by JC Harroway
Then the delicious flavours caress my tongue again and I forget where I am and who I’m with, because I could be in my nonna’s kitchen or my parents’ restaurant, surrounded by love and security and belonging.
A small involuntary moan leaves my lips as I chase the drop of rich sauce at the corner of my mouth with my tongue.
‘I thought you didn’t eat lunch,’ Sterling says, reminding me that he’s sitting opposite me at my table in my favourite Italian restaurant. I often eat my meal in the bustling kitchen with the chef and owner, Gianni. He was a friend of my parents, and I’ve known him my whole life.
Sterling’s jaw is tight, as if he’s gritting his teeth, and the way his eyes dip to my mouth every few seconds tells me he’s distracted, too.
Time to wrestle back some control. Let the games begin.
I hide my smile and enjoy the power coursing through my system—the first time I’ve felt like myself since he walked into my office this morning. He’s right—there’s no avoiding our chemistry. That doesn’t mean I can’t play dirty.
‘I don’t usually eat lunch.’ I swirl my fork through the pasta and raise it to my mouth. ‘But this is the best Italian restaurant in the five boroughs. I know the chef. This recipe is a hundred years old.’
I take the mouthful inside slowly and deliberately. Keeping my stare locked to his, I chew, swallow and then run the tip of my tongue unapologetically over my bottom lip in a seductive swipe.
‘Mmm... I haven’t tasted anything so good since...hmm—’ I tap my chin, pretending to think ‘—Friday night.’ I shudder at the widening of his eyes.
Bingo.
I take a sip of Sicilian red wine, a small smile lifting my cheeks at the expression of lust on his face and the way he takes a pained swallow.
‘How’s your risotto?’ I ask, adrenaline pumping through my veins at the ease with which I can I get to him physically. If only I could influence him professionally as easily. Isn’t that what he accused me of?
Perhaps his ludicrous suggestion that I work for him has merits. I can stay close while I fight my corner for Hamilton’s, and I can make him pay for his ruthlessness, render him as helpless as he’s made me feel. In some ways, seducing him in that elevator has achieved exactly what I wanted—he’s here, isn’t he?
But I haven’t gained everything I want, because Hamilton’s still isn’t mine. What if he won’t sell me the stock back?
Panic dries my throat.
‘The risotto is excellent.’ He runs a finger inside his collar, clearly trying to claw back control of his body.
At least I’m not struggling with our chemistry alone. Only I’m here to quiz him, not fall into his seductive trap. If he thinks he’s getting the upper hand, he’s mistaken.
I’ll have my revenge over your body.
Why did his assurance have such a profound effect on my libido when my brain screamed at me to laugh in his face? Instead I returned the challenge, the promise, and then kissed him.
Good move, Ava.
‘So you like Italian food?’ His grim expression contradicts his benign question. Perhaps he can’t believe he’s having lunch with a woman he sees as an enemy. Perhaps he’s still trying to conceal his arousal—he returned my kiss with that edge of dominance I expected. For a minute I thought we’d go all the way, right there in his convertible.
My guard rises at the personal slant to the small talk, but I offer some explanation. ‘My grandmother was born in a village outside Genoa in northern Italy. My parents owned an Italian restaurant, so I grew up on simple dishes like this one.’ I look down at my bowl, my brain awash with stark and painful memories. My first job in the restaurant was folding napkins and filling water bottles after school. With those skills perfected I progressed to table-laying and then fresh pasta-making with my mother. We’d hang the pasta to dry on wooden racks overhead. Some of my happiest moments, our most memorable conversations, happened under a canopy of spaghetti and linguini.
He nods, his green eyes searching mine. ‘Sam, your warehouse foreman, told me about your parents. I’m sorry to hear that they died.’
‘How indiscreet of him,’ I mutter. I look away from his handsome face, reluctant to acknowledge the sincerity in his expression. It’s easier to fight my attraction if I dismiss his principles.
Except the agony of his reminder is like a slap, momentarily seizing my breath as it has done intermittently for the past fourteen years. Contrary to popular belief, that pain never lessens. I’ve just grown used to dealing with it, shoving it down and keeping busy.
‘He wasn’t to know that we’re enemies.’ His tone is conciliatory, as if I’m delicate. ‘To be honest, I had the impression that Sam is proud of you—he said he’s known you since you were a chatty little girl in a hard hat.’
I can’t help my twitch of a smile, remembering how I loved my red hat, which was emblazoned with the words ‘The Real Boss.’ Except Sterling knowing anything about me feels as if I’m conceding points, and he’s already at an advantage.
Yes, I’m keeping score.
‘My parents died a long time ago,’ I say. I was another person. A person I knew. I had a promising and fulfilling life. Now I feel as if I’m treading water in an endless void, waiting for my real life to click back into place.
But how can it? The life to which I belonged, with my family, the restaurant, is gone for ever. Probably the reason I give my heart and soul to Hamilton’s. Would there be any Ava left without my company?
‘How old were you?’ He’s still, watching me with rapt interest. My automatic answer dies on my lips, replaced by the taste of bitterness. I don’t owe him a thing, least of all my confidences.
‘Why should I tell you? We’re not friends, we just spent the night together, and now you want to destroy my business.’ I made myself vulnerable to him and this is how he repays me—with accusations, distrust and selfishness. ‘At this stage I feel you could use any information against me.’
The corners of his mouth tug down. ‘We spent part of the night together—you ran away once you’d got what you came for, remember? And I don’t want to destroy anything. You’ll be a very rich woman when I have my way.’
Frustration blasts from me in a sigh. Life isn’t just about profit and self-interest. Sometimes it’s about obligation, honouring departed family members, and belonging to something bigger than yourself.
I’m done being polite. ‘I told you I did go to the party in the hopes of meeting you, but what happened after the elevator...that was all spontaneous and stupid. Believe me, if I could take it back, I would.’
Liar. Why would you take back the best sex of your life?
He looks mildly thrown by my admission, as if he’s unwilling to cut me any slack. ‘My father died when I was eight years old.’ He shrugs one broad shoulder, his white shirt tugging across his defined chest. ‘Now we’re even. You know something about me, and I know something about you.’
The tightening of his mouth affirms the vulnerability he feels in the wake of his confession. It softens my resolve and I can’t have that, so I look down at my now cold lunch. I don’t want anything in common with this man beyond the incredible time we shared in the bedroom, although a part of me realises my instincts are geared to keeping me safe from feeling. If I give in to emotion I remember the past—no good comes of that.
I swallow a sip of water to ease my tight throat. ‘I was fourteen.’ My pulse thumps in my head.
Don’t think about twisted metal. Flames engulfing the wreck. The idea that the ‘died on impact’ story was concocted to spare you the horror of them burning alive.
To my relief, just then, Gianni ambles out from the kitchen at the rear of the restaurant and heads our way, his face split in a warm grin of welcome. ‘Ciao, Ava. I didn’t know you were coming in today.’
I’m engulfed in the comfort of Gianni’s big bea
r hug, to which I willingly succumb. He smells like warm bread and Italian coffee—so reminiscent of my father I want to bury my face in his shirt and sob like a little girl who’s scraped her knee.
Of course, I rally. ‘I didn’t know I’d be coming in today or I’d have asked you to save me some of your famous cannoli.’ My warm smile slides from my face. ‘I’m here for an impromptu business lunch.’
Sterling is already on his feet, so I’m forced to introduce them and then explain to Sterling, ‘Gianni owns this restaurant. He and my parents were friends, so I’ve known him my whole life. His cannoli are the reason I need to jog.’
Sterling praises Gianni for the delicious lunch, once more the polite and affable man I met at Bold Tower. I can’t un-see the other side of him now, the vengeful, ruthless side, so I look away to regroup my defences.
Gianni eyes me with speculation. He thinks this is a date—he’s always trying to fix me up with one of his single sons. I clasp my hands together to prevent a tell-tale squirm advertising my discomfort. The sense of my worlds colliding this way—business and pleasure—makes my hairs stand on end. I need to get away from Sterling and analyse everything I’ve learned today. Work out what it means for me and formulate a new plan to salvage Hamilton’s from his grasp.
I could never forgive myself if I lost my grandparents’ business. One they built together, loved and made sacrifices for. Sacrifices for me and my education...
The sudden urge to go home and bake ciabatta takes hold. The kneading and patience involved usually helps to clear my head.
After a few minutes of small talk, Gianni shakes hands with Sterling. He kisses both my cheeks in farewell. ‘I’ll let you eat. Any time you want recipes or the best ingredients, you come to me, okay?’
When he heads back to the kitchen, I want to chase after him. To hide in the kitchen, chatting about food while we prep for dinner. I once dreamt about following Mom and Dad into the restaurant business. Until the age of fourteen it was all I’d known.
But I’m doing okay on my own. I just need to get Hamilton’s back on track so I can recapture the sense of belonging, somehow. Because I’m a Hamilton. Of course I belong.
‘So, back to business,’ I say with renewed resolve as I retake my seat opposite Sterling. ‘What did you mean earlier in the car about me working for you? I assumed you were joking. I already work sixty hours a week and you’re the last man on earth I’d want for a boss.’
Sterling shrugs, his stare laced with defiant heat. ‘I know how hard you work. I know a lot about you, Ava.’
The gravel in his deep voice leaves me convinced he’s talking about my helpless physical response to him, not the contents of my résumé.
Infuriating man. He’s so composed when, being at Gianni’s, remembering Mum and Dad, fighting for Hamilton’s, I feel as if I’m disintegrating. I ignore his attempt to get under my skin over the sex. ‘You seem to think I’ll be helping you to dismantle my family’s legacy. Why the hell would I do that?’
He glances away, as if with reluctance. ‘Hamilton’s as it stands today is over, Ava.’ A flash of regret dulls his green eyes. ‘The sooner you accept that, the better.’
A red mist clouds my peripheral vision. I’ve just confided in him about losing my parents as a kid. He already knows that I recently lost my grandparents, too. And I confessed earlier that Hamilton’s is my life.
How ruthless can a person be to dismiss all of that because it doesn’t fit with his selfish plans? Has he no compassion or tact or humanity at all?
He opens his hands, palms up, in a reasonable gesture. ‘You can either work with me and influence the direction of the merger and the formation of Lombard Logistics, which, by the way, is my proposal and preference. It’s in your interests too. Or you can step aside and simply collect your cheque when the sale goes through.’ He raises his glass of wine as if offering a toast to the brilliance of his destructive and unyielding plan.
‘You really have no heart, do you?’ I knew he was cut-throat, but this is next-level coldness.
He touches the knot in his immaculately straight tie. ‘When it comes to business and getting what I want, you’re correct—I have no heart.’ He leans close, resting his forearms on the table and piercing me with his cool stare. ‘I learned from a young age that sentiment makes you vulnerable to attack. You helped me to remember those formative lessons the night you left without declaring your true intentions. So, thank you.’
The violent pang of curiosity and compassion his statement elicits is overwhelmed by the violence of my indignity. It’s easier to indulge the animosity and undiluted resentment in my head than wonder what’s shaped him to be so callous and self-serving.
His sinful mouth lifts in a small, victorious smile that leaves me more determined than ever to best this billionaire. ‘What’s it to be, Ava? Are you in or out? Are you tendering your resignation from Hamilton’s, effective immediately? Or can I expect you at Bold tomorrow, bright and early, for a strategy meeting?’
My blood boils. Hateful, soulless man. He has me exactly where he wants me. The best I can hope for is that working alongside him will afford me an opportunity to reverse the power imbalance and fight my corner for Hamilton’s.
I’m not above using seduction if I have to—he already thinks me capable of such underhanded tactics.
‘I’m in,’ I say before finishing my wine. Right now, I want my company more than I want this man out of my sight. As for my body, I can use that to punish him in return. If I’m going down in the flames we lit on Friday, he’s coming with me.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Ava
I’M POWER-DRESSED FOR battle in a fitted powder-blue dress, matching jacket and my favourite killer heels. I arrive at Bold early the next morning. Out-manoeuvring Sterling Lombard requires me to be on my game, but, thanks to a restless night, where I dreamed about green eyes slashed with both desire and detachment, I’m far from well rested.
The body wants what the body wants. Unfortunately for me that’s the man in my professional sights. But I can control our chemistry the way he plans to: with revenge seduction.
Sterling’s friendly and efficient assistant, Todd, ushers me straight into his light-filled office. The first thing my eyes land on is the magnificent man himself. He’s dressed in another fine suit. His sandy hair is brushed back from his face with the exception of that one stubborn lock that refuses to be tamed, which hangs over his eye. My fingers tingle. I remember how that lock of hair felt between them, how his eyes darkened to the colour of the ocean in a storm when I held his face as a prelude to our kiss.
My gaze darts to the sofa—the place all my troubles began. Despite the mess in which I landed myself, my core clenches with the memories—delicious Bourbon, reckless kissing, a tour of his private bedroom.
Chills douse me. A seismic shift happened in this office. Meeting Sterling has thrown my professional existence into turmoil.
I’ve also never felt so...alive.
‘Ava,’ he says, his hand engulfing mine in a perfectly businesslike shake that shunts my heart rate skywards as if he’s touched me intimately.
‘I thought you might bail out on me this morning.’ Humour twitches his decadent lips. ‘I’m glad to see you’re not that easily rattled.’
To the dismay of my lady parts, he drops my hand and smooths his grey tie over his flat abdomen. ‘Please, take a seat.’
I follow him to the conference table in front of the window, and my legs tremble as if my body has muscle memory of the intense pleasure and unexpected connection that happened in this office. I shudder, both wishing away and welcoming my uncontrollable reaction to him—tingling nipples, pooling pelvic heat and a frenzied pulse.
I’ve been in his company less than a minute and already I’m a contradiction of desire and dislike.
‘I’m here because Hamilton’s is everything to me�
�nothing to do with assisting your nefarious plans, believe me.’ I swallow, stating my business the way I wish I’d done in the elevator at our first meeting. Then none of this would have happened. Because I’m certain he’s digging in his heels over Hamilton’s in response to the way he thinks I manipulated him.
So appeal to his integrity and business acumen.
He chuckles and pours two glasses of water, and then takes the seat at right angles to mine. ‘I admire the fact that you’re so plain-talking and driven.’ He leans back in his chair, perfectly comfortable in his domain.
Why shouldn’t he be comfortable? He thinks he has things exactly how he wants them. I should’ve insisted we meet at my office, so that I could have the psychological upper hand.
I try my best to look equally calm and collected as I cross my legs.
His stare, which flicks to the movement for a gratifying split second, feels hot and heavy.
‘If we’d met under other circumstances, I think we could have been good friends, Ava.’ His voice handles the words friends the way he growled against my pussy when I came.
Nothing friendly about that. But oh, so addictively memorable.
‘You don’t know me,’ I snap with frustrating petulance. He just knows which of my buttons to push...
‘I know enough,’ he quips. ‘I know that you’re passionate about Italian food. It lights you up, making those startling blue eyes of yours shine like diamonds.’
‘Well, fortunately for me, I have enough friends without you. What I don’t have is sole proprietorship of my company.’
‘Ah, Ava, Ava... Stop making me respect you—it’s messing with my evil plans.’ The look he shoots me is pure sin.
I look away from the challenge and appreciation gleaming in his eyes as he moves his stare over my face. ‘If you respected me, my wishes and my appeal to your integrity, I wouldn’t be here listening to how you plan to destroy everything I love. I’d be in Brooklyn running my company without your interference. Let’s get down to business, shall we? I need to be back in my office in ninety minutes.’