by Lisa Childs
Did he intend to make her his main course?
“I won’t have room for anything else,” she warned him. Then she laughed and said, “Although, as an Amazon, I should.”
He chuckled. “I hope you did not let my sister’s jealous comments affect you.”
She shook her head. “I’ve heard worse.”
His brow furrowed. “I don’t understand why. You are so beautiful.”
“Let’s just say that some people are threatened by strong, independent women.” Especially in the world she’d chosen to enter.
“I find strong, independent women exciting,” he said.
His saying that excited her, making her pulse leap again like when he’d touched her in the limo. He was so good looking, so charming...
He reached for her hand, turned it over in his and ran his thumb across the calluses. “You work hard,” he said—with respect.
She smiled. “I work out hard,” she said. She loved lifting weights. “I need to in order to work off meals like this.”
“I know other ways...” he began, but then the dessert came: a big crystal bowl of tiramisu with two spoons.
She didn’t protest when Teo lifted the spoon he’d dipped into the rich dessert to her mouth. She closed her lips around the decadent taste. The coffee had a bite to it that complemented the creamy mascarpone and spongy ladyfingers. Another moan slipped out of her lips.
And Teo leaned toward her, his mouth moving close to hers. His lips didn’t touch hers, though. Only the tip of his tongue, as he licked a trace of cream from the corner of her mouth.
She moaned again at his teasing her. She’d wanted to kiss him in the car; now she wanted to kiss him even more. But the chef appeared at their table, and they focused on him, complimenting the wonderful dishes he’d prepared.
Maybe Matteo was a part owner or full owner of the restaurant like he was of the gallery, because a check never appeared before they left, sliding again into the back seat of the limousine. Teo didn’t sit beside her this time but across from her, his dark gaze intent on her face.
“What?” she asked.
“We need to work off that meal.”
She heartily agreed, but she didn’t want to appear too eager to go to back to his room with him. “So we’re going to go lift weights?” she asked, teasing him. Dressed as they were, she doubted that was the plan, but if he actually stopped at a gym, he would be surprised by what she could lift. Hopefully not intimidated, though, as so many other men were.
He chuckled. “I was thinking more along the lines of cardio.”
A smile tugged at her lips over his flirting. “I’m sure you are...”
The car stopped again; the restaurant must not have been far from his hotel. But when the back door opened, it was to a crowd and an explosion of noise and lights. “Where are we?” she asked.
“Corso Como,” he replied. “Where did you think we were going to work off that meal?” His dark eyes twinkled with amusement.
He knew where she’d thought and maybe even that she’d wanted to go there.
But she exited eagerly from the limo, happy to go dancing as well. While Blair would never admit it, Miranda had been right; it had been too damn long since she’d enjoyed a man. She was having fun.
More fun than she could remember having in a long time. Dancing was just an appetizer, too, for what would come. So she made certain to tease Teo with every brush of her body against his, with her every movement, every swish of her hair...
But in teasing him, she was teasing herself—upping the attraction between them, the tension and the desire to a level she’d never felt before. She wanted him so damn badly.
* * *
He wanted her so damn badly. Sweat beaded on his brow and trickled down his spine beneath his tuxedo shirt. He’d left the jacket in the back of the limo. But he was still so hot. And not just from the dancing.
Heat moved through him like an inferno, burning him up from the inside out as he watched her body shimmy and shake to the music pulsing out of speakers in the nightclub. Lights flashed, illuminating her beautiful face. Her lips curved into that sexy smile again.
She knew she was driving him out of his damn mind. And she thought it was funny...
This was a game he didn’t mind, though. Building the tension, the anticipation.
If it went somewhere.
But he could allow himself no expectations. She’d made that clear at the beginning of their date.
While it might have started out as she’d claimed, as a ploy to get Francesca to stop throwing eligible and sometimes not-so-eligible women at him, it was a real date now. Not that they’d had much opportunity to talk yet. At the gallery they’d been constantly interrupted. And at the restaurant, they’d been too busy eating.
God, how she ate.
It was as sexy as her dancing. His body, having been hard for hours, ached with the desperate need for release. They hadn’t been able to talk in the nightclub, either. He was barely able to hear himself think, but he’d wanted this.
Wanted to watch her dance.
To see how she moved.
To imagine how she might move when it was just the two of them, alone, naked.
Would he get the opportunity to see her naked? Or was she just playing with him? Getting back at him for using her to protect him from his sister?
Despite hating games, he wouldn’t necessarily blame her—since he’d played one himself. But that game had been with Francesca. He’d always intended to make this date a real one despite starting the evening at the gallery.
After meeting Savannah, though, he had changed up his plan. He had chosen to take her to a better restaurant, a more popular nightclub.
Nothing but the best for her.
She seemed to be enjoying herself.
He wanted her to enjoy him.
So he reached out and caught one of her wrists, and her pulse leaped beneath his thumb. She was attracted to him, too. Maybe she wouldn’t turn him down...if he asked.
But could he ask, after the warning she’d given him?
Then she put her free hand on his chest, over his madly pounding heart, and leaned close. Her lips brushed across his earlobe as she whispered, “Take me back to your hotel.”
His pulse leaped now, racing away—making his heart pound furiously, making his flesh heat until he felt as if he were burning up.
“Are you sure?” he asked her. He wanted to make it clear to her what would happen if they returned to his suite—if they were alone.
So he pulled her into his arms, tight against his body. And he moved his hips so that she felt what she’d done to him, the hardness of his erection straining the fly of his dress pants.
Her lips parted, not on a gasp of shock but a smile. And she repeated, “Take me back to your hotel room.”
CHAPTER FIVE
WHAT THE HELL am I doing?
As Matteo Rinaldi swiped his key card across the lock to his hotel suite door, the same urge Blair had had earlier rushed over her again—tempting her to turn and run for the elevator. What the hell was she doing?
Him...
That was what she wanted—whom she wanted—so damn badly that she couldn’t withstand the temptation. When he opened the door and held it for her, she ignored the urge to run and paid attention only to the urge to enjoy him, as she had the entire evening.
Even that brief moment at the gallery where she’d thought he was only using her.
It had helped her understand why he’d joined the service. Did he have any other reasons? Despite his earlier claims to the contrary, had he expected the night to end like this?
While she walked farther into the suite, he stood yet at the closed door, his back against it. His tuxedo jacket dangled from one finger, the tie stuffed into one of the pockets. An erection—the one he’d pressed against her in the c
lub—strained the fly of the dress pants. He wanted her, too.
So why hadn’t he moved any closer?
His dark eyes were narrowed as he studied her face. “I thought you told me this wasn’t going to happen.”
“I didn’t think it would,” she said, although the minute she’d turned and seen how damn good-looking he was, she’d considered it. For just that minute...
“You said it’s not that kind of dating service,” he reminded her.
She sighed. “I’m not entirely sure what kind of dating service it is,” she admitted. “But I was promised that everyone who signed up for it has been so completely vetted that I would be safe, even to meet you in your hotel room.” That was the vow Miranda had made.
“You are safe,” he assured her. “You can leave any time you want.”
“What do you want?” she asked. Despite his obvious desire for her, he hadn’t made a move toward her. “Do you want me to leave?”
Was that why he stood yet at the door? Why he hesitated to give her the kiss—the real kiss—she’d been wanting all evening?
“Hell, no,” he murmured, his voice gruff with that desire. “But I don’t always make the wisest decisions when it comes to women.”
She could relate; she hadn’t always made the smartest decisions about men, or she would have stayed away from the macho ones who couldn’t handle a woman having the career she had. Just how macho was Matteo Rinaldi?
“Like financing your sister’s gallery?” she asked about his not-so-wise decisions.
He nodded and proved that he wasn’t too macho to admit to having been manipulated when he added, “Like that, like letting women use me for money.”
Was that what he thought she was going to do? Instead of being offended, she chuckled. “I don’t want your money,” she assured him.
If she wanted money from a man, she would have taken her brother’s; he seemed to have a never ending supply of it. Grant had generously offered to finance the whole company, but she’d insisted on being an equal partner even though it had taken them a little longer to start it because she’d had to secure her own funding. She prided herself on being independent, though.
Matteo finally moved away from the door then, walking slowly toward where she stood in the middle of the living room part of the suite. “Then what do you want?” he asked her.
He stopped, a little more than a foot from her, and stared down at her. As tall as she was, Blair wasn’t used to having to look up to anyone, especially when she wore heels like the stilettos she was dying to step out of after dancing in them. But he held all of her attention right now, his dark gaze intent on her face. Desire, like burning embers, glowed in his chocolate-brown eyes, and a muscle twitched along his tightly clenched jaw.
He was controlling himself, but it was clear that he wanted her as badly as she wanted him. Maybe more.
No. Nobody could want anyone more than she wanted him right now. It had been too damn long for her. She doubted he could say the same. And she didn’t care. She didn’t care about his past or hers. She didn’t care about the future, either, because she knew they wouldn’t have one. Their lifestyles were much too different.
She cared only about the present and enjoying him as much as she knew she would. “You,” she replied, her voice all breathy with the desire burning her up inside. “I want you.”
He stepped closer then, but so that their bodies just brushed against each other’s, like they had on the crowded dance floor. Then he lowered his head, and finally he kissed her. But only his lips touched her, sliding over her mouth, nibbling at her lips. He kissed her on and on until Blair’s knees began to tremble.
She wanted to blame those damn heels and all the dancing she’d done in them. But she knew it was him. He’d made her weak in the knees in a way she hadn’t been since probably her very first kiss.
And he kept just kissing her, only kissing her...
A low groan was torn from his throat. It was killing him as much as it was killing her, the tension that had built between them the entire evening.
A kiss had never turned her on as much as his did. Her nipples tightened and pressed against the fabric of her dress. She wanted to tear it from her body, wanted to tear the last of the tuxedo from his. But his kiss...
She was unable to break the contact with his mouth. She tasted on his lips the sweet cream and bitter coffee from the tiramisu and the bite of the grappa they’d had in shot glasses at the nightclub. She wanted more than just a taste, so she dipped her tongue between the seam of his lips.
He groaned, and as if his control snapped, he finally touched her with his hands, his palms sliding over her shoulders to her back.
She waited for the rasp of her zipper, but he didn’t touch the tab. Just her...gliding his hands up and down her back to the curve of her hips.
She arched against him, rubbing her breasts against his chest where his heart pounded the same quick tempo as hers. She also rubbed her hips against his straining erection.
He groaned against her lips and murmured, “You Americans are always in such a hurry. Slow down...” His mouth slid across hers, slid down her cheek to the curve of her jaw and then her neck. His thick curly hair tickled her skin.
She wanted him so badly, her body trembled with desire. She reached out for the buttons on his shirt, sliding the studs through the holes to bare his chest. Thick hair covered heavy muscles. For a billionaire, he was incredibly fit; he must have a personal trainer.
Hell, he probably had a private plane as well. Which was good; their paths were unlikely to ever cross again. And she could be as free and wild sexually with him as she wanted without worrying about the embarrassment of having to see him again.
She pushed the shirt from his shoulders and reached for his belt.
His hands caught hers, holding them still. “Slow down,” he murmured again. “I want to enjoy you.”
She laughed. “That’s what I want to do with you.” Just this once...with a man her very best friend had guaranteed was safe.
“Ladies first,” he admonished her.
She tugged her wrists free of his and reached for him again, but before she could touch him, he scooped her up, tossed her over his shoulder and carried her through the living area into the bedroom. A giggle slipped out and then a soft howl of protest. “No, you said ladies first.”
“To be enjoyed,” he told her. “I’ve been wanting all night to see you naked, to touch you, to taste you...”
“Ditto,” she said, “so you should do the gentlemanly thing and let me go first.”
“I want you to come first,” he agreed as he flopped her onto a very soft mattress covered in very silky sheets. “Over and over again I want you to come.”
She wanted that, too. So damn much. She’d been so focused on the business that she hadn’t had more than a quick, mechanical release in a very long time.
A moan slipped out of her lips, and she shifted against the silky sheets as tension wound inside her. She needed to release that tension so badly.
He reached down and pressed a finger across her lips. “Shh,” he murmured. “Not yet... I haven’t done anything to earn those moans.”
“Then earn them,” she challenged him, giving herself over to pleasure.
He replaced his fingers with his lips, kissing her softly before deepening the kiss—before sliding his tongue into her mouth. He made love to her mouth like she wanted him to make love to her body.
She sucked his tongue deeper and nipped it lightly with her teeth. He groaned. And she pulled back to tease, “I haven’t done anything to earn that yet.”
“You are,” he murmured. “You are...”
She tried pulling him down from where he knelt on the edge of the bed, tried pulling him on top of her. But although she was strong, he was stronger. Excitement rippled through her that he might actual
ly match her—in passion and power.
“But you’re not going to rush me,” he warned her. “I want to savor you like we savored that meal. I want to taste you everywhere.”
He leaned over again but his mouth missed hers, trailing across her cheek instead and along her jaw to her throat. His tongue flicked over her pulse, which pounded madly for him. Then he moved lower, his soft hair brushing across her skin as his mouth left kisses over her breasts, which swelled over the top of her dress. He pushed down one of the spaghetti straps and then the other, exposing her strapless bra. Then, reaching beneath her, he easily released the bra, freeing her breasts.
A groan slipped out of his lips again.
“I didn’t do anything,” she said. She couldn’t, not with the straps of the dress pinning her arms to her sides. If she wanted to, though, she was strong enough to tear those straps. But she wasn’t afraid of being restrained; she was excited. Everything about Matteo Rinaldi excited her.
“You are,” he said, his voice gruff with passion. “That is all you need to do.” He touched her breasts as if tracing them, his fingers sliding over the curve of each mound before flicking across the nipples. “Just be,” he continued, “so damn beautiful and sexy and responsive.”
He settled onto his side on the bed next to her and leaned over, flicking his tongue across one taut nipple. She arched up, pushing her breast against his mouth. He took the tip of it between his lips, sucking on it.
A moan slipped out as pleasure streaked from her breast to her very core. Heat flared as her clit began to pulsate with need. “You’re driving me crazy,” she warned him. She shifted against the bed until the dress slid farther down her body and she was able to pull her arms free of the straps. Then she reached for him, pushing the open shirt from his broad shoulders. “I want you.”
She ran her hands down his chest, over his rippling abs, to the clasp of the belt holding up his tuxedo pants. But he jerked back before she could undo his belt.
“Not yet,” he said. “I need to taste you.”
He skimmed the dress over her hips, pulling down her panties with it—leaving her bare to his voracious gaze. He stared at her mound.