Dating the Billionaire

by Lisa Childs

  “Are you looking for me?” he asked again from the doorway to his room.

  So she didn’t openly drool over him, she had to swallow all the saliva that had pooled in her mouth before she replied. Even then all she managed was to mutter, “This is a mistake.”

  He uttered a sigh of disappointment. “You’re not from the service then?”

  “What kind of service do you think it is?” she wondered aloud.

  He glanced uneasily around the hallway, as if afraid someone might overhear them. Then he stepped back into the suite, holding open the door, and gestured for her to join him.

  She shook her head, unwilling to walk into that room until she knew he had the same expectations she did. “I think it’s a dating service,” she said. “But I’m not sure what you think it is since you had the audacity to ask me to meet you in your hotel room.”

  She’d told Miranda that that was weird—that a first meeting should be in public place like a coffee shop or even a bar. But Miranda had again pointed out that was a precaution only when meeting people from apps, that every member of her service was so thoroughly vetted that she would be safe wherever she met them. Knowing Miranda and her resources, she had researched everything and interviewed everyone related to every member of the dating service, but Blair had already been too cynical, even before the Me Too movement, to fully trust anyone.

  She sure didn’t feel safe right now, but that might have been from how hard her heart was pounding, how fast it was racing—just from looking at him.

  A grin pulled at the corners of his mouth, and a rueful chuckle slipped out. “Ah, now I understand your hesitation to knock.”

  Heat climbed to her face, probably turning it bright red. Damn Miranda for landing her in trouble again, maybe even legal trouble this time if he truly believed she was an escort.

  “That’s not what I signed up for,” she warned him. Although if he looked as good out of that tux as he did in it, she might...

  She wouldn’t be opposed to enjoying him. She just didn’t want him making assumptions that it was going to happen. Miranda might not be as good at vetting out assholes as she’d promised she was.

  Because if she was, why the hell was she single, too?

  Of course, after her mother’s many marriages, Miranda had vowed long ago to stay single. Like their blond hair and blue eyes, that vow was one of the other things they had in common. Not that Blair’s mom had been married many times. Just once.

  But since she’d married Blair’s dad, once had been too many. Not that Dad had been a terrible person.

  He’d just been the wrong person for her mother.

  Just like maybe Matteo Rinaldi was the wrong person for her. Not that she was looking for her soul mate. She nearly snorted at the ridiculous notion of anyone having a soul mate, but she stopped herself when she glanced up and found Matteo studying her face. He leaned against the jamb of the open door, one of his dark brows arched.

  Resisting the urge to wipe a hand across her face to check for makeup smudges, she asked instead, “What?”

  “It’s a shame,” he murmured with a heavy sigh.

  “What’s a...oh...” Her temper flared. “No, it’s not a shame that I’m not an escort.” But it was a shame that he was an asshole after all. She turned on the point of her stiletto heel to head back to the elevators.

  A big hand wrapped around her bare arm, not so tightly that she couldn’t have shrugged it off and kept on going. But, her skin tingling from the contact with his, she stopped. She didn’t turn toward him, though; she just waited, breath held in anticipation of what he would say.

  “I’m sorry,” a deep voice murmured. “I couldn’t resist.” He sighed. “But it is inappropriate to tease you when you are clearly concerned about this.”

  “It’s as inappropriate as asking me to meet you in a hotel room,” she said as she turned back toward him.

  He nodded in agreement. “I am sorry about that, too. I didn’t think of how it might seem...”

  She narrowed her eyes with suspicion.

  “I don’t have a place in Milan,” he said, “so I checked into the hotel.”

  “You could have asked me to meet you somewhere else,” she pointed out. “The lobby, a restaurant...”

  “I have plans—”

  “That’s what worries me,” she interjected. What were his plans, though? And why did her pulse quicken at the thought that they might have been sexual?

  She must had gone too damn long without enjoying a man. Mechanical toys were just not the same.

  He chuckled. “My plans are not nefarious. I have to go to a gallery opening—” he glanced at his watch “—and I was worried about being late, which I will probably be now.”

  “Then don’t let me keep you,” she said.

  “I would like for you to join me,” he said. “And I promise that I have no ulterior motives beyond enjoying an evening with you.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “At a gallery?”

  “Not an art fan?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know much about it.” She’d been too busy learning other things, like how to stay alive during a firefight.

  But if she told him...

  And if he was as chauvinistic as most of her other dates had been, the night would probably already be over, and she didn’t want it to end yet. Matteo Rinaldi was too handsome and too intriguing for her to cut the date short.

  “We won’t stay long,” he said, sliding his hand down her arm to her elbow—leaving a trail of tingling skin in the wake of his touch.

  “I’m not coming back here,” she warned him.

  Unless...

  Unless Miranda had been telling the truth, and he wasn’t the asshole she was worried he was.

  “I didn’t invite you back,” he pointed out. “My only expectation of this date was for someone to accompany me to the gallery opening.”

  She narrowed her eyes and studied his face. “And you couldn’t find someone else to bring?”

  He narrowed his eyes back at her, but amusement glinted in the warm chocolate. “And you couldn’t find someone else to spend the evening with not admiring art?”

  A smile tugged at her lips. “Touché, or so you would understand, toccato.”

  “Oh, maybe you do speak my language after all,” he murmured appreciatively.

  She shrugged. She’d learned long ago it was best not to reveal all her assets too soon. More often they intimidated rather than impressed. “Most Americans know some Italian. Vendetta. Zucchini. Casanova.”

  He looked like a Casanova, but he clearly wasn’t American. While his accent wasn’t thick, it was pronounced enough that it softened and rolled the tone of every word like chocolate melting. Everything about him—his hair, his eyes, his voice—reminded her of her greatest weakness: chocolate.

  And just like chocolate, he probably wasn’t good for her. He wouldn’t make her face break out like her favorite vice, but if he was a Casanova, he could possibly make something else break—like her heart, if she wasn’t very cautious. Even knowing that she needed to be very, very cautious, she waited while he closed his hotel room door, and then she walked with him toward the elevator. When the doors opened, she drew in a deep, bracing breath before stepping inside the small car with him.

  Not that she was physically afraid. She’d learned long ago how to defend herself; she’d had to, or she wouldn’t have survived high school, let alone the air force academy and basic training.

  But she wasn’t sure if she would be able to defend herself emotionally if Matteo Rinaldi turned on the charm that seemed to ooze, like his expensive cologne, from his every perfect pore. The deep breath she’d drawn in filled her senses with the scent of him, which was a combination of that expensive musky cologne and raw masculinity.

  He stepped inside the elevator with her, and he fil
led it with his physical presence and his charismatic presence. Her pulse quickened, and a heaviness settled on her chest with a hint of panic.

  Just what the hell had Miranda gotten her into?

  * * *

  Matteo couldn’t remember the last time, if ever, that he’d been as intrigued with a woman as he was this one. And he didn’t even know her name. If she hadn’t been insistent about making it so damn clear that she wasn’t an escort, he might have had his suspicions...about the dating service and about the stunning blonde they’d sent to him. One of the owners, Miranda Fox, had made it clear that the members had to treat each other with respect at all times, though. No assumptions and absolutely no coercions.

  He’d appreciated that. He also appreciated the blonde. He appreciated her bluntness in making herself absolutely clear that he should have no expectations about how the evening might end. Even more than her bluntness, he appreciated the way she looked. So damn beautiful...

  Standing as close as they were in the elevator, he was incredibly aware of her beauty and of her very essence. She had such poise and grace, her head held high with dignity or maybe righteous indignation. He needed to stop teasing her, but it was hard to resist. She was hard to resist.

  Awareness pulsated within him, like the blood pumping hot and fast through his veins as his heart beat harder and faster. Even though he stood more than a foot from her, heat arced between them, flushing his skin, making it tingle.

  “What is your name?” he asked, his voice gruff with frustration in his overwhelming physical reaction to her and in the strange rules of the dating service that only gave out names if the members approved it.

  Her lips curved into a Mona Lisa smile, fitting since they were about to attend a gallery opening. Not that he expected to find any masterpieces hanging from the walls of this particular art gallery. This woman was a work of art, though, with her perfectly toned, long body and her perfectly featured face. A dark blond brow arched over a dark blue eye. “You don’t know?”

  The tie seemed to tighten around his neck as heat sneaked up from beneath it. Not knowing the identity of the person meeting him painted him the fool. Teo hated feeling foolish. “When I spoke last to the service, Miranda Fox was working on finding the perfect date for me, but in case she wasn’t able to convince the new member to sign up, she couldn’t give me the name of the woman she wanted me to meet.”

  The blonde chuckled. “So you have no idea if I’m just the next best match or if I’m the perfect date.”

  She knew, though, because that maddening smile played around her lips again.

  And Teo knew as well—from her beauty, from her quick wit—she was undoubtedly the perfect date. In Miranda Fox’s opinion but not his. He didn’t like games, and he hated being played for a fool. All he wanted was her name; he shouldn’t have to work so hard for it.

  The elevator shuddered to a stop in the lobby, and the doors opened to the marble and mahogany foyer of the elegant hotel. She moved toward those open doors, but Teo caught her elbow again, holding her back. “You wanted to make it clear earlier that you’re not an escort.”

  She tensed and jerked her elbow from his grasp. “I’m not. Are you?”

  He narrowed his eyes and glared at her. “No, and I’m not an idiot, either. Please, don’t treat me like one.”

  She sighed. “I’m sorry,” she said with a quickness and sincerity that both surprised and delighted him.

  He didn’t know many people who were as willing to admit to having made a mistake, any mistake.

  “I haven’t been on a date in a while,” she said. “And this whole situation...”

  “Is awkward,” he agreed. But it was beginning to feel less and less awkward and more and more intriguing.

  Everything about her intrigued him.

  “Yes,” she agreed very heartily, with the awkwardness, not the intriguing. She couldn’t know what he was thinking. “I may kill Miranda for putting me in this situation.”

  “So you’re definitely the perfect date,” he said. “I’m not sure how I feel about your having to be talked into joining the service.” At the risk of sounding arrogant, he added, “I’ve never had to force anyone to go on a date with me before.” But that was more likely because of his money than his looks or personality.

  Her lips curved into a smile again, this one not quite so Mona Lisa-like, and she heartily agreed again, “I can believe that.”

  Since she couldn’t know about his money, she must have found him attractive as well.

  “Which makes me wonder why you joined the service,” she continued. “Did Miranda talk you into it, too?”

  She’d given his pride an out. He could have claimed to have been coerced as she’d clearly been, but Matteo was always honest, usually as most people would agree, to a fault. He shook his head. “No, I chose to join.”

  Pink color flushed her cheeks so that they matched the pink hue of her glossed lips. Her voice soft, she repeated her apology, “I’m sorry.”

  And he was compelled to challenge her. “You don’t seem like the type of woman who could be talked into something she didn’t actually want to do anyway.”

  Her brow momentarily creased before she chuckled, apparently at herself. “Toccato...again...”

  He wanted to touch her instead; he wanted to use his hand to reel her into his arms, up against his body, which was beginning to pulse with desire. But they were probably already late, and she’d made it clear that he was to have no expectations about how this evening would end. At the moment he hoped that it wouldn’t.

  So he forced himself to escort her from the elevator. It was only as they were walking across the lobby that he realized she still hadn’t told him her name.

  Why was she so reluctant to share her identity with him? What was she hiding?

  CHAPTER THREE

  “SAVANNAH,” BLAIR SAID, the lie slipping out of her lips almost unbidden. It wasn’t entirely a lie, though.

  Savannah was legally her first name, but she never used it. For some reason she didn’t want this man to call her the name everyone else—even her mother after many protests—used for her. What the hell was wrong with her?

  As Matteo had pointed out, she wasn’t the type to be talked into something she didn’t want to do anyway. If she had, she never would have survived the career path she’d chosen. Hell, she would have never entered it at all...if she’d listened to her mother.

  Which she never did.

  Which was why her mother had given up calling her Savannah, since she’d never answered to it because she’d always protested that it sounded too girlie.

  “Savannah,” he repeated, the name rolling off his tongue like melted chocolate. He held out a hand to help her from the car they’d taken from the hotel to an area north of Milan that appeared to be mostly industrial. There was already a gallery in this area; Miranda had mentioned it once to her, and the name had reminded her of an airport hangar. When she stepped onto the pavement and glanced up at the building they’d stopped in front of, she tensed, because this building actually was an airport hangar.

  Had he been messing with her all along? Had Miranda actually told him all about her? She never should have trusted her friend or him. She tried to pull her hand free of his grasp, but he held firm and stroked his thumb across her knuckles.

  “Delighted to meet you, Savannah.”

  His touch, and his charm, disarmed her for a moment, so that when he released her, she didn’t move. He turned back to the chauffeur, who’d closed the door behind them, and said in Italian, “We won’t be long, so don’t go far.”

  Before she could stop him, the chauffeur slid into the front seat and drove the idling limousine away. Another long black car took its place, and more luxury vehicles were lined up behind it. So it was pretty likely that this metal-and-stone structure wasn’t actually an airplane hangar anymore.r />
  Not unless the flights were extremely short...since he’d told the chauffeur to return soon. “We’ll put in a brief appearance,” he told her as his hand cupped her elbow again to escort her around the corner of the hangar.

  The overhead doors stood open, light spilling from inside the building onto a courtyard filled with flowers, tall tables and people. They didn’t even make it into the courtyard before a woman rushed up to them and threw her arms around Matteo’s neck. She planted a big kiss on his cheek, leaving an imprint of her bright red lipstick on his skin when she finally pulled away.

  Or had he pushed her? His hands cupped her shoulders. But it was hard to tell if he was fending off the woman or holding her close. Not that many men would want to fend off a woman who looked like her. With long, curly brown hair and wide, heavily lashed brown eyes, she was beautiful. A white dress clung to her curves and complemented her tan skin.

  Grabbing his hands in hers, she asked in Italian, “What do you think? Isn’t it perfect?”

  “I don’t know,” he replied—in English. “You haven’t let me see anything yet.”

  She linked her arm with his and began tugging him toward those open doors. But he stopped her short and admonished her in Italian, “Francesca, you’re being rude. I have a guest.”

  “You brought someone?” she asked in surprise.

  Blair wasn’t surprised that she hadn’t noticed her; she seemed to only be able to see Matteo. Not that Blair blamed her. He was a beautiful man, as beautiful as the woman was. They looked good together, and it was obvious they were close.

  “I told you to come alone,” she admonished him. “You were not supposed to bring a plus-one.”

  So why had he chosen to bring a date to the opening?

  To make the woman jealous? Or to force her to accept that they were done?

  And he’d said he didn’t play games...

  The woman focused on Blair now, her dark eyes narrowed as she studied her. “Where did you find this Amazon?” she asked in Italian.

  If his intent had been to make Francesca jealous, apparently he’d succeeded.