know, the things I don’t get to hear when you’re sober.”

The telltale heat of a blush rushed to my face. Jett had seen me drunk
at least twice. Every time he made sure I got home safely, and every time I
told him, in my drunken state, how much I wanted him. It seemed like my
subconscious was programmed to reveal the truth regarding how I felt about
him—whether I wanted it, or not.

“I have sworn off alcohol.” I watched him take a thin bread stick and
break it into two, then hand me one while he kept the other half. “Thanks,” I
mumbled, nibbling on one end. “It makes me say stupid things I don’t mean.”

He snorted as he took a bite. “I doubt that.”

For some reason, his statement annoyed me.
Probably,
because he was right.
Yet, it brought up an issue that had me occupied
for longer than I cared to admit.

“Why did you lie to me, Jett?”

He hesitated, avoiding my gaze. A moment later the waiter appeared with
a trolley carrying our drinks and various dishes. He set the drinks in front of
us and wished us “
Buon
appetite,” and then he was
gone again.

“I didn’t know what you wanted, so I ordered everything on the menu,”
Jett said, not answering my question. I tried to ignore the various delicacies
on the trolley, which was hard because everything—including
Jett—looked so delicious. My stomach rumbled
,
reminding me I hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

I watched him pile a little of everything onto a plate before handing it
to me. I took it from him but didn’t touch the food.

He noticed me watching him and sighed. I began to tap my foot
impatiently, asking the obvious question with a mere raise of my eyebrows.

“I know you want answers but can we eat first?” He pointed at my plate.
I eyed the food as I contemplated whether to give in to his plea, or remain
stubborn in my decision to get this over and done with.

“Please. I’ll explain later,”
Jett
said slowly,
his electrifying eyes piercing a hole into my soul.

There was something in his voice: hope that we wouldn’t end up fighting.
Hope to avoid the inevitable—the countless questions demanding honest
answers. Whatever those answers were, I had a nagging feeling I’d need a strong
stomach to deal with them, so I grabbed my fork and popped a cube of white
cheese into my mouth, chewing slowly. It tasted delicious, of fresh milk and
herbs. I took another one, followed by what looked like a meatball tasting of
peppers and olives.

I looked up when he lifted his fork and helped himself—from the
same plate. The gesture was so intimate it made my heart skip a beat.