The Billionaire's Daddy Test

by Charlene Sands

She did know that much. They’d shared a meal together. “Well, since the sauce needs simmering for an hour or two, maybe we’ll have our wine after we get the sauce going.”

  “Sounds like a plan. What should I do?”

  She scanned his pristine clothing. “For one, take your shirt off.”

  A smile twitched at his lips. “Okay.”

  He reached for the top button on his shirt. After unfastening it, he unbuttoned the next and the next. Mia’s throat went dry as his shirt gaped open, exposing a finely bronzed column of skin. She hadn’t forgotten what he looked like without a shirt. Just three days ago he’d strode out of the sea, soaking wet, taking confident strides to come to her aid.

  “Why am I doing this?” he asked finally. He was down to the fourth button.

  Her gaze dipped again and she stared at his chest. “Because, uh, the sauce splatters sometimes. I wouldn’t want you to ruin your nice shirt.”

  “And why aren’t you doing the same? Taking off that beautiful dress?”

  Her breath hitched. He was flirting, in a dangerous way. “Because,” she said, digging into her bag and grabbing her protection. “I brought an apron.”

  She snapped her wrist and the apron unfolded. It was an over-the-head, tie-at-the-waist apron with tiny flowers that didn’t clash with her coral dress. She put it on and tied the straps behind her back. “There. Why don’t you change into a T-shirt or something?”

  He nodded. “I’ll be right back.”

  By the time Adam returned, she had all the ingredients in place. He wore a dark T-shirt now, with white lettering that spelled out Catalina Island. “Better?”

  The muscles in his arms nearly popped out of the shirt. “Uh-huh.”

  “What now?” he asked.

  “Would you mind cutting up the onions, celery and garlic?”

  “Sure.”

  He grabbed a knife from a drawer and began with the onions. While he was chopping away, she slivered pieces of pork and pancetta. “I’ll need a frying pan,” she said. Her gaze flew to the dozens of drawers and cabinets lining the walls. She’d gotten lucky; the chopping blocks and knives were on the countertop.

  “Here, let me.” Adam reached for a wide cabinet in front of her and grazed the tops of her thighs with his forearm as he opened the lower door. She froze for a second as a hot flurry swept through her lower parts. It was an accidental touch, but oh how her body had reacted. His fingertips simply touched the drawer loaded with shiny pots and pans and it slid open automatically. “There you go.”

  She stood, astonished. “I’ve never seen anything like that. You have a bat cave kitchen, too.”

  “It’s automated, that’s all. No pulling or yanking required.”

  “I think I’m in heaven.” How wistful she sounded, her voice breathy.

  Adam stood close, gazing at her in that way he had, as if trying to figure her out. His eyes were pure silver gray and a smidgen of blue surrounded the rims. They reminded her of a calm sea after a storm. “I think I am, too.”

  She blinked. His words fell from his lips sincerely, not so much heady flirtation but as if he’d been surprised, pleasantly. Her focus was sidetracked by compelling eyes, ego-lifting words and a hard swimmer’s body. Stop it, Mia. Concentrate. Think about Rose. And why you are here.

  She turned from him and both resumed their work. After a minute, she tossed the veggies into the fry pan, adding olive oil to the mix. The pan sizzled. “So, did you help your mother cook when you were a boy?” she asked.

  Grandma Tess always said you could judge a man by the way he treated his mother.

  “Nah, my mom would toss us boys out of the kitchen. Only Lily was— Never mind.”

  She turned away from the clarifying onions and steaming veggies to glance at his profile. A tic worked at his jaw, his face pinched. “Lily?”

  “My sister. She’s gone now. But to answer your question, no, I didn’t help with meals much.”

  He’d had a sister, and now she was gone? Oh, she could relate to that. Her poor sweet Anna was also gone. He didn’t want to talk about his sister. No great surprise. She’d already learned that Adam didn’t like to talk about himself. “Do you have brothers?”

  “One.”

  He didn’t say more. It was like the proverbial pulling teeth to get answers from him.

  She added the pork to the mix and stirred. “Did you grow up around here?” she asked matter-of-factly.

  “No, did you?”

  “I grew up not far from here. In the OC.” She didn’t like thinking about those times and how her family had been run out of town, thanks to her father. She, her mama and sister had had to leave their friends, their home and the only life they’d ever known because of James Burkel. Mia had cried for days. It wasn’t fair, she kept screaming at her mother. But it hadn’t been her mother’s fault. Her mother had been a victim, too, and the scandal of her father’s creation had besmirched the family name. The worst of it was that an innocent young girl had lost her life. “Here, stir this for me,” she said to Adam, “if you wouldn’t mind. We’re caramelizing the meat and veggies now and don’t want them to burn. I’ll get the sauce.”

  “Sure.” He grabbed the wooden spoon from her hands and stood like stone, his face tightly wound as he concentrated on stirring. She was sorry she’d made him uncomfortable with her questions. But they had to be asked.

  “Okay, in goes the sauce. Stand back a little.”

  He turned her way. “What’s that?”

  She gripped a tube of tomato paste in her hand and squeezed. Red paste swirled out. “Tuscan toothpaste.”

  He laughed, surprised. “What?”

  “That’s what we call it. It’s concentrated sauce. Very flavorful. Take a taste.”

  She sunk her spoon into the sauce and then brought it to his mouth. His lips parted, his head bent and his eyes stayed on hers as she gave him a taste. “Might be a little hot.”

  He swallowed, nodding his head. “It’s so good.”

  “I know. Yummy.”

  His eyes twinkled. There was a moment of mischief, of teasing, and his smile quickened her heart. “Yummy,” he repeated.

  The staunch set of his jaw relaxed and she stared at his carefree expression. She liked the unguarded Adam best.

  After tossing in the herbs and the rest of the ingredients, she set the pan to simmer and they left the kitchen for the open-air veranda. “I don’t usually come out here,” Adam said, pulling out a chair for her. “But I thought you might like it.”

  The sun was dipping, casting a shimmering glow on the water. Hues of grape and sherbet tangled through the sky. It was glorious. There was nothing better than a beachside view of the horizon at this time of day. “Why not, Adam? If I lived here, I’d spend every night watching the sunset.”

  “It’s...” His face pinched tight again, and she couldn’t figure out if it was pain or regret that kept him from saying more. Maybe it was both? “Never mind.”

  Lonely. Was that what he was going to say? Was this intelligent, wealthy, physically perfect specimen of man actually lonely?

  “Would you like a glass of wine?”

  “Yes,” she answered.

  “Cabernet goes well with Italian.”

  “It does.”

  He poured her a glass, and she waited for him before taking her first sip.

  “Mmm. This is delicious.”

  The veranda spread out over the sand in a decking made entirely of white stone. A circular area designated the fire pit and off to the side, a large in-ground spa swirled with invigorating waters. She’d been here before, sat close to this very spot, but she’d been too immersed in her mission to really take note of the glorious surroundings. Sheer draperies billowed behind them.

  “I’m glad you like it.”

  What was not to like? If only she could forget who Adam Chase really was.

  They sipped wine and enjoyed the calm of the evening settling in. A few scattered beachgoers would appear, walking the s
ands in the distance, but other than that, they were completely alone.

  “Why did you leave Orange County? For college?” he asked.

  “No, it was before that.” The wine was fruity and smooth and loosened her tongue, but she couldn’t tell Adam the reason her mother had picked up and left their family home. She’d been careful not to share the closest things about herself to Adam, in case Anna had divulged some of their history to him. While Anna had kept the last name Burkel, Mia had legally changed her name to her mother’s maiden name, D’Angelo, as an adult. Mia was dark haired with green eyes, while her sister had been lighter in complexion and bottle blonde. She wondered if Adam would even remember much about Anna. It had been a one-night fling, and a big mistake, according to Anna. “After my mother and father got divorced, we came to live with my grandmother.”

  It was close to the truth.

  “I see. Where did you go to school?”

  “I graduated from Santa Monica High and put myself through community college. I bet you have multiple degrees.”

  “A few,” he admitted and then sipped his drink. His gaze turned to the sea.

  “You’re very talented. I’m curious. Why did you decide to become an architect?”

  He shrugged, deep in thought. Oh no, not another evasive answer coming on. Was he trying to figure out a way out of her question? “I guess I wanted to build something tangible, something that wouldn’t blow over in the wind.”

  “Like the three little pigs. You’re the smart pig, building the house made of bricks.”

  His lips twitched again and he lifted his glass to his mouth. “You do have a way of putting things. I’ve never been compared to a pig before.” He sipped his drink.

  “A smart pig, don’t forget that. You build structures that are sturdy as well as beautiful.”

  He nodded. “Foundation comes first. Then I layer in the beauty.”

  She smiled. “I like that.”

  He reached for her hand. “And I like you, Mia.” The hand covering hers was strong and gentle.

  His eyes were warm, darkening to slate gray and as liquid as the sensations sprinting through her body right now. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This intense, hard-to-ignore feeling she got in the pit of her belly. She couldn’t be attracted to him. It was impossible and would ruin everything.

  She slipped her hand from his and rose from her seat. “I think I’d better check on the meal.”

  His chair scraped back as he stood. Always the gentleman. “Of course.”

  She scurried off, mentally kicking herself. An image of Adam’s disappointed face followed her into the kitchen.

  Three

  “Damn it.” Adam squeezed his eyes shut. He’d almost blown it with Mia. She was skittish, and he couldn’t blame her. She didn’t know him. It had been his MO not to let people in, and he’d done a good job of avoiding her questions tonight. He’d lost the fine art of conversation years ago, if he’d ever had it. If only he wasn’t so darn smitten with her. Smitten? Now that was a corny word. Hell, he was attracted to her, big-time. She was a breath of fresh air in his stale life.

  He entered the kitchen holding two wineglasses he’d refilled and found her by the oven, wearing her little blue apron again. His throat tightened at the domestic scene. How long had it been since a woman cooked him a meal? Well, aside from Mary. A long, he couldn’t remember how long, time. “Me again.” He set down her wineglass. “What can I do?”

  “How are you at making a salad?”

  “I can manage that.”

  She stirred the sauce as he opened the refrigerator and grabbed a big wooden bowl covered with plastic wrap. He set it in front of her.

  “How’s this?”

  “Looks beautiful.” She smirked. “You work fast.”

  “Thank Mary. She anticipates everything.” He opened a drawer and revealed a loaf of fresh crusty Italian bread. “Yep, even bread.”

  Mia smiled. “Thank you, Mary. The sauce is almost ready. I brought homemade tagliatelle. But I can’t take credit for making it. There’s no way I could duplicate my gram’s recipe. She’s the expert. She made it.”

  Several sheets of thin pasta were laid out on a chopping block. Mia rolled a sheet all the way up until it was one rather long log and then she cut inch wide strips and then narrower strips all the way down the line. “Tagliatelle doesn’t have to be perfect. That’s the beauty in the recipe. Once you’ve made the pasta, cutting it is a breeze.” She unrolled two at different lengths and widths and showed it to him. “See?”

  She added a sprinkling of salt to a boiling pot. “Here you go. Want to put these in as I cut?”

  “I think you can double as a chef, Mia D’Angelo.” They worked together, her cutting, him adding the pasta to the bubbling water.

  “That’s nice of you to say. But judge me in two minutes, when it’s done.”

  “If it tastes anything like it smells...” The scent of garlic and herbs and the meaty sauce spiked his appetite. The homey aroma brought good memories of sitting down to a meal with his mom and dad, brother and sister. “It’ll be delicious.”

  “I hope so.”

  He helped Mia serve up the dish, and they sat down outside again. It was dark now; the moonlight over the ocean illuminated the sky. Mary had placed domed votive candles on the table, and he lit them. He couldn’t remember having a more relaxed evening. Mia didn’t seem to want anything from him. She was the real deal, a woman he wouldn’t have even met, if she hadn’t injured herself practically on his doorstep. She was curious, but she wasn’t overbearing. He liked that she made him laugh.

  Steam billowed from the pasta on his plate and he hunkered down and forked it into his mouth before his stomach started grumbling. The Bolognese sauce was the best he’d ever tasted, and the pasta was so tender, it slid down his throat. The dish was sweet and savory at the same time, just the right amount of...everything. “Wow,” he said. “It’s pretty damn good.”

  She grinned. “Good? Your plate is almost empty.”

  “All right. It’s fantastic. I’m going in for second helpings. If that’s okay with you?”

  “If you didn’t, I’d be insulted.” She ladled another portion of pasta onto his plate and grated parmesan cheese in a snowy mound over it. “There—that should keep you happy for a while.”

  “I’ll have to double my swim time tomorrow.”

  “How long are you out there usually?”

  “I go about three miles.”

  “Every day?”

  He nodded. “Every day that I’m home.”

  She swirled pasta around her fork. “Do you travel much?”

  “Only when I have to. I’m doing a big job right now on the coast of Spain. It might require some traveling soon.”

  “I’d love to travel more. I rarely get out of California. Well, there was this one trip to Cabo San Lucas when I graduated high school. And my father’s family was from West Virginia. I spent a few weeks there one summer. But oh, your life sounds so exciting.”

  It wasn’t. He didn’t enjoy traveling. He liked the work, though, and it was necessary to travel at times. Adam pictured Mia on the southern coast of Spain with him, keeping him company, lounging in a villa and waiting for him to return home from work. He saw it all so clearly in his mind that he missed her last comment. He blinked when he realized he’d been rude. “I’m sorry—what did you say?”

  “Oh, just that I’ve always wanted to see Italy. It’s a dream of mine, to see where my mother’s family was from. That’s all.”

  He nodded. Many people would love to trace their roots, but if Adam never entered the state of Oklahoma again, he wouldn’t miss it. Not in the least. After Lily died, their family had never been the same. Some nights he woke up in a sweat, dreaming about the natural disaster that had claimed his sister’s life. “I can understand that. Italy is a beautiful country.”

  “Have you been there?”

  “Once, yes.”

  She took a long sip of wi
ne. His gaze was riveted to her delicate throat and the way she took soft swallows. He didn’t want the evening to end. If he had his choice, she’d be staying the night, but that would have to wait. Mia couldn’t be rushed, and he wasn’t one to push a woman into something she wasn’t ready for. “After dessert, would you like to take a walk on the beach? I promise I’ll bring a flashlight, and we’ll be careful.”

  Mia turned her wrist and glanced at the sparkly silver bracelet watch on her arm. “I would love to, but it’s getting late. Maybe just dessert this time. But I’ll take a rain check on that walk.”

  Late? It was a little after ten. “You got it. Another time then.”

  They brought the dishes inside and Adam pulled out a strawberry pie from the refrigerator. “Mary brought this over this morning. That woman is a saint. I gave her the day off, yet she still came over with this pie.”

  Fresh whipped cream and split strawberries circled the top of the pie.

  Mia took a look. “Wow, it’s beautiful. Mary reminds me of my gram. Eating is a priority. And she makes enough food for an army. You’ll never go hungry if my gram is around.”

  “I think I like her already.” Adam grabbed a cake knife from the block.

  “You would. She’s the best.”

  Adam made the first cut, slicing up a large wedge of pie. “Whoa,” Mia said, moving close to him. “I hope that piece is for you.”

  Her hand slid over his as she helped guide the knife down to cut another thinner wedge. Instant jolts hit him in the gut. Mia touching him, the softness of her flesh on his. She’d gotten under his skin so fast, so easily. Her scent, something light, flowery and erotic, swam in his head, and he couldn’t let her go.

  “Mia,” he said. Turning to her, the back side of his hand brushed a few strands of hair off her face. Her eyes lifted, jade pools glowing up at him. They both dropped the knife, and he entwined their fingers, tugging her closer until her breasts crushed against his chest. “Mia,” he said again, brushing his mouth to her hair, her forehead and then down to her mouth. His lips trembled there, waiting for invitation.

  “Kiss me, Adam,” she whispered.

  His mouth claimed hers then, tenderly, a testing and tasting of lips. Oh God, she was soft and supple and so damn tempting. He was holding back, not to frighten her, holding back to give her time to get used to him. Every nerve in his body tingled.