Seducing the Tycoon (International Temptation) Read online

  Her last conversation with Drago played in her head like a broken record, but his voice was something she wouldn’t tire of anytime soon. She was attracted to him, but she didn’t know him well enough to say she liked him. On a very superficial level, yes. He was charming and decisive. People listened when he spoke, and that spoke to her. With his help, Huntington House would open, making a statement, making Ferrara more than its location, but its home. If she could get the community to see her vision, they wouldn’t be able to resist embracing the new addition to the old city.

  She made a left, dodged the crowds and the bicycles, then made another left. Thirty more minutes, then she’d head back and shower before Drago arrived. Ideas took shape on how to incorporate more of Ferrara inside Huntington House as she approached the hotel, and she dictated a quick reminder into her phone. If she wanted to appeal to the people, she needed to know the people.

  Making her way through the front lobby, she allowed a small sigh of relief upon seeing progress since the morning. Everything was finally in place, through horrendous effort and arguments in two different languages. But at least it was finally done. And the effect was stunning. Both inviting and elegant, the room flowed from sitting area to sitting area in an open yet intimate design. Guests wouldn’t just walk through this space, they’d sit down and visit.

  The electrician was making good headway along the hallways and alcoves, and the tiled mosaic had been completed, but the mirror image that would be laid along two opposing walls hadn’t been touched. And she’d yet to inspect the suites. Apparently, that was what tomorrow was for.

  Once in her room, she lost herself in preparing for the evening, enjoying the tasks that required no thought beyond color and comfort. Finally, she brushed her hands over her simple black dress, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles and removing nonexistent lint. Wrinkles and lint wouldn’t dare come near her wardrobe for fear of destruction, but she liked to keep up appearances. She dabbed on a bit more gloss, then slipped into her strappy heels. Drago would be there any minute, and she wanted to be in the lobby to greet him.

  Her stomach filled with jitters that made her feel both queasy and excited. Their dinner was purely business, but whenever her eyes fell on the man, business was the last thing that came to mind. His groomed dark hair made her fingers itch to run through it, and his tanned skin stretched over taut and meaty muscles made her palms tingle to slide along each tempting mound.

  A call notification sounded from her computer, yanking her from her fantasy. Sliding onto the desk chair, she accepted the call, expecting her father’s face to fill the screen.

  As the image sharpened, her stomach dropped.

  “Miss Huntington, so glad we caught you.” The chairman of the board smiled broadly with her father by his side.

  “Gentlemen, I was just leaving to finalize the menu for the opening.”

  The chairman folded his hands on the table in front of him. “Things are going well, then? We have our concerns with Signor Donati gone.”

  “Chase,” her father interrupted. “Since you’re on your way out, we’ll make this quick.”

  The chairman spoke again. “We’ve had a candidate for the Malibu position pop up on our radar that we’re very interested in. They not only have the knowledge and passion we need, but the experience.”

  The dig on how long she’d been invested in the company more than stung. “You gave me until the opening date before making your decision.” She fought to keep her voice composed, though her heart raced and her hands shook.

  “Miss Huntington, what’s best for the hotel is what’s important here. I’m sure you agree. If there is any reason you suspect you won’t be able to fulfill your role in Ferrara, it would behoove us to know now so we can move on this.”

  Clenching her hand in a fist, she glanced from the chairman’s questioning look to her father’s accepting one. He didn’t like the hoops she had to jump through, but he understood them. And so did she. Swallowing against the lump in her throat, she answered firmly, “I assure you, I have everything under control. And as such, I must say good evening.”

  She disconnected the call and slumped back in her chair. Everything under control? Her sharp laugh rang against the walls. What a joke. Not one thing had gone as planned since she’d arrived in Ferrara. Nothing except for Drago. If the board was so eager to accept this new candidate already, then she needed to more than prove she could handle this situation. She needed to show them there was no one better for the job. She needed to be the one they were so eager to move forward with.

  Pushing away from the desk and smoothing her clammy palms down the front of her dress again, she headed to the lobby. She kept her breathing even and her movements calm, though on the inside every nerve ending galloped at breakneck speed.

  Stepping through one of the three sets of floor-to-ceiling glass doors leading into the hotel dining room, she studied the space and made a mental list of items that needed attention before the opening. Dinner had been inspired on Drago’s part, because she needed to do a tasting in order to decide which items she wanted to feature at the event. She’d have a few of the most decadent items on the menu spotlighted, and no better time than the present to tick this specific to-do off the list.

  “Simply stunning.” The deep timbre of Drago’s voice slid down her spine, and she turned around.

  “The simple lines, elegant choice of color, and understated details make for an exquisite finish.” He stared at her as he spoke, though his hand swept out to indicate the room.

  Warmth rushed to her hairline as he stepped close. She tilted her head back to look up at him. “You like the room?”

  He slid the palm of his hand along the edge of hers to her wrist, then back to her fingers. Taking them in a gentle grip, he raised her knuckles to his lips. “I like it very much.” He pressed a kiss to her skin and held it. And she prayed he wouldn’t notice the goose bumps that now ran the length of her arms, lifting every little hair to stand on end.

  Holy shiiiiiit. As the heat of his lips pressed into her knuckles, a low strumming set up a beat low in her belly, and her body grew heavy as if her legs no longer felt like holding her up. As if lying down would be the smartest decision for the current situation. Well, that was a whole new perspective on sweeping someone off their feet. She blinked and pulled in a shaky breath. “Not too American?”

  He leaned closer still and raised a hand to her temple. “You have something here.” His fingers gently brushed through the short hair, then slid to her cheek. “Surprisingly, not too American at all.”

  She cleared her throat and took a step back. “Well, I…we…wanted to make sure we stayed true to the sophistication of modern-day Ferrara while at the same time keeping one foot squarely in the old Renaissance city.”

  He let his hand fall to his side, then slid it in the pocket of his slacks. Looking up at the thick wooden beams that ran the width of the space, then down to the old Italian porcelain saved from the original building, his eyes roamed back up the length of her until they met her gaze, and he smiled. “Perfetto.”

  Needing to bring the tension down a notch, she clapped her hands together. “Okay, love. Follow me. I’ve had a table set up in front of the observation glass so we can watch our meal come together.”

  He followed her. “You should’ve let me take you out. Your time in Ferrara’s limited and there’s so much to see.”

  “Next time. I need to decide on which foods I’ll be using at the grand opening, and a second mouth is always helpful.”

  He coughed behind his hand. “I’ll hold you to it.”

  She snapped her gaze to his. “Hold me to what?” To your rock-hard body please, God.

  “You said ‘next time.’ Which means I still get to take you out.”

  “I don’t think—”

  Holding a chair for her, he narrowed his eyes. “We’ve work to do. I know. But you feel…” He paused, holding her air with it. As if testing his own words, he skimmed a hand u
p her arm, and she stilled. Heat radiated from his body to hers like a promise, and her breath seized in her lungs.

  He lowered his face, and the warm gust of his breath breezed across her skin as he spoke close to her ear. “…this. I know, because I feel it, too.”

  A shiver ran up her neck in a sharp, delicious sting, and she boldly held his gaze. “That may be true, but I haven’t decided what I want to do about it yet.”

  Something flared in his eyes, but he released her to sit, assisting with her chair. As he lowered himself next to her, he said, “Make sure to tell me as soon as you do. I have a few ideas.”

  Chase breathed in a slow, controlled manner. Drago was an intense and powerful personality, and he didn’t need any help with his ego—especially in the form of a breathless, lustful American girl.

  She glanced through the observation glass and slapped her hand on the table. “Goddammit.” She prayed Huntington House didn’t have a headquarters spy, because if any of this got back to the board, she could kiss her dreams good-bye.

  His gaze followed hers.

  Instead of seeing her chef mid-prep with their tapas-style dinner, she saw a spotless kitchen and no staff in sight. “I swear, I’m going to kill someone.”

  She shot up from the table with Drago beside her. Rounding the corner of the bar, she marched down the narrow hallway, then pushed through the kitchen door, calling for the chef. “Signor Francesco!” She stopped so fast Drago collided from behind, his arms wrapping around her waist like an iron vise.

  She grabbed his forearms and shot a glance over her shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

  For a brief moment, he pulled her back against him tighter. “I’m not.”

  The heat of his chest seared through the fabric of her dress, and she forgot why she’d come into the kitchen in the first place. Oh yeah. The damned food.

  She threw him a smile and patted his hand. “Come on. I bet he’s in the break room.”

  “He knew to cook tonight?”

  Gritting her teeth, she nodded. They’d spoken as soon as she’d returned from her errands that morning. It was slow going due to the language barrier, but she’d confirmed the food and the time for this evening. “He knew.” She reached the break room door, but swung around to face Drago. “And I think he understands me perfectly.” She threw her hand out. “I think they all do.”

  “Not all Italians speak English, especially in Ferrara.”

  Holding his gaze for a beat, she pressed her lips together. “I know not all of them do, but I also know that many of the younger generation who’ve gone to college probably do. And that is the largest portion of my staff. Which may simply need to be replaced if they don’t want to work with the American.”

  He put his hands on her shoulders and gave a gentle squeeze. The pressure and barely-there circular motion on her muscles made her knees weak once more.

  “I’m sure there’s a good explanation,” he said.

  She wrapped her hand around the doorknob. “The only explanation he’ll need will be how to collect his last paycheck.”

  When she pushed the door open, the scene was exactly as she suspected. There was Mr. Francesco, feeding his face with her food and watching soccer, or rather football, on the television.

  “Signor Francesco.” She marched in and with very controlled movements, pushed his shoes off the table.

  He shot to his feet. “Scusa, scusa.”

  Trying to count backward from ten to gain some sort of control, Chase pulled in a breath. “What are you doing?”

  He immediately bowed his head and mumbled in a stream of Italian.

  “I don’t understand.”

  He kept talking, but even faster, if that was possible.

  “Signore —”

  Drago stepped beside her and spoke sharply.

  Mr. Francesco immediately snapped his mouth shut and watched Drago with wary eyes. Chase didn’t know what Drago said after that, but Mr. Francesco nodded like a bumbling idiot, repeating, “Si, signore. Si, signore.”

  Drago opened the door, and Mr. Francesco darted through it toward the kitchen.

  Silence left the small space feeling even smaller. She looked from the empty doorway to Drago. “What did you say?”

  “That if he didn’t want to have to tangle with the American for his last paycheck, he’d better make good on his promise.”

  She nodded.

  “Would you actually do it?”

  “What? Fire him?” She chewed on her lip. “If he doesn’t want to work with me, with Huntington House—absolutely. But I don’t want to. I want the staff here to feel like they’re part of a family.” He laughed, making her flinch, but she continued with a shrug. “Some situations warrant it, others don’t. I imagine in your line of work, making a family atmosphere doesn’t cross your mind.”

  He stepped toward her, placing his large hands on her hips. “And you’d be right. I’ve never once been interested in being family or friends with someone I was working with.”

  It was his thighs she felt first, then his abdomen as he stepped closer. Both hard, both hot. “That is, until I met you.”

  She stared into his dark eyes, the blood rushing in her head, making it hard to hear and harder to breathe. The heat of him surrounded her—a sensation she was growing accustomed to—and the gentle tug of his cologne made her want to dip her nose toward his neck for a chance to gain another whiff. “Are we friends already?” she whispered, struggling as much to form her words as she did to remain standing.

  “Aren’t we?” His eyes dipped toward her mouth. “New, fast, friends.” On a low, almost imperceptible groan, he lowered his mouth a hairbreadth from her own.

  Her lips tingled, and her heart thudded in her chest so hard it left her dizzy. All she had to do was lift her chin the slightest bit, and his taste would be hers.

  “Scusa, signore, signora.” Mr. Francesco followed his voice through the door.

  Chase stepped back from Drago quickly and sucked in a breath. Her hands itched to return to his shoulders; though if she were honest, she couldn’t remember having put them there in the first place.

  Pasting a smile on her face, she turned to him. “Yes, signore?”

  “La cena è servita.” He paused and scrunched up his face. “I mean a…dinner. It is served. First sampling.”

  She nodded, and he headed back out to the kitchen.

  Drago had dropped his chin to his chest, but raised it now with a gleam in his eye. He reached for her, but she sidestepped him. “Uh-uh, you heard the man.” She walked toward the door. “It’s time to eat. He’s ready to go with the first option from the list I gave him, and we’ll watch while he prepares the rest. I need to accomplish something today. And figuring out which foods my kitchen will serve is going to be one of them if it kills me.”

  Besides, she needed some clarity and a chance to balance the scales a little. A fling with this man promised a great deal more than fun, and she wanted him like she hadn’t wanted someone in a long time. Which is exactly why she needed a chance to breathe. She couldn’t afford to make any mistakes. And though she was never one to turn away from a good healthy romp between consenting adults, something about Drago made her want to take her time a bit. Well, her brain wanted time. Her body wanted to climb him like a jungle gym.

  “Or kills me, you mean,” he grated out.

  She shot him a look and found him smiling. “This is a simple business dinner, Signor De Luca,” she teased. “You said so yourself, after all.”

  He flashed her a predatory grin. “I did, didn’t I?”

  His tone said a whole lot more, but he remained silent as he led her back out to the table. It was a good thing she’d decided to take him on as her translator. Her staff respected him, and she was finally able to get something done. She suppressed the need to sigh in relief. All these little challenges would be worth it to get back to Malibu and the life she was determined to create there.

  She dragged her gaze up the long lines
of his body as he walked. There was a part of her that railed against having to trust someone outside her circle, but she tried to remember that she was in a different country, with a different culture, and in an old-world city at that. If she needed to use the machismo that came along with Drago De Luca as her translator, she would.

  And she had an idea of some other uses for him, too.

  Chapter Six

  The next morning, Drago took the steps up to the front doors of Huntington House two at a time, prepared to take care of a few emails in the lobby while he waited for Chase. But damned if the woman hadn’t beaten him to the punch. As he walked through the lobby long, toned legs that reminded him of his last summer in the south of France greeted him like a punch to the gut.

  It wasn’t only how long they were, but how they teased as they disappeared under the tailored skirt as if they were privy to a secret he wasn’t. Che figa. He rubbed the back of his neck.

  He’d have to get over it. Today was indeed about seduction, but a seduction focused on trust, not her body and all the things he wanted to do with it.

  He cleared his throat.

  Chase looked up from her tablet and stood to greet him. “Good morning.”

  “Buongiorno.” Her short crop of hair glinted in the light as he kissed one cheek then the next. She was a unique collection of textures and colors and scents, leaving him in a haze of mango and cocoa butter as he stepped back.

  Then she smiled.

  “Minchia,” he swore under his breath.

  “What was that?”

  “Niente, ready to go?” he asked.

  With a tilt to her head, she grinned, flipped the protective lid over her tablet, then slid it in her bag. “No, not nothing. If I’m not mistaken, you swore, and I think it meant ‘fuck.’” She spoke low so only he could hear her.

  He laughed. “Did you just whisper ‘fuck’? What’s wrong? You don’t swear?”