Just a Bit Bossy by Alessandra Hazard

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 17

 

 

Nate couldn’t look Luke in the eye when he went downstairs for breakfast. He had been so eager to escape the bedroom before Ferrara could wake up that he hadn’t considered that he’d have to face people who saw them leave yesterday and likely could guess what they had been doing behind the kitchen building.

Fuck, he’d never felt so embarrassed in his life.

Thankfully it was just Luke in the breakfast room. “Everyone else is probably nursing a hangover,” Luke said, answering his unasked question. “Roman doesn’t drink, but he likes sleeping in when he doesn’t have to get up. I kept him up half the night.” Luke smiled, a knowing look appearing on his face. “You’ve probably been up for a while, too, right?”

Ugh. Nate now understood the expression about wanting the ground to open up and swallow you, and he fervently wished for just that.

“Yeah,” he said with a forced smile. How could he say that they weren’t like that, that what happened yesterday hadn’t been supposed to happen—again? How could he say that Raffaele Ferrara just had a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad effect on his body and brain? That he had sucked Nate’s willpower and rational thoughts right through his mouth, like some kind of Dementor?

“You look well rested, though,” Luke said, changing the subject, to Nate’s relief. “You like it here?”

Nate nodded and tucked in. He did feel well rested. To his surprise, he’d fallen asleep as soon as his head had hit the pillow yesterday and he slept like a baby. It must have been the air. In fact, he had slept so well that he’d woken up with his face smothered against Ferrara’s bare chest. Clearly his sleeping self was an idiot with no sense of self-preservation.

“It’s lovely here,” he said honestly when the silence stretched.

Before he could say anything else, Ferrara walked into the room, his eyes still heavy-lidded from sleep.

Nate pressed his lips together; even his ears turned hot. Kneel, Ferrara’s low, commanding voice sounded in his head. Fuck, he couldn’t believe he’d done it, just like that.

“Morning,” he forced out, since it would be strange if he didn’t say anything.

“Good morning,” Luke said, too, looking at Ferrara curiously.

Ferrara didn’t even look at him, his sleepy gaze fixed on Nate. “My coffee,” he stated.

Nate glared at him. Had he forgotten that they weren’t at the office?

“Get it yourself, babe,” he said with his sweetest smile.

Dark eyes blinked slowly before their owner must have realized that this attitude was inappropriate in front of their captive audience. “It always tastes better when you make it,” he said.

Nate nearly snorted. Nice save.

But he did get up and walk to the table by the wall. It had everything anyone would need to make coffee just the way they wanted it.

“Do you need help?” a maid asked him, her accent heavy.

Nate shook his head. He didn’t bother telling the girl that Ferrara was a grumpy dick in the morning and liked his coffee to be made in a very particular way. Nate didn’t trust her to get it right.

By the time he returned with Ferrara’s coffee, Roman Demidov had joined them. Ferrara accepted the coffee without as much as a glance at Nate, his attention on Demidov. They were talking business, so Nate went back to his seat and tried not to scowl into his own coffee.

“You’re very comfortable with each other already,” Luke said in a quiet voice, stirring his tea. “But if you want his attention, ask for it. Roman can get ridiculously busy and distracted by his work, too. The key is not to let work dominate your life.”

Nate sipped his coffee. “I don’t want his attention,” he said. He didn’t.

The look Luke shot him was so skeptical that Nate wished he could tell the guy that their supposed relationship was totally fake and having Satan’s attention was the worst thing anyone could wish for.

He said neither of those things.

“Don’t want to be too clingy?” Luke said with an understanding look. “I don’t think he minds. You were the first thing he looked at when he entered the room. I’m not sure he even noticed me.”

Nate made a noncommittal noise, marveling at Luke’s poor observational skills.

“You make a lovely couple.” Luke hesitated and then lowered his voice. “I honestly wasn’t sure about Roman inviting Ferrara here because of…”

Nate looked back at him, curious. “Because of his family?” he said, just as quietly.

Luke eyed him in an assessing manner. He must have found what he was looking for, because he eventually replied, “Yes. You’ve probably heard the rumors about Roman, right?”

Nate nodded. “Raffaele told me,” he said, managing not to trip over the name this time.

“That makes things easier, I guess,” Luke said with a rueful smile.

“You were against inviting Raffaele?”

“I was. It’s nothing personal, you understand. I just didn’t want to have anyone from Roman’s past in our home—and that part of his life is in the past. But Roman can be so stubborn. He eventually talked me into it.” He blushed slightly, and Nate got a sneaking suspicion what “talking into it” entailed.

“Why?” Nate said, looking at Luke curiously. Hopefully for once his “kind face” would do its job and make Luke confide in him.

Luke chewed on his bottom lip, something hesitant about his expression. “Roman has mostly shut down that side of his business,” he said at last, his tone careful. “But an old… business partner in Italy is giving him trouble over it. He doesn’t understand that no means no.”

Translation: Roman Demidov’s former criminal associates didn’t want to be former associates.

Nate frowned. “And why does he need F—Raffaele? Because of his family connections? But he’s estranged from his family.”

His face flashing with a conspiratorial smile, Luke said, “Is he, really?”

“Yes,” Nate said carefully. “Don’t you know that his family refused to pay ransom for him when someone kidnapped him a decade ago?”

Amusement flashed in Luke’s eyes. “That was very clever of him,” he said, glancing at Ferrara. “Even Roman thought the kidnapping was real. We know that it was staged only because we found about it when we went through my father’s files.”

Staged?

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” Nate said faintly.

Luke peered at him before his eyes widened in something like bewilderment. “Oh, you really had no idea? I thought he’d tell you… You need to talk to him about it, then. Secrets are bad for a relationship.”

Nate could only nod. He got to his feet, walked to Ferrara, and touched his arm. “I need to talk to you.”

A deep wrinkle appeared between Ferrara’s brows at the interruption. He looked at Nate’s hand for a moment before looking back at Nate’s face.

At last, he got to his feet and Nate quickly turned and headed out of the room before Ferrara could lay a hand on his nape. Nate led him to the library, shut the door and turned to him. “Luke implied that you aren’t actually estranged from your family and that your kidnapping was staged.”

Ferrara’s face remained impassive. “And? Whatever makes you think I owe you an explanation?”

Nate glared at him. “You’re the one who dragged me here to pretend to be your boyfriend,” he hissed out. “But when Luke just told me that, I had no idea what to say! Now he probably thinks I’m an idiot who has no clue about his own boyfriend’s family.”

The bastard shrugged. “I see no issue. That’s not something I would tell you even if our relationship were real.”

“Right. Because you have no idea how relationships work.”

Ferrara stepped closer, laid his fingers on Nate’s chin, and tipped his face up. Was that amusement in his eyes? “I think you’re forgetting something,” he said, his voice quiet. “We aren’t pretending to be in a serious relationship. We aren’t pretending to trust each other. I brought you here to make Demidov think I’m like him. That’s all. You aren’t my wife. Or husband. No one needs to know my full life story to suck my cock.”

Kneel, the word echoed in Nate’s mind.

Nate moistened his dry lips with his tongue, his heart beating fast against his ribs and his cock so hard he wanted to scream. “I know. But Luke has gotten it into his head that we’re...”

“That we’re what?” Ferrara said, his gaze dropping to Nate’s mouth for a moment before looking back into Nate’s eyes.

Nate felt his face become warm. “That it’s a love match,” he forced out, feeling painfully awkward.

“A love match,” Ferrara repeated, as if the words were in an alien language.

Scoffing, Nate rolled his eyes. “Yes, sometimes people fuck because they love each other. A bizarre concept for you, I know.”

“And whatever gave him that idea?”

Nate shot him an incredulous look. “I don’t know, maybe the fact that you spent all afternoon yesterday keeping me in your lap and kissing me?”

“Need I remind you that it was your idea?”

“It doesn’t matter whose idea it was—that’s the impression kissing me for hours gave.”

Ferrara’s eyes dropped to Nate’s lips again.

Nate swallowed, actually feeling his pulse beat rapidly in his neck. Fuck, he hoped he wouldn’t have to endure more of those horrible kisses. But they were alone. Ferrara wouldn’t kiss him here. He was safe. Totally safe. Nothing was going to happen here. He wouldn’t have to endure Ferrara’s kisses.

Nate cleared his throat. “So you’d better tell me,” he said. “Why did Luke say your kidnapping was staged?”

Sighing, Ferrara looked away and let go of Nate’s chin.

Nate hated that he hated the loss of contact.

Ferrara walked to the window and stared out of it, his hands in his pockets, his wide shoulders stiff. “Contrary to popular opinion, my father didn’t disown me. He was against me leaving for America and leaving the family business, but he couldn’t change my mind once I made the decision. So I left, and he spread the rumor that he kicked me out.”

“To protect you?” Nate said.

Ferrara gave a clipped nod. “And himself. He didn’t want anyone to use me to get to him. That’s why he had to give the impression that he didn’t give a shit about me.”

“And what, you staged your own kidnapping?”

Ferrara shrugged. “Pretty much. Luke’s father, Whitford, was something of an old friend of my father. He agreed to help stage my kidnapping without it being traced back to us.”

Nate frowned. “So your kidnapping was fake? It wasn’t actually true that you barely survived it?”

A wry smile curled Ferrara’s lips. “By the time I was saved by FBI agents, I really was barely alive. The low-ranking mobsters who were watching over me had no idea that the whole thing was staged, so they weren’t exactly gentle.”

Nate pursed his lips, wondering. “Was it worth it?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Ferrara said, without looking at him. “I don’t even need bodyguards these days. In Italy I couldn’t take a piss without my bodyguards securing the bathroom first.”

Nate thought about it for a moment. “Wait,” he said. “Is that why you accepted Demidov’s invitation? That’s why you were worried, right? Because you knew he was dating Luke Whitford and there was a chance he knew about your staged kidnapping?”

Ferrara gave a nod, stepping closer to him. “I had to find out what he knew—and what he wanted if he really knew that.”

That made sense. Except…

“But wasn’t it risky for Demidov to invite you to Italy if he suspected that you weren’t actually at odds with your family? He could have chosen literally any country but your home country.”

Ferrara shook his head. “He knew I wouldn’t have accepted the invitation if he invited me somewhere else. The other businessmen invited to the villa were additional assurance that I wasn’t walking into a trap. Demidov’s willingness to put himself at a disadvantage made it obvious that he wanted something badly enough to want my cooperation. That’s why I risked it.”

“Luke hinted that Demidov actually wants your help with your father.”

Ferrara cocked his head slightly, a twisted smile curling his lips. “And if I don’t cooperate, he’ll use me as a bargaining chip against my family now that he has me as his ‘guest.’”

Nate opened his mouth to tell him to stop being a cynical asshole, but then stopped, realizing that he didn’t actually know Roman Demidov and it was entirely possible. It was entirely possible that the invitation was a setup and they were actually hostages in a fancy cage.

“Shit,” he whispered, looking around, suddenly paranoid. “Are we in danger?”

“You? Not really.” Ferrara’s smile widened. “Unless Demidov gets the brilliant idea that we’re a ‘love match,’ too.”

Nate glowered at him, not amused at all. “It’s not funny. This could be dangerous! Aren’t you afraid at all?”

“Come on, love,” Ferrara said gently, his gaze as mock-affectionate as his tone. “Don’t you trust me?”

“Ugh, you’re such an ass!” Nate said, pushing at Ferrara’s chest in frustration.

The asshole caught his fist in a tight grip. “You’re forgetting yourself,” he said, his voice very soft. “I’m still your boss.”

Nate rolled his eyes. “I’ll start treating you like my boss when you stop putting your body parts in my mouth.” He huffed. “I’m serious, Raffaele. I didn’t sign up for this. You may not be scared, but I am, okay?”

The mocking glint was gone from Ferrara’s eyes, his expression becoming serious. He held Nate’s gaze steadily as he said, “I brought you here. I will not let anything happen to you.”

Nate should have laughed. Ferrara couldn’t guarantee that at all. But there was something about this man, about his confidence, his arrogance, that was so damn reassuring. Fuck, he found his horrible boss’s arrogance reassuring. He needed help, pronto.

“Good,” Nate said, trying to shake off the feeling. “Because if I get a bullet in my gut because of you, I’m going to turn into a ghost and haunt you for the rest of your life. Sir.”

Ferrara’s lips twitched. “That would be dreadful,” he said, before closing the distance between them and fitting their mouths together.

Ugh, not this again.

Nate absolutely detested the way his brain instantly became fuzzy and disoriented, his world narrowing to Ferrara’s hot, domineering mouth that seemed to suck out all of his willpower. He made a feeble attempt to tear his mouth away, but his lips didn’t listen to the command from his brain at all, clinging to Ferrara’s and parting for his tongue. It was fucking horrible.

He whined when Ferrara finally released his mouth. He glared at him dazedly, rubbing his sensitive lips with the back of his hand. “What was that for?” he hissed. “There’s no one here.”

The bastard didn’t look fazed at all. “Demidov and Whitford will expect you to look well kissed.” And then he laid his hand on Nate’s nape and steered him back to the breakfast room.

And Nate went.