And then we said our goodbyes and I hung up, feeling strangely out of place in this huge-yet-beautiful house with this strange-yet-gorgeous guy. While Sylvie’s stories didn’t usually get to me, the Ryan episode somehow touched me because I knew Sylvie had fallen for him hard. I could never allow myself to feel the same way for Jett.
I finished my water, and then got another cup of coffee before heading for Jett’s private office.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The Lucazzone estate started from just beyond Jett’s huge property. I couldn’t help but think that even though Jett had the most stunning scenery I had ever seen, he didn’t buy his holiday home because of its view. I figured being close to the old man to follow his every move might just be the reason why he vacationed here in the first place. It was the way the big league played. They watched their market and competitors but, most importantly, they kept a hawk eye on the properties they wanted until the owners were ready to sell, and they all were eventually.
Sitting in the passenger seat of his Ferrari with the roof down and a warm breeze caressing my skin, I bit my lip hard so I wouldn’t ask the question that burned a hole in my brain. Jett’s motives weren’t really my business, and yet I had to know. It was two days since we signed the contract and Jett hadn’t made any sort of attempt to touch me. He continued to remain a mystery. I figured finding out why he bought his mansion might reveal more about his personality.
“When did you buy your house?” Moistening my lips, I focused my gaze onto the winding road so he wouldn’t pick up on just how much I hoped to find out more about the real man behind his cool façade.
“A while back.”
A vague answer, of course. I expected nothing less from him. Why did he have to be so equivocal about everything?
I nodded slowly. “What drew you to Italy, or this part of the country in particular?”
“The weather?” He shot me a sideways glance, and for a moment the bright sun reflected in his stunning eyes, making them shimmer in a million green facets. Dressed in blue jeans and a snug short-sleeved shirt, and with the wind blowing through his disheveled hair, he looked more magnificent than ever. His left hand was resting on the steering wheel and the right on the armrest, inches away from mine. I fought the urge to run my fingertips over the defined muscles.
“Could you possibly be more vague?” I asked.
He laughed that deep, brief laughter of his that always made my stomach flutter a little bit. “We used to vacation here a lot when I was a child. I wanted to preserve the memory by buying my own house here. Unfortunately, I don’t come as often as I’d like to.”
No hidden motives then. Just a rich man returning to the one place he adored as a child. I folded my hands in my lap and started to play with the hem of my shirt, not quite buying into it.
“So it wasn’t because of Alessandro Lucazzone,” I remarked dryly.
His head snapped in my direction, and for a moment our eyes connected. There was something in his gaze—a hint of determination, maybe even fear, I couldn’t really tell—and then it disappeared and his gorgeous lips curled up into a lazy smile.
“I can see why you would think that, but I assure you it wasn’t the case. We only recognized the estate’s potential a few years ago. It was during my first year in college.” He hesitated, as though considering whether to reveal more. I waited for him to continue, and when he didn’t I wondered whether there was more to this freshman year story than he let on.
We drove in silence for a minute or two. It was a late Wednesday morning. Apart from the odd passing car, the street remained mostly deserted. Jett maneuvered expertly, barely slowing down at the sharper bends, which led me to believe he knew the way well. Either that, or he was the most reckless driver I had ever seen. Several times my heart jumped in my throat, and I clutched the armrest for support as he kept cutting corners, taking us dangerously close to the steep mountain wall rising to my right.
“You okay?” Jett asked, laughing.
“You drive like a maniac,” I said through clenched teeth.
“That’s not the only thing I do like a maniac, Brooke.” His hand moved away from the steering wheel and settled on my thigh.
Heat flushed my cheeks. I was mortified, but not from shame or shyness. Frowning, I lifted his hand off my thigh and placed it back on the steering wheel, noticing how warm and calloused his palm was. Those bumps didn’t come from sitting around in an office.
“Just keep a tight grip on that, will you?” I said dryly. “While I think Italy’s beautiful, I’m not keen on having my brain splattered all over this place.”