10 Shades of Seduction

by Tiffany Reisz

  She sighed and settled her hand on her chin. She’d spent every second with him since she met him and she’d kidded herself into thinking it was something more than a fling. She’d fallen in love. And now, to make matters worse, she’d failed him professionally. She had to tell him this Bell’s deal just wasn’t going to happen.

  A knock sounded on the door, and she pushed to her feet, running her hands down the front of her jeans and stretching. A glance at the clock explained her stiffness. She’d been sitting there at that table for two hours. That meant her guest was her mother, who’d promised to bring her dinner so they could catch up.

  Sonya padded over her tiled floor in her tennis shoes, and opened the front door. Dante stood there, looking every bit as sexy in jeans and a biker jacket as he did in his business attire. He held up a Starbucks cup. “White mocha, nonfat, no whip with an extra shot.”

  She swallowed against the sudden dryness in her throat. “What are you doing here?”

  He pretended not to notice her strain, and dangled a shaving bag from his finger. “I packed my things. We’re staying here tonight, right?”

  She leaned against the door frame. “You don’t want to stay at my place. It’s not exactly a five-star luxury place like your mansion in the hills.”

  He stepped forward, crowding her into backing up and letting him in. He then tossed his bag on the floor to free his hand and pulled her close. “You’re here. That’s all that matters.”

  Already her body ached for him, but this time her heart did, too. She couldn’t do this. “I need some time at home, Dante. Alone. I need time alone.” She was against the wall now, his hand pressed to the wall by her head, her coffee on the glass entry table.

  He studied her, those dark eyes probing and all too knowing. “This is about me going to Italy, isn’t it?”

  She squeezed her eyes shut. “I just need some time.”

  He slid his fingers under her chin, silently willing her to look at him. “I’ll be back.”

  “Right. I know. You have the hotels and we need to talk about the contract—”

  “I don’t give a damn about the contract,” he said, his voice low, rough, determined. “We need to talk about us.”

  “Hello, hello!” came a female voice that made Sonya cringe. Her mother had arrived.

  * * *

  Two hours later, Sonya’s mother had roped Dante into a game of chess, her new obsession since she’d joined a chess club. To her surprise, Dante had not only accepted, but they’d also been at it for an hour. The two of them seemed to get along well, and both were busy asking probing questions, neither bothering to be subtle.

  Sonya grabbed the coffeepot from the kitchen at her mother’s request and was about to head back to the living room to fill her cup, when she heard her mother say, “You know, I’d almost convinced myself you weren’t one of those rich, arrogant impossible types until you went and did that.”

  Sonya gaped at the outrageous, out-of-character statement by her mother, panicked at what might be taking place. She rounded the corner. “Mother!”

  Dante laughed. “I knew I shouldn’t have told her you thought I was rich, arrogant and impossible,” he said, repeating a joke Sonya had made on numerous occasions, before glancing at her mother. “I’ll never live it down.” He glanced at her mother. “And you can’t expect me to let you win just because you’re her mother.”

  “Yes, I can,” her mother declared, crossing her arms and then laughing. “Okay. No, I can’t but I want a rematch.” She pushed to her feet. “I better head out. I have to open my store early tomorrow.”

  Dante followed her to her feet. “Very nice to meet you and I’ll happily give you a rematch when I return to the States.”

  “That’s a deal, son.” Sonya’s mother turned to Sonya. “Why don’t you walk me to my car?”

  Sonya glanced at Dante, who winked and then reached for his cell phone that she assumed was vibrating. He motioned to her patio to let her know he was going to take it outside.

  * * *

  Fifteen minutes later, Sonya had heard her mother’s praises of Dante and dodged all of her questions about where things were headed with him. She was in knots when she entered the house, feeling like Dante was more a part of her life than ever, but yet he was leaving. It confused her.

  She scanned the living room and didn’t see him, but the patio door was still open. She strained to hear his conversation but there wasn’t one to hear. She headed toward the door and pulled back the curtain. Dante was standing with his back to her, his hands on the railing, tension radiating off of him.

  “Dante?”

  He turned to look at her, the dim light capturing the shadows in his eyes. “What’s wrong?” she asked gently.

  He pressed his hands back to the rail behind him and looked up at the sky a moment, but she knew he wasn’t really seeing it. Her stomach knotted in response. Whatever was bothering him, it wasn’t good.

  Finally, he looked at her. “That was my father,” he said. “Whom you know I don’t talk about much.”

  No. He talked about his mother and dodged questions about his father.

  “He wants me to drop the casino project so he can retire,” he explained.

  “I see,” Sonya said, feeling like she’d been punched in the gut.

  “No,” he said. “You don’t. I told him no. It’s a power play. I’ve been down this path with him before. He says he wants to retire but then finds a reason not to hand over control to me. This casino project was my way of just stepping away from that game he plays and creating diversity for the company. So he forced my return. That’s why I’m headed home. He called a board meeting to discuss his replacement.”

  “Oh,” she said, her gaze dropping to the ground, her mind processing the implications. Dante would be staying in Italy.

  “You don’t want to come with me.”

  Her eyes collided with his. “I didn’t ask to come.”

  “He’ll try to tear you apart and send you home. I don’t want you in the line of fire.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “Because the one woman I ever let inside my family circle burned me badly. The relationship ended on a nasty note. We broke up and she went to the tabloids and sold them some intimate details about my personal habits—and you can guess what they were. I didn’t give a shit but my father did. He said it tarnished our image.”

  And now she knew why trust was such an issue. “I... I’d never do anything like that.”

  “I know.” He pushed off the railing and went to her, pressing his hand on the wall beside the door, over her head. “I don’t want to let him hurt you, hurt us. I’m coming back.”

  She traced the line of his jaw, emotion welling inside her. This man had touched her life so quickly, so completely, that it was frightening. “I hope you do.”

  He kissed her fingers. “I will.”

  “I need you, Sonya. I need you tonight.”

  Tonight. He needed her tonight. She didn’t want to think about the limits to those words, to his actions, by not wanting her to weather the storm of his father. But he pulled her into his arms and kissed her and her worry faded into passion.

  Long minutes later they were on her couch, her straddling him, him buried deep inside her. And there were no games, no power plays, or toys, but somehow it was the most intimate moment they’d ever shared. It was raw and laden with emotion, with unspoken words that she couldn’t help but read as a goodbye.

  * * *

  The next morning Sonya dropped off Dante at the airport. A day after that she walked out of Bell’s with an agreement she knew Dante would be pleased with, and dialed his cell. He didn’t answer. She knew he’d had a meeting with his father and the corporate attorneys that day, but it was killing her to not be able to share the good news. Hours later, she was at home, and he still hadn’t returned her call. The next morning, still nothing.

  Finally, three days later, in knots over his silence, she sat at her
kitchen table and dialed Ricci’s Italian offices. Minutes later, she hung up, stunned by the news that his father had died, and praying that he’d return her call. She started to cry. She knew what he was going through and she wanted to be there for him. She didn’t understand why he hadn’t reached out to her. She dialed his cell phone several times over the next few hours, leaving numerous messages. Time brought only silence. He’d shut her out.

  Chapter Eleven

  Two weeks after Dante had gone silent, Sonya had returned to work. Her boss, still a fat, happy cat over Dante’s retainer, continued to be as nice as could be to her.

  Another week passed and there was no word from Dante, but Sonya had pulled her head out of the sand. She rode the elevator to the garage level, loaded down with files for several new cases. The doors opened and her heart skipped a beat at the sight of a limo sitting in front of the door. She could almost feel herself shaking inside.

  The door opened and Dante stepped outside the car. “Come. Let’s talk.”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. She started walking.

  “Wait.” He rushed to her and stepped in front of her, towering over her, his hands settling on her shoulders, sending a rush of awareness through her she didn’t want to feel. He looked good, masculine and sexy, in black jeans and a tee, and she didn’t want to notice that, either.

  “I can’t do this, Dante.”

  “Please just get in and hear me out. If you don’t like what I have to say, we’ll keep it business. You have my word.”

  She inhaled, feeling trapped, feeling like she wanted to run. “Okay. But we stay here. We don’t drive anywhere.”

  “Agreed,” he said, reaching for her briefcase.

  Sonya let him take her bag and slid inside the car before him, tugging at her skirt and realizing it was ironically the same light blue outfit she’d been wearing that first night with him.

  He joined her and sat across from her, their eyes colliding. It was then that she noticed the strain in his face, the tiredness and stress. “You look good,” he said, a rasp to his voice. “I missed you.”

  “Don’t,” she said, pressing her hands onto the seat, her spine stiff. “Don’t say that.”

  “Sonya—”

  “You didn’t even call me when your father died,” she said. “I would have been there for you but you didn’t need me or want me or... I don’t know. I just know that it hurt and I feel shallow for saying that when you were grieving but I can’t help it. People who care about each other don’t shut each other out.”

  “I know,” he said. “I screwed up.”

  She reached for the door. He shackled her arm. “He walked out of a meeting with me and dropped dead of a heart attack.”

  “What?” She turned away from the door and faced him. “Oh, God, Dante. I don’t even know what to say.”

  “Don’t say anything. Just hear me out.” She covered his hands with hers and nodded, and he quickly continued, as if he feared she’d change her mind. “My mother blamed me. She’s never lashed out at me like she did. The board voted me into control and...I wasn’t even sure I wanted the job. I was messed up, Sonya. I didn’t want to tell you I’d fought with him before he died. I didn’t think I could deal with the distance between us when I told you. I didn’t know if I could tell you at all. I fought with him and he died. That is heavy. It’s going to eat me alive for the rest of my life.”

  She pressed her hands to his face and kissed him. “You didn’t cause his death and you can’t let this destroy you. And, damn it, you should have called me and let me be there for you. You shouldn’t have shut me out.”

  “I know, and if I could turn back time I would. You have no idea how much I want to.” He reached for his jacket on the seat and pulled out a velvet box. “But I hope you will give me a lifetime to make it up to you. Sonya, being without you only made me more certain that I don’t want to be without you ever again. I need you in my life. I need you in ways I’ve never needed anyone.” He opened the lid and a gorgeous white diamond stone sparkled from the center of white silk. “I love you, Sonya. I have from the instant I met you. Marry me. Come to Italy with me and bring your mother. You’ll never want for anything again and neither will your mother.”

  “I don’t want your money,” she said, her chest tightening with the impact of his words, and the reasons behind them. “And you’re coming off a loss and...”

  He pulled her into his arms and kissed her, a long, deep passionate kiss. “I love you. I need you. You can practice law, like I could stop you if I wanted to. You will have your life. I just want you to share it with me. Marry me.”

  Her eyes prickled with tears. “I love you, too. I do. I didn’t want to, but I do.”

  He thumbed away tears. “And you’ll marry me?”

  “On one condition,” she said.

  “Name your price.”

  “That you trust me enough to let me cuff you.”

  His lips curved in a smile. “As long as you know I’ll return every lick of pleasure ten times over.”

  “Promises, promises,” she teased, and then let him slip the ring on her finger.

  * * * * *

  A VERY

  PERSONAL ASSISTANT

  Portia Da Costa

  “Thank God that’s over!”

  Miranda Austin tossed her leather document binder onto her blotter, threw herself down into her chair and kicked off her shoes beneath her broad leathertopped desk. How was it that sometimes after these high-level meetings, she felt as if she’d been put through a mangle when she returned from the boardroom? Closing her eyes, she tried to claw back her usual calm and poise and center herself.

  “Tough gig?” enquired her personal assistant, Patrick Dove, as he crossed the office toward her.

  “I’ll say...” She breathed in deep, finding it hard to settle. “But I got my way in the end, even though it took some doing with those idiots from Overseas Assets.”

  “You always get your way.” Patrick’s tone was smooth and quiet—not false praise, but a simple observation. “Would you like some coffee, boss?”

  Patrick made perfect coffee, but right now, Miranda felt too wired and too wound up to appreciate it. Eyes still closed, she shook her head.

  “Is there something else I can do for you?” He paused, and the room seemed unnaturally quiet, almost as if neither of them were even breathing. “Some other way I can help you instead?”

  Patrick said words like that a hundred times a week at least. Both to her and to the many clients and colleagues he had to deal with on her behalf. But this time Miranda knew he really meant them. Not that he didn’t mean them when he was answering her calls, of course. It was just that today his soft, suave, charming voice sounded different somehow, weighted and full of strange intent as if he were trying to manipulate her in a benign yet subtle manner.

  Miranda’s eyes snapped open. She frowned. Was she imagining things? Probably. She was just tired, a bit burnt-out and weary of deals and wrangling. She loved that she was the highest-ranked woman in the company, and generally she relished even the most confrontational meetings, but sometimes, like now, it all drained her. What she needed was a lift, a boost, and seeing Patrick studying her so intently with those beautiful, sexy, compassionate eyes of his, she suddenly found herself saying, “I don’t know.... But I do need something.... Maybe you should whisk me off my feet and take me away from all this?”

  “Okay then. I will.” His voice sounded different in a new way now. Brisk. Decisive. In charge. His gentle eyes somehow weren’t quite as gentle anymore, either, but they twinkled with a light of daring and challenge. “You don’t have any meetings this afternoon. Let’s go for a drive, get out of town, play hooky for a few hours.”

  Heart shuddering inside her, she felt nervous, excited. As if something wonderful were about to happen, but she didn’t quite know what. Leaving the office for the afternoon was absurd, out of the question. She had little enough time to catch up these days. But so
mething in Patrick’s smile, and the almost cocky way he was studying her, made her think of a box of chocolates or a heady, potent cocktail. A treat, indulgent but irresistible. And when he flicked his tongue over his lower lip, her body surged, rousing suddenly and hard.

  “I’ve got too much work to do.” Her voice sounded odd, too, light and feathery when usually she was so cool, contained and on top of everything.

  “Well, you said you wanted to get away from it all.” His eyes narrowed, still teasing, still tempting.

  “No, I didn’t, not really...you know I didn’t mean it.”

  “Ah, but I’m psychic. I can tell you really did mean it.”

  Was he arguing with her? He didn’t usually do that, but this time it seemed he was, and as his challenging smile broadened, the mad, insane, totally inappropriate fluttering in her nether regions intensified. She’d always mildly fancied Patrick in a rather disciplined, disconnected way, but her feelings had never broken through or taken control like this.

  “No, you’re not psychic. There’re no such thing as psychic powers. You’re just an uncannily efficient personal assistant who mostly anticipates his boss’s needs, but who’s way off in this case.”

  “So you say.” He tilted his head to one side, his sandy blond hair glinting beneath the strip lighting. It was a bit curly and wayward, giving him the look of an angel from a painting or a fresco. A very naughty, playful angel, with all the earthly foibles of a man. “But I still think a few hours out of the office would do you good.” He winked at her, no angel now, but more like the very devil. “Give you what you need.”

  The fluttering turned to a pounding, and enveloped her entire body. Heart, brain, sex. She felt as if she were standing on a precipice, or before a secret door, or at the edge of some narrow rickety bridge, leading...leading somewhere.