Light exploded around them. Lilly looked up to see a half-dozen cameras pointed at them. Oh, my God. How could this be happening?
“Guys,” she pleaded, pulling on Riccardo’s arm. “Stop.”
Her husband dropped his hand away but stayed toe to toe with Harry. “You come near my wife again and I will take you apart piece by piece.”
Harry lifted his chin. “You don’t scare me, De Campo. You—”
“Harry!” Lilly had the hysterical thought that if he’d acted more like this—more manly, more aggressive—he might have done it for her. She took a deep breath and gave both men a level look. “We are leaving. Goodnight, Harry.”
* * *
Riccardo drove home like he was on a racecourse instead of in the middle of Manhattan, and was shocked when no police officer appeared to pull him over. Lilly was out of the car and flouncing up the walkway before he came to a complete stop in their driveway, but she’d forgotten he was the only one with keys and had to cool her heels while he parked and strolled leisurely up to the door. She stood back while he inserted his key and pushed it open, then swept by him, her head held high, fury in her hazel eyes. Her heels clicked on the hardwood floor as she charged upstairs without another word.
His own safety valve about to blow, he walked into his study and poured himself a Scotch. “I don’t think Riccardo is the right guy for you...” Taylor’s smug pronouncement: “I’m always here if you need me.” His blood burned in his veins, snaking through him like a river of fire. Taylor was there in the wings, waiting for her. Waiting for him to screw up. And what had he done to deserve it?
He took a swig of Scotch and stifled the urge to go back there and finish Taylor off. He was the only man Lilly was ever going to run to. He knew it and she knew it.
It was time he proved it to her.
He downed the Scotch in two gulps, slammed the glass down on the sideboard and took the stairs to their bedroom two at a time. When he arrived in the doorway Lilly was standing in front of the closet, her shoes in her hands. He sucked in a breath. She had taken her dress off and stood there in a very sexy, very skimpy lacy white panties and bra.
Desire slammed into him, hot and hard.
Lilly flicked her gaze over him, her cat eyes wary and defiant. “Get out.”
He shook his head and leaned back against the door frame. “I don’t think so.”
Her eyes grew larger—big, bottomless pools of amber and green he could lose himself in. Her spine stiffened as she turned fully to face him. She was afraid of him, and with a savage inner growl he acknowledged that he didn’t care.
He moved toward her, his steps slow and purposeful. “I warned you not to talk to him.”
She planted her hands on her hips. “I fell off that runway because you insisted I model that dress. Harry just wanted to see if I was okay.”
His mouth twisted. “He wanted to remind you he’s still around.”
“Good thing he was, or who would have caught me?”
She knew her mistake the minute he stepped in to trap her against the door. “You think I’m never there for you, Lilly? Well, here I am.”
He could hear her agitated breathing, see the confusion and fire that swirled in her eyes. “Go to hell,” she blazed, her shoulders pressing back into the door.
“I’d rather go down on you,” he murmured, sliding the back of his hand over her rosy cheek. “I know how sweet you taste, tesoro. How much you love it when I— Ah—” He caught the hand she swung at him and twisted it behind her back. “Don’t do that.”
She bit out a curse and fought against his hold, but he held her firm. “Dammit, Riccardo, let me go.”
He dropped her hand and stepped in closer, until his body was pushed up against hers. “Time to talk in the only way we know how.”
She squirmed against him as he imprinted her with his brand of honesty—the hard, throbbing truth of his lust, which was quickly sending him over the edge. But she wasn’t being very convincing and he could hear how her breathing had quickened.
“Give it up, Lilly,” he murmured, lowering his mouth to hers. “We both know how this is going to end.”
She said something against his lips and he replied with a hard, bruising kiss that was about control, not pleasure. She’d always liked it when he dominated, and he knew that hadn’t changed.
She pressed her lips mutinously shut as he slid his tongue against the crease and demanded entry. Smiling at that, he trailed his hand down over the newly voluptuous curves of her breasts, over the nipple that jutted through the lacy material that covered her, and rolled the hard nub between his fingers. She made a sound low in her throat and twisted against him, but it wasn’t the movement of a woman who wanted to go anywhere. Her eyes were closed and her lips had softened, and when he swept his thumb over the hard tip and made it come to full erectness she sagged against him.
Melted into him.
He buried his hands in the thick swath of hair at the nape of her neck. Then he kissed her again, and this time she opened for him and let him take the kiss deeper, into an achingly intimate caress that told her exactly what he wanted to do to her with his tongue and with his body.
The broken sound that came from her throat told him the battle had been won.
“Basta,” he murmured. “Enough denying ourselves what we both want.”
Lilly pressed her hands back against the door as he ran his palm down the trembling flatness of her stomach. “Ric—”
He slid his hand underneath the silk that covered her and his fingers delved into the hot cleft between her thighs. She gasped and arched against his hand. A primal surge of heat flashed through him. She was wet—oh, so wet for him—and he nearly lost it right there. But he savagely yanked back his control and stilled his fingers to growl, “Tell me you love it when I touch you, tesoro.”
She nodded, but kept her eyes shut.
“Say it.”
“Dammit, yes. Please—”
“And I’m the only man who’s ever going to touch you like this?”
She moaned her assent. Satisfied, he slid his fingers against the warm silk of her and indulged his craving to touch her in every way possible.
Her sudden intake of breath and her hands against his chest took him off guard.
“Get your hands off me.”
He drew back. “Lil—”
“That’s what this is about, isn’t it?” Her voice rose in furious accusation. “Control. You being the only one to ever have me. Me doing what you want.”
He frowned. “You were as into that as I was.”
“I was being stupid. Stupid. How could I forget what this is all about? You—always you, Riccardo.” She pushed her hair out of her face. “Claiming what’s yours.”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
Her eyes glittered. “No, I’ve finally got my head back. Lord forbid I forget to keep my eye on the prize. You certainly haven’t.”
He shook his head. “What are you talking about?”
“I am not something to be conquered,” she said thickly. “I am your wife. You just can’t understand that.”
“Lilly—”
“Get out.” Her face was a blotchy patchwork of red. “Get out or I will walk out of here and never come back, deal or no deal.”
Deciding there was no reasoning with her while she was in this state, he turned on his heel and left, hearing the door slam behind him.
He took a cold shower in the guest bedroom, letting the freezing water pound down on his shoulders. Was he demented for even attempting this plan of his? To want to make Lilly pay for everything she’d done to him? The humiliation she’d caused him? Because he wasn’t sure who was winning—her or him.
CHAPTER SIX
“THIS IS YOUR idea of convincin
g the board you’re the man to lead De Campo?”
Gabe shoved a folded newspaper under Riccardo’s nose.
He sat back in his office chair and glanced at the tabloid. It was the same one Lilly had waved in his face this morning on her way to work. Having the juiciest of all the coverage of the charity event, it sported the headline “Trouble in Paradise—Already?”, which was set over a montage of three photos of him and Lilly laid out in timeline fashion.
The first was of him kissing her on the dance floor. He studied it critically. They looked very much in love, despite the fact they hadn’t talked in days. The second was of Lilly falling off the runway into Taylor’s arms. His mouth tightened. That he’d like to forget. The third was a shot of himself restraining the surgeon after he’d thrown that punch.
All in all, fairly damaging.
“What can I say?” He shrugged. “It’s a slow news day.”
Gabe lifted a brow at him. “What the hell happened? Fisticuffs aren’t usually your style—although lately I have to say you’re doing a pretty good job of it.”
Riccardo spread his fingers in an expressive gesture. “He threw a punch.”
Gabe sat on the edge of his desk. “Why?”
“He cornered Lilly and made it clear he was going to be around to pick up the pieces when I broke her heart. I took offense at that.”
His brother let out a low whistle. “I’m surprised you didn’t slug him.”
“That would have been giving the board far too much ammunition.”
“And Lilly falling off the runway?”
“The designer forgot to do up her shoe.”
“You’re kidding?”
He crumpled up the paper and tossed it freethrow-style into the garbage can he kept across the room for exactly that purpose. “She was a trooper. She got right back up there and did it again.”
“That’s Lilly.” His brother grinned. “She has spirito.”
Until the end. When she’d become a shadow of her former self. When she’d had that same look on her face she’d had before going up on that stage every night before they’d gone out. As if she’d been dreading it.
A wave of remorse settled over him. He’d been the son-of-a-bitch who’d made her go up there. And, even though he had no idea what had set her off, it had been wrong to do it.
Dio. He picked up his coffee and glowered into it. Lilly had used to be comfortable in the center of it all. They’d been nicknamed the Golden Couple for their ability to work a room.
So what had changed?
She had accused him of never being there for her. The symbolic act of Taylor rescuing her and not him had been a brutal shot to his ego. Not just because he’d been five feet away and Taylor had sprung out of his seat like Sir Galahad on a white steed. But because it had once again reinforced the fact that she’d left him. That he wasn’t the one she wanted. The fact that he had no clue who she really was.
His hand tightened around the coffee cup, red-hot anger slicing through him. It was time he and Lilly had a long conversation about a lot of things—not the least of which was what had really happened to her during those last few months of their marriage. Why she’d frozen him out. Become a ghost of who she’d been. It had to be about more than Chelsea. And he was sure that last night held the key to at least some of it.
Gabe glanced at his watch. “You ready?”
Riccardo nodded.
The cold war between him and Lilly couldn’t go on forever. Not with this battle with the board and his father ahead of him. Not when he was intent on claiming what was rightfully his. Both at home and in the boardroom.
There was a knock on the door. He got to his feet as Paige, his PA, came in.
“The meeting’s about to start.”
He nodded and slipped on his jacket. It was possibly the most important meeting of his life, in which he was to lay out his plans for De Campo’s future to the board, and here he was obsessing over his wife. His mouth twisted. Lilly would find that bitterly amusing, he was sure.
He picked up his laptop and followed Gabe out of the room.
“Ah...Riccardo?” Paige lifted a brow at him as he walked past her.
“Mmm?”
“Want the blueprints?”
The blueprints of their new restaurant in SoHo. The centerpiece of his presentation. He grimaced and took them from her. “What would I do without you?”
* * *
Antonio had the same salacious tabloid Riccardo had now seen twice this morning tucked in front of him when they walked into the room. Riccardo swept his gaze around the table. So did Phil Bedford and Chase Kenyon. Hell. Was his life a walking soap opera?
“Smoothing the way, I see,” his father murmured as he took his place beside him. “Did you know Phil Bedford plays golf with Harry Taylor?”
Riccardo deposited his laptop on the table with slightly more force than was necessary, picked up his father’s paper and waved it in the air. “Looks like most of you have seen the paper this morning?”
Matty’s mouth dropped open. Gabe looked fascinated. All the other extremely senior heads of their corporations sat there silently and stared at him. He shifted his gaze to Phil Bedford, the portly CEO of a consumer packaged goods company pushing fifty.
“Harry Taylor wants to date my wife. I don’t consider that a valid proposition since she is still my wife. So I acted on it.” He threw the paper down on the table like the trash it was and eyed the room. “If anyone would like to crucify me with this please do so now, so we can get on with business.”
Phil Bedford stared down at his coffee. Chase Kenyon doodled on his notepad.
“Fine.” Riccardo looked at Antonio. “All yours.”
He could have sworn his father was holding back laughter as he got to his feet and opened the meeting. Antonio gave a holistic presentation on how the De Campo Group was performing worldwide, every bit the elegant global wine baron as he talked through the slides in his thick accent, then turned the meeting over to Riccardo for an update on the restaurant business.
Riccardo opened with an overview of the division’s strong growth prospects, then ran through a presentation on the new jewel in the De Campo restaurant crown—Zambia, the SoHo restaurant set to open in six months. He saw the lights go on in the board members’ eyes as he spoke of the twelve percent overall profit increase the restaurant division would bring in, and knew he’d driven home his message of where the future was for De Campo.
He sat down, his jaw clenched with satisfaction. He had nailed it.
Gabe stood to give an update on the California operations. Another board member gave a presentation on how lessons learned from the packaged goods industry could be applied to wine. Then they broke for lunch.
Antonio followed him into his office. “Buon lavoro, figlio.”
Good job, son.
Caught off-guard by the compliment, he warily inclined his head. “Grazie.”
“You keep this up and I might just throw my weight behind you.”
He froze. The son-of-a-bitch. Even after the results he’d just presented Antonio was still stringing him along.
He dragged in a breath and let it out slowly. “I will be single-handedly responsible for that twelve percent profit you just gloated over. You start putting recognition where it’s due or so, help me God, I will leave this company and not look back.”
His father set his chin at that haughty angle he favored. “A De Campo would never utter those words.”
“This one just did.” Riccardo jammed his hands in his pockets and paced to the window. “Just out of curiosity, how long do you intend to make me pay?”
Antonio narrowed his gaze on him. “Is that what you think I’m doing?”
“I know that’s what you’re doing.”
“Mayb
e I think Gabe would do a better job.”
He stiffened, white-hot rage slicing through him. “We are not Cain and Abel, with you playing God, Antonio. I will not compete with my brother. Make a decision, but do not try and drive a wedge between us. Neither of us will tolerate it.”
His father shrugged his broad shoulders. “Some think Gabe has the true love for this business. He’s aggressive, with just the right amount of conservatism.”
“Then why didn’t you choose him to run the company while you were ill? You had the opportunity.”
Antonio met his combative stare with one of his own. “Because, despite the fact that you dishonored this family by choosing a racing career over your heritage, you have the heart of a lion, Riccardo. You have the vision to take this company where it needs to go.”
“So does Gabe.”
His father shook his head. “Not like you. You have the ability to be brutal. To make the decisions no one else wants to make.”
“Then do it,” Riccardo gritted out. “Because I’m not waiting much longer. I’ve sacrificed too much.”
Antonio pointed a beefy finger at him. “How long have I been waiting to hear you say that?”
Riccardo frowned. “What?”
“Sacrifice. You view De Campo as a sacrifice. As an impediment to your personal freedom. Not as the majestic birthright that’s been handed to you.”
“I love this company. I have killed myself for this company. I do not view it as a sacrifice. But I have sacrificed for it.” He trained his gaze on his father. “As you did.”
“Prove it.” His father flicked his hand in the air in a dismissive motion. “I’m retiring in three months. The job is yours to lose.”
* * *
“You might just kill me one of these days.”
The big, burly football player wiped the sweat from his face and stepped off the treadmill. Lilly smiled and made a note of the time in her chart. What would normally have been a walk-in-the-park run for Trent Goodman had been a one-mile endurance test on a knee that had a whole lot of healing ahead before he stepped back on a football field.
The Divorce Party Page 8