Just a Bit Bossy by Alessandra Hazard

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 14

 

 

Roman Demidov’s villa was breathtaking.

They arrived just as the sun was setting over Lake Como, and Nate stopped, in awe of the sheer beauty of it. The water glittered like diamonds as it reflected the sunset, and the tall mountains surrounding the picturesque lake made him feel incredibly small.

“Damn,” he whispered, all the tiredness after the transatlantic flight gone.

He turned his head and found Ferrara looking at the lake with a very strange expression, his hands in the pockets of his suit pants. Was that wistfulness in his gaze?

“Did you miss it?” Nate said before he could stop himself.

“America has beautiful places, too,” Ferrara said without any inflection in his voice.

“But it isn’t home,” Nate said quietly.

Ferrara said nothing.

Nate eyed his hard profile. He hadn’t missed the shift in his boss’s mood ever since they’d landed in Milan. There was something… different about him, in the way he held himself. Even his voice sounded a little softer, more melodic when he spoke in Italian, and Nate found himself fascinated, wishing he understood the language.

There was another difference—and one that unnerved Nate a little. Two bodyguards in dark suits were now following them everywhere, their faces grim and blank. It made Nate feel a little jumpy and ridiculous, as if he’d ended up in some gangster movie. Ferrara barely seemed to notice them, completely ignoring their presence.

When Nate grabbed his suitcase, Ferrara said shortly, “Leave it. Alessio and Paolo will take care of our baggage.” Then he laid his hand on Nate’s nape and steered him toward the beautiful villa.

Two men emerged out of the house. The older man was about Ferrara’s height and age, or maybe a little older, his blue eyes assessing and sharp as they flicked between him and Ferrara.

“Welcome,” he said, his voice neutral as he stretched his hand out for Nate to shake. “Roman Demidov.”

Nate shook his hand, a little surprised that he was being greeted first. He’d thought he’d just be ignored. “Nate Parrish,” he said, shooting a confused look at his boss.

Ferrara’s face betrayed nothing, his hand still on Nate’s nape, heavy and familiar.

“We weren’t aware you were bringing someone,” Demidov said in the same carefully neutral tone, his gaze shifting to Ferrara. He finally shook his hand.

“Is that a problem?” Ferrara said, his voice equally reserved.

“Not at all!” said the guy beside Demidov, his British accent obvious. “The more, the merrier.” He was a young man, likely in his early twenties, with a mop of curly, dark gold hair that made him look even younger than he probably was. He was dressed kind of flamboyantly, his floral shirt and shorts a stark contrast next to Demidov’s blue dress shirt and dark pants. The guy gave Nate a friendly smile. “I’m Luke Whitford, by the way. It’s just… It’s a pretty small villa—there isn’t a free room for you I’m afraid. All the other guests have already arrived and they’ve taken all the best rooms.”

“It’s not a problem,” Ferrara said before Nate could say anything, putting his hand back on Nate’s neck, his touch more caressing than it normally was.

Nate barely stopped himself from flinching. He smiled faintly, his face becoming warm when an expression of understanding appeared on Luke’s face.

“Great, then,” Luke said, exchanging a quick look with Demidov before turning back to them. “Come on, let me show you your room. Your bodyguards can stay in the security house with our bodyguards.”

“They’ll stay outside our room,” Ferrara stated.

Luke shook his head with a sunny smile. “Sorry, but no men with guns are allowed into the house. My house, my rules.” He looked Ferrara in the eyes, his gaze becoming serious. “Look, I… understand why you might be cautious, but I give you my word. You don’t need bodyguards here.”

After a long moment, Ferrara looked from Luke to Demidov. The Russian gave a clipped nod, something rueful about his expression. “He took away even my gun,” he said in a slightly disgruntled voice.

Luke smiled and pecked him on the cheek quickly. “It’s for your own good, Roma.”

Taking their suitcases from the bodyguards, Nate and Ferrara followed Luke into the house.

Nate barely paid attention to Luke’s tour through the villa, still reeling from the surreality of it all. Fuck, what was he doing here, among these filthy rich people who owned villas on Lake Como and talked about stuff like bodyguards and guns as if it were completely normal?

“The room is a bit small,” Luke said apologetically, pushing a door open.

Nate nearly laughed when they entered the spacious bedroom with a stunning lakeview. A bit small, his ass.

“It’s fine,” he said with a faint smile, trying not to stare at the king-sized bed that dominated the room.

“You’re probably tired. I’ll let you rest. We’ve already had supper, but if you’re hungry, just push this button—the maids can bring you something to eat.”

“Thank you.”

When the door closed behind Luke, Ferrara walked around the room, his gaze sharp. Searching.

“What are you doing?” Nate said, following him with his eyes.

“I doesn’t look like there are cameras here.”

Nate let out a laugh. “Seriously? We aren’t in a Bond movie.”

Ferrara sighed, shrugging out of his suit jacket. “You’d be surprised how many businessmen use those methods in real life. Corporate espionage is a thing.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Nate said, reading between the lines. Normal businessmen might not use such methods, but Roman Demidov had a very sketchy reputation. It was probably smart to be careful even though they had nothing to hide—besides the fact that they weren’t really in a relationship.

He looked at the bed again and his stomach did a little flip-flop.

He was being ridiculous. The bed was big enough for four people. They could share it without touching each other. It wouldn’t be an issue.

“They seem like a great couple,” Nate said, just to say something.

Ferrara made a derisive sound, unbuttoning his shirt. “A strange one. They couldn’t be more different.”

“You wouldn’t recognize a good relationship if it smacked you in the face,” Nate said, opening Ferrara’s suitcase. Then he stopped. It wasn’t his fucking job to unpack his boss’s clothes. He wasn’t actually his manservant. Or wife.

Nate scowled, rubbing the back of his very warm neck.

He opened his own suitcase and grabbed a t-shirt and a pair of boxers. “I’m going to shower first,” he said, feeling—and probably sounding—incredibly awkward. He wasn’t even sure why. He just felt on edge, his skin tingling, too tight, too something.

He glanced back at Ferrara, who was unbuckling his belt, already shirtless.

Dark eyes met his.

Swallowing, Nate turned away and strode to the ensuite.