So, when Tara’s infidelity came to light, he hadn’t been that shocked. And today, when he’d gone to the little bookshop, Anthology, in the Russian Hill district, he had been pleasantly surprised at the laid-back feel and the friendliness. The giant St. Bernard had taken a shine to him and sat with him as he drank the superb coffee and watched the two women who ran the shop. Giacomo could barely take his eyes off the taller woman, Tara’s lover’s girlfriend. Her sweet smile, her easy, infectious laughter, her patient way with customers, and her literary knowledge spoke to Giacomo in a way he’d never felt.
He’s cheating on you, lovely girl? Idiot, he thought in disbelief. When the phone had rung and the younger woman had yelled out the bastard’s name, Giacomo had felt immediately on edge—almost jealous, almost wanting to yell at her to ignore it and that the figlio di puttana wasn’t good enough for her. He’d watched her face break into a smile and couldn’t do it. He couldn’t break this lovely girl’s heart.
He’d left soon after, unable to stand it. At home, he hadn’t been able to resist Googling her. Norah Reddy, part owner of The Anthology Bookstore and also a freelance graphic designer. He looked through her online portfolio and was impressed. He called Sebastien, his longtime personal assistant, and asked him to set up a meeting with her. “I think we might find her useful for the some of the campaigns we have coming up,” He told Seb. Also, she’s gorgeous and I want to see her again. He grinned to himself as he hung up. Two birds with one stone. If he could harness the woman’s obvious talent and get that beautiful body into his bed …opportunity and revenge in one go.
He smiled to himself again now as the cocktail party droned on. Watching Tara network and flirt with the men in the room (Giacomo knew Tara barely registered the other women, knowing she was the most beautiful woman there), he wondered how he had ever gotten involved with her. She was so totally opposite of what he was attracted to, but then again, five years ago he’d been reeling from the death of his grandparents—cancer, within weeks of each other—and he’d dealt with it by drinking and numbing the pain by screwing around. Tara had seen his sadness and moved in, telling him she was what he needed.
He felt a pang of sadness now. Yes, he had needed her then and he couldn’t help but know that he was partially responsible for the fracture in their relationship now. He was obsessed with his work and passionate about what he could achieve. He had neglected her and Tara wasn’t a woman to neglect. He’d seen the disgust in her eyes when she looked at him. Maybe he should just cut her free.
His phone beeped—a message from Orlando. Dinner with Carmel and me, Friday?
Giacomo smiled. “Yes, god, please.” Hell, yes. Send black-ops to get me out of this party.
Ha ha. Grit your teeth. See you Friday, buddy.
Giacomo sighed. What he wouldn’t give to have a time machine now. Still, he had no meetings tomorrow as yet …so he could always go spend some time in that little bookshop …
He pushed the thought away and went to get his drink refilled.
Carmel gently took the headphones off her sleeping husband’s head. Orlando was stretched lengthways on their couch, his breath coming out in tiny snores. She kissed his forehead and smoothed a finger down his face. His arm, solid and muscular, slipped from his chest and hit the floor. He stirred, grumbled softly, and turned onto his side, still muttering. Carmel suppressed a laugh. She moved around the living room, picking up empty bottles, cups, sheet music, and student papers. It was a wonder any students got the correct papers back from their favorite music teacher. Orlando’s organization skills were not exactly a gift. Carmel stacked everything that looked school-related carefully on the small desk in the corner of the room, catching them as they slipped out of her grip.
As she tidied, she glanced out the window of their small home and froze. A movement caught her eye—someone moving away from the window. Their neighborhood was safe and it shook her to see that. Not least because, for the last few weeks, she had had a creeping feeling that she was being followed or watched. Carmel wasn’t a woman who scared easily, but it had been insidious, and whenever she had been alone, out in the city or on her way to work, she had become more paranoid. She hadn’t said anything to Orlando, not wanting to worry him until she knew for sure.
Now, though, if whoever was following her—if they actually existed—was coming to her house …No. No way, buster. Not with my daughter asleep upstairs.
She opened the front door and stepped out onto the porch, peering into the gloom. The street—which was tree-lined and still somewhere the kids could play outside—was empty, except for Jason, the elderly man down the street, who waved at her. She waved back, smiling. Jason was in a wheelchair and hardly likely to be peering in their high windows.
Satisfied she was being paranoid, she turned and went inside. Just for once, she locked both doors. She heard footsteps and turned. Orlando shuffled sleepily from the living room. He ran a hand through his short hair and grinned at her.
““Sup, babe, what you …” he yawned expansively, “ …doing out there?” He took in her face. She was frowning slightly. “What’s the matter?” He stepped toward her and slid his arms around her waist. Carmel blinked and her face cleared.
“Ah, nothing,” she said, not convincing him for a second. “Well, I just thought I saw someone watching the house. But there wasn’t. So.” He grinned down at her, cheeky and boyish. “Shut up.” She scowled at him, trying not to smile
“Watching the house?”
“Shut up.” She started to laugh. Orlando put a mock-serious look on his face.
“No, no, no, better to make sure. Want me to have a look …”
“…no …”
“…wouldn’t hurt to look.” He reached behind her and opened the door. For a second they both looked out. Carmel secretly hoped they would see …something.
Orlando turned to look at her. “Hmmm, strange ...” She wiggled away from him, swiping at him. Laughing, he gathered her up in his arms and buried his face in her neck, pressing his lips against her warm skin. He felt her body relax and, raising his head, tipped her face up to his. He kissed her gently on the mouth. Carmel sighed with happiness.
“Wanna go cuddle some?” He muttered, his lips moving against hers. She responded by kissing him harder. His right hand tangled in her hair as their kiss deepened, his left hand sliding down the curve of her back. She pressed her body into his, feeling the excitement build in both their bodies. She gasped for air as he broke away, sliding his hands under her buttocks and lifting her so her legs curled around his back. His dark brown eyes burned with desire as he bore her up the stairs.
He laid her on the bed and was undressing her when they heard it. “Ah,” said Orlando, sighing. “The walking, talking contraceptive device.”
Mommy! Carmel chuckled and disengaged herself from her husband. “Take a load off. I’ll go see what she wants.”
“There’s a reason you don’t have brothers or sisters,” Orlando yelled grumpily to his daughter and Carmel hushed him, giggling as she went to see what her daughter wanted.
Ferma was sitting up in bed, her hair in cornrows. “What is it, sweetie?”
“Monster.”
Carmel sighed. “Where, darling?”
“On my toes.”
“A monster on your toes. Okay.” Carmel sat down, pretending to look under the comforter. “Now, who would be so brave to go near your stinky feet, punkin’?” She lifted the edge of the comforter, then pretended to hold her nose. “Pooh! No, no monster, darling. No cheesy feet-eating monster.”
Ferma giggled and wiggled her toes. “My feet don’t stink.”
“They don’t?Okay, I’ll check again …pooh, arghhhh!” Carmel pretended to choke on the ‘stink.’ “Help, I can’t breathe …the smell! The smell!”
Ferma giggled uncontrollably and Carmel tickled her daughter. “Now look, kiddo, there are no monsters, okay? None that will get in here—not while I’m around.Okay, Snugglepuss? Sleepy time now
.”
She settled Ferma back into her blankets, then went back to bed to find Orlando sprawled across the bed, snoring. “So much for love,” she muttered, grinning, then crawled into bed next to him and was asleep almost as soon as she closed her eyes.
Norah shut off the shower and dressed quickly. Lucian lay watching her, then, as she passed him, hooked her legs and pulled her down onto the bed.
“Stay, stay,” he said, pinning her down. She wriggled out from underneath him, annoyed.
“Quit it! Too much to do. Get off, get off.” She struggled to her feet and swatted his head, smiling to soften the snub. “Up, up. Time to do manly stuff.” Lucian rolled into a sitting position, yawned and smiled at her.
“Manly stuff?”
She grinned. “Yep. Chop wood, hunt bison, that kinda stuff.”
From downstairs, they heard a pitiful whimper—Ziggy wanted his breakfast.
Norah sighed.
“I gotta feed the kid.” She left Lucian to shower and thumped downstairs. Ziggy was beside himself. She fought him off while reaching for his food, his nose seeking out the meaty chunks. As soon as she put his bowl on the floor, Ziggy fell on it with abandon.
Norah switched on the coffee pot and surveyed the contents of the fridge. Eggs. Eggs sounded good. She snagged a mixing bowl from the cupboard, feeling the satisfying crack of the shell against her palm. She grimaced as the egg white stuck to her skin and flicked the food into the bowl. She was whisking the eggs, adding some paprika, when Lucian came down the stairs.
Ziggy had finished his food and was now licking the empty bowl around the kitchen, the metal scraping against the floor tile. Lucian snatched up the bowl and Ziggy looked up at him with hope.
“Now you’ve done it,” Norah shook her head. “He thinks he’s getting extra.”
Lucian shrugged. “No dice, dog,” he addressed Ziggy, “Live with it.” He threw the dish into the sink. Ziggy harrumphed and wandered off. Lucian grinned and slid his hands around Norah’s waist, pretending to bite her neck.
She put the bowl of eggs into the microwave, fixed the time, and pressed start. She turned to face him.
“Boobie check.” Lucian pulled her shirt out and peered down her cleavage. “Yep, still there.” She half-smiled, a little irritated by his cheerfulness. Norah was not a morning person.
Lucian smiled. “You okay?”
“Yeah, fine. Do you want eggs?”
“Please.”
They were interrupted by the sound of wood being chewed. Lucian grabbed Ziggy and tugged him away from the table.
“Hey, hey, quit that.” Ziggy grumbled, rolling onto his back and biting his own leg, wiggling his body from side to side. Lucian laughed at their dog, teasing him with his toys and playing tug of war. “Stupid mutt.”
“Don’t call him stupid,” Norah said and bent to kiss Ziggy’s head. “You’re Mummy’s favorite boy. Yes, you are.” Ziggy licked her face and she giggled.
The microwave beeped. At the same time, a knock came from the front door. Norah threw Lucian the dish cloth.
“I’ll get the door. You deal with breakfast.”
“Okay. I’ll let his majesty out for a run. He’s antsy.”
The postman was waiting with a package for Norah to sign. She thanked him and was opening it when Lucian came back into the kitchen. “Anything interesting?”
Norah was studying the contents—a Conti-Tech brochure and letter outlining their future projects. The letter, by the looks of it handwritten by Giacomo Conti himself, asked her to keep the contents secret and requested she call his private office to set up a meeting.
I have studied your portfolio, Miss Reddy, and I think we can work well together. I’d like to hear your vision and see if we can build a professional relationship.
Look forward to hearing from you very soon.
Yours,
Giacomo Conti
Norah felt her body tremble. Conti-Tech wanted her? She felt a little breathless. If she landed a Conti-Tech contract …god, it would send her career into the stratosphere. “Just a possible future client,” she said casually, stuffing the contents back into the envelope and slipping it into her bag. “Nothing interesting.”
As they ate breakfast, Norah asked herself when she had stopped confiding in Lucian about the important things in her life. Then it struck her. Had she ever? Had she ever trusted him? She studied him now. “How’s work?”
Lucian shrugged. “Busy. Too many egos at work on this latest job. I tell you, never work with diva photographers or supermodels. A nightmare to work with. It doesn’t matter what we’ve pitched; they always, always change their minds. You’re lucky in your line of work.”
“Yes,” Norah said dryly. “Because clients never change their minds in my line of work.”
He waved away her sarcasm with his hand. “You know what I mean. You don’t have the high-pressure work that I do.”
Norah gritted her teeth. This was more like it. The affable, fun-loving boyfriend of this morning was gone and in his place, the egotistical douchebag who belittled her at every turn. Her eyes narrowed at him. “Why do you do that?”
“What?”
“Put me down? Does it make you feel like more of a man?”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“You don’t have the high-pressure work I do.” She mimicked him, knowing it annoyed him. “I run my own business, Lucian, and you think I don’t have pressure? Actually, I run two businesses. So don’t give me that bullshit.”
Lucian looked astonished at her outburst. Finally, he started to smile. “Are you menstruating?”
Wanting to pound the smirk off his face, Norah got up. “I’m going to work.” She looked around for her phone, and realizing she’d left it upstairs, she headed out of the door.
Upstairs, she sat on the bed and took a deep breath in. Why was she so annoyed? Maybe because this is what Lucian did—he’d be playful, friendly when it suited him, and distant and dismissive when it didn’t. She was sick of it. She dropped her head in her hands. It was Saturday and she was glad that she had the bookstore to open. Maybe it would distract her. She grabbed her phone, then saw her pill packet next to the glass of water on her nightstand. God, she’d forgotten to take it this morning. Hurriedly, she swallowed it with some water. No, Lucian, I’m not on my period because I make sure I never have them. She didn’t question why she had always made absolutely sure she wouldn’t get pregnant …not with Lucian’s child. As she walked back downstairs, she asked herself the same question she had asked herself for a long time now …
Why the hell am I still with him?
Lucian heard her on the stairs and stuffed the envelope back into her bag. Conti-Tech. Giacomo Conti wanted to hire Norah. Coincidence? He didn’t think so. Norah came in and grabbed her bag, giving him a short, “See you later.” He grunted in reply, then when he heard the front door close, he pulled his cellphone out.
Tara’s greeting was a purr, but a few seconds later she was much less friendly. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about your boyfriend hiring my girlfriend. Does he know about us?”
“No, of course not. How could he?”
Lucian sighed. “I thought you said that friend of his might have seen us.”
“Carmel? That situation is being dealt with. Put it out of your mind.”
“How do you mean ‘dealt with?’”
“Don’t worry about it. I don’t think this thing with Giacomo and your girlfriend is anything to worry about. Didn’t you tell me she was an excellent graphic designer?”
“Well, yes …”
“Giacomo has a habit of nurturing new talent. He probably just sent out feelers to a whole slew of young up-and-comers. If we freak out about it …well, that’s just going to confirm issues.”
Lucian rubbed his eyes. “When can I see you?”
“Soon. As soon as this other situation is over with.” Tara’s voice warmed again. “I’
ll miss you. I’ll miss your cock inside me, baby. I’ll miss sucking it …”
“God,” Lucian gave a moan of desire. “I want to cum inside you so hard, beautiful …”
She laughed softly. “I’ll be thinking about you …”
Norah read and re-read Giacomo Conti’s letter. She showed it to an impressed Zulika, whose eyes bugged out of their sockets. “Wow. I mean, wow, Norah.”
“I know, right?”
It was late afternoon and the bookstore was quiet for once. Norah couldn’t resist telling Zulika about the letter. Zulika read Giacomo’s handwritten letter and sighed. “Even his handwriting is sexy.”
“He’s sexy?” Norah looked confused. She’d never seen the man himself. Zulika rolled her eyes.
“Just occasionally,” she teased, “Check out some gossip sites instead of your usual geeky ones. Here,” she grabbed her iPad and quickly brought up some photos. She handed it to Norah, who did a double-take.
“Holy moly.” She looked into the intense green eyes and dark good looks of Giacomo Conti. “I thought he was much older.”
“Well?”
Norah nodded, grinning. “That is one gorgeous man.”
“And you could be working closely with him,” Zulika teased, “I can see it now …you’re working one late night, on an urgent presentation. You’re both so absorbed in the work that you don’t realize it’s gotten dark outside. You lean across him and he smells your perfume…”
Norah was giggling. “Are you writing some kind of porn movie in your head?”
“Hey, you mentioned porn, so who’s the pervert?” Zulika grinned and Norah flushed. She’d got her there. Norah held up the iPad, trying to hide her embarrassment.
“Look at this man. Who wouldn’t think of porn?”
“True story.”
Grinning, Norah handed her back her tablet. “Anyway, besides that, it could mean the business taking off.”
His Beautiful Revenge: A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance Page 2