by Michele Hauf
She was thankful the sun was still shining to help her ward off any forbidden fantasies her mind might conjure. She blinked at the sight of a driver holding the door to a limo. “I didn’t expect—”
“I couldn’t have you crawling out of a Ferrari when you’re dressed for a ball.”
He helped her into the limo and followed her inside.
“Thank you,” she murmured, feeling like Cinderella. She’d ridden in a limo before, but she’d been taking notes from Alex Megalos during the drive.
“Something to drink?” he asked, waving his hand toward the bar.
“Oh, no, thank you,” she said and took another deep breath, inhaling a hint of his cologne. The silence inside the limo was deafening. She supposed she should try to make small talk, but she was too aware of the fact that his thigh was mere inches from hers.
“Have you had a chance to go shopping for our trip?” he asked, adjusting one of the cuffs of his shirt.
Distracted by the contrast of his white shirt against his tanned skin, she again noticed the bandage around his hand. “How is your hand?”
“I don’t pay much attention to it. The stitches will be out next week.”
“Good,” she said.
“You didn’t answer my question,” he said with a hint of amusement in his deep voice.
She met his gaze. “Shopping,” she echoed and shook her head. “No. I haven’t had a chance. Maybe tomorrow.”
“You don’t sound very enthusiastic,” he said.
“I’m not comfortable using company money for my wardrobe, especially when I know job cuts are on the way.”
“It’s not Megalos-De Luca money. It’s my company’s money, and trust me, we’re not hurting.” He shook his head. “I’m surprised. Most women would jump at the chance.”
Most women weren’t her. “With my background, being thrifty was necessary for my survival. You should understand that from your own experiences.”
“True,” he said. “But I can loosen the purse strings when necessary.”
“I’m definitely not at your level and I always feel as if I need to be prepared—” She broke off, not wanting to reveal the rest.
“Prepared for what?” he asked.
“The worst,” she said.
He nodded. “Something we have in common. Who knows,” he said, his gaze falling over her with sensual curiosity. “There may be more.”
As Emma and Damien entered the grand ballroom at the casino, Emma caught the expression of shock and confusion on Mallory’s face.
“Emma,” Alex Megalos’s wife said, clearly searching for words.
“Hi, Mallory. Have you met Damien? He’s working for Megalos-De Luca. Apparently he hasn’t had a chance to get out much since he’s been in Vegas, so he asked if he could come with me and drop a bundle at the gala tonight.”
Mallory blinked, still confused, but game. “How generous of you, Mr. Medici. You may not remember me. I’m—”
“How could I forget you,” Damien said, taking her hand and lifting it to his lips. “You are the enchanting wife of Alex Megalos.”
Mallory smiled, but she didn’t appear to buy his charm. “Thank you. And thank you for contributing to the success of our charity gala tonight. Your donation will mean a lot to us. I hope you don’t mind if I borrow Emma for a bit. We have some last-minute tasks,” she said and grabbed Emma’s hand.
“Just make sure you return her to me,” he said, looking at Emma.
“Oh, count on it,” Mallory said and pulled Emma away.
Mallory dragged Emma across the ballroom and into a back room. She pushed Emma against the wall, her eyes wide with consternation. “What the—”
“He insisted on joining me. I’d just been in Alex’s office telling him—” She shrugged “—giving a report and Mr. Medici showed up at the elevator just as I was leaving. I tried to discourage him, but no luck.”
Mallory shook her head. “Wow. Do you think he’s interested in you?”
“Oh, no,” Emma said, feeling herself grow warm. “I’m sure he’s got another agenda. He’s that kind of man,” she said, giving voice to what was always in the back of her mind.
Mallory’s eyebrows shot upward. “Sounds like you’re getting to know him pretty well.”
Emma winced. “Not really. Not as much as I’m supposed—” She broke off again, because she didn’t know how much Alex had told his sweet bride. “So,” she said as brightly as she could. “Tell me how I can help.”
Mallory frowned. “Are you okay?”
“Uh-huh,” Emma said, quickly composing herself. She wondered why it was so easy with Mallory and so difficult with Damien. “Are you?”
Mallory gave a start. “Well, yes. So how was your date last week?”
“He was very nice.”
Mallory’s face fell. “Okay, I get your message. We’ll move along to bachelor number two. Is next Tuesday good?”
“Let’s try the week after. Next week is busy for me,” she said, her heart skipping a beat when she thought about the trip to Miami. Should she tell Max or Alex? Why did she feel so conflicted? Emma shook off her craziness. “I’m waiting. How can I help?”
Mallory paused for a moment, then nodded. “We got some last-minute big rollers and they’ve totally messed up my seating arrangements. Help.”
Emma smiled. Now she was on familiar ground. “Give me the list.”
Damien took a seat at the bar and ordered a scotch. Struck by the sumptuous luxury of the ballroom, he couldn’t help remembering that lean time when he’d been declared an independent child and lived hand to mouth. Even before his father had died, his family had never been wealthy. They’d never owned their own home.
He caught sight of an advertisement on the wall for Megalos-De Luca proudly announcing their charitable contributions and felt bitterness roil through him like acid. The irony of the De Luca family being the least bit connected to anything charitable was a joke.
When Damien thought about how the De Lucas had cheated his grandfather out of the Medicis’ beloved estate, the fire roared inside him again. The once solid family had scattered, and were still scattered. One of his uncles had committed suicide, an aunt betrothed to a prince had been dumped. Children had been orphaned. Someone had to make this right. That someone was him.
Emma caught his eye as she passed him by. She glided with confidence through the ballroom and smiled at the waitstaff in a much friendlier, more open way than she did him. That fact stuck in his craw. He wondered what it would be like if she were that open with him. He felt an odd growl in his gut and watched her through narrowed eyes. Why should it bother him?
He would have her. In every way a man could have a woman, he was determined to have her, and he would. He took another swallow of whiskey and felt the burn all the way down. Not only would she give him herself, she would give him all the information he wanted to make Max De Luca pay.
“What do you want to drink?” Damien asked her as he played blackjack at the charity high-roller table.
Emma noticed he was winning against the house. No surprise there. “I don’t drink very often. I’m always the DD.”
“No need tonight,” he said. “A limo will safely transport you home.”
She met his gaze and felt the frisson of something between them. How could that be? He was the devil. The obscenely wealthy devil and she, well, she was just Emma. “Something with peach schnapps,” she admitted in a low voice, leaning toward him. “A lady’s drink.”
“Got it,” he said and turned to the waitress in the ultra-short black dress. “Sex on the Beach,” he said. “Water for me.”
Emma frowned at him and he lifted his hands. “Hey, I’m gambling,” he said. “I have to keep my head.”
“Does winning matter that much?” she asked as the dealer shuffled the deck for another game. “Since the money goes to charity anyway.”
He gave a low, dirty chuckle and shook his head. “Winning always matters,” he said.
> Sipping her fruity drink, Emma watched him rack up the chips until it appeared he’d accumulated a mountain of them. “I’ll cash them in now,” he finally said to the dealer and rose from the table.
“That’s a lot of money,” she said after he cashed in his chips and collected a receipt for charity.
“It’s deductible.” He shot her a sideways glance. “Plus I had to deliver on your promise to Mallory that I was going to drop a bundle.”
Emma fought a twist of discomfort. It had been presumptuous of her to promise Damien’s money. On the other hand, it had been presumptuous of Damien to insist on attending the event with her.
“Don’t worry. I know you were protecting me,” he said.
“Protecting you,” she echoed in disbelief. “Why would I do that? Why would you of all people need protection?”
“Because Mallory Megalos wanted to scratch off my face.”
“I can’t believe you would be concerned by Mallory.”
“I’m not. I learned long ago not to rely on anyone’s opinion but my own, but it’s good to know you were looking out for my best interests.”
His comment was so far from the truth it was all she could do not to correct him. She remembered, however, that it was part of her goal to get him to trust her so that she could get information for Alex and Max.
Managing a tight smile, she glanced at the buffet and moved toward it. “After all that gaming, I bet you’re hungry. See anything you like?”
“Yes, I do,” he said in a low, intimate voice that snagged her attention. She looked at him and his gaze was focused totally on her. She felt a rush of heat. “The food does look delicious,” she said, attempting to distract him.
His gaze didn’t budge. “Delicious,” he said, but he clearly wasn’t referring to the food.
Emma felt as if she needed a fan.
A hand brushed her back and she turned to find Doug Caldwell, her blind date from the previous night. “It’s good to see you. Mallory didn’t tell me you were coming tonight.”
“Probably because I was going to be helping her. Damien Medici, this is Doug Caldwell.”
“Good to meet you,” Doug said. “You don’t mind if I borrow Emma for a dance, do you?”
Wearing an inscrutable expression, Damien remained silent for a long, uncomfortable moment.
Doug gave an uneasy laugh. “Just one,” he promised. “Unless you’re engaged.”
“Of course not,” Emma replied. “Excuse me and enjoy the buffet.”
Inwardly fuming, she allowed Doug to guide her onto the dance floor.
“Who is that guy, anyway?” Doug asked.
“My boss,” she said and watched him lift his eyebrows. “Well, not exactly my boss. I’ve been assigned to work with him while he performs a service for the company.”
“He seemed territorial about you. Maybe he’s interested in more than business.”
“Oh, no. He’s just one of those men who come across as intimidating the first time you meet him.” And the second time, and the third….
“If that’s the case and you’re up for it, I’d like to take you to dinner next weekend.”
She wasn’t, but she also didn’t want Doug to think anything romantic was happening between her and Damien. “I wish I could, but I’m going to be out of town next weekend.”
“Then how about the weekend after that?”
“My schedule is tight right now, but maybe we could meet for cocktails again.”
“I was hoping for something more,” he said.
“I’m sorry. I’m taking some classes, so I’m very busy.”
He gave a put-upon sigh. “Okay, I’ll take what I can get. Cocktails on Saturday night in two weeks. Don’t forget.”
She nodded and the music stopped, saving her from further discussion. Just a few feet after parting with Doug, she felt a warm, strong hand close over hers and looked up to find Damien.
“Hello,” she said, taken off guard, distracted by the sensation of his closeness.
“My turn,” he said and as another song began, he pulled her into his arms.
She quickly glanced over her shoulder, wondering who was watching. “Are you sure this is a good idea? I wouldn’t want to start rumors.”
“I’ve never been bothered by rumors. Are you worried that all the MD people are going to think you’re making nice to the hatchet man?”
She gasped at his bluntness. “I’ve always made it a practice to keep my professional relationships completely professional.”
“You’re telling me you weren’t attracted to your previous bosses,” he said.
Feeling his crisp tuxedo jacket beneath her hand, she couldn’t help wondering how his naked shoulder would feel. How would his skin feel? She tried to squelch her curiosity. “Well, I didn’t mean to say they’re not attractive men. They are and they’re very good men, but my relationships with my bosses have always been work-focused.”
“But they didn’t affect you like I do.”
Her breath stopped in her throat. She swallowed hard.
“You’re not denying it,” he said.
Emma grasped for her usual rational, cautious mind. “Just because there’s some sort of odd, fleeting, marginal chemistry doesn’t mean anyone should act on it.”
He lifted a dark eyebrow. “Marginal, fleeting,” he echoed.
“Exactly,” she said, wishing her heart wasn’t racing so fast. “Chemistry is just chemistry.”
“One of the things I noticed about MD is that they don’t have a policy against employees fraternizing with each other.”
“Yes, but fraternization just muddies the water.” And the mind, she thought, determined to keep her own mind clear as the sound of a saxophone oozed through the room.
“You don’t need to be afraid,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“I would never force you. I’ve never had to force a woman.” He leaned closer, brushing his mouth just an inch from her ear. “You would come to me.”
Fighting his knee-weakening effect on her, she pulled back. “I’m not that easily seduced,” she whispered.
“I never said you were easy,” he told her. “I just said there was something between us. Not the usual attraction. At some point, we’re going to need to explore it to get past it. We may as well enjoy it.”
Part of her may have felt he was right, but she refused to give into it. She stepped backward. “We won’t have an affair. I won’t come to you. Count on it,” she said and turned away. Florida was going to be oh-so-great, she thought as she stalked toward the bar to get a bottle of water. She might as well be walking through hell.
Later that evening, Mallory Megalos announced the winners of the raffle items. One person won a vacation to Greece, another to Italy, another to France. Someone else won a sports car. Emma wasn’t paying attention to the names of the winners because she hadn’t entered any of the drawings. With her mother’s problems, she never gambled.
“The winner of the Tesla Roadster, with taxes absorbed by an anonymous donor, is Emma Weatherfield,” Mallory announced.
“Emma!” a coworker exclaimed.
She snapped her head around to meet the manager’s excited gaze. “Excuse me?”
“You just won a car.”
Emma frowned. “That’s not possible. I didn’t enter. I didn’t buy any raffle tickets…”
“Emma, you won a Tesla Roadster,” Mallory announced from the platform. “Come and get the keys.”
Confused, she shot a quick glance around her and walked toward the platform. “I’m sorry,” she whispered to Mallory. “There must be some mistake. I didn’t buy any tickets.”
“Well, someone must have entered your name,” Mallory said, lifting the ticket with her name scrawled on it. “This is the coolest car in the world. I would be jealous if Alex didn’t let me drive his.”
“How—”
“Congratulations, Emma Weatherfield!” Mallory said.
Still disbelie
ving, she reluctantly accepted the keys. “Thank you. Thank you so much.” Glancing into the crowd, she caught sight of Damien. He wore a mysterious yet knowing expression on his face, and she immediately suspected he was behind her win. She also knew she couldn’t accept the car.
7
Emma pressed the keys into Damien’s hand as he assisted her into the waiting limo.
Following her inside the car, he looked down at the keys. “What’s this?”
“Those are the keys to the car that you won from the raffle tonight,” she said.
“Couldn’t be mine. I didn’t enter the raffle.” He extended his arm to drop them into her lap. “I’m not big on counting on luck.”
“I didn’t enter the raffle, either. The tickets were too expensive. Twenty-five dollars each,” she said, her frustration rising. “It had to be you.”
“Why?” he asked. “Don’t you have other friends and admirers? Couldn’t someone else have just decided to buy several tickets and put names of friends on them?”
Emma studied his face, her gaze sliding to the scar. The mark of imperfection was incredibly sexy to her and the fact that she knew he’d gotten that scar protecting someone got to her every time she looked at his face. She tried to read his expression, but it was inscrutable.
Narrowing her eyes, she shook her head. “Something about this is fishy. I feel as if I should give the car back.”
He lifted his eyebrows. “I wasn’t aware that your current mode of transportation was in such great condition that you could throw away a brand-new car.”
“Well, a roadster isn’t very practical,” she countered.
“True. It’s only a two-seater. You don’t have children, do you?”
“You know I don’t,” she said. “But there’s also not a lot of space for packing things in the trunk.”
He nodded. “You take a lot of driving trips?”
“Not really,” she admitted. “But I do visit my mother in Missouri sometimes.”