Taught by the Tycoon (17 page)

“Here’s the restaurant just up ahead. Do you enjoy Caribbean food?”

He pursed his lips and struggled to recall. “Actually, I’m not sure I’ve ever had it.”

“You’ve probably had it in some form. And I can promise that you’re going to love Miss Lily’s.”

When he stepped into the interior of the restaurant, he had a moment of discomfort. He was used to elegance, dim settings and private booths; this place was the complete opposite. The vibrant, diner-style interior had a diamond-checkered floor and the tables were close together. There would be no intimate, candlelit booth here.

“You doing okay?” Amusement laced her words as she tugged him over the threshold. “We may have to wait a few minutes for a table, but I swear to you it’ll be worth it.”

When he sank his teeth into the first bite of jerk chicken a while later, he closed his eyes and let out a small moan in agreement.

“Told you so.” She nudged his foot with her own under the table. “You’ve totally got your O face on and you’re not even having sex.”

He nearly choked on the bite of food in his mouth as he shot quick glances around the restaurant. Fortunately everyone seemed to be deep in conversation.

“Relax, there are some discussions going on around us that would have you blushing to the tips of your Italian toes.”

“I don’t blush.”

“I could make you blush.” She gave a slow grin and lifted her corn toward him. “Why don’t you nibble on my hot, moist corn?”

“Is that supposed to make me blush or make me hungry?”

“You decide.”

He leaned forward anyway and took the bite she offered. The jerk mayo and coconut on it was a mix of taste sensations and he closed his eyes with another murmur of approval.

“Okay,” he murmured, after he swallowed, “now that was amazing.”

“Isn’t it?” She laughed and tugged the corn back. “See, I’ll never lead you astray. I knew you’d enjoy this place.”

They ate their dinner with a conversation that never felt forced. Never dwindled. She made him laugh and occasionally he got a small one in return from her.

While there was the underlying sexual tension, it was faint and lighter. Without urgency, because they both knew how the evening would ultimately end. In her bed, making love and enjoying every moment of it.

After he paid for their dinner, they walked through the streets holding hands, enjoying the early June sunshine.

She passed under a tree and the sunlight caught her face, bringing out the green in her hazel eyes, and his chest swelled with an emotion so completely unfamiliar to him.

A mix of tenderness. Protectiveness. And a romanticism that might be native to his countrymen, but rarely him.

She still chatted away, something about kayaking now, but her words became fuzzy and he could only hear the beating of his heart. Everything slowed down as her lashes fell and lifted in a blink that must’ve been a half second.

Without realizing what he was doing, he slid as arm around her waist and pulled her into his arms, halting their leisurely stride.

Her eyes widened when he caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger, but she didn’t do more than give a murmur of surprise when he lowered his mouth to hers in a slow, thorough kiss.

Her arms slid up and around his neck as she kissed him back. She tasted of all the Caribbean spices they’d just eaten, with the sweetness of a woman that was all Rachel.

Kissing a woman so blatantly, so publicly in the middle of New York City, was completely atypical of him. And that anarchic side of him embraced it. Embraced everything that had happened in the last week.

When she finally pulled away and drew in a deep breath, her eyes were bright with need, but also with the very emotion she’d admitted to on the plane. There could be no doubting it now, no convincing himself it had been a fluke.

Rachel looked and acted like a woman in love. As if he needed more proof, she slid her arms around his waist and tucked her head against his shoulder. Snuggling close.

He wrapped his arms around her, even as his emotions slowly began to shut down.

“I never wanted to feel this way about you.”

Her words were soft, but certainly meant to be heard. She lifted her head to look at him, and he knew she waited for him to ask ‘which way’.

His jaw flexed as bile rose in his throat. Anything but love. Maybe the lust he was so eager to write off earlier would’ve been better than this.

Love was not an emotion he allowed himself. Not anymore. Not since he was eighteen and had believed himself in the throes of it.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead as his heart thudded faster in his chest.

“I want you.” He gave her safe words. Non-committal words that had the reaction he’d hoped.

Her breathing hitched and her hands slid up his back to his shoulders. Her breasts crushed against his chest.

“Then we should catch the next train home,” she said softly, watching him from beneath her lashes. She stepped back and caught his hand. “Come on.”

The next week passed by in a blur. They alternated between staying at her house and his condo. The compromise was a good balance and seemed to suit both of them well.

But during the workday, Damiano couldn’t help but notice the looks and whispers in the halls of his corporation. The way gazes would dart from him to Rachel, and then away quickly.

Rachel tried to ignore it, he could see, but a couple of times he’d seen the flicker of discomfort on her face. The embarrassment.

By the second week back at the office she was beginning to show cracks around the edges. Sometimes she would become a bit testier, her replies to his requests or orders more clipped.

His stomach was knotted throughout the day at the way she had to hold her head up high at the office and ignore the gossip. But out of the office, and in each others’ arms, things stayed as passionate and heavenly as ever. He could let himself forget that their relationship—or lack thereof—was somewhat scandalous.

It was at work, midway through the day, when the call came in. Not to his cell, but to his private office line. He had no chance to brace for the caller and the conversation ahead.

“She’ll never be respected in the job force again.” Theo’s words were frigid. “You lied to me, Damiano.”

“Theo.” He closed his eyes, not even trying to smother the tsunami of guilt swelling through him.

“Surely she’s become a joke around the Mantovani headquarters. Your little assistant slash whore. This is Rachel. My sister. And you had to go and make her one of your flavors of the week. Jesus, what if she falls in love with you? What if you got her pregnant?”

The last two questions chilled Damiano the most, because one was likely true, and the other was entirely possible.

“I’m sorry, Theo.” He struggled against the thickness in his throat. “Your sister is much more than a throwaway lover to me.”

Theo let out a stream of curses, and finally demanded, “Do you love her?”

He couldn’t answer that. Finally, Damiano just shook his head and muttered, “I will make things right.” And then hung up the phone.

His fingers trembled as he pressed them against his temple, swallowing the rising unease in his gut. When he felt a bit calmer, he picked up the phone and made another call.

What a relief to be done with work today.

Rachel snuggled up against Damiano on the car ride back to his penthouse. They were heading to his place for the night, after spending two at her apartment.

She bit back a sigh, trying not to let herself stress out about the complete disparities of her days and her nights. She was terribly self-conscious and uncomfortable at work, and so deliriously happy at night.

For the past few years she’d loved her job, but now she dreaded that journey into work. Whether on the subway from her place, or in the back of Damiano’s Rolls Royce from his. The dreading work bothered her more than she liked to admit.

Damiano was silent on the drive today. His mind seeming preoccupied with something else. She hoped it was something as simple as a business deal being difficult, and not him winding down on his interest in her.

She was paranoid, and she knew it. But she was in love with him and done denying it to herself. She knew it was only a matter of time before things ended between them, and she was watching for the signs of his waning interest. Tonight’s drive made her uneasy.

“Everything all right?” she asked with forced lightness.

He seemed to make himself relax and squeezed her closer to him. “
Sí
. Things are fine,
Dolcezza
.”

She didn’t quite believe him, and was about to press on, but her phone buzzed with a text. After detangling herself from him, she pulled her phone from her purse and spotted the text from Lexi.

You moved out?

What on earth? Was her friend just calling her out on being gone so much?

She typed a quick reply.

No, just staying at Damiano’s tonight. I’ll probably be back on Saturday night.

Barely a minute passed before there was a reply.

Okay, then we were robbed and only your stuff was taken. It’s all gone, Rachel. Seriously
.

“This is crazy.” She shook her head and her stomach knotted. “My stuff is missing from my apartment.”

Beside her, Damiano’s chest rose in a slow breath. “
Merda
. I had hoped to tell you first.”

She cast him a sharp glance as unease slid through her. “Tell me what? Did you have something to do with this?”

“I had your things brought to my home this afternoon.”

She blinked. “Excuse me? Why would you do that?”

“Because you’re living with me now.”

That took the air right out of her. Hope and confusion swelled inside her chest. Was this just some roundabout, chauvinistic Italian way of showing her that maybe Damiano loved her? That he wanted something more permanent and official? If it wasn’t, he needed to seriously work on his communication skills.

“You can’t just move me into your penthouse, Damiano. It’s something we would need to discuss first,” she reproached, trying to sound unconcerned, but this made her a little uncomfortable. “Besides, I can’t just abandon Lexi like this.”

“I’ll pay for your share of the rent for as long as she wishes to stay there. The whole rent if she’ll allow me.”

Her breath locked. “What? No. Did you hear what I just said? You just don’t move someone out of an apartment and into your home—which how did you even do that?—without discussing it first.”

“It’s all irrelevant.” He shook his head and sighed. “I didn’t think our affair through,
Dolcezza
. You have to admit your reputation, and mine, has suffered at work.”

“I don’t let any of that bother me. It’s just harmless water-cooler gossip.” It was a lie, and they both knew it.

“I was careless,” he continued, as if she hadn’t spoken. “In more than one way.”

She pulled away, needing a bit of distance to gather her thoughts. “You’re talking all cryptic and ominous, and I don’t care for it much. Please, just tell me what’s going on.”

The car came to a stop in the heavy traffic. Horns blared around them.

He turned to look at her, his gaze narrowed and his stare cold. “When did you last have your cycle?”

She blinked, feeling a self-conscious blush steal through her. “You can’t be serious.”

“We’ve been making love for weeks now, and I’ve realized you haven’t had one that I’m aware of.”

She hesitated, trying to place the last time. “It wasn’t all that long before Italy. Are you worried?”

“We didn’t use a condom when we were there.”

She was confused for a moment, struggling to remember. Then the memory came “It was only for a moment, and then you put one on.”

“It only takes a moment.”

Her chest tightened. “Look, I’m not pregnant.”

He arched a brow, his gaze still shockingly cold. “You should’ve had your cycle by now though. Am I wrong?”

“Not necessarily,” she explained tentatively. “I’ve always been irregular. Sometimes going several weeks past when I should have one. I should’ve gone on the pill to regulate my cycle, but I’ve just put it off.”

“You could be pregnant.”

“Technically, yes, I suppose, but I doubt I am.” She gave a laugh of disbelief. This conversation was strangely surreal.

“I have a test for you to take waiting at my house.”

“Of course you do. Is that why you’re moving me in? Because you think I’m pregnant?”

“It will be easier to move you in now, rather than wait until after we are married.”

The words literally took a moment to sink in and make any kind of logical sense. Because he’d just thrown the word married at her, but there’d been no proposal. Or maybe this was some kind of crazy hallucination and she’d missed that part.

“Are you high on something?” she choked out finally. “You want to get married?”

“It only makes sense.”

“Makes sense?” she parroted. As if this were some kind of logical step in a business deal.

For one crazy moment she’d actually imagined that he loved her, and this was just his roundabout bizarre way of showing it. But no, it was all about control with him.

Nausea swelled inside her and she turned to look at the streets the car was slowly creeping through. The driver up front, as always, was impeccable at ignoring their conversations. Or pretending to be.

“We have an appointment tomorrow to choose a ring from an Italian jeweler who is flying in from Milan,” he stated offhandedly. He continued to discuss an engagement she knew he’d never wanted, and that she hadn’t agreed to.

“Where is this coming from?” she interrupted and then put it together. “Jesus, did my brother call you?
Again?
”

His jaw tightened and she saw the flicker of guilt in his eyes, and knew she was right.

“We’ve hardly been discreet, Rachel. There is more than one picture or story about us. For Christ’s sake there’s a shot of you feeding me corn at that Caribbean restaurant, with the caption, ‘
Is she buttering him up for marriage?’
”