Читать книгу Seduced By The Tycoon At Christmas - Pamela Yaye - Страница 11

Chapter 2

Zoe Smith stood on the corner of the traffic-congested road, watching the female paramedics fawn all over Romeo Morretti, and rolled her eyes. They were flirting with him, acting as if they were socializing at a cocktail party rather than at the scene of a traffic accident. Their behavior was annoying her. They were flipping their hair, batting their eyelashes, laughing outrageously every five seconds. Why were they showering him with attention? Why weren’t they assessing her—the victim? Wasn’t that their job? To help her?

Romeo caught her staring at him, and her heart stopped. Zoe wanted to look away, but his gaze held her in its seductive grip. Even though she was a mature, thirty-two-year-old woman, she couldn’t muster the strength to break free. The media—and every female in the city—loved the brazen playboy, and although she’d seen numerous pictures of him in the tabloids, Zoe still gave him the once-over. Dressed in a tailored suit, it was easy for her to see why socialites, actresses and pop stars threw themselves at him on a daily basis. He was eye candy. The kind of man women fantasized about, men idolized and children adored. Romeo was twenty feet away from her, but he still made her breathless. Light-headed. It was more than just his ridiculous sex appeal and his dark, soulful features; his calm, cool demeanor drew her in. He was trouble though, no doubt about it. Thoughts she had no business having about Romeo filled her mind, and she couldn’t escape them.

Giving her head a shake, Zoe tore her gaze away from his handsome face. She hadn’t traveled all the way to Milan to get played by a cocky bachelor with a reputation with the ladies. She’d read the stories in the tabloids, and now that she’d met Romeo Morretti for herself, Zoe knew the gossip was true. According to published reports, he was used to getting his way in the boardroom and the bedroom, but she wasn’t going to give him the time of day. She was actively searching for Mr. Right, not a bad-boy businessman who reeked of arrogance.

Zoe glanced at her wristwatch, saw that it was eight thirty and felt a rush of panic. The staff meeting started in thirty minutes, and since she didn’t want to miss Aurora’s announcement, she had to hurry. Her office was only ten minutes away, and once the police finished their investigation, she’d be on her way. Her colleagues at Casa Di Moda were convinced they were receiving Christmas bonuses today, and the news was music to her ears.

For the first time that morning, Zoe smiled. Drowning in debt, she planned to use the money to pay off her bills and buy a plane ticket to New York so she could spend the holidays with her family. Milan was expensive, and it was impossible for her to save money when she had to network every night of the week. Not that Zoe was complaining. She attended red-carpet events, charity galas and award shows, and mingled with the most important people in the fashion industry. In two short years, she’d developed strong relationships with magazine editors, beauty bloggers and supermodels, and her boss was thrilled with the progress she’d made. Best of all, she loved the energy and environment at Casa Di Moda, and hoped to work at the up-and-coming fashion house for many years to come.

“Ms. Smith, would you like to add anything else to your statement?”

Surfacing from her thoughts, Zoe shook her head and faced the police officer with the heavy accent and wiry black hair. “What happens now?” she asked. “Are you going to charge Mr. Morretti with distracted driving?”

The officer closed his notebook and tucked it into his front pocket. “No.”

“Why not? He was yapping on his cell phone and driving recklessly when the accident occurred. If that isn’t the definition of distracted driving, I don’t know what is.”

“Witnesses said Mr. Morretti had the right of way when you slammed into his car.”

“Yeah, right. And I was an astronaut in a past life,” she quipped.

The officer frowned. “Why would the witnesses lie? Furthermore, I interviewed everyone in the café across the street and the staff said the same thing. You crossed illegally.”

Stumped, Zoe closed her mouth. Am I at fault? Did I cause the accident? She tried to remember what happened, to visualize the scene in her mind’s eye, but her brain was foggy. Last night, she’d stayed up late working on the December events calendar, and Zoe was so tired, she’d dozed off at the kitchen table while reading the morning newspaper.

Her gaze landed on her mountain bike, lying in pieces on the cobblestoned road, and her shoulders sagged. Milan was flat, with no hills or valleys, and biking around the city was not only fun and economical, it was a great way for her to learn her way around. It had been a gift from her colleague, Jiovanni Costa, and Zoe had fond memories of them cycling through the countryside, talking, laughing and cracking jokes. The associate designer was the brother she’d never had, and if not for his friendship she never would’ve survived her first month in Milan.

“Am I free to go?” Zoe asked, addressing the police officers.

“You should go to the hospital to get checked out,” the emergency room doctor advised, pushing his rimless eyeglasses up the bridge of his nose. “I think it’s for the best.”

The police officer with the crooked teeth nodded his head. “I agree.”

Zoe was annoyed, but she didn’t argue with the three men crowded around her on the wooden bench. It wasn’t their fault Romeo Morretti had ruined her morning commute, and although she was tired of the doctor pressuring her to go to the hospital, she hid her frustration. “Thanks, but no thanks,” Zoe said, rising to her feet. Pain coursed through her right ankle, but she ignored the discomfort. “I’m good.”

Worry lines wrinkled the doctor’s forehead. “But you’re favoring your right side.”

He was right; she was. Dodging his gaze, Zoe stared down at her wedge sandals. Her shin was sore and her legs ached, but since it was nothing a warm bath and a glass of Chianti couldn’t cure, Zoe dismissed his concerns with a wave of her hand. “I’m fine. I don’t need to go the hospital. I need to go to work, and if I don’t leave now, I’ll be late.”

The men shared a worried look, and Zoe wondered if the police had the authority to take her to the hospital against her will. Anxious to get to the office, she crouched down on the road, grabbed her broken handbag and stuffed her personal items back inside. Her cell phone and her tablet were both cracked, and her makeup case was caked in mud. Pausing to look at the family pictures that had fallen out of her journal, her vision blurred. As she’d collided with Romeo Morretti’s car, images of her parents and her younger sister had flashed before her eyes. If her cell phone weren’t broken, she’d call them right now just to hear their voices. It was hard being away from her close-knit Trinidadian family, but Zoe loved living and working in Milan and wanted to help make Casa Di Moda a household name.

Standing, Zoe glanced around for a taxi stand. Spotting one across the street in front of a bakery, she swung her purse over her shoulder and gingerly approached the intersection. If she hurried, she could make it to the staff meeting on time, and her boss would never know she’d been an hour late for work. Zoe still couldn’t wrap her mind around what had happened. Her bike was destroyed, but she was alive and well, and that was all that mattered.

“Hey! Wait! Where are you going?” the police officer said, raising his voice. “You can’t leave your bike on the road all day. Someone could get hurt.”

Zoe frowned. What did he expect her to do? Carry it on her back to work? His tone was sharp, implying that his patience was limited. To smooth things over, she apologized for the inconvenience and thanked the officers in Italian for their help.

Everyone on the sidewalk—including Romeo Morretti—gawked at her. No doubt, they were shocked she spoke Italian. Everyone was. Two years ago, while traveling through Europe, she’d fallen in love with Milan, and after a chance meeting with up-and-coming fashion designer Aurora Bordellio at a networking event, she’d landed the public relations director position at Casa Di Moda. Thrilled to be living and working in her favorite city in the world, she’d devoted herself to learning the language, culture and history. Taking night classes at the local university and attending community events were the wisest things she’d ever done. When locals heard her speaking Italian, they instantly warmed up to her and went out of their way to help her.

The light changed, and pedestrians flooded the street. Taking her time, despite all of the people rushing past her, Zoe slowly crossed the intersection. High-rise buildings crowded the skyline, but she could still make out the top of the golden-painted statue on the Duomo and admired its beauty. Described by locals as the Italian Manhattan, Milan was a fast-paced city packed with entrepreneurs, university students, attractive women in the latest designer fashions, and wide-eyed tourists toting cameras and backpacks.

Zoe was tired and her ankle ached, but the sounds and aromas around her were invigorating. Milan had it all—historical buildings and monuments, breathtaking architecture, outstanding restaurants, and a vibrant nightlife—and every day, Zoe found something new to love about the city. Her work visa expired in the new year, and although she missed her friends and family back home, she teared up at the thought of leaving Milan.

“Where are you going?”

Zoe glanced over her shoulder and saw Romeo Morretti standing directly behind her, and gulped. What does he want? Her eyes zeroed in on him, taking in every aspect of his six-foot-three frame. He had a full head of curly brown hair and skin that looked smooth to the touch, and his lips were so thick and juicy, thoughts of kissing him overwhelmed her mind. He smelled of shampoo and aftershave; the strong, masculine scent tickled her nose. His piercing gaze and his boyish smile were a lethal combination. Zoe feared if she didn’t move, her knees would buckle, and she’d fall headfirst into his arms. Desperate to put some distance between them, she increased her pace, speed walking toward the taxi stand even though her ankle was killing her.

“Zoe, please, wait. Don’t run off. I can drive you wherever you need to go.”

Her feet slowed. Not because of his generous, unexpected offer, but because of the way he said her name. With tenderness and warmth, as if they were lovers and he was pleading for forgiveness. Deleting the thought from her mind, Zoe knew it was important to keep her guard up and wisely took cover behind the green taxi stand. Her mouth was dry, and her stomach was twisted in knots, but she managed to sound calm. “No, thank you.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve seen you drive, and I don’t want to end up in the emergency ward.”

The light in his eyes dimmed, and Zoe felt guilty for insulting him. She remembered what the police officers had told her about the accident. According to witnesses, she was to blame, so she had no right to insult Romeo Morretti. Still, he made her nervous, uncomfortable. She wished he’d return to his fancy sports car and leave her alone.

“Where are you going?”

“Work,” she said, trying to conceal her frustration. Hot and thirsty, all Zoe could think about was drinking a tall, cold glass of ice water, and hoped Jiovanni had remembered to bring snacks to the staff meeting. “I’m late, and if I don’t hustle, my boss will kill me.”

“Work? In your condition?” His eyebrows slanted in a frown. “You should go home and rest. I’m sure your boss will understand.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a pest?”

Romeo gave a hearty chuckle. “No, never.”

Damn, even his laugh is sexy, Zoe thought as she wiped her damp palms along the sides of her dress. It wasn’t every day she met a man of Romeo Morretti’s calibre—someone suave, charming and dapper—and being in his presence had an odd effect on her. Every time their eyes met she felt short of breath, as if she were going to have an asthma attack—but she didn’t have asthma. Licking her lips, she searched the street for a cab.

“Zoe, what’s the number for Casa Di Moda? I’ll call on your behalf.”

A shiver tickled her spine. Hearing her name come out of his broad, sensuous mouth warmed her all over. Seconds passed before she could speak, and when Zoe finally reunited with her voice, it sounded foreign to her ears. What’s the matter with me? Why am I acting skittish? For some strange reason, Romeo made her heart race. Zoe wanted him gone, far away from her, before she embarrassed herself.

“No thanks, I’m good. Don’t bother.”

“I should have known you worked in the fashion industry,” he said, his gaze sliding down her physique. “You’re stunning, and you have a great sense of style, not to mention a unique, eye-catching look.”

Zoe didn’t respond, searched the streets once again for a taxicab. Romeo was buttering her up, trying to sweet-talk her because he felt guilty about the accident, but it wasn’t going to work. Immune to his charms, she gave him her back.

Undeterred, Romeo stepped forward, moved in so close, Zoe could smell his minty-fresh breath. Her mind went blank and her senses spun. They were standing side by side now, shoulder to shoulder, and for the second time in minutes, Zoe inhaled sharply.

“You speak Italian very well,” Romeo said, his tone filled with awe. “How did you learn the language?”

Doesn’t he have somewhere to be? His office? A meeting? On his private jet with a bevy of supermodels? Zoe told herself to be nice and forced a smile on her lips. “I took Italian in high school and throughout university, so I had a good handle on the language before I moved to Milan.”

Annoyed that her favorite pair of sunglasses had been destroyed in the accident, she shielded her eyes from the sun with her hands. The sky was a brilliant shade of blue, the breeze was warm, and a delicious scent wafted out of the bakery, eliciting groans from her stomach. Zoe thought of going inside the shop to grab a bite to eat, but decided against it. She was pressed for time, and she feared Romeo Morretti would follow her inside if she did. The last thing she wanted was to be alone with him in a cozy, intimate setting. He made her jittery, and there was no telling what would happen if he touched her again.

“I feel horrible about the accident, and I want to make it up to you.”

Zoe didn’t answer, hoping that if she stayed quiet, he’d take the hint and go away.

“I’d like to take you out for dinner tonight at Dolce Vita Milan,” he said.

His broad smile revealed straight, blinding white teeth and dimples in each cheek. He was a pretty boy who was used to getting his way, and although he wasn’t her type, Zoe had to admit that Romeo was one fine-looking man. A handful, too, according to her favorite blog. Every week, there was a story about him hooking up with an Italian actress or model. Zoe didn’t doubt it. He had a devilish expression on his face, as if he was cooking up mischief, and Zoe suspected this was his MO—flash a wink and a smile, then pour on the charm. She made up her mind not to be his next victim. Dubbed Diavolo Sexy by the local press, which meant sexy devil in Italian, Romeo could have any woman he wanted, and Zoe didn’t doubt that he had.

“Put your number in my phone,” he instructed, taking his cell out of his back pocket and offering it to her. “I’ll call you this afternoon so we can hook up.”

Zoe narrowed her eyes. Hook up? After five minutes of conversation? Boy, bye!

Disgust must have shown on her face, because Romeo wore an apologetic smile and brushed his fingertips against her forearm.

“What is it, bellissima? You look upset. Did I say something wrong?”

Beautiful? Overcome by his close proximity, Zoe dodged his sexy, steely stare. Romeo thinks I’m beautiful? Goose bumps flooded her skin. Feeling out of sorts, as if a shy, flustered teenager had suddenly inhabited her body, her mouth dried and her heart beat in triple time. “You don’t have to buy me dinner. It was an accident, and since the police said I’m to blame, you don’t owe me anything.”

“I’d still like to take you out tonight. I love being in the presence of smart, accomplished women. I think we’ll have a great time together at Dolce Vita Milan.”

Swallowing hard, Zoe fingered the gold pendant at her neck. “Thanks, but no thanks,” she said, still convinced he was up to something. “We’re strangers, and—”

“That’s why I want us to have dinner. We’ll have a nice meal, a bottle of your favorite wine, and get to know each other better. Doesn’t that sound like fun, Zoe?”

Romeo licked his lips with such finesse her skin tingled. It was a struggle, but Zoe maintained her composure, didn’t wither under the intensity of his dark, smoldering gaze.

“I can’t. I have a work function to attend.”

“I understand. No problem. We can have dinner tomorrow night. Same time and place.”

Zoe shook her head. “I have plans with friends.”

“Cancel them.” Glancing around, he lowered his face to hers and spoke in a quiet voice. “We need to get our stories straight about the accident. I don’t want any surprises.”

His words didn’t register. “I don’t understand.”

“I think you do, but we can discuss the details tomorrow night at dinner.”

A taxicab stopped at the curb, and Zoe sighed in relief. “I have to go.”

“Not so fast.” Romeo put his hand on the passenger side door, thwarting her escape. “You still haven’t given me your cell number. How am I supposed to finalize our plans if I don’t know how to reach you?”

Zoe couldn’t believe his nerve. Who does he think he is? My man? The time for being nice was over. It was time to make herself crystal clear. “We’re not having dinner tomorrow night or any other night. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go.”

He looked shell-shocked, like a survivor stumbling off a shipwrecked boat. Zoe suspected a woman had never told him no before. Proud of herself for not falling victim to his charms, she gestured to the door and smiled her thanks when he reluctantly opened it.

“Zoe, please, reconsider meeting with me. I know we can work something out.”

“There’s nothing to reconsider.”

To her surprise, Romeo reached into his pocket, took out his wallet and handed the driver several dollar bills. Lowering his head through the open window, his cologne engulfing the compact car, he spoke to the driver in Italian.

His words made her heart smile. Take this beautiful woman anywhere she wants to go. Zoe couldn’t deny it, the man had a way with words. Romeo straightened to his full height, and watching him made her pulse race. He waved at her, but Zoe dropped her gaze to her lap. Since Zoe didn’t want to encourage Romeo’s advances, she told the taxi driver to step on it.