Seduced by the Heir

by Pamela Yaye

  “Would your girlfriend like this?”

  The sound of Mario’s loud, booming voice yanked Rafael out of his thoughts. “It’s too old-fashioned,” he said, glancing at the gold, vintage ring. “Definitely not her style. Paris is a modern woman with an eye for fashion, and—”

  “Why didn’t you tell me her name was Paris?”

  Mario flapped his hands in the air as if he was batting away a pesky fly. And when his eyebrows climbed halfway up his broad forehead Rafael felt the urge to laugh.

  “Her name tells me everything I need to know.”

  Mario locked the jewelry case and jumped to his feet. “I have the perfect ring,” he promised, bustling around the counter. “Follow me to the back. The custom-made solitaire costs more than your Jaguar, but you’re going to love it and so will she....”

  “Where is it? Locked in the safe under heavy security?” Rafael joked, rising to his feet.

  His uncle raised a bushy eyebrow. “Yeah, how did you know?”

  The next hour was a blur, a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts and emotions. But when Rafael left Morretti Jewelers that afternoon with Demetri, carrying a velvet box wrapped with pink lace ribbon, he knew he was one step closer to making his dreams come true.

  Chapter 15

  “Paris, pick up the pace. This isn’t Sweatin’ for Seniors!” Mr. St. Clair snapped, raising his voice over the rock music playing on the radio in Excel Construction’s fitness center. “Come on. You can do better than that....”

  Groaning inwardly, Paris prayed her tired, aching legs wouldn’t give way on the treadmill. Her chest was burning uncontrollably, and it hurt to breathe. Huffing and puffing, she gripped the front of the machine with one hand and wiped her forehead with the other. The ninth-floor fitness center inside the Washington headquarters of Excel Construction was filled with dozens of employees, but no one was exercising harder than her dad. Last year, after suffering a mild heart attack, he’d quit smoking, cleaned up his diet and adopted an intense fitness regimen. At sixty-one, Sebastian St. Clair was in the best shape of his life and had the muscles to prove it. He had the energy of a man half his age and loved to brag about his remarkable transformation.

  “You’re moving too slow. Increase your speed.” Mr. St. Clair chugged a mouthful of Gatorade. “You’re giving the keynote address at the Women’s Business Expo in three days. Don’t you want to look in tip-top shape?”

  “Dad, I’m a senior executive, not Ms. Olympia 2014!”

  Paris could think of a hundred things she’d rather do than exercise, but her dad had insisted. And since she wanted to talk to him privately, she’d reluctantly followed him to the spacious, brightly lit fitness center.

  A Rashad J song came on over the speakers and a smile tickled her lips. Every time Paris heard “Between Your Thighs,” the chart-topping single oozing with passion and sensuality, her thoughts turned to Rafael. When they weren’t hanging out at his place, making dinner or cuddling on the couch, they were texting or video chatting. With Rafael, she felt the freedom to be herself—not the person her dad, her employees or her clients expected her to be—and Paris cherished every moment they spent together. Rafael was never too busy to see her, always lifted her spirits when she was having a bad day and never failed to make her laugh. He filled the emptiness in her life, gave her hope for a brighter tomorrow. There was nothing sexier than a sensitive, vulnerable man, and Paris found Rafael’s honesty refreshing. More confident than ever, she was optimistic about her future and owed her new, improved outlook to her old college sweetheart.

  Her eyes strayed to the wall clock above the glass door. At lunch, Rafael had called, sounding dreamy as usual, and asked her to meet him at his home at six o’clock. He had something up his sleeve; she could feel it, sense it, and could hardly wait to find out what it was. He spoiled her silly, did sweet, romantic things to brighten her day, and his thoughtfulness made Paris feel loved and adored.

  “How are the plans coming along for the gala? Is everything booked and confirmed?”

  Paris fanned a hand in front of her hot, clammy face. She was tired of jogging on the stupid machine and ready to hit the showers. Starving, with her stomach growling uncontrollably, she envisioned herself biting into a juicy cheeseburger, and hungrily licked her lips.

  “Quit daydreaming,” Mr. St. Clair snapped.

  Blinking rapidly, Paris deleted the mouthwatering image from her mind. “Anthony and Kennedy are celebrating their sixteenth wedding anniversary in March.”

  “Good for them.”

  “They’re throwing a party for their close friends and family in Atlanta at the Hyatt Hotel.”

  Her dad scowled. Sweat dribbled down his head and splashed onto his white Nike T-shirt. He was slim and of average height but had an imposing presence. “Is this conversation going somewhere or are you just shooting the breeze?”

  Paris cleared her throat. “It’s a big thing for Kennedy and Anthony, and I know it would mean the world to them if you were there.”

  “Your sister made her choice a long time ago, and I respect her decision.”

  “Dad, it’s time to let go of the past.”

  “When I want your opinion, I’ll ask you. Until then, zip it.”

  Paris exhaled, trying not to let his cold response dissuade her from speaking the truth. “Kennedy loves you, and she wants to have a better relationship with you.”

  “Then why are you telling me about the anniversary party?” he questioned, wiping his forehead with his white face towel. “Why didn’t she call and invite me herself?”

  Because Kennedy’s just as stubborn and as bull-headed as you are! Paris studied her father, examining his profile. She detected a hint of sadness in his voice and felt a painful twinge inside her chest. Determined to get through to him, she stopped the treadmill and stepped off the machine.

  “Drop it. I’m not going and there’s nothing you can say to change my mind.”

  “You have three beautiful grandkids who never see you....” Paris paused, giving her words time to sink in. “I think we should reschedule the charity gala and attend Kennedy and Anthony’s anniversary celebration together...as a family.”

  “Absolutely not,” he said, striking the treadmill with his fist. “I’ve already invited my friends and associates to the charity gala.”

  “But Kennedy’s your daughter.”

  “It would be discourteous to cancel the event at the last minute.”

  “Says who?” Paris argued, growing frustrated. Their conversation was going nowhere, and she didn’t have the energy to debate the issue with her father. Not after a punishing, hour-long workout. It was time to get back to work, and not a moment too soon.

  “The charity gala will go ahead as planned, understood? Soldiers’ Angels needs funds now more than ever, and I won’t let them down.”

  “Charity should begin at home,” Paris said, meeting his dark, angry gaze head-on. “That’s what Mom used to say, and I think she was on to something. Kennedy doesn’t need your money, Dad, she needs your love and support.”

  Sebastian coughed and lowered his head.

  “If Mom was alive she’d be heartsick over the anger and animosity in this family.” Her sorrow was suffocating, but Paris refused to bite her tongue. “I’m attending Kennedy and Anthony’s anniversary party. They’re my family, and I won’t let them down.”

  Paris stuffed her iPod into her pocket and swiped her cell phone off the treadmill.

  “What are you doing?” Mr. St. Clair asked, gesturing with his hands to the weight area. “We haven’t done resistance training yet.”

  “Maybe next time.” Or never, she thought, hustling toward the ladies’ change room.

  * * *

  An hour later, Paris walked out of the fitness center feeling better than she had in weeks.
Her thoughts were clear, her body was relaxed and she felt pretty in her fitted yellow dress.

  Paris stepped off of the elevator, entered the lobby and gasped in surprise. Shocked to see Rafael standing at the front desk holding a massive bouquet of roses, she touched her stomach to still the butterflies swarming around inside. Though casually dressed in a navy blazer, argyle sweater and black slacks, he carried himself in a way that captured the attention of everyone around him. Rafael didn’t just turn heads, he caused whiplash. The receptionist was making eyes at him, and so was every other woman in the lobby. Paris’s heart swelled with pride. That’s right, she thought, a smile exploding onto her lips. My man’s got it going on in more ways than one! She fluffed her hair and exhaled a deep breath. Her legs felt like rubber, but she strode confidently through the lobby toward him.

  “Rafael, hey, what are you doing here?” she asked, coming up behind him and touching his forearm. “I thought we were meeting at your place later tonight.”

  He kissed her on each cheek, allowing his lips to linger on her skin. Goose bumps exploded across her skin. Paris knew everyone in the lobby was watching them, but she gave Rafael a peck on the lips, anyway. Damn, he tastes even better than he looks!

  “These are for you,” he said, handing her the flowers.

  “What’s the occasion?”

  “It’s our two-month anniversary.”

  Paris buried her nose in the bouquet and inhaled the rich, fragrant scent.

  “I want you to know how special you are.”

  He rested his hands on her waist, gently stroking and caressing her hips. “I plan to be in your life for many years to come, so you better get used to me being around.”

  “Thank you, Rafael. This is a beautiful surprise.”

  “I know it isn’t quitting time yet, but I was hoping I could persuade you to finish work earlier today,” he said with a wink. “I want us to grab a bite to eat before the concert—”

  “What concert?”

  Rafael reached into his jacket pocket and took out two tickets. “I got front-row seats for the Backstreet Boys concert and passes for the after party at the Champagne Lounge.”

  “Shut up!” Paris cheered. “No way! I can’t believe it!”

  Rafael chuckled. “I take it you’re pleased.”

  “Hell, yeah,” she said with a laugh. “Kennedy tried to get us tickets for their Atlanta show last summer but by the time she got to Philips Arena it was sold out.”

  “I’m not surprised. I had to call in a bunch of favors to get these.”

  “I love you for it!”

  Rafael wiggled his eyebrows. “You do, huh? Tell me more....”

  Paris froze. Her heart leaped inside her throat. Rafael’s smile couldn’t be any bigger. Biting the inside her of cheek, she nervously shuffled her feet. She adored Rafael, but now wasn’t the time to bare her soul.

  “Is your father around? I’d like to give him my regards.”

  “Trust me, you don’t. My dad isn’t exactly a people person, and he can be very intimidating.”

  “We’re going to get along great,” Rafael said confidently. “We have a lot in common.”

  His words gave her pause. “You do?”

  “Absolutely. We’re both Georgetown University graduates, we run successful Fortune 500 companies, and I have a feeling you’re the apple of his eye, too.”

  Her pulse beat loud and fast, and the urge to kiss him was all consuming. Paris wanted to dive into Rafael’s arms and plant one on him, but she didn’t want to cause a stir at Excel Construction.

  “I’m going to go grab my things from my office. Wait right here,” she said. “I know you’re a ladies’ man with a slick game, but try not to sweet-talk my employees while I’m gone, okay?”

  “I only have eyes for you, and that will never change.”

  Be still my heart!

  Paris spotted her father exiting the elevator and swallowed a groan. Panic rode inside her, filling her with a sickening sense of dread. Something tells me this isn’t going to be good, she thought, clutching her flowers closer to her chest. Before she could even think of what to do, her dad was standing beside her, greeting Rafael as if they were old friends.

  “It’s been a long time. How are you doing?” Mr. St. Clair asked. “I trust that your parents and brothers are well.”

  “Everyone’s great, sir, thanks for asking.”

  “Next time you speak to your father give him my best.”

  Rafael nodded. “Will do.”

  “I don’t remember seeing your name on the client list this morning,” Mr. St. Clair said, lines of confusion wrinkling his forehead. “Who are you meeting with today?”

  Paris spoke up. “Dad, Rafael’s not here on business. We have dinner plans tonight.”

  Her father’s eyes doubled in size, and the color drained from his face.

  “Don’t worry, sir, I promise to have your daughter home before dark.”

  Paris felt relieved when she looked over and saw that her father was, too. I was worried for nothing, she decided, resisting the urge to do the happy dance up and down the lobby. This is going better than expected. I can’t believe it. My dad is actually smiling!

  “I’m going back to my office.” Mr. St. Clair adjusted his pin-striped tie and ran a hand over his tailored suit jacket. “Have a good time tonight and be safe.”

  “Thank you, sir. It was great seeing you again. Take care.”

  Paris snapped out of her thoughts. “Rafael, I’ll be right back.”

  “Take as long as you need. I’m not going anywhere.”

  His words and his piercing gaze gave her a rush. Paris strode out of the lobby and hurried to her corner office as fast as her feet could take her. Her father was hot on her heels, marching briskly behind her, speaking in a hushed tone.

  “We need to talk.”

  “Not now, Dad. Rafael’s waiting.”

  Paris threw open her office door and rushed inside. It was a gorgeous space, filled with sunshine, art and cushy furniture. Bookshelves lined the walls, framed photographs of her nieces and nephews decorated her desk and fresh air drifted in through the open window.

  “How long have you been cavorting with Rafael Morretti?”

  His question threw her. “Dad, I’ve known Rafael since college. You know that,” she said, resting her bouquet on the desk. “He’s a perfect gentleman and one of the most thoughtful people I have ever met.”

  “It would be unwise to date someone with ties to the Italian Mafia. It could be asking for trouble.” Sebastian’s gaze was cold and challenging, and his arms were folded rigidly across his chest. “His father, Arturo Morretti, is an unscrupulous businessman, and I suspect the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. Didn’t you learn anything from your last relationship?” His face clouded with anger, and his tone now filled with disgust. “That dreadful fiasco with Winston should have made you smarter about men and relationships.”

  Paris didn’t want to think about the day her ex-boyfriend died or the emotional breakdown she’d suffered at his funeral. It was times like this, when her father threw her mistakes in her face, that she feared she’d never escape her past or live down what she’d done.

  “Men like Rafael Morretti can’t be trusted.”

  Anger bubbled inside her, but she didn’t lose her temper. “Rafael doesn’t have ties to the Mafia or any other criminal organization. His ex-girlfriend started that rumor to get back at him for dumping her, and I know for a fact that it isn’t true.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Rafael is a man of character and integrity, and as by-the-book as they come. He’s never even had a parking ticket, for goodness’ sake!”

  “Open your eyes,” Mr. St. Clair exclaimed through clenched teeth. “He’s using you.”
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  “Using me? That’s ludicrous. What for?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? Surely you can’t be that dumb.”

  His words were a slap to the face, a painful, crushing blow Paris never saw coming. Her feelings were hurt, but she concealed her emotions. Questions stormed her mind, one after another. Was Rafael right? Was it time she put her foot down and regained control of her life?

  “I won’t stand by and let you soil my good name by dating that man.”

  “Dad, lower your voice,” she whispered, glancing at the open door. “You’re yelling.”

  “Of course I’m yelling! You’re running around town with a shady businessman!”

  Paris felt a scowl twist her lips. She loved her father dearly, even when he was being unreasonable, but she’d had enough of his insults for one day. Thanks to Rafael she was happier than she’d been in years, and for the first time in her life she didn’t care what her dad thought.

  “Cancel,” Mr. St. Clair demanded. “I mean it, Paris. Get out there and do it right now, or you’re going to see a real ugly side to me.”

  In that moment, Paris realized everything Kennedy had ever said about their father was true. He wanted to control her, like a puppet, and was determined to run every aspect of her life. Paris knew then, with all certainty, that if she didn’t stand up to him things would never change.

  “This conversation is over,” she said calmly, ignoring the nervous quaver in her voice. “I don’t need nor want your advice, and I’d appreciate if you kept your opinions to yourself.”

  “Watch your tone. I am your father and you will respect me.”