Mister Irresistible: Bachelor International Book 2

by Me, Tara Sue

  I wanted to sit her down and ask why? Why had she left me so suddenly? Why had she not allowed me to see her in the hospital? Why had it been five years since I last saw her, and that it was only by coincidence I saw her now?

  But for the moment, my questions would have to go unanswered, because no talking had been her only request, and I’d have agreed to a lot more than that for the opportunity to have her in my arms again.

  I gave up trying to unzip her. With as much experience as I had with clothes, you’d think I’d be better able to work a zipper. She was fumbling with the buttons on my shirt, so I shrugged out of my jacket to make it easier for her to get the thing off of me. Once the shirt joined my jacket on the floor, she reached for my waist, but I shook my head. It was her turn.

  “Turn around,” I said.

  She did so slowly, and for a moment, I stood where I was and took in the sight of her, still unable to fully comprehend she was here. Her head turned slightly as if she looked to find me. I lifted her hair and placed a kiss on her nape.

  “Am I taking too long?” I asked.

  “Just wondering if there’s a problem.”

  “The only problem is I don’t know what to do with you first.”

  “You could help me get this gown off,” she suggested. “I’m pretty sure that’d be a step in the right direction.”

  “Still sarcastic, I see.”

  “I need to know this is real.”

  She wanted real? I’d give her real. And I’d make it so real, and so good, she’d never question herself again. I didn’t speak those words to her, though. Words meant nothing without action behind them.

  Moving without making a noise, I eased the zipper down her back, inch by inch, revealing the skin underneath the gown’s silken material. When I reached her lower back, I slid first one sleeve and then the other off her shoulders, letting the gown fall to a puddle at her feet. She stepped away from it, but didn’t turn to face me. The gown obviously hadn’t allowed for a bra, as she only had on a tiny pair of panties. She wasn’t embarrassed, was she?

  It was possible she was. Five years could change a lot on a person’s body. Though from what I saw, Wren had nothing to be embarrassed about. How well I remembered her strong legs wrapped around my waist. My amazement at the muscles I’d found the first time I stroked her upper thigh.

  They looked toned, but nowhere near as muscular as they’d been. Wasn’t that odd? It’d been five years, shouldn’t they be the same, if not more muscular?

  An odd mark on the inside of her knee caught my eye. A scar?

  “Luca?” Wren asked, turning around.

  I didn’t look at her face, but instead kept my attention focused on her legs. At the sight of the healed, but obscenely long scars on the front of them both, all the breath left my body. I gulped in air and managed to get out, “What happened to your legs?”

  “We said no talking.” Her voice was cold and hard. With one glance, I saw her expression matched.

  She was correct, but I wanted to argue that this was different. I’d assumed she’d meant no talking about their past in Italy, and this had nothing to do about our time there.

  My gaze dropped from her eyes to her legs and then back again. Or did it? “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “Why do you keep asking me questions? My requirement, my only requirement was no talking.”

  “Did this happen in Italy?” I asked.

  She didn’t have to say anything, I saw my answer in her expression. Completely stunned, I couldn’t speak for a long second. “Wren, I’m so—”

  “No!” She interrupted, holding her hand out as if wanting to catch or stop my words before they made it out into the universe.

  I stopped and watched helplessly as she stepped into her dress.

  “Don’t go,” I said, even as she zipped herself up, gathered her purse, and walked to the door. “Please.”

  She spun around, her eyes wet, but not from sad tears. Oh no, not those. Wren was mad as hell, and those were angry-as-fuck tears.

  “Don’t please me,” she said. “I told you I didn’t want to talk. You agreed. Then we get up here and you repeatedly try to get me to answer questions about things I obviously didn’t want to I discuss.”

  I had no argument for her because there was truth in every word she spoke. She’d wanted one night. There hadn’t been a day that went by in the last five years, I hadn’t thought of her at least once. Not one night passed that I wouldn’t have traded anything to have one more night with her.

  Then miracle of miracles, she walks back into my life, offers me exactly what I want with her only stipulation being that I kept my damn mouth closed. And somehow that was too hard for me to do. I was officially the dumbest asshole who ever lived.

  “Let me at least call a cab for you,” I said, but she shook her head.

  “No need. Either there’ll be one downstairs waiting, or concierge will call one for me.”

  She was determined to leave, and to do so on her terms and her terms only. And I had to accept that none of those terms involved me.

  “There’s no excuse for my behavior,” I said. “Every word you spoke is true. I hope to see you again someday, but if not, I’ll be forever grateful I had the opportunity to see you again.”

  She didn’t turn around for the door the way I thought she would, but remained still and unmoving with such a pained expression it physically hurt me. I’d rarely felt so useless. I wanted to take her into my arms, whisper how sorry I was. I needed to tell her that I wasn’t sure what I’d done, but that I’d move heaven and earth to make it right and to see her smile again. But I didn’t reach for her, knowing my embrace would be rejected. And I wanted to spare myself the heartbreak of her rejection.

  One lone tear ran down her cheek before she turned and left. As the door clicked closed behind her, I nearly pulled my hair out in anguish. Not reaching for her hadn’t spared me anything. I still hurt like hell. Having experienced the pain of such intense heartbreak before, I knew of only one way to make it go away. I walked to the well-stocked bar I’d noticed earlier in the day.

  Looked like it was going to be a drink for one kind of night.

  Chapter 9

  Wren

  Once I made it home, I sent Mia a text.

  I’m home. Date was fine. Talk tomorrow.

  I wrote it concise and vague, hoping she’d read between the lines, take the hint, and leave it at that. Thankfully, her reply was quick.

  Fine doesn’t sound good. Want to do lunch tomorrow? Meet at BI office and leave from there?

  I sent back a message telling her that sounded great, and I’d see her then. I hadn’t allowed myself to think about Luca, and I still wasn’t ready. I purposely kept my mind blank and just went through the motions of getting undressed, slipping on my favorite pajamas, and cleaning my face. Finally, I made some hot tea and, curling up on the couch, thought back over the night.

  That Luca would see the scars on my legs never crossed my mind until he brought them up. I felt like an idiot. And a pathetic one at that, because surely, if anyone had seen me naked in the past five years, I’d have been prepared. I let no one see my legs and the numerous scars on them. My year round wardrobe consisted of long pants and long skirts. Whenever I wore a shorter skirt, I always paired it with thick tights so the scars weren’t visible.

  And yet tonight, when my gown slipped to the floor, and even as I stepped out of it, not once did my brain clue in and think about my legs being on display. If I thought about it logically, there was no reason not to tell Luca what happened.

  Illogically, there were several. To start with, I didn’t want to see the pity in his eyes. And it would be there. How could it not be when he would undoubtedly remember how much dancing meant to me? Another reason was pride. During our time together, Luca had commented several times about how impressive he found the muscles in my legs. My legs were still strong, but nowhere near what they had been five years ago.

  Did t
hat make me petty? To be perfectly honest, I didn’t care.

  Mia was waiting for me in the lobby of the building Bachelor International was located in when I arrived to meet her for lunch. She was alone. Though I hadn’t expected Tenor to be joining us for lunch, it wouldn’t have surprised me if he’d been standing with her.

  “Where’s your other half?” I teased. “Is he really letting you out of his sight for lunch? I thought he might be here to see you off or something.”

  “We are not that bad.” Mia rolled her eyes. “And he’s in a meeting.”

  “We’ll have to agree to disagree on the not that bad part,” I said. “Where do you want to go for lunch?”

  She named a nearby deli we both liked and was within walking distance. I agreed, adding we could eat outside at one of the many tables they had for that purpose.

  “Yes,” Mia said. “Before you know it, it’ll be too cold to eat outside.”

  “Ugh, don’t remind me.” It was no secret I loved everything about Boston, except for the winters.

  “Every winter you swear you’re going to move to Florida and you never do,” she said as we neared the deli. “I think you secretly love the winter, and you only bring up Florida so people think you don’t like the winter.”

  “I have no reason to make up something like that. One day I’ll call you up from my seaside condo, and you’ll be so jealous.”

  “If you move to Florida and don’t tell me about it until you’re settled into your seaside condo, you won’t have to worry about me being jealous. I’ll be mad as hell and won’t talk to you ever again.”

  I nodded, knowing I would never do such a thing. “Completely understood.”

  We’d reached the deli and placed our orders inside and then walked to the outside to claim a table while we waited for our food.

  I was impressed with Mia’s patience. She waited until they brought our sandwiches to the table before saying, “Tell me how last night went.”

  “You know the guy from Italy I told you about?” I’d only recently told Mia about my time in Italy, and how I’d met a guy there.

  She placed her sandwich on her plate. “The one you wouldn’t let visit you in the hospital? The one who’s the reason you've dated no one since Italy?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Him.”

  “What about him?”

  “He was my date last night. Your client.”

  Mia had a potato chip in her hand, and it was midway to her mouth, but it stilled at my words. “No way.”

  “Yes way.”

  “Holy shit, Wren.” Her eyes were wide with shock. “What did you do?”

  I snorted, which made her look even more shocked. “The first thing I did was faint. Fortunately, he had quick reflexes, and could catch me before I face-planted and broke my nose or worse.”

  “You fainted?” Mia asked. “Are you okay now?”

  “Yes,” I assured her. “Not even a headache.”

  “I’ve never heard of you fainting before.”

  “I don’t think I ever had before last night.”

  Mia lifted an eyebrow. “Either way, you don’t think you should go get checked out by a doctor just to make sure you’re okay?”

  “Nah. It was a reaction to seeing him again after all this time. Either that or because I couldn’t believe the man Tenor thought was so boring was also the man I knew from Italy.”

  “Oh my god,” Mia said, excitement filling her expression and voice. “Do you have any idea what this means?”

  I looked at her warily. “Not really, and to be honest, based on how excited you look at the moment, I’m not sure I want to know. It has nothing to do with me going on another date, does it?”

  “No, the exact opposite, in fact.”

  Her words made little sense, but as long as she wasn’t going to guilt me into another date, I was okay being patient until she explained. Which, based on how excited she looked, would be sooner, rather than later.

  She leaned forward, as if she had a secret she was dying to tell. “You and Lucrezio were the first couple matched with the new system I put into place. Remember how I said your match had the highest numbers?”

  I nodded.

  “I predicted the two of you would be a good match,” she said. “And I was right.” She sat back in her seat. “Now, tell me what happened after you fainted at the sight of him, and he caught you in his arms.”

  Based on her dreamy tone of voice, she probably thought the worst thing that happened yesterday was that I fainted. I wasn’t sure how detailed I wanted to be.

  “We talked for a little while,” I said. “And when we finally got around to looking at the time, we realized the reception would be over, and Luca didn’t want to show up for dinner late.”

  I paused. Across the table, Mia waited. I decided to give her an abbreviated version.

  “Neither one of us felt like going out, so we ended up in his room. We planned to order room service.” Mia’s eyes grew wide with surprise. She probably assumed we actually did what Luca and I had intended to do when I agreed to go to his room. “But when we made it to his room, he kept wanting to talk about the past. I repeatedly told him I didn’t want to discuss it, but he kept bringing it up. I eventually gave up, left his room, and went home.”

  It took her a minute to speak. “That was not the way I envisioned your night going when you said you agreed to go to his room.”

  “That makes three of us.”

  She somehow looked as down as I felt about the entire thing. Part of me couldn’t help but wonder if it was because she just lost the ability to use me as a success story in her newest marketing campaign. I knew it was callous for me to think that of her, but the alternative, that I was wearing my heart on my sleeve, was too much to take in. I’d worked hard to disguise my emotions. Surely I hadn’t lost the ability to do so after my unexpected reunion with Luca.

  “So,” Mia said. “What are you going to do next?”

  Her question caught me off-guard. It still seemed surreal that after five years my path had once more crossed Luca’s. I didn’t have an answer for her, but it did bring up a new revelation. Now that our lives had intersected again, I needed a plan, or at least something that halfway resembled one for how to handle Luca. I had a sinking feeling in my gut that pretending he didn’t exist wouldn’t work.

  Chapter 10

  Wren

  After the accident in Italy, and the eventual acceptance of the fact that I would never dance professionally, I realized I had to come up with some way to support myself.

  I never gave much thought as to what I’d do with my life if I didn’t dance. When you’re young, the thought that something could come along and leave both you and your life unrecognizable is unfathomable. Your mind can process that it happens in some vague way to other people, but not to you.

  And when it does happen to you, you feel as if you’ve been tricked. Like all your life you’ve accepted XYZ, and then someone shows up and tells you it’s not XYZ, it never was XYZ, and it never will be XYZ. But don’t despair, you can have some lovely ABC. You soon learn that while you can get by with ABC, it’ll never be XYZ.

  If ballet was my XYZ, journalism was my ABC.

  Journalism had never been a burning passion of mine, and I didn’t see it ever becoming one. In my mind, it would always be that thing I had to do when I could no longer dance. The only positive thing being, I was pretty good at what I did. As one would expect, I decided early to keep my ambivalence about my job to myself.

  Almost two hours after my lunch with Mia, I was fairly certain the look I gave my supervising editor, Zach, was the same look I’d have given him if he started speaking Latin to me. In fact, after hearing what he said, I really wished he had been speaking Latin because that would mean I’d have had no idea what I’d just heard.

  Unfortunately for me, he’d spoken in plain English, and even with his heavy Bostonian accent, I could still understand my latest assignment, an in-depth look at the gent
leman making news in the Italian fashion industry, and the relocation of his business to the US.

  In other words, Luca.

  “Is there a problem, Wren?” he asked. “I thought you’d be excited about the assignment, but you look like I’ve kicked your dog.”

  I gave him a fake smile, but in my mind, I couldn’t help but think that if I hadn’t been as good at the job I merely put up with, if I’d sucked just a bit, I wouldn’t be the staffer “rewarded” with the assignment.

  Zach didn’t seem to know what to do with my lack of excitement. “It’ll be an easy piece to write. Fluff. Think human interest story. You know how much our readers eat that shit up. And, you heard the part about the travel?”

  Yes, I had, but I let him repeat it because it seemed as if he enjoyed doing so.

  “First class all the way,” he said. “From flights, to accommodations, to food. You’ll basically be living the high life on someone else’s dime.”

  He said that last sentence as if it’s everyone’s dream to mooch off of those who are better off than themselves.

  News flash, Zach.

  It’s not.

  I held my hand up to get him to stop. Which, mercifully, he did. “I’ll do it. I’ll write the story, but why do I have to travel with him?”

  It was bad enough I’d been selected to write the story in the first place, but the second part of the assignment was for me to travel to Italy when he left and to stay there with him until he returned to the States some time in the following week.

  “Because when you’re with him, you’ll see what really makes him tick,” Zach said. “You’ll get a better insight on him this way than you would with a mere interview.”