Читать книгу Seduced by the Heir - Pamela Yaye - Страница 12

Chapter 4

On Friday morning downtown Venice was clogged with noisy tourists, and flamboyant street performers hoping to make a quick buck, but Rafael couldn’t keep his eyes off Paris. Standing in the middle of the world-famous Piazza San Marco was a mind-blowing experience, one that should have been captivating enough to hold his attention, but it didn’t. Not with Paris around.

She looks like an angel, Rafael thought, admiring her on the sly. Her oversize sunglasses gave her a youthful air, her crimson lips held a dazzling smile and her sleeveless white dress played up her pear-shaped figure.

Yeah, a naughty angel you’d love to see naked, his conscience taunted. Quit gawking at her. You’re better than that. You’re a Morretti, remember?

But Rafael didn’t turn away. He lacked the willpower and fortitude it required. Paris was dressed to kill, and her traffic-stopping curves made him hot under the collar and below the belt. Diamonds dangled from her ears, neck and wrists, and her ankle bracelet drew his gaze down her long legs time and time again.

“The Piazza San Marcos is one of the most beautiful places in Italy, and people travel from far and wide to admire the magnificent works of Antonio Canova, Giovanni Bellini and Vittore Carpaccio.”

Rafael tore his gaze away from Paris, and turned his attention to the middle-aged tour guide with the receding hairline. He tried to listen to what Mr. Esposito was saying, but all he could think about was kissing Paris with all the passion coursing through his veins. He wouldn’t act on his feelings, knew better than to make a move on her in public, but dammit if he didn’t want to.

That morning at breakfast he’d scored a seat beside her. But unfortunately Paris had spent more time chatting with the other groomsmen than talking to him. And when they did speak their conversation was plagued with tension and awkward silences. No matter, Rafael told himself. He wasn’t giving up. They’d had something special once, and he liked the idea of having a holiday fling with Paris in his beloved hometown. In fact, he couldn’t think of a better way to kick off the New Year. He was determined to connect with his old college sweetheart and nothing was going to stop him.

Raising his water bottle to his lips, he took a long, refreshing drink. The sky was clear, the breeze thick and the air was filled with the scent of sweet-smelling flowers. People were everywhere—snapping pictures, feeding the pigeons, wandering the cobblestone streets and pushing and shoving like kids waiting in line at the water fountain. As Rafael moped the sweat from his brow he decided he’d had enough excitement for one day.

He choked down more water. After hours of walking from one ancient monument to the next, he was ready to head back to the villa for some R & R. He’d been up since dawn, and after working on his presentation, he’d played tennis with Stefano and swam in the heated pool.

Checking his gold wristwatch, Rafael was surprised to see that it was midday. After lunch, the group was heading over to the fashion district. He had no desire to go shopping, and had better things to do with his time, but knew it was a bad idea to ditch the group. If he did, one of the other groomsmen would make a move on Paris, and there was no way in hell Rafael was letting that happen. He’d have to suck it up, and bide his time.

“Are we going on a gondola ride today?” asked one of Stefano’s short, plump aunts.

The tour guide wore a polite smile. “No, ma’am, I’m afraid not.”

“But it’s on the top of my bucket list, and I may never come to Italy again!”

Everyone in the group laughed. The bride and groom’s friends and family—sixty-five loud, boisterous people in all—entered the Campanile, the city’s oldest and tallest building. But Rafael noticed Paris ducking into one of the nearby bakeries.

Curious, he entered the pasticceria and took off his Ray-Ban sunglasses. A fruity, spicy aroma sweetened the air, stirring his senses and rousing his appetite. With its sultry lights, timber chandeliers and glass sculptures, the shop looked more like an art gallery than a pastry store. Italian music was playing, and the servers looked as chic as the decor.

Rafael looked around, but couldn’t find Paris anywhere. As he sat down on one of the raised, wooden stools, he spotted a buxom waitress climbing the circular, white staircase. Rafael contemplated heading upstairs to scope out the second floor, but decided against it. Trailing Paris was a bad idea. They had plenty of time to get reacquainted, and since he didn’t want her to think he was stalking her, he’d hang out on the main floor, have a cup of coffee and watch the world go by from his window seat.

His cell phone chirped, alerting Rafael that he had a new text message. He took his iPhone out of his backpack and punched in his password. Reading the message from Gerald Stanley gave him a surge of adrenaline. His security advisor was one step closer to single-handedly cracking the case.

I just got off the phone with my source at Miami PD. Gracie O’Conner has no alibi for the night of the arson, and neither does her ex-con brother.

Rafael was pleased with the work Gerald had done, and sent a short, quick response.

The suspects in the case were obvious, so why hadn’t the police made any arrests? he wondered. Why were they taking their sweet-ass time bringing the perpetrators to justice? Gracie O’Conner, Nicco’s former assistant, was a scheming manipulator with an ax to grind. And although she was a petite, soft-spoken woman, Rafael’s gut feeling was that she was involved in the crime. But Gracie wasn’t the only one who hated his family. His father had made a lot of enemies over the years, and Rafael wouldn’t be surprised if one of his dad’s old business rivals was out to destroy him.

His cell phone rang, and the sound yanked Rafael out of his troubled thoughts. He didn’t recognize the number, but saw the area code, and knew the person was calling from Washington, D.C. “This is Rafael Morretti.”

“Hello, Mr. Morretti,” said a husky female voice. “My name is Danica Lyons.”

The name didn’t ring a bell, so he waited for the woman to explain who she was. It was 5:00 a.m. on the East Coast, and Rafael couldn’t image why someone he didn’t know would be calling him first thing in the morning. After a moment of silence, he asked the question at the front of his mind. “How did you get my phone number?”

“It doesn’t matter. I’d like to speak to you privately, and the sooner the better.”

Rafael frowned. He turned her words over in his head, but they still didn’t make any sense. “I’m sorry, Ms. Lyons, but I’m afraid I don’t understand what this is pertaining to.”

“I’d rather not discuss the matter on the phone,” she said in a crisp tone. “I’d like to come to your office tomorrow to speak in person.”

“I’m out of the country, and won’t be back in Washington until January 3.”

“Don’t play games with me, Mr. Morretti, or things will get real ugly for you.”

Taken aback by her abrupt rudeness, Rafael stared down at the phone, unable to believe what he was hearing. “Are you threatening me?” he asked, struggling to control his temper. “Because if you are, this conversation is over.”

“I’m not threatening you, Mr. Morretti. I’m simply stating a fact.”

Rafael struggled to not lose his cool. Keeping his head was paramount, so he took a deep breath and cleared his voice of emotion. “Call my office, and my secretary will book you an appointment.”

“Very well. I look forward to meeting you.”

What the hell? Rafael hit the end button and immediately dialed Gerald’s number to tell him about his bizarre conversation with Danica Lyons. He suspected she knew something about the arson investigation, so he asked Gerald to do a background check on her. Everyone everywhere wanted to get their hands on the Crime Stoppers reward, and although Rafael didn’t put much faith in the Washington PD solving the case, he refused to leave any stone unturned.

Seconds later, when he’d ended his phone call with Gerald, Rafael felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He had nothing to worry about. By the end of the week he’d have a detailed, comprehensive report on Danica Lyons, and he was looking forward to reading every salacious word.

He slung his backpack over his shoulder and slowly perused the circular glass cases in the upscale pastry shop. After ordering a latté, he bought gourmet chocolates for his mom, Italian cookies for his father and amaretto brownies for his brothers, and paid to have them delivered to the villa.

At the cash register, Rafael spotted Paris. She was standing in front of the elaborate cake display, snapping pictures of it with her cell phone. Tapping her foot, she swayed to the beat of the music, rocking her hips provocatively from side to side. Her moves were hypnotic, and like a drunk guzzling Cristal, he was hooked. She was close enough to touch and caress, but instead of reaching out to stroke her sinuous curves, he looked away, stuffing his hands deep into the pocket of his blue jeans.

He picked up on the whispered conversation of two dark-haired men nearby as they pointed at Paris, obviously admiring her beauty. His chest automatically puffed up with pride. An odd response, considering she wasn’t his girlfriend, but Rafael couldn’t help the way he felt. Nothing had changed. If anything, Paris was more captivating and appealing. She was as vivacious as ever, and everywhere she went people gravitated to her. As he continued to watch her sway and groove to the music, he could see why.

Rafael glowered menacingly at the cocksure businessmen, who were speaking in rapid-fire Italian. His hands balled into tight fists and his heartbeat thundered inside the walls of his chest. The men were discussing how to lure Paris into bed, and even joked about filming the encounter and posting it online. Their conversation was none of his business, but Rafael felt compelled to say something. Had to before he lost his temper and pummeled them both into the ground.

Rafael spoke to the men in an authoritative voice, and scowled for good measure

Back off, fellas. The lady’s with me? his conscience repeated. How original!

“W-we’re sorry,” stammered the man with the mustache. “We didn’t mean any disrespect. We were just joking around.”

The two took off through the side door, and Rafael sighed in relief. Crisis averted. Nothing wrong with telling a little white lie, he decided, tasting his coffee. It was either that or lose Paris to someone else, and he wasn’t about to let that happen. Rafael didn’t want anyone to ruin his chances with her—

Your chances of what? his conscience questioned.

Paris must have sensed him behind her, because she glanced over her shoulder, then hit him with a pointed look. But when she spoke her tone was rife with amusement. “See anything you like?”

Do. I. Ever! His mouth watered and his temperature soared. The view of her big, beautiful backside made an erection swell inside his jeans. Her eyes lit up like stars when she laughed, and she smelled sweeter than the desserts inside the pastry shop. “The truffles look good,” he said casually, gesturing at the wall behind her. “I think I might get a few packages for my soon-to-be-sister-in-law. Angela loves chocolate almost as much as she loves Demetri!”

“So, the rumors are true.” Paris dropped her cell phone inside her purse and gave him her undivided attention. “Your brothers found love, and are both getting married next year. How exciting! Is it a double wedding? When are they tying the knot? Where is the venue?”

His jaw stiffened like clay, but he managed a weak smile. He didn’t want to talk about his brothers or their future wives. Not here, not now. But if he changed the subject Paris would think he was rude. Or worse, jealous, and he wasn’t.

Rafael averted his gaze and raked a hand over his hair. He tried not to think about how lonely he was, how empty he felt inside. These days he hardly saw his brothers, and when he did they droned on and on about their fiancées. Especially Nicco. He was the worst perpetrator. He adored Jariah and her six-year-old daughter, Ava, and over the past three months the trio had developed a strong bond, one he talked about nonstop. At times it was funny, endearing even, but at other times it got on Rafael’s nerves.

He was happy his brothers had found their soul mates, but he didn’t want to discuss their love lives. He was dying to know more about Paris—where she lived, what she did for work, if she was dating anyone—and he didn’t want to waste time chatting about wedding nonsense. “I’m the wrong person to ask. I don’t even remember when the wedding is, and I’m the best man!” he joked good-naturedly.

“Are you sure Nicco’s ready to get married?”

Her question surprised him, gave him pause. “Yeah, why?”

“Because I was at the grand opening of Dolce Vita Atlanta and he was flirting with everybody!”

Rafael chuckled. “He wasn’t engaged back then. Jariah started working for Morretti Incorporated last summer, and apparently they hit it off immediately. Nicco says it was love at first sight, but the jury is still out on that one!”

“So do you like her?”

“Yes, of course.” He thought back to the first time he’d met Jariah, and cringed inwardly when he remembered the unflattering things he’d said about her to Nicco. His brother had always had horrible taste in women, and he’d feared that Jariah was another gold digger. Thankfully, she wasn’t, and the more time Rafael spent with the hardworking single mother, the more he admired her. “Any more questions, Katie Couric?”

“Excuse me for trying to make conversation,” she said with a laugh. “I was surprised to see you get on the tour bus this morning. Aren’t you supposed to be doing business in Tuscany?”

Rafael wore a puppy dog face. “You’re keeping tabs on me. I’m touched.”

More laughter passed between them.

“My meeting was pushed back to Monday, so I decided to join the group,” he explained, admiring her radiant brown skin. “Why are you hiding out in here? You’re supposed to be at the bell tower with everyone else.”

Paris picked up her wicker basket, slipped her hand inside a white package and tossed a chocolate-covered cashew into her mouth. “I got hungry.”

“You always did like your sweets.”

“Still do,” she quipped. “Cassandra forced me to go on the soup diet with her, and if she finds out I cheated she’ll go ballistic, so don’t tell her you saw me in here, okay?”

“I won’t tell a soul. Your secret is safe with me.”

Paris walked over to the cash register, unloaded her items on the marble counter and paid the cashier. Seconds later, she joined him at the entrance of the store. “What’s your story?” she asked, slipping on her oversize Givenchy sunglasses. “Why did you ditch the group?”

Because I want to be alone with you, he thought, but didn’t say. It was too much too soon, and he didn’t want to scare her off. Not when they were enjoying each other’s company. To keep the mood light, he said, “I got tired of Cassandra’s foster mom hitting on me, so I decided to make a break for it when she wasn’t looking!”

Paris cracked up. The sound of her high-pitched giggles bolstered his confidence. He couldn’t have scripted a better reunion.

“It was great talking to you, Rafael. See you around!” she said suddenly, walking closer to the door.

He caught her arm just as she was about to breeze past him, and slid in front of the door to prevent her from leaving. “Where are you rushing off to?”

A frown touched her lips, marring her pretty features, but she didn’t speak. His body was a raging inferno and his impulse to kiss her was so strong it consumed him. He wet his lips with his tongue, moved closer. “Don’t go.” His voice sounded foreign to his ears, a lot huskier than it had ever been. “I’ll escort you to the bell tower.”

“I’m not going there. The group is slowing me down, and I have tons of shopping to do.”

An idea came to him, and a lie fell smoothly from his lips. “You have to shop and I have to shop, so we might as well knock it out together.”

“Are you sure your paramour won’t mind? I don’t want to create any problems at home.”

I’m not interested in Julietta. I’m interested in you.

“You guys looked awfully cozy last night,” Paris continued. “And she’s also made it very clear to the bridal party that you’re off-limits.”

“Paris, I’m single, and there’s no special woman in my life, but if you feel uncomfortable hanging out with me, then...”

Her frown deepened. “Why would I be uncomfortable?”

“Because we had a messy breakup.”

“Yeah, like twenty years ago,” she scoffed, giving him a funny look. “We dated when we were kids. It didn’t mean anything. I moved on and so did you. No hard feelings.”

Listening to Paris downplay their relationship hurt like hell, but Rafael held his tongue. Besides, she was right. They’d dated eons ago, and living in the past was a waste of time. “So, you don’t mind if I tag along? I promised my dad I’d buy him a case of Italian cigars, and if I forget he’ll cut me out of his will!”

Paris wore a cheeky smile. “Sure, why not? You could help me carry my bags.”

“First we eat and then we shop.”

“When did you get so bossy?” she teased, slanting her head to the right. “What happened to the sweet, easygoing guy who used to let me call the shots?”

Rafael lowered his mouth to her ear. “He grew up.”

“I can see that.”

“And what you call bossy, I call decisive,” he said smoothly. “I don’t believe in playing games. When I see something I want, I go after it. No matter what.”

Her eyes opened wide.

The air was saturated with the scent of his desire. Rafael wanted to crush his lips to her mouth, wished he could taste her one more time, but he didn’t act on his impulses. To keep his hands busy, and off her curvy, shapely body, he stepped aside and opened the door. “Shall we go? I’m hungry, and I bet you are, too.”

“Where are we going?”

“To the best Italian restaurant in town, of course.”

Her face came alive, brightened with excitement. “Now you’re talking. Lead the way!”