Without breaking the hypnotic stare for a second, he said something to the others, maybe excused himself, and they nodded, then resumed their chatter. In a blink, she faced him, her eyes trailing down the planes of his face, and stood mesmerized, like this was the first time they had seen each other.
“Mademoiselle Alice.” He offered her his arm, and she gave it a glance before snaking her arm in his. Why was he charming all of a sudden? And for how long would he be able to keep it up?
She curtsied. “Monsieur.”
“Would you care for macarons?” a waiter asked, and she accepted one of the pastries.
She closed her eyes and brought it to her lips. Hmmm… It tasted like a strawberry-flavored cloud. Light and crisp. When she opened her eyes, she licked the corner of her mouth and caught a hint of the sugary taste. What she also caught was Lorenzo’s stare. Squaring her shoulders, she coughed.
Never had he looked at her with so much resolve. Well, none of it was good, she could tell. Perhaps good sexually. But that was it. Still, a tremor went through her, and her blood shifted to a dangerous low simmer.
Shit. She knew wearing no panties had been a bad, bad idea. Pretty soon, her thighs would stick together. “These are good.” She injected an extra perkiness in her voice. “They’re the real deal. Not like that crap from the supermarket back home that tastes like artificially colored cookie dough.”
He looked at her like she was painted in gold. “Have as many as you’d like,” he added, then shook his head and his expression hardened again. With concern—she assumed. He always had something on his mind, didn’t he? The man’s facial expressions were often so grumpy it was hard to tell. “How was the spa this afternoon? What did Joan say to you?”
“She’s nice, actually. She asked me if I had brought any of my sketches with me, or if I had some kind of virtual portfolio to show.” Which she hadn’t, but added it to her list to put together. Man, how could she pass up an opportunity like that? According to Joan, her cousin was seeking plus-size, high-end clothes for a growing, demanding market.
“You don’t think she’s really interested in helping, do you?”
She drew back, hands perched on her waist. Not that she could take any more squeezes, what with her corset slowly killing her breath by breath. “Excuse me?”
“Listen, I don’t want you to get your hopes up. There’s a chance she’s only doing that to get you to like her, and she’ll use that to cement Paul’s chances to get ahead in the competition.”
Was he serious? Did the man always have to be so cynical? Her spine locked into place, her muscles a bunch of tension and disappointment. “She didn’t mention him once during our conversation.”
“Of course not. She wants you to think you two are new best friends.”
She waved him off. “You’re being paranoid.”
He shook his head. “I’m being realistic.”
“Then you know what, Lorenzo? Your reality sucks. If I didn’t need the cash to pay that stupid loan shark, I would go back home right now.” Even though she didn’t raise her voice, she threw back her shoulders, and damn it, realized what she had said too late. His eyes widened for a beat, no doubt digesting what he had just heard.
A few couples around them threw glances their way. She doubted they had been able to eavesdrop, what with the band and the general buzzing. But still, she knew their body language probably gave them away.
Viola appeared before them. “Everything okay?” she asked, and gave Lorenzo an accusatory look. Oh, great.
“Yes. He’s just being a guy. Sorry.” Alice managed to wink at Viola and wave it off.
“No, I am sorry.” Lorenzo stepped forward. “I didn’t want to make a scene. Not when Alice means so much to me,” he said, and lifted her hand to his lips.
The kiss on her knuckles warmed her even though she would prefer to ignore that invasive sensation. Crap, crap, crap. He knows about Buck. How do I get out of this one?
“Excuse us for a moment, Viola.” He stretched out his hand. “Come with me, Alice. Let’s get some fresh air.” He squeezed her palm and led her out to the balcony overlooking the dimly lit garden. A few guests smoked outside; he increased his pace, and she found herself doing the same.
What an actor he was! To think she had wondered if she had been too hard on him earlier that day when she asked him about his late wife. She had yearned for more, for a way to connect with him. Crazy. Why would she even waste her time? The Lorenzo from her fantasy was just that—a fantasy. The real Lorenzo’s only priority was to secure the sale, and she was just the means to that end. Plain and simple.
“Was bringing me out here damage control? So the other guests wouldn’t see us arguing?”
“Some of it.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Tell me about the loan shark,” he said.
She plopped down on a stone bench, for the first time all night happy that the damn dress was so fabric heavy. “My sister owes him money. He knows Rachel doesn’t have her act together, so he came to me instead to pay him twenty thousand bucks.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded.
Because I’m used to fixing my own problems. Wasn’t that the truth? “What good would it do? I was worried you’d think I was too much trouble, especially because he showed up at your building.” Plus, she didn’t want to put her job in jeopardy. She twisted her hands together. Oh, the irony.
His expression was as taut as a slab of marble. “He was the guy talking to you. The day when you went skinny-dipping at my place.”
She let out a sigh. “Yes. Yes.”
He ran his fingers through his already ruffled hair. “Christ, Alice. He’s putting you in danger, and if you had Cara with you, she would have been, too. That wasn’t responsible.”
She rubbed her temples. “Okay. Now it’s my fault. See why I didn’t say anything?”
Shaking his head, he paced in an invisible circle. “I will pay this guy. I will deal with him myself,” he said, using that tone that didn’t allow for disagreement. Well, he had one coming.
“No.” She surged to her feet. “I’m dealing with him. You don’t have to get involved.” Low-life Buck would love to have access to a rich fellow he could extort money from in the future. Besides, what guarantee did she have things wouldn’t get exponentially worse by having Lorenzo in the mix? Buck knew where she lived, and he could get mad at her for involving a third party, and BAM. Who knew what that dirt bag was capable of? She had enough on her plate as it was.
“Was that why you blackmailed me into giving you the money?”
“Yes.”
“Damn you, Alice. Damn you!”
She lifted her hand and pushed it against his chest. “Wait a minute. Since I got here, I’ve been treated like a simple commodity. You blackmailed me back by threatening I would never find a job if I didn’t follow the plan. You second-guessed Joan’s interest in my creative talent. And now you give me this ‘damn you’ crap—”
Her intention wasn’t to sound so emotional. Perhaps it worked, because he drew back and watched her in silence for a second. The gleam in his eyes could lighten up a dark forest. Why was that man still hot even when he was so undeserving of her?
Forget Rachel. I’m the one who needs therapy.
He lifted his hands in surrender. “You are right. I’m sorry.”
“You just said that back at the ballroom.”
A smile she found hard to resist curved his lips. “Now, I mean it.”
Hell no, she wouldn’t let him off the hook so easily, even though a part of her was foolishly warm and fuzzy, like she had been wrapped in a hot blanket. “Keep going. That was a very short apology.”
He ran a hand down his face. “I’m not good at apologies.”
“Obviously.”
He gave her a quick glance, and something flickered in his eyes. “Getting these paintings is extremely important to me.”
“Why?”
“I can’t tell you. What I can say
is”—he paced again, as if searching for the right words—“ever since I saw you naked, I get distracted when I think of you.”
A wave of female empowerment washed over her. “Is that so?”
“I never felt like this before. The way I do right now,” he said, with the excitement of a man about to hear his death sentence.
“What do you feel right now?”
He tipped her chin up, and the brush of his fingers seared her skin. “Like I can’t breathe if I don’t fuck you,” he said, his voice coarse, his accent more pronounced. Crap.
By all means, breathe. Like, right now. She cleared her throat. “That’s…strangely romantic.”
“It’s annoying,” he mumbled, cupping her chin and lowering his lips to hers. “Painfully annoying.” The words flew from his lips before he flicked out his tongue. She was about to open her own mouth to either agree with or protest his assignment—she wasn’t yet sure. Thoughts tangled in her mind like a long braid. He stroked her lips with his tongue, and she let out a sultry moan. Even though the kiss wasn’t rushed, her nerve endings seared with anticipation, as if somehow the languidness was even more heart attack–inducing.
She linked her arms around him, shamelessly rubbing her body against his. Even though she was wearing an absurd amount of skirts, there was no missing his bulge. He caressed her cheeks and intensified the stroke of his tongue. When she nipped his lip, he drew back. Her sex throbbed. Harder.
“Easy, tesoro…we can’t make love here.”
She lifted her hands to her cheeks, desperate to know if they were as hot as they seemed. “Just for the record, I am on the pill and just saw my downstairs doctor a month ago. I’m safe and clean as a whistle.”
He grinned. “I’m safe, too. The sheer thought of burying myself into you without restraint drives me crazy. For now, though, we must go back to the party,” he said, and ran a finger through the cut of her dress. “Later, I might have to fetch some scissors to get you out of this.”
“Just be careful. I’m not wearing any panties,” she said, then turned in the direction of the party. “Shall we?”
Chapter Seven
Why the hell did he admit to wanting her badly? Why on earth would he give her so much power by voicing his raging desire? Lorenzo curled and uncurled his fists and couldn’t help stealing a glance at Alice’s ass once again. No underwear. That revelation had been a blow below the belt. Well, so was his painful hard-on. No pun intended.
He was grateful he had been able to pull his coat together from both sides, and he visualized cock-blocking images all the way from the gardens to the party indoors.
First things first. They couldn’t just disappear from view. He had performed poorly at the soccer match, and he couldn’t afford to not impress Viola. Especially since Joan had been smart enough to pretend she was interested in a friendship with Alice. What if she discovered Alice was, in fact, his nanny? His whole plan would be compromised—and he would become a laughingstock.
Barbara was bragging about being super close to sealing the deal with Viola when he and Alice joined the other guests at the table. He would have chosen to sit far away from Paul, but as the host had shown him in the beginning, they were assigned the same table.
“She should announce her decision tomorrow,” Barbara said, tossing her hair to the side. “Well. Make it official, I mean. It’s a slam dunk.”
“Good for you,” Joan said, then moved on to ask Alice something about her costume.
Lorenzo looked at the bubbly champagne and was about to take it to his lips, when Paul said, “Lorenzo, what part of Italy are you from?”
With a sigh that didn’t disguise his annoyance for one bit, Lorenzo gave the man sitting across from him a glance before downing the champagne, a tad quicker than what was considered polite. “Southern.”
“Interesting. Where exactly?”
Lorenzo cut into his medium steak. “Why?”
Paul flashed a grin. “Curiosity. I Googled you and couldn’t find the answer. I figured if you were from a dinky little town, the residents would probably be proud of who you became.”
“Cut the crap, Smythe,” he said, so low he imagined only the slimy little weasel heard him. He brought a bite of tender meat to his lips and chewed on it to keep from saying anything else. Testa di cazzo! If Paul discovered anything—
“So direct, Lorenzo. I must say I find it most intriguing you’re so eager to buy those paintings. The artist is a no-name. But you said you are not interested in selling.” Paul leaned back in his chair, and a glint of amusement hit his eyes.
Be cool. If he let his hot blood get the best of him, Paul’s suspicions would only increase. “You shouldn’t believe everything I say, Smythe.”
“Shouldn’t I? Because if you are indeed keeping it to yourself, one must conclude you are personally invested in that art. Why, I wonder?” Paul scratched his chin and peered at the ceiling, as if he was trying to figure it out.
Without waving at the waiter, Lorenzo grabbed the bottle of Veuve Clicquot chilling inside the silver ice bucket and poured himself some more. “When I see something I like, I buy it. That is the upside of being a man…of my caliber.”
Paul narrowed his eyes. “Maybe. Maybe there’s more to it.”
Lorenzo chuckled. “You have a fruitful imagination. Since we’re on the subject, why are you so interested?”
Paul narrowed his eyes. “I know profitable art. And those paintings certainly fit the bill.”
“Honey, may I have a piece of your meat?” Alice nudged his elbow. “Looks fantastic. I went with the fish. Meh.”
Always. No. No. No. Just during this weekend. Mio dio, he would have to come up with a tight schedule to avoid her in Austin. Bumping into her in the hallway or talking about Cara’s day while her daughter was sleeping would be far too dangerous. Too tempting. Too…inappropriate. “Yes,” he said, and lifted a bite to her mouth. He used the interruption to ignore Paul and his inquiry, though once she parted her lips, a loud rumble went through his body and everything disappeared but her.
She locked her rose-colored lips gently around the fork, and he saw her throat work to swallow the meat. She closed her eyes, enjoying it. A smile spread across his face. Watching her eat was almost…erotic.
When she opened her eyes, he drew back, as if he had no intention of taking her right there, at the table, in front of everyone. Maybe he wasn’t successful, and he had no power over the intensity of his own expressions anymore, because she blushed.
Christ.
“Lorenzo. Alice,” Viola called to them before she made her way to their table.
He stood. “Yes?”
“Come with me. I want to show you something,” she said with a crook of her index finger.
He didn’t need to walk from the party and into the red-carpeted, textured-wall hallways to know it was happening. She would show him the paintings, up close. That had to be a good sign. How long had it been since he had been reacquainted with anything related to his father? Besides memories of the bon vivant ruffling his hair. And occasionally, falling drunk on the floor.
Tugging at his collar, Lorenzo sucked in his breath. Alice must have noticed the tension stretching out his clothes, for she reached for his hand and held it in hers. He froze for a moment. He didn’t need her pity or compassion. In fact, that would be bad for him—Kristin would have had a field day with any glimpse of insecurity. If it had been her by his side and not Alice, she would have flashed him a triumphant smile, enjoying his apprehension.
Alice gave him a squeeze, and when his eyes found her gorgeous brown irises, she pointed at the open door. “Let’s go.”
Lorenzo disengaged his hand from hers, smoothed it over his jacket, and glanced at the ambience he had barely noticed they had walked into. Viola’s heels tapped on the polished black-and-white checkered floor, and he didn’t find the uncluttered room with minimalist furniture he’d expected. Instead, dozens of objects toppled over one another—what he guesse
d were family heirlooms, thousands of dollars’ worth of vases and accent pieces. A few pictures hung from the wall. Unlike the art displayed throughout the house, these didn’t have recessed lighting over them or any other details to make them stand out. The white wall was merely utilitarian, and his heart tightened as he ate up the space between him and his father’s paintings.
“Pardon my dust. These are some of the things I’m still considering whether to keep, give to my daughter, or get rid of,” Viola said behind him.
“I see,” he said, his voice just above a whisper, and focused on the painting in front of him. Bold colors of red, yellow, and orange flowed harmoniously together, with a hint of pink outlining it on a powerful circle. His pulse raced.
“Interesting. I wonder, what this could be?” Alice stepped forward.
“It’s the inside of a sunset,” he said, before he could rein in the words escaping from his mouth.
The memory of his father, too handsome for his own good, calling him into the cramped living room crowded with colors and brushes flashed in his mind. “Come see this, caro. I painted you the inside of a sunset. Maybe I’m not around as much as the other fathers. But I give you this.”
“Really? I thought it was one of those abstract ones it’s impossible to figure out,” Alice said, then stepped closer to the painting. “I believe you are right. It could be the inside of the sunset. I love it… It’s mesmerizing.”
An emotion that had been happily stashed away threatened to burst right there. He tugged at his collar again, but there was no dissolving the throbbing lump in his throat. His father had finished painting it on one of the few occasions he’d had Lorenzo over in his little shack at a noisy cortizo. He had been sober and without any female companions in sight. A day Lorenzo would never forget.
A Weekend of Misbehaving Page 9