by Dani Wade
The attraction was too fierce.
He settled his hand on the swing door into the kitchen and entered just in time to see Blair exiting at the far end of the room. Draco’s strides ate up the distance between them and he burst through the back entrance just as Blair loaded a case into the back of the barely roadworthy vehicle in front of her.
“Blair.”
“I’ve said all I have to say, Draco,” she sighed, as she unlocked the driver’s door and slid in behind the wheel.
Draco stopped her as she tried to swing her door shut.
“Ah yes, but you haven’t listened yet to what I have to say.”
“To be frank, I’m really not interested in what you have to say.”
She tried to wrestle the door closed, and gave up with an angry huff of air when that proved impossible. She crossed her arms defensively over her stomach and stared fixedly out the windshield.
“What’s the matter, Draco, can’t you tolerate someone turning you down? Granted, I’m sure it probably hasn’t happened often in your lifetime, but surely you can get used to it just this once,” she snapped.
He smiled in response to her rancor. She sounded like a spitting kitten all in a temper.
“I just want to talk. You left so suddenly. We never had a chance to say good-bye properly.”
Draco noticed that that elicited a response. Through the thin cotton of her blouse he saw the instant her nipples peaked against the sheer fabric of her bra. A bra he knew she wore more as a concession to her position at work than out of necessity. He loved her small, high breasts. Loved the way he could elicit a screaming response from her just by nipping ever so gently at their rose-pink tips. He’d never known a woman so sensitive in that area. Never enjoyed one as much as he had Blair. And he wanted to do it all again. And again.
Blair looked up, catching his gaze that was firmly riveted on her breasts.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake.” She reached forward to twist her keys in the ignition. “We’ve said all we have to say. Or at least I have. Like I said before, you were a holiday fling. Good in bed and good for my ego. But that’s it. What we had is finished. Now please, let go of my car door before I have to call security.”
“Now that’s where I disagree, delizia, we are far from finished. I will let you go now, but rest assured, Blair, I will see you again and we will finish this conversation properly.”
He stood back from the car and watched as she slammed the door shut without saying another word. She crashed the car into gear, and he winced at the ancient motor’s protest as she floored the accelerator and spun up a rooster tail of gravel from beneath her tires.
He watched as she drove away, a grim smile of satisfaction on his face, now that the registration details of her vehicle were firmly emblazoned in his mind. She might think she’d gotten away. But his reach far exceeded his grasp and he’d find her, and have her in his bed again. Soon.
Movement over by the car park caught his attention. His best friends—Brent Colby and Adam Palmer—stood by the Moto Guzzi bikes he’d arranged to have exported to New Zealand so they could enjoy a taste of their misspent youth whenever they managed to all be in the country at the same time. They’d come a long way from the teenage maniacs who’d spent the night of their graduation dinner demon riding on the back roads near their prestigious private school, but there was nothing that beat the sensation of mastering the power of the motorbike and flying along the road.
Brent was a self-made millionaire, and if Draco hadn’t already loved and respected him as much as he did, Brent would have earned that respect twice over when he’d made and then lost his fortune, only to rebuild it twenty times stronger than before. Brent’s cousin, Adam, came from different stock. New Zealand old money, which, although it didn’t go back as far as the Sandrelli bloodlines, could hardly be sneered at. The Palmer family was a mover and shaker in New Zealand industry, with interests spread far and wide across the globe.
Thinking about the Sandrelli bloodlines brought solemn awareness, settling like a dark cloak around his shoulders. The Sandrellis ended, or continued, with Draco, as his ailing father had pointed out to him on more than one recent occasion. The responsibility to his family history sat firmly and heavily on his shoulders alone. Which made prospects with Blair all the more interesting—if he could only get her to agree to see him again.
He jogged over to meet his friends. It was time to head back to Brent’s for drinks and a few hands of cards, and on the ride back to Auckland, Draco could formulate his plan.
Blair might think she’d gotten away from him, but all she’d done was entice him all the more. Let her think she had the upper hand for now, but he knew she was no more capable of resisting him than he was of walking away from her. A man didn’t get this lucky twice in his life and walk away.
The problem was, would he be able to bring his father his heart’s desire before it was too late? His last stroke had been mild, but the doctors had warned that he could suffer a debilitating or fatal stroke at any time.
Draco would just have to make certain he wasn’t too late. Sandrellis had dominated the countryside around the palazzo for centuries. And even though the mantle of succession had fallen by default onto his shoulders with the death of his brother ten years ago, he would not be the one who saw to their end. His union with Blair Carson would provide the grandchildren demanded by his parents—and if their incendiary attraction was anything to go by, it would be no hardship to do so.
Neither Brent nor Adam spoke as he came to a halt beside his motorbike, but the curiosity on their faces spoke volumes.
“Don’t even ask,” he warned as he reached for his glossy black helmet and jammed it onto his head, flipping the dark visor down over his face.
He’d tell them about Blair eventually. When he had her firmly where he wanted her.
Two
“He’s here again. That makes it seven nights in a row, sweetie.” Gustav, Blair’s blatantly gay headwaiter smiled and raised one brow as he brought the new order to the kitchen.
Blair’s knife slipped and clattered on the chopping board, narrowly missing her fingertip. She drew in a leveling breath. Draco had turned up to take a single table each night since the memorial service. He was later than usual tonight, and the anticipation of waiting and wondering whether he’d arrive, or whether he’d returned to Tuscany, had tied her stomach in knots. Her scattered attention, combined with one of her kitchen hands being off sick, had put them uncharacteristically behind schedule.
Certainly not the behavior of an award-winning chef in an award-winning restaurant. Blair dragged her recalcitrant thoughts together. There was only one objective that could take priority in her mind, and Draco Sandrelli was not that objective.
“What did he order?”
She mentally crossed her fingers and hoped it was something she could get out quickly. Anything that would see him leave again. Soon.
“The Scaloppine alla Boscaiola, with sautéed mixed vegetables. For a big guy he sure eats light, maybe he saves his appetite for other things,” Gustav responded with a slightly salacious wink before collecting an order from under the heat lamps and swinging back through the doors to the restaurant.
Blair allowed herself a brief sigh of relief. The mushroom with pork escalopes dish was simple and easy to prepare, the sautéed vegetables equally so. They were among the many dishes she’d learned to prepare during her culinary tour of Tuscany, the tour that had taken an unexpected detour from the markets and kitchens and into Draco’s bed.
As Blair warmed the olive oil in a heavy pan on the stove top she tried not to think about that detour. About the overwhelming pull of attraction she’d felt the instant her eyes had met his across the courtyard, as she’d stepped off the tour bus at Palazzo Sandrelli. Nor did she want to remember the near painful urge to belong in a place like the palazzo, with its generation-worn steps leading to the front entrance and its permanence and longevity.
She and her father
had lived a nomadic lifestyle after her mother had left them. Traveling from one city to another, usually following the tourist beat of traffic in holiday seasons, to find work. Carson’s had been the only thing in her life that had been a constant. It was her home, her base. And if she was to ensure its continued popularity she needed to pull her head out of the clouds and get to work, she reminded herself dourly as she added the pork slices to the pan and turned to attend to the sautéed vegetables.
It was only as she plated up the scaloppine that Blair allowed her thoughts to drift back to Draco. Each night he’d sent back compliments to the kitchen. Normally, she would have gone out into the restaurant to speak personally with her diners, but she was afraid to face him again. Afraid of her own feelings.
What if he persisted, as he’d begun to at the memorial service? What if he wanted more? Just knowing he was here under the same roof had her nerve endings singing, her skin feeling too tight for her body. Every sense within her was attuned to him, to the knowledge that, just through the swinging doors, he dined alone. And she knew he was just biding his time. Men like Draco liked to win. She’d had firsthand experience of that.
Yet still, for some strange reason she remained on tenterhooks for Draco’s opinion of his meal. Like it even mattered, she scorned herself, as she carried on through the motions of completing the finishing touches on the desserts heading out to the late table of six that had just arrived.
“Blair?”
Gustav had come back through to the kitchen, mischief written all over his features.
“Please don’t tell me a busload of tourists have arrived and they’re all demanding the Ossibuchi,” Blair countered, naming the dish that had sold out an hour ago.
“No, nothing so simple. It’s Mr. Handsome. He wants to speak to you personally.”
Blair’s heart stuttered in her chest. “And you’ve given him my apologies, haven’t you.”
“No, actually. I said you’d be right out.”
“Gustav!”
“Look, it’s eleven-thirty, the restaurant is nearly empty, bar the dessert and coffees on table ten. You know the kitchen is under control. There’s no reason why you can’t go and enjoy a port with him before we close up. Go on, live a little. It’s about time you had some fun.”
Blair groaned inwardly. Ever since she’d broken her engagement to Rhys and summarily dismissed him and Alicia from their duties at Carson’s—a dismissal that had cost her dearly afterwards when their employment lawyer had pointed out she hadn’t followed due process—Gustav had been after her to lighten up and socialize.
If only he knew, she thought. She’d already had about all the fun she could handle. It was why she had thrown herself back into work as soon as she’d stepped off the plane a few weeks ago.
Gustav yanked on her apron strings and snatched the heavy linen swathe from her narrow hips, then handed her the lipstick she kept in a drawer near the swinging doors for those moments she went out to circulate amongst diners.
“Go on. It won’t kill you. Look, honey, if I thought I stood a chance I’d be at that table pronto, but he’s made it clear he wants you.”
Reluctantly, Blair took the lipstick and swiped it across her lips.
“There, satisfied?” she said, challenging him.
“Not hardly, sweetie.” He reached up and swiped the net she wore over her hair off her head and tousled her hair into a fluffy mess. “Now I’m satisfied.”
Gustav took her by the shoulders, spun her around and pushed her in the direction of the restaurant.
“Don’t worry about the kitchen. We’ll take care of everything. You just enjoy yourself.”
As the door swung closed behind her, Blair could swear she heard the faint sound of applause from her staff. A swift glance over her shoulder through the porthole-shaped window showed Gustav taking a bow. Blair fought back a smile as she turned her attention back to the man waiting on the secluded table set in the deep bay window of the old villa.
Draco rose as Blair walked toward him. For a while, he’d wondered if his waiter had been leading him on, saying that Blair would join him for an after-dinner drink, but here she was. Finally.
He raked his gaze over her, taking in the weariness that tightened the lines of her angular face. Not classically beautiful, certainly, but the sweeping arc of her slender, dark brows over eyes the color of dark chocolate, and the long straight line of her nose, lent character to a face that might otherwise be ordinary.
She walked with the grace of the naturally slender, the bulky chef’s jacket over baggy checkered pants—the standard kitchen uniform here in New Zealand—hiding the long, lean strength of her body and the perfectly shaped breasts he’d bet even now were tipped with rose peaks. A sudden flush spread across her high cheekbones and her eyes glowed with the flame of heat that he knew answered his own.
Deep inside him he felt the thrum of anticipation begin to build. By the end of the night she’d be in his bed. He knew it as well as he knew the contours of her body. And he could barely wait to feel her beneath him again. They had unfinished business to resolve between them. Blair Carson would learn she couldn’t run away from him and not expect him to follow.
His feral instincts wanted nothing more than to take her by the hand and lead her straight out the front door to his waiting car. To whisk her away to his Viaduct Basin apartment in the city and bare her to his gaze, to his hunger. And then to sate them both.
A fine tremor ran through his body as he fought back the urge to do just that. As she neared his table she displayed all the characteristics of a gazelle poised for flight. The last thing he wanted to do right now was scare her off. She’d run from him once before; it was up to him to ensure she wouldn’t do so again.
She lifted her hand to him as she drew to a halt beside the table.
“I trust you enjoyed your meal, Mr. Sandrelli.”
Draco let his lips relax into a smile, watching her pupils dilate in reaction, and her lips firm, as she read his humor at her attempt to keep things between them strictly on a business footing.
He took her hand and pulled her toward him, kissing her briefly on each cheek in traditional European style before releasing her hand and gesturing for her to take the seat adjacent to his.
“I always enjoy the fruits of your toil, Blair. Your cleverness in the kitchen is only surpassed by your—”
“Perhaps I can get you a drink. Gustav mentioned port. Is that your preference?” She wheeled away from the table but he reached out and snagged her hand.
“Stay, Gustav will bring us our drinks shortly. I wanted a little time with you first, just to talk.”
“If that’s what you want,” Blair answered begrudgingly.
“You learned well during your time in Tuscany. The dish you served tonight, that was from your stay in Lucca, si?”
“Yes, I’ve incorporated a few of the recipes from the region into our menu. They’ve been popular.”
“And you’ve been busy. You look tired.” He reached across the table and brushed the pad of his thumb gently across the bluish tint to the skin beneath her eyes.
She flinched, breaking the tenuous contact almost as soon as it had begun.
“It’s all good. It’s what I want.”
Ah, here it came. Her not-so-subtle wall of defense.
“But everyone needs some respite in their life from time to time. Tell me, cara mia, what do you do to unwind—to relax?”
“I’ve just come back from holiday, Draco. I don’t need to relax.”
He snorted inelegantly. “Holiday? Blair, you worked your way through that culinary tour. You can hardly call that a holiday. Except for—”
“Ah, here’s our port.” Blair interrupted him again, taking the two cut-crystal glasses from the silver tray Gustav held in one hand and dismissing him with a look. “Here, salute!”
Draco accepted the glass from her and set it down on the table in front of him. He could see straight through her. She thought if
she could get him to drink his port, their conversation would be over, and he’d be gone. How wrong she was. When he left here tonight, she would be with him. Willingly.
He played with the stem of the glass, admiring the quality of the crystal. She didn’t stint on anything here in the restaurant. From the fittings and furnishings to the tableware and service—it was all of the highest quality. Yes, Blair Carson took her passions seriously. And he liked that about her. A lot.
She took a sip of her port, the fortified liquid leaving a sheen on her lips. His fingers tightened reflexively as the tip of her tongue swept across her lips to remove the residual alcohol. He ached for her to take another sip, so he could lean forward and taste the port on her lips, on her tongue.
Her next words came as a surprise.
“What do you want from me Draco? What will it take to make you go away?”
He leaned back in his seat, shifting his hips slightly to ease the ache that had built low in his groin.
“What makes you think I will go away?”
She shook her head. “We both know your business demands will take you home soon. Already you’ve been here, what, a week? I imagine you’ll need to be leaving soon, I just want to know what I can do to make it sooner.”
“Come home with me.”
“To the palazzo? You have to be joking.”
Ultimately, yes, that was his goal. To have her back where she belonged, with him. But in the meantime he would be satisfied with small victories.
“Tonight. To my apartment.”
He leaned forward again and lifted her hand with his, dragging her fingertips gently across his lips. He felt the shudder of awareness course through her. The fire between them still burned bright and fierce.
“Just tonight?” her voice shook ever so slightly. “And then you’ll leave me alone?”
It was a start. He inclined his head. “I’ve missed you, Blair. Let me show you how much.”
“I—I don’t know.”
“I’m not a man to beg, cara mia, but I beg of you now. You cannot fight this thing between us. Even you have to admit what we have is something rare, something special. Not even with your Rhys did you share this, no?”