A Weekend of Misbehaving (11 page)

“Why? What did he do to you?”

“He bailed when he realized I was interested in more than just casual dating.”

“Are you? It seems you have your hands full with your family. You’re contemplating turning down New York because of them. What makes you think you’d have time for the responsibilities and commitment of marriage?”

“First of all, I’m not contemplating refusing. I have already declined your offer.”

He winked at her.
Time to sell
. “Even if I throw in a nice shopping spree? On Madison Avenue?”

“Why are you so determined to keep me around? I mean, especially after you’ve seen me naked. In my mind there is no way we can work together in the long run. It would be beyond weird.”

Would it? He had bedded women before and occasionally run into them, and even worked with them. What would make the situation with Alice so different? Sure, memories from their time together would remain for a bit, but nothing that pragmatism and time wouldn’t crush. “Maybe at first. You just compartmentalize it, and see it for what it is,” he said, and held his breath, anticipating her reply. Who was he kidding? He’d need a lobotomy to forget all the wonderful memories he’d made with her. But the alternative was even worse. There was no way in hell he was ready to let go of Alice Sommers.

The waiter brought them the check, and he handed him his credit card. All the while, she studied him, her expression sobering. With brows knitted and eyes darkening to a rich cocoa, Alice was onto him. “Why do you want those paintings so badly?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. Why was she curious about it now? “That’s quite the change of subject.”

“It dawned on me,” she said, reading his mind. “You never want to talk about it, and the other day you dodged my question. I saw the way you looked at that art. It’s not just business.”

The waiter came back, and Lorenzo added a generous tip and scribbled his signature. “It doesn’t concern you.”

“If I’m to help you get them, it does. You know why I need the money. It’s high time I knew why you want those paintings.”

He leaned forward. “If I tell you, will you consider New York City?”

She cleared her throat. “I can’t lie to you.”

“Just tell me you will try it,” he said, reaching for her hand across the table.

Instead of withdrawing her hand from his, she just stared at him. “Maybe.”

Progress.
“I’ll take maybe.”

Chapter Nine

“O
kay,” Alice muttered, even though she was pretty sure both of them knew that wasn’t the case. Still. After he had thrown the idea to compartmentalize their fling at her face, she realized she needed some control, too. Why give it all to him? At the end of this weekend, no doubt he would get over her in a New York minute.

Pushing back his wrought-iron chair, he rose to his feet, and she did the same. “Let’s walk.”

They strolled in silence until the swarm of tourists and pedestrians lessened. A stone statue of someone important, no doubt, occupied the middle of a cute plaza, where a gorgeous water fountain sprayed into the colorful flowers.

“Spill it, Lorenzo.”
Before you change your mind.

He glanced both ways before giving her his undivided attention. “The artist was my father.”

“What?” She drew back, trying to remember the snippets of information Viola had given her about the man.

His jaw clenched. “I changed my name to my mother’s surname.”

“Why?”

“Because he had a past that could jeopardize all I sacrificed for.”

“Such as?”

“He was a drunk with a penchant for prostitutes.”

She rolled her eyes. “Weren’t all the artists like that back in the day?” Hell, she didn’t have to time travel. Lots of celebrities, musicians, even politicians would fit into the profile today.

He let out a sigh. “He had ties to an extremist terrorist group. In the world we live today, do you think that would be good for me? For anyone?”

Of course not.
She chewed on her lower lip, unsure of what to say. “What kind of ties?”

“Some Italian extremists. I can’t tell you for sure, but I wouldn’t be surprised if some of the money funded for their attempts to throw off the government was provided by a Middle Eastern group.”

“You are not your father.”

“No. But he took me to a couple meetings with him when I was a kid, even though I had no idea what the hell was going on. If this whole thing leaks, it could destroy me and Cara.” There was an edge to his voice. Fear?

Her heart skipped a beat. She always thought she sacrificed for her family, whether she enjoyed it or not. But what he would go through if news of his father got out, to have his entire career diminished because of his father’s links, was beyond cruel. “That’s why you won’t sell them. You don’t want anyone snooping into his life. Or yours. Why didn’t you tell me that in the beginning?”

“This isn’t the type of story I’m proud to share.”

No kidding.
“You didn’t trust me.”

He jammed his hands into his pockets. “You are my kid’s nanny.”

Yes, she was. And she had to repeat that as a mantra so she wouldn’t let herself fall head over heels for the jerk. “Thanks.”

With a couple strides, he erased the distance between them. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

She pushed him away. “I get it,” she said, and hated how defensive she sounded. “Did your wife know?”

He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I told her one day. After we were married.”

“Not before?”

“I thought this didn’t matter?”

“Not to me, but obviously it does to you.” Mattered enough to him that he didn’t share it with his fiancée before their wedding. Why not? Alice got that it put him in a vulnerable spot, but how could he commit to marry someone and be her spouse with secrets?

“Right.” He ran his hand down his face. “I tricked her, I guess. That was one of the many things I did wrong, according to her.”

“Why did you stay? If marriage sucked so badly?”

“Because of Cara. I wanted her to have stability. I still do. My father loved me growing up, but having him in and out of my life was painful. I knew if I divorced Kristin, I wouldn’t be there for her as much as I wanted to be.”

Stability. The word threw a punch to her gut. She was part of the current stability, wasn’t she? He trusted her to take care of Cara while he worked to grow his art empire. That was why he wanted her to move with him, so that there wouldn’t be more changes for Cara—on top of the different school and friends. Her heart squeezed for the little girl. She would miss her. Nevertheless, she couldn’t go with them, not when her responsibilities at home were much greater than the little he offered, emotionally at least. “If someone really loves you, they won’t care.”

He ran his hand down her cheek, and a shiver went through her. “I was wrong when I said Bad Alice was my favorite. Good Alice…that’s the one I have to watch out for.”

C
utting through the rich, luxurious fabric was like twisting a knife into her heart. Lorenzo had trusted her, albeit under duress, and shared his secret. He had also shown faith that she would do a good job with the dress. He believed in her, didn’t he? Not that it mattered. Her shoulders sagged a notch. Maybe it did.

“Did you get everything you need?” Lorenzo asked, fixing his collar.

“Yes. Rogerio brought me a sewing machine and a box filled with the necessary supplies. I’m set.” The butler had also sent Viola’s assistant to come help her with whatever she needed. But Alice was hopeful once she opened the stitches on the side, it would be a piece of cake.

“Good.” He kissed the top of her head. “I’m off for a chess game in the library. One of Paul Smythe’s brilliant ideas. See you later.”

She locked the door behind him. The urge to text Georgia crept in, and she was reaching for her cell when a knock startled her.

“You forget something?” she said when she opened the door.

“Hey.” Joan flashed her a smile. “May I come in?”

“Sure.” She gestured for the tall, leggy blonde to enter. A cloud of jasmine leaves blended with cinnamon swirled around Joan. Her signature perfume. “I was altering a dress for the party. Sorry, I don’t have much time to chat,” she said. Although Lorenzo didn’t like Joan, she found no reason to avoid her like he probably wanted.

Joan raised an eyebrow. “I understand. I just came to ask you something.”

Alice motioned for her to sit at one of the tufted settees, but Joan remained standing. Maybe this was going to be short. “Sure.”

“For how long have you worked for Lorenzo?”

Blood froze in her veins. Alice stepped back, as if the rug was being swept from under her. Because, judging by the serious contours on Joan’s face, it was. Shit. “Why would you think that?” she asked, managing to sound fifty percent less nervous than she really was.

“So it’s true.” Joan lifted her chin, hands perched at her waist. A triumphant smile formed on her pink lips. “I knew there was something off.”

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t fit the profile a man like him would date. That’s a given. But, not only that, you don’t wear a lot of designer clothes, which means he didn’t have time to buy you things. Besides, I checked with a friend who lives in Austin, and she had never heard of an Alice Sommers dating Lorenzo Baldi. Or of you at all.”

“Wow, your spiel sends me straight to a shrink’s couch,” Alice fired back, squaring her shoulders. Her stomach was knotted, though she would die before admitting to it. “That doesn’t prove anything.”

Joan assessed her from head to toe, as if this was their first meeting. “Maybe not, but the look on your face did. Why are you deceiving Viola? Lorenzo doesn’t need to have a date to be able to buy the paintings.”

Alice, drumming her fingers on her waist, said, “Was that why you were nice to me? Because you wanted to get the dirt? That’s sick.”

“I like you, Alice, even though you might not believe it.” A flicker of tenderness zipped through Joan’s green eyes. “You are just in way over your head. And if we’re going to compete as equals, it’s wrong for you to fake a relationship.”

Like it’s wrong for you to ambush me?
“I’m not competing. I’m only here to support him. Just as you are to your husband.”

Joan paced the room, perhaps in hopes of finding something incriminating.
Or maybe I’m just paranoid
. “You are Lorenzo’s weapon. Viola likes you. Therefore, yes, you are competition.

“Tell him to do the right thing and drop out of the race. Otherwise it will be worse for him. We can tell Viola he faked a relationship with you. As you know, Viola hates liars. Especially when they’re men. We expect him to withdraw at the party,” she said before she left. “
Arrivederci
.”

Shit. Shit, shit. Alice slapped her forehead. What to do? Lorenzo would be crushed, and not only that, he would hate her. She knew she said way too much when they had their spa day.

She turned on the sewing machine. She would have to find a way to make things better—and she would look fabulous while doing it.

L
orenzo twisted the door handle. Smythe played a good game, but he still beat him. He opened the door to the bedroom, and a breeze of seductive perfume enthralled him. A smile tipped at the corner of his lips, and his pulse spiked. It had been too long since he had pumped inside her and kissed her soft skin. Too damn long.

He searched for her in the suite and found Alice applying makeup. And wearing a dress that cast all sorts of sinful intentions.
Dio Mio.
The woman was an artist. He was no expert, and usually didn’t spare but a glance at dresses in general, but it was obvious Alice was gifted. The burgundy fabric fit like a glove on her, outlining her full breasts, marking her waist without suffocating it, then falling down with a slit on her legs. “Alice,” he said in such a coarse tone, he doubted there was much question about his thoughts.

She awakened a primeval desire in him, and the clock was ticking. Tomorrow, they would go back to Texas, and if he convinced her to move with them to New York or not—which he would—things would never be like they were now. No more sex. No more getting handsy. No more—

His trousers tightened.

She chewed on her lower lip. “We need to talk.”

Maybe dirty talk.
He pulled off his shirt, and it flew across the room. Then he pulled down his pants, getting undressed with the eagerness of a marathon runner nearing the finish line. “You know what I was thinking when I was playing chess?”

“With Paul Smythe? Tell me.” She stepped toward him, and the slit on her dress showed her smooth shapely legs. Was she wearing underwear? He quickly skimmed her dress. No lines. His cock jumped. If anti-garment was a social movement, she would be the face of it. Not that he’d want millions of men to know it, too. “Tell me all about it.”

“Tonight is our last night together. Tomorrow we are heading back home after lunch. And we haven’t been making the best use of our time here.”

She tilted her head, and he could tell by the rise of her chest that she was having a damn hard time breathing. “Is that all that went down when you were with Smythe?”

He slammed her against the sturdy antique vanity table and shoved the contents to the sides. A lot of them fell on the carpet. She lifted her chin, a gleam of pure excitement in her eyes. Yes. She wanted this, too—wanted him. And he had no idea what he had done to deserve that unbridled passion, but he would take it. He would enjoy every last drop until their time was up.

He nudged her legs apart with his own, wrestling the desire to rip her dress off. She had worked hard on it, and shredding it wasn’t right. Carefully, he pulled up the hem and bunched it at her waist. “I’ve been dreaming about touching you.” He palmed her sex, already warm for him. “Like this.” Unable to wait, he thrust two fingers into her, and her sweet wetness made a rumble go through his body.

“What else?” she asked, arching toward him. Her voice heaved with want, which only enticed him even more.

“About feasting on you until you come in my mouth. Hard.”

She moaned—a long, sexy, tortured moan. “T-talk is cheap. I say you back up your promises with action, mister.”

“I can’t think of a better plan.” He nipped her neck, and she curved against the mirror. He kissed her taut nipples over her dress. Kneeling one knee on the ottoman for balance, he positioned himself between her legs, and the scent of her arousal drew him in further. Like a singer to lyrics and a poet to words, he was captivated. Entranced. Hooked. Wasting no time, he buried his head in her sex. Stroking his tongue on her folds, soaking wet only for him, he rejoiced at her addicting honey taste. She was gorgeous, in all kinds of ways.

He slid his hand under her hips, bringing her into him. And with his free hand, he teased her clit—thrumming over the swollen nub at first, warming the metal piercing with the touch of his deft finger and flicking the intimate jewel without mercy. She tangled her hands in his hair, ruffling it, and he intensified the rhythm of his sucking.

She called his name, each time her voice coarser, followed by a string of moans. Never in his life had he been so into the moment—sensing every bit of her climax. Spasms claimed her, but instead of letting go he licked her, pinched her thighs, grazed his teeth over her folds. Made it clear he was there for her.

Only when her breath eased and her body no longer shook as much, he straightened and stood up. His cock throbbed, the tip already creamy. “I also kept thinking about fucking you. Quick and hard.”

She snatched him closer, her hands hovering over his biceps. “Do it. Fuck me.”

It took him a lifetime of control to not come right there. But he did it. He thrust into her, probably a lot rougher than he should have, but there were no complaints. She choked out a whimper, and he was about to ask her if she was okay, when she wrapped her legs around his waist and clenched her inner muscles.

How could he resist her? Resisting wasn’t a part of the weekend.

He would deal with that later. For Christ’s sake, he was a man whose poker face was a trademark on silent auctions throughout the world. Millions hadn’t appeared in his bank account out of nowhere—he had relied on control and hard work.

He thrust into her, in and out, encouraged by her sexy whimpers. Each time he delved deeper, stronger, harder—like he was hitting a hidden part of her. She kissed him, and he plundered her mouth. It didn’t take long for her to reach climax, and his body ripped in amazing shockwaves.