Catering to the Italian Playboy

by Tamelia Tumlin

  * * *

  Max settled at the small table and watched as Sophie disappeared behind two gray swinging double doors. The gentle sway of her hips in the snug faded jeans sparked a new wave of heat in his veins.

  Six years hadn’t nixed his desire for her. Quite the opposite, in fact. It had intensified it. Surely having her in his bed again would satisfy his need so he could get her out of his head.

  Provided, of course, she was willing.

  He swallowed a smile. That shouldn’t be a problem. The art of seduction had always been one of his strong points and he’d never had any complaints before. Except…

  A frown perched between his brows. Except for the fact she had disappeared without a trace the next morning before he’d even awoken. If he hadn’t been a confident man, that could have been a devastatingly low blow to his ego. Lucky for him he didn’t lack confidence in anything he did.

  Though he had no idea why Sophie had vanished so suddenly six years ago, he did know it didn’t have one damn thing to do with his love-making technique. If the satisfied purrs and contented sighs were any indication, she had enjoyed it as much as he had.

  If not more.

  Max leaned back against the chair as Sophie pushed open the swinging doors with her hip and balanced two large trays in her hands. This time he’d make sure she didn’t leave him again. Not before he was ready to part ways.

  “Appetizers first.” Sophie sidled up to his table. Succulent aromas of roasted peppers, garlic and Italian spices wafted from the trays in her hand. She placed one on the counter behind her and another at his table. “Wrapped Sea Scallops, Antipasto Skewers and Teriyaki Salmon. I had a few more cold ones planned, but well…”

  “This will be fine.” It didn’t really matter if everything tasted like sandpaper. He still planned to hire her. Just to keep her from disappearing again before he was ready.

  Sophie chewed on her bottom lip as Max speared the Salmon with a toothpick. He found her nervous gesture amusing. Apparently, she really did care about his opinion. He popped the Salmon in his mouth and a delicious burst of flavor spread over his taste buds.

  Definitely didn’t taste like sandpaper. It was good. Very good.

  A flash of steady lights on his right nearly blinded him. Instinctively he threw up his arm to block his face and hers.

  Sophie whirled around toward the window where at least twelve cameras were rapidly flashing. She blinked at the barrage of bright lights. “What in the world?” She turned back toward Max puzzled.

  “Paparazzi.” Max grimaced. “Or as I like to call them: the henchmen. It’s a rare occasion that I can go anywhere without being photographed or interviewed. Most of the time I ignore them.”

  “They are photographing you sampling my food?” Sophie’s shot another glance toward the window.

  “Tasting food. Jogging in Central Park. Jetting off to Paris for a meeting.” Max shrugged. “You name it, they photograph it. If they can get close enough that is.”

  “Why?”

  Her question wasn’t offensive exactly. More curious, as if she couldn’t understand why anyone would be interested in the mundane things he did. And to be quite honest he had no idea why every move he made – and some he didn’t – was national news. Not when there were so many other stories out there of people who made a real difference in the world. His fame had never been something he cared for or understood. “I don’t know. Maybe they don’t have anything better to do.”

  “So will this photo of you sampling my menu be good or bad for my business?” A worried frown creased her forehead.

  “Depends. If I use your services it will be good. They’ll give you rave reviews. If I don’t, they’ll probably rake you through the coals with criticism.”

  Sophie gasped. “Why, that’s not fair! You’re not a food critic. You’re just a man.”

  Max’s lips twitched. “Thank you for pointing out my ordinary qualities.”

  “You know what I mean.” Sophie twisted her hands together and paced the baby-blue tiled floor. “They shouldn’t be able to print anything bad about A Touch of Spice Catering unless they have tried the food. It’s not fair for them to base their opinion on your likes or dislikes.”

  Max didn’t take offense. He knew what she meant. “I agree, but it is what it is and that’s the way things work in my circles.” He shot her a smile to take her mind off of the continuous stream of flashes from the press. “So why don’t we see if the rest of the food wows me as much as that chocolate cake did a few days ago.”

  Sophie nodded though she looked far from pleased.

  Max picked up the Antipasto Skewer. Again a blend of rich flavors – olives, roasted red pepper, Italian herbs and seasoned artichoke – tempted his palette.

  Max lifted a brow. “Excellent. Where did you learn to cook so well? Culinary school?”

  A shadow passed across her face before she answered. “My mom.”

  “Well, you can tell your mom she is an excellent teacher. This is great.” Max speared the Sea Scallop next and like all of the others, the bacon-wrapped appetizer didn’t disappoint.

  “Thanks, but my mom is…” Sophie blinked furiously but Max didn’t miss the tears filling the corners of her eyes. “My mom died.”

  The thickness threading her voice struck a chord. He knew that feeling well. The emptiness inside. The void that couldn’t be filled. He reached for her hand. A delicious tingle danced across his fingertips as his hand covered hers. Cameras flashed before he could think to remove his hand. Annoyed, Max clenched his jaw. It would be nice to have some privacy once in a while. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

  He removed his hand from atop hers and picked up his fork.

  “No. It’s fine. It’s been six years. I was a total mess when it happened, did some things I’m not proud of and wasn’t myself for quite some time. But I finally accepted it so I should be used to her death by now. Sometimes it just hits hard when you least expect it.” She pasted on a wobbly smile.

  “You were close to her then?” Max asked softly. An unexpected pain jabbed him in the chest. What was it like to have parents who loved you? A family of your own? Somewhere you actually belonged?

  Irritated Max pushed the painful thoughts away. He was a grown man now. Not a child wishing upon a stupid star every night from the Sister Mary’s Orphanage window. Wishing and praying someone would come for him.

  And knowing no one ever would.

  Sophie’s green eyes, bright with unshed tears, mirrored his pain. The unexpected connection between them took him by surprise. So did the sudden urge to take away her pain. He knew the feeling all too well, which was why he now kept his heart fully guarded. No one would ever have even the slightest chance of hurting him again.

  “Very close. She was my best friend.” A tear squeezed from the corner of her eye. She brushed it away with the back of her hand. “Sorry. I’m usually not this emotional. How about trying the entrees now? Maybe with a big smile so the camera-happy folks outside won’t have any reason to give me a bad rap?”

  Then it hit him. Max’s breath froze. Six years ago? A total mess?

  A cold chill spread through him. Could that be why she had been so willing to go to bed with him that night? It made sense now, since the woman standing before him didn’t seem to be the type to fall into bed with a stranger. At least not anymore.

  His gut knotted. Good God, if she had been grieving then he had taken advantage of her even if he hadn’t known it at the time. But ignorance was no excuse. What he had done was inexcusable and went against everything he believed in. The thought settled in his stomach like a stone.

  He had never taken advantage of a woman. Had never led one to believe he could give them more than a no-strings-attached fling. Yet, somehow he had unwittingly taken advantage of Sophie in her time of grief. Why hadn’t he seen it?

  Sure, she’d had a few drinks in the downstairs bar and had seemed more than willing to participate, but there
had been something about her. A sadness that should have raised a red flag.

  God, he hoped she never remembered that night and what he had done.

  Bile lifted to his throat; he swallowed back the bitterness. Hiring her as his caterer suddenly lost its appeal. He couldn’t seduce her now. Not after so callously taking advantage of her during her a vulnerable time in her life. A time she obviously still struggled to deal with.

  Yet if he didn’t hire her, the press would have a field day with the news. He could see the headline now: Billionaire Playboy Doesn’t Have the Appetite for Local Caterer!

  Max blew a breath between his lips. The media would annihilate her, and her career would be over before it got off the ground.

  The knot pretzeled tighter in his gut. He understood how hard it was to get ahead in this world. He’d once struggled to make it to the top too. Climbed out of the trenches of poverty and overcame his orphaned background to become one of the wealthiest men in the world. It hadn’t been easy and there were many times his own success teetered on the edge, but with grit and determination he’d finally made it. Though he was successful now, that didn’t mean he’d forgotten how hard it was to get here. Or how close he’d come to losing it all.

  But if he did hire her, then there was a very good chance she might remember him and what they’d shared six years ago.

  And when she did, she would hate him for what he’d done.

  His hand tightened on the fork. He couldn’t let the press destroy her before she had a chance to prove herself. He had no choice. He’d have to give her the catering job and take his chances. If she hated him then so be it. Let the chips fall where they may.

  “Chicken Piccata Marsala.” Sophie pulled a dish from the other tray and set it in front of him as steaming spices reached his nostrils. He glanced up to find Sophie staring at him with worried green eyes. She offered a half-smile. “Bon appetite.”

  Max studied her for a moment then took a bite. The dish was probably as fantastic as everything else she had prepared, but he couldn’t taste it. All he could taste was the bitterness of his actions.

  Sophie’s worried eyes darted from the press outside her window then back to him. Max forced the bite of chicken past his throat, then with as much enthusiasm as he could muster he drew his fingers together and touched them to his lips. With a dramatic Italian kiss he flung out his hand and said, “Delizioso!”

  Cameras flashed wildly outside the window and Max caught Sophie’s dimpled smile.

  His heart missed a beat. She really was lovely when she smiled.

  Dio! Give me strength!

  ** THREE **

  “Okay, boss, spill it.” Felicity plopped down in the seat Max vacated moments earlier, propped her elbows on the table and rested her chin in her hands. “I want the whole scoop on McSexy. And don’t leave out any of the juicy details either.” She waggled her eyebrows at Sophie like Groucho Marx.

  Heat climbed Sophie’s face at the thought of spilling any juicy details about Max. “I don’t know why you keep calling me boss. We’ve been best friends for years. You’re practically my business partner.”

  “Because technically you are the boss – at least on paper – and I’m just your peon. Granted an I-can’t-run-this-business-without-you-peon, but a peon all the same. And because I know it drives you crazy.” Felicity snickered then pinned her with her best no-nonsense look. “Don’t you dare change the subject. I need details. Lots and lots of details.” She sighed dramatically. “Since my love life is zilch, I can at least live vicariously through yours.”

  “There’s nothing to tell.” Sophie bit her lip and slid into the seat across from Felicity. She’d known her friend long enough to know she wouldn’t let it go. Felicity was like a dog with a bone when she set her mind to it. “We’re working his party next week. End of story.”

  “End of story, my foot!” Felicity rolled her eyes heavenward and shook head. “I want to know why he couldn’t take his eyes off of you and why you seemed as nervous as a cat on tightrope the whole time he was here. What gives?”

  He couldn’t take his eyes off of me? The thought shouldn’t have thrilled her but it did. Not that she’d noticed; she’d been too busy worrying about whether or not he remembered her not-so-ladylike behavior six years ago.

  “I’m waiting. You’re not getting out of here before you tell it, so you may as well get started.”

  “I – we met at a bar a few years ago.”

  “And?”

  “We had a one night stand.” Sophie lifted her shoulders in an it-didn’t-mean-anything shrug. But it did. It meant a lot. A one night stand. God, it sounded so awful just voicing it out loud.

  “You?” Felicity snorted loudly, disbelief flashing in her wide brown eyes. “A one night stand? Get out of town!”

  “It’s true. I’m not proud of it, but it happened.”

  “Did he remember you?”

  Sophie shook her head. “I don’t think so. He didn’t say anything if he did.”

  “Did you?”

  “What? Say anything? Of course not!” Sophie felt her cheeks heat up like one of the lobsters she boiled for her Lobster bisque. Humiliation was not on her to-do list today. Like she was going to walk up to him and ask if he remembered her jumping his bones a few years back.

  As if!

  “Why not? I would have.”

  “Because Maximus Rinaldi is one of the wealthiest men in the world and he can have any woman he wants.” The tabloid pictures she’d seen over the years popped into Sophie’s head. Brunettes hanging on his arm one month. Redheads the next. Blondes somewhere in between.

  Just like her father.

  Sophie’s stomach constricted. Her father’s philandering ways had been the nail in her mother’s coffin and the hatchet to their family. At nineteen Sophie had walked away from it all. At twenty-five she still couldn’t forgive that man – her father – for destroying their family.

  And Max appeared to be cut from the same mold.

  “Max is a playboy with a different woman in every city.” Sophie tightened her chin. She refused to be New York’s layover.

  “Well it looked to me like he wants you. Maybe one night wasn’t enough for him.” Felicity grinned. “And he sure is delicious. Maybe you two could–”

  “Absolutely not!” Sophie jumped to her feet. “I made one mistake. I don’t intend to repeat it.”

  “Okay. Okay.” Felicity held up her hand. “Don’t shoot the messenger. I was just saying. Anyway I still can’t picture you, Miss Prim and Proper, having anything as scandalous as a one night stand. And picked him up in a bar too. Unbelievable.” Felicity laughed. “Will wonders never cease?”

  “It wasn’t a bar. Well it was, but nothing sleazy. It was the one in the hotel where I was staying after my mother died.”

  Felicity’s smile vanished. She jumped up and flung her arms around Sophie in a tight hug. “Oh, Soph. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it was during that horrible time. No wonder you don’t want him to remember it.”

  “No I don’t. And I’d prefer to forget it too.”

  Except she never would because she had a pair of stormy gray eyes and a shock of dark hair waiting for her at home in the form of a precious five-year-old souvenir from her one wonderful night of mind-blowing, grief-forgetting, electrifying sex.

  Understanding dawned in Felicity’s brown eyes as she gasped, “Is he Alex’s–?”

  “Yes.” Sophie’s lips thinned. “And I don’t want Max to ever find out.”

  * * *

  Four days later Sophie decided she must be a glutton for punishment. Why else would she keep showing up at the one place she’d made a fool of herself not once but twice?

  “I’d like to speak with Mr. Rinaldi, please.” Sophie stood at the front desk in the hotel lobby. Her gaze swept to the oversized wall fountain situated behind the concierge. The tranquil sound of water trickling from a marble lion’s mouth should have been calming.

  It wasn’t.r />
  Every splash into the trench below the statue grated on her raw nerves. Then again, a mega-dose of valium wouldn’t have calmed her right now. Not while her mind somersaulted with anxiety about her meeting with Maximus Rinaldi.

  Sophie smoothed a wrinkle from her calf-length black skirt with one hand and held the folder containing the finalized menu for his party in her other. At least this time she wasn’t dressed like a trollop. No one could mistake her for a lady of the night in her long-sleeve gray silk blouse and sensible flats. A schoolmarm maybe, but definitely not a working girl.

  “Do you have an appointment?” the young man behind the desk asked.

  “No, but he’s expecting me.”

  “Your name?”

  “Sophie Westbrook.”

  The young man punched a button on the switchboard and picked up the phone. “There’s a Ms. Westbrook here to see Mr. Rinaldi. She says she’s expected?” Apparently satisfied with the answer, the concierge nodded, then reached under the desk and pulled out a credit-card-sized room key. “You’ll need this to access the twelfth floor. Just slide it into the slot inside the elevator before you push the button for twelve. Mr. Rinaldi’s office is next to his personal suite – number 1201.”

  His personal suite? Sophie gulped. The same suite she’d spent one incredible night in?

  “Thank you.” Sophie took the card and walked to the triple elevators around the corner.

  Once inside her breath quickened. The last time she’d been inside this elevator she had been two long-island ice teas to the wind, consumed with grief and wrapped around Max like there was no tomorrow.

  Sophie slid the card into the appropriate slot and pressed twelve. The doors closed. She tried very hard to ignore the memories flooding her mind, but her body refused to let her forget. Goosebumps prickled her neck where Max’s lips had explored the hollow of her throat leaving a trail of nibbles all the way to her partially exposed breasts. Hands – hers and his – had touched, teased and tantalized as his hard body pressed her against the side of the elevator. His tongue…