My Italian Billionaire: A BWWM Italian Billionaire Romance

by Stacey Mills

  Which he didn't want to do.

  He missed her already. Not just the way she felt in his arms or how she was the perfect height to rest her head on his shoulders. Her smile, her jokes, her teasing, the way her eyes lit up … Her voice. He missed hearing it.

  He had it bad for her.

  Lucca strolled over to the window, pulled out his phone, and called her. It rang twice then went to the answering machine.

  Strange.

  Neglecting to leave a message, he returned to the caterers. Maybe he'd just eat enough here to constitute dinner.

  He even stayed at the office until six, waiting for her to call, but she never did. Even though he ate a lot earlier, his stomach demanded more food. Trying to bury his disappointment, he walked down the block and up another to a Thai restaurant. Although there was a line, when the hostess saw him, she brought him to a table immediately. His father had frequented the place and had brought Lucca with him for several dinners after long days of work.

  It felt strange, surreal even, to be sitting here alone. He ordered an eggroll, spicy shrimp soup, and the chicken satay plate. The chicken, cabbage, and carrot inside the eggroll was delicious, even more so when dipped in the Thai honey sauce. As he was waiting for his soup, he took out his phone to see if Megan had called. She hadn't.

  He returned the phone to his pocket and glanced up to see someone sitting across from him. A beautiful woman with familiar features, but he couldn't quite place her.

  "Hello?" he said almost as a question.

  "Hi, Lucca. It's me, Georgia." She held out her hand, but when he didn't reach out to shake it, she returned it to her lap. "Your father introduced us at the Christmas party last year."

  "Ah, yes." He vaguely remembered that party. He'd drunk quite a bit and almost bedded a coworker until he came to his senses. Business and pleasure didn't go together in his world.

  Which is why it's so unnerving that Father would force my hand likes this.

  Georgia smiled at the waiter as he served Lucca his soup. "I just thought I would drop by and say hi." She stood and walked around the table to touch his arm. "It was nice seeing you again."

  "Georgia."

  She looked over her shoulder in a clearly practiced move. Was she good looking? Yes, but that she knew it made her slightly less appealing.

  "Yes, Lucca?" she answered.

  There was nothing lonelier than eating alone, especially in such a fine place as this, but he didn't want to eat with her, a woman he couldn't even remember. She didn't work for the company, so why had she been at the company Christmas party?

  He asked her that, and she flushed. "Your father… well…"

  "He what?" he asked impatiently. He did not want his soup to get cold, but he didn't want to eat in front of her either. It would make it seem like he accepted her presence and he didn't.

  Belated, he hoped no paparazzi were around. They'd left him alone out of courtesy—if they had any—since his father's death, but with the news breaking about his father's stipulation, he had a feeling his privacy wouldn't be his for much longer. The last thing he needed was for pictures to float around with headlines wondering if he found his wife so as to keep his company.

  "He knew my mother and thought that we… well… might hit it off." She glanced away, trying to look demure, but she couldn't quite pull it off. The purse she held to her belly was a knockoff, a good knockoff. He'd bought enough over the years to be able to tell an original.

  Father had picked her for him. Funny how Father hadn't mentioned that to him. And her act didn't fool him.

  "Christmas was eight months ago," he said firmly. "Why bring that up now?"

  She bit her lower lip and crossed her arms, in an obvious attempt to draw his attention to her mouth and breasts. "I—"

  "Read a magazine with my face on it?"

  Her cheeks had pinked earlier. Now they turned red. "We really did meet at—"

  "If you'll excuse me." He dug into his soup. It had cooled more than he would have liked, but it still tasted good, despite the churning in his stomach.

  A few other women in the restaurant were eyeing him, and he groaned. He'd never get any peace.

  While he didn't think Megan was the kind of girl to go and read those kinds of magazines, once he finished his delicious meal—wondering all the while if Megan liked Thai food and what she would've thought of the dishes—he found himself walking toward her apartment. Normally, he didn't walk around the city so much. He'd use the company's car and driver or his butler and limo. But he liked how down to earth it was to walk, just as he liked how down to earth Megan was.

  As he climbed the steps to her apartment, he knew he had to tell her who he was. If they were going to develop their relationship further, if they were going to be out together in public… He couldn't keep his money a secret forever. His hand was forced. All he could do was hope that the Megan he was starting to get to know was the real Megan, and that the lure of money wouldn't bring a different Megan about, that it wouldn't change her. Money was powerful, he knew, and it could turn even the best of people into shades of their former selves.

  He knocked on the door.

  No answer.

  Was she not home? He shouldn't keep expecting her to be there, waiting for him every time he stopped over, but he couldn't help himself for feeling that way. That one time, when he hadn't thought she would be there and she just showed up and used him…

  His cock stirred.

  He was adjusting himself as the door opened a few inches, enough for Megan to pop her head out.

  "I'm a little busy," she said coolly.

  "What's wrong?" Had she been turned down for a new job?

  "I'm busy." She started to close the door.

  He shoved his foot forward in time to prevent her from closing it. "Megan—"

  "You have to stop doing this."

  Lucca tried to smile despite her surprisingly harsh tone. "Stop doing what?"

  "Showing up here uninvited." Her eyes were narrowed into slits. Although she was angry, she looked amazing, her heavy breathing making her breasts heave, her full lips pouting and begging to be kissed.

  He had a feeling, though, that if he tried to push open the door and take her into his arms and kiss her, she'd knee him or slap him or both.

  A slap he wouldn't mind quite so much. He didn't mind a woman with a wild streak.

  "I just thought—"

  "I think you should move your fancy shoe before I try to close the door through it."

  It all clicked into place. She had seen the magazine or somehow learned who he was.

  "Megan, listen—"

  "No, you listen to me. You made it an art form having me do all the talking and sharing when we weren't too busy kissing and fucking. And yes, I'll admit that I enjoyed that part of our thing, but I don't just want someone to have sex with. I deserve better than that. And I deserve to be with someone who isn't going to lie to me—"

  "I never lied—"

  "Omissions are lies. At least you aren't cheating on a wife or girlfriend with me." She side-eyed him. "Or do you have other girlfriends? Take them out for a trial run in the bedroom and if they pass muster and then maybe, just maybe, you'll tell them who you are? What are you afraid of?"

  He scowled and grabbed the top of the door, leaning toward her, forcing her back half a step. "I'm not afraid of anything."

  "Yeah, well, I'm not afraid of you either, but if you don't leave and now, I'm going to call the cops."

  "The cops?" He couldn't believe this.

  "Yes." She held up the hand that wasn't holding the doorknob to reveal her phone.

  "There's no need for that." His palm slipped on the wood. He was sweating. He never sweated. She was breaking through his composure, every wall he'd set up to protect himself. "If you'd just let me explain—"

  "Oh, so now you want to talk?" She let go of the knob to cross her arm, still holding her phone.

  "Can you let me in?"

  "No," s
he said bluntly.

  God, she was fire and ice, and she twisted him all up.

  "I just…" His reasoning for keeping quiet, for trying to be ordinary all seemed so stupid now. "I wanted to get to know you. The real you. Before you could have any kind of preconceived notions about me. It's amazing and awful how people can be when…"

  "When you have money. Oh boo hoo. Cry me a freakin' river. I'm supposed to feel sorry for you because you're rich?" Her face twisted with disgust.

  His chest tightened. He never thought she'd react this way. Yes, he knew it would come as a shock to her, but to be so pissed at him, to look like she wanted to ship him back to Italy…

  "I only—"

  "I don't care about what you want. What was that with your list of restaurants? Places you frequent and have clout at? Would it stroke your ego to get me a position at one of them?"

  Now he was getting angry himself. "How can you think that about me?"

  "I don't know you to know what to think! That's the whole point! You weren't honest about who you were from the beginning!"

  "I never meant to hurt you," he said quietly.

  "A little late for that. Good bye, Lucca Greccio." She turned away.

  He couldn't leave. Not without a good bye kiss.

  "Megan…"

  She faced him, tears in her eyes. It felt like a hundred daggers cut into him, seeing her expression. None of her joy or passion was there, only sadness, even more than when she had admitted she'd quit her job.

  Lucca stepped toward her, opening the door more, his eyes begging a question.

  Ever so slowly, she nodded and tilted her chin.

  He'd just intended to kiss her on the cheek, but his lips found hers almost by accident. At first, her lips didn't move, didn't accept his kiss, but then she parted them, returning the kiss with as much passion and force as ever before. Her phone dropped as her hands went around his neck, and she pressed her front against his.

  If this had to be good bye, at least it was going to be a hell of a good one.

  Chapter Fourteen: Saying Good Bye with a Kiss

  If Megan had thought that sex after quitting had been satisfying, it was nothing compared to this. All give and take and push and pull and anger and lust.

  Not quite hate sex. Not even make up sex.

  Good bye sex.

  She'd never had good bye sex before, had been too relieved her other relationships had ended to even want to see the two jerks again. But with Lucca, it was different. They needed this, one last time, to say good bye before they parted ways forever.

  Her door was still open, and she maneuvered Lucca through a tongue-searing kiss to enter the room more and then slammed him into the door to shut it. He gasped around her kiss, his hands roaming over her body. From her cheeks to her breasts to her ass, while hers did the same to him—from his face to his broad shoulders, firm pecs, tight abs, that bulge she'd noticed as soon as she opened the door—but too many clothes prevented them from actually having skin contact.

  Time to rectify that.

  One of them broke off the kiss, and she yanked her shirt over her head. He did the same, their clothes landing in piles by their feet. His penis jabbed into her as she pressed against him, wanting to burn into her memory every part of this, their last time together. His skin never looked paler compared to hers, almost reinforcing their class separation, but she pushed the thought away. Now wasn't about betrayal. It was a farewell and nothing more. Just heat and fire. The ice could come later, after he left. Then she could cry. Right now, though, she was only worrying about a different kind of bodily fluid.

  His body really was a work of art. Perfectly sculpted, as if made of marble. A Greek god. No. An Italian god. And only hers for right now. Good bye was so bittersweet.

  She ran her fingers through his dark hair, watching him, barely breathing. His chest rose and fell against hers, and he opened his eyes. In it, she saw flickers of emotion—pain, hurt, fear… but also passion, desire, and something else too, something she didn't want to identify.

  "I—"

  Megan swallowed his words. Now wasn't the time for talking. It never was for them. Their tongues dueled, dancing, fighting, and feeding the fire growing in her belly. She spread her legs so one of his was between hers and grinded her slickness against him. In response, he rubbed his swollen penis against her, and she groaned with need and desire and lust.

  He picked her up and wrapped her legs around his waist, his tip coming dangerously close to her sex. Then he laid her down onto the carpet and untangled her legs from around him. He kissed a line down between the curves of her breasts—his fingers tweaking and pulling her nipples all the while—down her stomach and straight to her clit.

  The first lick was soft and gentle, just a flick, a tease. She groaned, wanting more, needing more, but he took his time eating her until she couldn't take it any longer. Her fingers grabbed his hair, forcing him back as she sat up and then lowered her mouth to give him some oral pleasure, only she teased him as he had tortured her. The longer this took, the better. Her fingers lightly stroked his shaft or tickled his balls, and she swirled her tongue around his opening until precum leaked out. She kissed it away.

  His large hands reached for her head, she could see them out of the corner of her eyes. She blocked him, holding his hands, and slowly lowered her head, taking him into her mouth. Then she lazily retracted. Up and down, oh so slowly. His leg muscles tensed, but he did not thrust against her, letting her dictate the pace.

  It was because of that, his trust or maybe his wanting to prolong this as much as she did, that she paused to look up at him. It wasn't lust shining in his eyes, but something deeper, rawer.

  It scared her.

  This was just good bye sex. Nothing more. It had only ever been about sex. He'd seen to that.

  Such good sex. Amazing sex. Mind-blowing sex.

  It was only sex. And lust. Nothing more. Would never be anything more than that. The thought saddened her so much tears prickled her eyes. She blinked them away, furious with herself. No matter what happened, she couldn't fall apart. Not in front of him at least.

  She sat up and onto his lap and eased herself down onto his penis. His arms curled around her, drawing her close. When she pivoted her hips a certain way, the tip of his penis brushed against her g-spot, and she gasped, throwing her body backward. His arms braced her so she wouldn't fall, and she buckled her hips now. He was thrusting upward to help himself enter her deeper, and the world around them fell apart as they neared their ecstasy.

  A few more thrusts and she would be there. Somehow, she found the strength to slow down, to not be as frantic, and to calm slightly. His fingers seared her back, holding onto her so she wouldn't fall back. Her breasts bounced as she took him in deeper then again as she pulled away.

  When he bent down his head to flick his tongue against her nipple, she was lost. She shattered into a world where pain and pleasure were one and the same, and her moan came out almost a sob. His came out the same way, and she could feel him jerk and explode within the condom inside her.

  Now he crushed her against him, at first harsh but then tender, rubbing her back, pressing her to him. She nuzzled his neck, breathing in his scent. It was all she could do to not weep.

  Bracing herself, she pulled back and stood. Without a word, she went to the bathroom to clean up. When she returned to the living room area, she half expected him to be gone, but he was slowly sorting his clothes from hers, naked yet. The hard lines in his back flexed as he moved.

  "I never meant to hurt you," he murmured.

  Words wouldn't help them, but she couldn't stop herself. "You should've told me who you were right from the start."

  "But would you have… treated me any different?"

  She shrugged. "Who knows? It's too late now. What were you trying to be? Ordinary? An ordinary millionaire?" Her loud snort startled her. "You never let me in."

  "That's not true." He took a step toward her, his shirt in h
is hands and covering his penis, but he halted when she held up her hand. "I told you about my parents."

  For a moment, she felt guilty. Casting him aside felt almost wrong. But she shook her head. "Trust is the basis of any relationship, and we never even had a relationship because you never showed me who you really are."

  Lucca's face grew hopeful. "Let me show you. I promise—"

  "What do you want from me?" she asked wearily. Her high from their good bye sex was already dying.

  "I've had my share of women, I'll admit. They just wanted me for my money. With Father's stipulation, I wanted to try and find someone who saw me, not the money clip." He sighed.

  "How could I see you when you weren't being honest? We don't really know each other at all. Not really." She bit her lower lip.

  He crossed the distance between them and gently pried her lip free. "I know the sounds you make when you're almost about to come. I know that your toes curl when you do. I know how wet you can get."

  Megan rolled her eyes. "Sex doesn't make for a relationship either."

  "I also know you're a great cook and that you don't have enough faith in your abilities. I could try and secure you a job. Hell, I considered it. But I know you would rather earn it yourself."

  She couldn't deny that.

  "I also know you won't apply to any of the places on my list and that…" He shook his head, almost disgusted.

  A pang hit her in the chest. "And that what?" she bit off.

  "Your parents ruined your self-esteem and made you doubt yourself all the time. You said cooking is about faith and trusting yourself, but you hold yourself back. If you could just believe in yourself, if you could—"

  "What are you, a fortune cookie? I'll have you know I have two job interviews lined up for tomorrow. I'm good. I'm fine. I was doing just fine before you came into my life. I'll do just fine with you gone."

  Lucca stared down at her, his face now a mask. She shuddered. There was so much she didn't know about him, this man she'd given her body to so freely.

  "Are you sure?" he whispered.

  She nodded.