“You’re the careful kind then?” His question sounded more like a statement.
I shrugged. “Not more careful than most people out there but definitely more careful than you.”
The car slowed down a little but not enough. I heaved a big sigh and slumped deeper into the leather seats.
“You’re not living a life in the fast lane?” Jett shot me a questioning glance. I sensed a deeper meaning in his words.
“Are you?”
His lips quirked up at the corners. “As you can see, I like it fast and dangerous. I’ll gladly teach you a thing or two about those two things, Ms. Stewart.”
Whoa, when did the conversation take this particular turn? My cheeks flamed up, and I turned my head away from him so he wouldn’t catch just how much his words affected me. Oh, I wanted him to teach me all right. If only he’d make his threat real. Or was that a promise?
The car slowed down and we came to an abrupt stop. I wet my lips nervously, unsure what followed next.
“Why are we stopping?”
He turned to face me. Dimples formed in his cheeks as his gaze lingered on me a tad too long, caressing my face, my breasts, my body. What the heck was he doing? And why couldn’t I think with him so close?
“What?” I dared not take a breath under his electric eyes. His gaze narrowed on my lips and stayed glued to them. My blood rushed faster at the thought of him kissing me and making out in the middle of nowhere.
He leaned forward, tenderly grazing my leg, then my neck. And then his hand moved to the glove department to retrieve a pair of shades.
“Put them on,” he said gently. “The sun’s strong and we wouldn’t want you to get a headache.”
They were just words, but his gentle tone conveyed so much more. Warmth. Caring. I didn’t know what to do or say. I didn’t know how to protect my heart from the sudden array of emotions filling it.
“Thank you,” I said eventually, slightly choked. “What about you?”
“I’ll be okay.” He hit the accelerator hard. “Faster’s always better, but you have to mind those curves. They’re wicked. They can kill a man in a heartbeat.” He flashed me a grin as the car picked up in speed again, and for a moment I could swear he had been looking at my chest.
Our eyes connected in the mirror and I realized he had probably caught everything: the way my fingers seemed to want to rip a hole in my top’s hem, the way my eyes kept darting toward him, eager to soak up his every move, the way my knees pressed together tightly so the scent of dampness coming from my panties wouldn’t give away how much I wanted him to touch me there.
“Blushing suits you. I should make you blush more often,” Jett said hoarsely.
Swallowing hard, I put on the shades to hide at least part of my burning face, even though it probably was useless. I had never been good at pretending, and it sure had gotten worse around him. I knew I should say something—anything—but my words remained trapped at the back of my throat.
“This is it,” he said, taking a sharp right onto bumpy terrain. The lane was narrow with a ditch on both sides, and barely any space for oncoming traffic. The trees with rich crowns of leaves gathered into a thick canopy that filtered the warm rays of sun.
I removed Jett’s shades and craned my neck to figure out where the path might be taking us. I thought for a moment, and then the penny dropped.
“This is Lucazzone’s estate, isn’t it?” I asked.
“Yep.”
For some reason, I expected it to be majestic with a cobblestone path, trimmed hedges, maybe even a glasshouse, and hunting grounds—and definitely lots of flowers. This looked more like the forested backyard of a haunted and neglected mansion. It wasn’t less beautiful, just not what I expected.
“What was your highest offer?” I asked Jett.
“Twenty million.” He didn’t even blink saying the number. I almost choked on my breath.
“US dollars?”
“Euro.”
“Oh.” That was big bucks for a bit of land and a few walls. I blinked rapidly as my brain began to do the math. Twenty million Euros divided by ten mansions equaled two million each. Given the skyrocketing lawyer costs and the paperwork involved, the labor costs to cut down the forest, prepare the building ground, and actually build the holiday homes, Mayfield Properties would have to invest another twenty million. So the actual asking price would have to be four million to break even, and even more to make a profit.
Blazing hell, who in their right mind would actually pay that?
The street widened as we reached a crossroad. Jett took another sharp right and parked the car a few feet from a sign written in Italian. I didn’t understand the words, but the red outstretched palm didn’t need much interpretation. This was private property and we weren’t supposed to be here.