Seducing the Tycoon (International Temptation) Read online

  Then she’d be back, asking for more.

  And he’d welcome her with the open arms of the Dragon.

  Chapter Three

  Chase kept her eyes closed as she woke, bombarded with immediate thoughts about how many fires she’d have to put out before making any progress for the day. A call from her father had confirmed her fear. The director wasn’t coming back, so now instead of overseeing the grand opening while the director finished preparing the hotel, she would have to pull the whole thing off herself.

  She stretched, sliding her legs against the silky softness of the Egyptian cotton Frette sheets, and sighed—made in Italy had never felt so good. With the day looming ahead of her, she relished the idea of staying in bed, and an image popped into her head of Drago’s intense gaze directed at her from the other pillow.

  She snapped her eyes open as her heart sped up at the idea. Pushing out of bed too fast, she almost landed on her ass, but she grabbed the mirrored bedside table in time and steadied herself on an indrawn breath. The man was sexy, but he had no business being in her bed before she invited him.

  She shook him from her head. Today’s agenda was to establish a real rapport with the city center merchants, show them they were important to Huntington House. Maybe, if she could accomplish as much of her schedule as possible on her own, she could relieve Drago of his duties and herself of having to trust someone she barely knew. Then they’d be free to study Italian from a very different angle.

  Feeling hopeful, she pulled out her walking shoes and set them at the foot of her bed for later. To keep sane on this trip, she would carve time out of her day for a walk. It was about the only “me time” she had lately, plus it was the perfect excuse to feed her inner history buff. There was nothing quite like running her fingers along a centuries-old building while imagining who’d touched the same stone during another age. That was what she loved about the building they’d purchased for Huntington House. It was built in the mid-1200s, at the beginning of the rule of the Este family. Not nearly as old as some of the other buildings, but certainly a solid contribution from the past.

  Setting her cell on the sink counter, she opened her emails and rushed through the motions of getting ready. She checked her to-do list, keeping invasive thoughts of Drago at bay. She added a little pomade to her hands, then rubbed it briskly into her short hair, creating a spiky side fringe as she scanned through her in-box.

  Speak of the devil. The first email was from Drago, who’d sent his schedule and boldly asked her to reconsider yesterday’s offer of additional assistance. She was beyond grateful for his translating help, but she didn’t trust him that much—she didn’t know him. A man like Drago needed to be kept on a short leash, or she’d end up on the wrong end of it.

  Making quick work of her makeup, she slid out of her silk shorts and tank, then hung them on a hook behind the bathroom door. She paused a moment, taking in how familiar the sight was. A different day, a different hanger, but always the same pajamas. Her job had always meant a lot of travel, but if the next three weeks went right, soon she’d be hanging those pajamas in the same closet every day.

  Sliding into an ivory satin jumpsuit, she zipped up the side and buckled the gold belt. With a quick glance at the time, she strapped on a pair of gold heels, then grabbed her favorite dangling earrings to put on in the elevator. The colors popped against her olive complexion and dark hair. “Dress for success” was her motto, no matter if she was moving furniture or opening a hotel.

  She grabbed her cell, then made a note to check the concierge portfolio and add to it herself. If Drago was right about their current concierge resources, Huntington House would be doing the clientele a disservice. Not on her watch.

  But first things first: she wasn’t going to accomplish anything without coffee. Dreaming of her first sip, she grabbed her bag, then headed down to the lobby, texting Drago as she went.

  If she had any doubts about retaining his translating services, they disappeared as she took in the chaos in the lobby. The large chairs, sofas, and tables were all in place, but the prayer she’d sent out yesterday that the artwork and decor would be completed had not been answered. What had been hung was in the wrong place, and the rest remained piled in groups—though at least now they were on tables instead of the floors.

  Her hospitality staff, Rita and Inez, lounged against the counter, one on the phone and the other filing her nails. Chase furrowed her brow. “Excuse me.”

  Neither of the women paid her any mind, and her original solution to clean house seemed more and more appealing. They were lucky she didn’t have the time. She tried again with a bit more force. “Scusa.”

  They slowly turned their heads, but didn’t stop what they were doing.

  Frustration built a fire in her belly. She wanted to yell, but she was a guest in their country, one who didn’t know beyond five words of their language.

  As if on cue, Drago strolled in the front door. And she wasn’t the only one who noticed. Rita and Inez straightened, both smoothing their skirts and loose strands of their hair. He had that effect on women, and she forced her hands to remain at her sides instead of adjusting the halter of her own suit like she wanted to. And she was certain her sudden shortness of breath had nothing to do with the walking fantasy headed her way and everything to do with the state of the lobby.

  She gave the women a considering look, taking advantage of their distracted state. “You both speak English, and if you wish to remain working here you won’t ignore me in the future, with or without Signor De Luca’s presence. Am I understood?”

  “Si, si,” they both answered, then snapped their mouths shut, their eyes wide.

  Giving them a nod and a pasted-on smile, Chase turned to greet Drago. “Good morning.”

  He returned the smile. “Buongiorno.” Taking her hand, he brought her knuckles to his lips and barely brushed his lips over them. Then he winked in a way she felt to the tips of her toes.

  The next few weeks promised to be a roller coaster for her libido with this guy around. Good thing a little distraction was exactly what she needed to stay focused. “Good timing. I was just heading out.”

  She gave one last glance at the mess that was her lobby. Her morning was quickly melting away, and she hadn’t even gotten her coffee yet.

  “What instruction would you like me to leave everyone with?” Drago put his arm out to her.

  Sliding her fingers along the inside of his biceps, she resisted the temptation to squeeze into the hardness of it. Waving her other hand in a casual manner, she replied, “Leave it until we get back. The electrician will be here in a little bit, and they’ll have more than enough to do going over each room. Besides, I’m afraid by the looks of things, they’ll need more instruction than we have time for right now.”

  He nodded.

  Making their way down one of the quaint main streets toward the Piazza Castello, she marveled at all the bicycles lining the sidewalks. There were almost as many parked as being ridden down the cobblestones, making the streets pop with color alongside the pots of flowers.

  “Do you have loaner bikes at Huntington House?” Drago nodded toward two men decked out in pristine suits riding in front of them, briefcases strapped to the backs of their bicycles.

  “I hadn’t looked into that yet. Honestly, that’s something Donati should have taken care of. I’m assuming if you’re bringing it up, it’s a thing for hotels in Ferrara.”

  “Absolutely. Everyone gets around on two wheels. But remember to offer locks, because with so many bikes around, they end up going missing.”

  She tilted her head with a laugh. “Really? Lifting bikes is the crime of Ferrara?”

  Sliding his gaze her way, he smirked. “The path of least resistance and all that. Supply and demand. Using someone’s existing supply simply feeds another’s demand. It’s business.”

  The words fell so effortlessly from his mouth. There was no denying he believed what he said, but comparing business to ste
aling? Saying that taking was fine because there was something to take? “Is that how you feel? That it’s all about opportunity?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Some of us have to work for every opportunity. We’re not all born into a family fortune. When you live by fighting to make it to the top, you learn to take the means you know will get you there.”

  He didn’t know a damn thing about her life, about how hard she’d worked to get where she was. Yes, she was a Huntington, so the opportunity was there, but she had to work damn hard for it. Her father wouldn’t be where he was today if he automatically filled positions with family. “Not all of us are so arrogant that we believe every opportunity is ours for the taking. Some of us try to do the right thing even if it costs us. Some of us try to help those around us.”

  “And you don’t think I do?” His voice took on a sharp edge.

  “Do you? You just said you’d take any means to get to the top. That doesn’t leave a lot of room for charity work.”

  “Well, a good businessman doesn’t need charity.”

  She stopped to face him and spoke gently. “Look, all I’m saying is we all find ourselves in a position where a little compassion could mean the difference between opening a hotel or having to close before it even gets started. I know you see that, or you wouldn’t be here helping me right now.”

  He studied her face, but remained silent. Then with a hand to her lower back, he guided her toward the door of the coffee and pastry bar. His cell rang, and he put his finger up for her to wait.

  She shook her head. “Go ahead, I’ll order drinks.”

  He frowned but answered his phone.

  Studying the front entryway, she noted how the inside spilled out onto the walkway. It had been one of the first things she’d noticed the day before. She’d been multitasking, but she remembered every detail. With a deep, appreciative inhale, she stepped inside.

  A beautiful older woman stood behind the counter, pulling a sheet of fresh-baked pastries from the large stone oven. She had thick gray hair that boasted of ebony from days gone by. Years shone from her face in smile lines and sparkling dark eyes that lit up as her gaze fell upon Chase.

  “Buongiorno, bella.”

  Chase couldn’t help the grin that stretched from cheek to cheek. “Buongiorno, signora.”

  As Chase stepped up to the counter, the woman studied her, then something shifted in her eyes. The warmth disappeared and a wary distance took its place.

  “Americano at Huntington House, no?”

  “Yes, ma’am. You speak English?”

  She shook her head. “Piccolo.” Her tone was short, and she offered no more.

  Apparently Chase’s heritage preceded her, and the shopkeeper wasn’t impressed. Chase wanted Huntington House to do right by the people of Ferrara. To bring their culture, their sophistication, and their talents inside, as well as directing the Huntington’s clients to the right places outside. Like this bakery. Making friends would be important. Obviously it wasn’t going to be easy, but easy wasn’t a requirement. Moving around so much had helped her hone her social skills, and in situations where people were threatened by someone new, she excelled.

  “Well, your bakery is simply gorgeous.” She smiled.

  The women stared back.

  “Splendido.” Chase kissed her fingertips.

  The baker turned back to her stove as another woman stepped up to take Chase’s order. She waited for her biscotti and two caffès, losing herself in the lull of the grind and hum of the espresso machine. The woman she believed to be the owner never glanced her way again, and Chase pulled in a breath. Well then. Her next stop would be a success.

  As a bit of tension eased from its biting grip on her neck, Chase tucked her cookie into her bag, then sipped from her caffè. Most Italians would throw the hot liquid back in one swallow and continue on with their day, but she wasn’t accustomed to the heat and needed to drink hers in a few gulps instead. The only thing better would be a second cup and more time to enjoy it. Maybe Drago wouldn’t notice if she drank his. She made her way back outside and found the man in question slipping his phone into his suit jacket.

  “Ready?” He asked the question casually enough, but his curt tone made it seem like an accusation. She shook off the odd sensation. Her nerves were surely messing with her perception.

  She handed him his caffè and took a bite of biscotti to hide the smile that threatened to spread over her face at the sight of the tiny cup in such large hands. It was an observation she’d keep to herself. After her obvious perusal of his footwear, she wouldn’t hand him any more ammunition to tease her.

  “I am,” she answered. “The owner seemed so distant. I was hoping to make some friends today.”

  Drago tensed and looked over her head toward the bar, then back. “I told you to wait for me. You’re new here. Give it time.” He emptied his cup, then set it on the table.

  As they walked, stores opened one by one. They set out signs, tables and chairs, and more flowers. Slowly the street came alive with couples old enough to know each other’s shadows, walking hand in hand, young mothers on bikes with their children in tow, and businessmen dressed to the nines with their ears already attached to their cells.

  She related most to the latter, but yearned for the first. It would be lovely to share the day with someone who knew her so well, who loved her because of that knowledge. She yearned for a connection like Addi had with Roque. Her best friend was planning her wedding and deciding when they’d start having children, and Chase didn’t want to be left behind. She wanted her career, a partner, two children, and maybe even a dog. Dare she say it? She wanted it all. She wasn’t getting any younger, though, and right now she didn’t even have a date.

  But before she could worry about her future in Malibu, she needed to straighten out her current problems in Ferrara.

  Which weren’t going away anytime soon. Their next stop at the newspaper proved fruitless, and her hopes were dashed. A scheduling mix-up had left them with no official notice of the hotel opening going out.

  “Thank you for trying,” she told Drago anyway.

  “Don’t thank me. I was only able to get the press release scheduled a few days in advance.”

  “It’s better than none at all, which is what would’ve happened had I been on my own.” She sighed and bent her neck from side to side. The press release would be less than effective. With no notice, no time to drum up excitement and urgency, pulling off a successful opening was nearly impossible.

  Maybe she could go through her list of possible patrons and hand-deliver invitations herself. And in light of the press release fail, an old-fashioned flier blitz might be the very thing that could save her.

  In fact, that’s exactly what she’d do. The personal touch would go a long way in winning over the town. Pulling out her phone, she added a memo to choose which local printer she wanted to partner with and schedule a consultation.

  Drago stepped close. “What’s going on?”

  Shaking her head, she said, “Nothing, adding a memo for later.”

  “You know, this will be a whole lot easier if I know what your plans are.”

  She winked with a playful grin, though she felt anything but playful. “No reason to bother you with every detail.” Her plans weren’t up for debate, and sharing her business strategies with Drago would definitely mean a debate.

  He frowned but moved away. “Where to next, then?”

  “Actually, you’re off the clock for a while,” she said, ignoring the clenching of his jaw as she slid her phone back into her bag. “I’m going to check out one or two of these shops on my own, try to make some friends. I’ll find you in a bit. I’m sure you have some of your own business to catch up on anyway.”

  Maybe if she could have one single victory on her own, she wouldn’t feel so dependent on him. She parted ways with the reluctant Drago and strolled along Via Mazzini, carefully dodging parked bicycles as well as the ones zooming by. People were everywhere,
and she marveled at how much life there was in the Renaissance town. Though Ferrara was large, the city center had the makings of a tightly knit community where everyone knew everyone else—imperative when it came to finding Huntington House’s place in the mix.

  Running her fingers along the brick of an old building, she recognized the large white plaques that flanked the door. Tedesco synagogue. The street had been blocked on each end and made into a Jewish ghetto during World War II. If she hadn’t already known the synagogue was there, she’d have walked right past it with it tucked between a shop on one side and a restaurant on the other as if it were any old building—something she was determined to avoid with Huntington House.

  She read a few of the names on one of the plaques, and her heart squeezed. These were places of honor to remember the lives lost. Lives that had been torn from their homes not once, but over and over again, until they had nothing left. It was a testament to how important making a home was, creating a life.

  There were no promises except those she made herself. And finding her place in this life, setting down roots, was her priority. A way to honor those who couldn’t find home. Her breath hitched. There was such rich history here; it was hard not to get caught up and explore the town for pleasure instead of business, but business it must be. With a kiss to her fingertips, she touched the plaque and then continued down the street.

  She stopped in front of a women’s clothing store and squared her shoulders. If she could make at least one connection, one friend in this city, she’d turn the day around and be able to breathe again.

  A whimsical melody softly chimed as she opened the front door. A subtle hint of Chanel No. 5 scented the air, and Andrea Bocelli serenaded from the overhead speakers.

  The store clerk spoke with a few customers. Chase recognized one or two Italian words, but her heart soared when the woman switched to English. Oh, thank God.

  “Yes, ma’am. We have that in blue. Bella, no?”

  The customer nodded her agreement.