by HELEN HARDT
Problem was? I was terribly inexperienced at dating.
My father had gotten rid of any suitor who was interested while I was still living at home. Once I left and was out on my own, things hadn’t changed much. I might steal a glance with a handsome man every now and then, only to find that same handsome man gone the next time I looked for him.
Even then, I’d never been attracted to a man the way I was attracted to Matteo standing in front of me.
No one knew I was here.
Not even my father.
He’d never know. Finally. He was in his grave, and though he wielded a lot of power, even he couldn’t conquer the ultimate foe—death.
“Thank you for the invitation, Mr. Rossi,” I said finally. “I’d be delighted to accept.”
That gorgeous grin split his face once more. “Awesome. And it’s Matt.”
I nodded. “Matt.”
“Let’s go, then,” he said.
“I should change into something more suitable.”
“You look great.”
“For dinner? I can’t possibly—”
“You’re in Sumter Falls, Riley, not Pittsburgh. You are dressed perfectly.”
Interesting. I’d never gone to dinner wearing jeans and a T-shirt in New York. I had an image to maintain. I was Riley Wolfe, supermodel, daughter of billionaire Derek Wolfe.
But here I was no one.
Simply Riley.
Riley Mansfield.
Riley Mansfield wasn’t a supermodel.
Riley Mansfield lived in Pittsburgh, and I had no idea what she did for a living.
She was…a teacher. Yeah, a teacher. She taught high school business classes. Perfect, I could converse with this mountain man about business on a high school level.
Riley Mansfield taught high school business classes in Pittsburgh.
Riley Mansfield was a nobody from a nobody home in nobody Pittsburgh.
Riley Mansfield’s parents had a happy marriage and were living in their nobody home in middle-class Pittsburgh.
Riley Mansfield was a nobody. Invisible. And she liked her life.
The only problem?
Riley Mansfield didn’t exist.
But I could pretend. I was good at pretending. For a week, I could be Riley Mansfield, business education teacher from a happy Pittsburgh family.
And maybe, just maybe…I could feel Riley Mansfield’s happiness—if only just a little—this week.
“Okay, Matt,” I said. “Let’s go.”
Trudy’s Café was a homey little place situated in a large residential home. It had been remodeled inside and housed two separate dining rooms, both tiny.
“Matt, great to see you!” the hostess said. “Your usual table?”
“That’d be great, Trudy.”
Okay, this was Trudy. She was a pert little thing, nearly a head shorter than I was, but then, I literally looked down on most women. She had a few silver streaks in her dark hair and wore vintage clothing—a prairie skirt and peasant blouse. Huge silver hoops hung from her ears. In spite of all this, she was striking. Not beautiful in a classic way, but something about her worked.
She led us to a side table right by a window. “Here you go. Menu’s on the board as usual. Enjoy.”
Matt held my chair out, which surprised me. Sure, I was used to such manners in the big city, but he’d made such a big deal out of this small-town life that I didn’t expect such chivalry.
I liked it.
Being a gentleman suited Matteo Rossi. Sure, he was dressed in Levi’s, a plaid flannel shirt, and his long hair was an unruly mass of blond waves, but he acted as though he were donning an Armani tux in the finest Manhattan restaurant.
In fact, he looked better to me than the finest dressed male models in New York.
“Trudy’s food is the best,” Matt said. “Believe it or not, she studied cooking in Paris. But about ten years ago, after a painful divorce, she ended up here and opened up this little café. She does amazing things with the limited stuff we get here. It’s become a passion.”
“I’m sorry to hear about her divorce.”
“She doesn’t mind talking about it. It’s been ten years, and she’s doing great here.”
“So…what do you recommend?” I eyed the large chalkboard on the wall which, oddly, appeared to be visible from every table in the place. That must’ve taken some doing.
“I can’t recommend anything.”
“Then why are we here?”
“I mean, I can’t recommend anything because Trudy never repeats the same menu.”
My eyes popped into circles. “Seriously? In ten years she’s never repeated a menu?”
“Well, she’ll do the same dish, but it’s never exactly the same. If that makes any sense.”
“So every night is like the chef’s special?”
Matt laughed. “I guess you could say that.”
Three dishes were available tonight on the menu. Chicken breast with mushroom sauce, roast lamb chops, and pasta with sundried tomatoes and lemon. That was probably my best bet, though pasta was carb city.
“What sounds good?” Matt asked. “I can guarantee you they will all be delicious. I’ve never had a bad meal here.”
I continued perusing the chalkboard. Salad was fresh baby greens with homemade balsamic vinaigrette, and the soup was tomato bisque with wild rice. That sounded interesting. Wild rice was a whole grain—always good for my diet—and tomatoes were high carb but also very nutritious with lycopene and lots of fiber.
I laughed out loud. Why was I worried about my diet? Chloe Riley Mansfield wasn’t a model. She was a business ed teacher. Chloe Riley Mansfield didn’t burn herself and do coke to deal with her life. Chloe Riley Mansfield hadn’t brought any coke with her.
Matt cocked his head at my laughter. “Did I miss a joke?”
“No. Sorry.”
“Something must’ve made you laugh, Riley.”
“It was nothing.”
“That’s a shame, because you have a beautiful-sounding laugh, and your whole face lights up.”
Warmth spread through my cheeks and down my neck.
“Why do I get the feeling you don’t actually laugh a lot?” Matt said.
“I…don’t know.”
“Then you do laugh a lot?”
“I suppose not.”
“Then I’m honored. I was witness to something extraordinary.” He smiled.
And oh, was he handsome when he smiled. His teeth were perfect, of course, as was the rest of him. He had dimples on both sides, though the one on the right side was slightly bigger, making for an adorable lopsided effect. His icy blue eyes crinkled at the corners and seemed to speak right to my soul.
The eyes are the mirror of the soul.
One of my modeling instructors had told me that long ago, when I was a young teen just getting started in the business. We had learned to let our eyes do a lot of talking.
You can make anyone think he’s the only person in the room with the right look from your eyes.
I seriously doubted that Matteo Rossi had any kind of modeling training, but boy, did he have that eye thing down pat.
“Can I get you two a drink?”
I zapped out of my hypnotic stare at Matt and looked up to see a young server. And by young, I meant very young. So young his voice hadn’t totally dropped yet.
“Hey, Troy.” Matt looked up. “I’ll have a beer. Riley?”
“A…stinger, please.”
“Sorry, ma’am, we don’t have a full bar here. We have Guinness lager on tap, Stella in bottles, and tonight’s wines are a red blend from Paso Robles, and a white Burgundy.”
A white Burgundy? That sounded great. “I’ll have the Burgundy, please.”
After Troy had left, I said, “He can’t possibly be old enough to serve alcohol.”
“He’s not, but we don’t stand on ceremony around here. Troy is a good kid and he does good work for Trudy. Nobody here in Sumter Falls is interested in g
etting him in trouble.” He nodded toward a table in the corner. “Including Buster over there. He’s the sheriff.”
“Interesting. Things are certainly different here than in New…Pittsburgh.”
He laughed. “New Pittsburgh?”
“I mean Pittsburgh, of course.” Nice, Riley. You almost blew your cover.
“Of course you did.” Matt’s eyes twinkled.
I was going to have to be a lot more careful.
6
Matteo
She was definitely hiding something. I wasn’t one to pry, but Riley Mansfield had gotten under my skin in the five hours I’d known her.
I mean, really gotten under my skin. In an “I really have to fuck her” kind of way.
Not because she was beautiful, though she certainly was the most beautiful woman I’d laid eyes on in a long time. And not so much because she was challenging, although she certainly was.
No, it was something else. Something I couldn’t quite put a finger on, but something that drew me in, nonetheless. I wanted to know her secrets. I wanted to heal her heart. She’d given me no indication that her heart had been broken. Hell, I didn’t even know what she did for a living. But I knew why she had come here.
She was hiding.
And I wanted to know why.
How this quest for knowledge on my part necessitated a need for me to fuck her, I didn’t know. I knew only that I wanted her. I wanted to kiss those full pink lips, suck on those pretty brown nipples—yes, I got a look when she was in the hot tub. I’m human, after all—and I wanted to sink myself into her lush body.
Hell, I could leave it at that. Riley Mansfield wouldn’t be the first woman who’d rented my cabin who I’d wanted to fuck.
This one was different, though. I had no doubt. No doubt at all.
Troy came back with our drinks, and I took a long sip of my beer. This was an old house, so Trudy didn’t have the biggest kitchen or bar area. She brought in kegs of whatever she could get the best deal on from the liquor distributor in Billings. When the keg ran out, she brought in a new one, and it was always different, but she made sure it was good quality beer. While Guinness was known for their stout, they also made a damned good lager. Trudy probably got a good deal on it. She always offered a bottled beer too. This week it was Stella Artois. What it would be next week? No one knew. Same with the wine. She got cases of decent wine at the best price she could, and when they were gone, she brought in something new.
Riley Mansfield was probably used to a wine list a mile long.
“What is a stinger, anyway?” I asked.
“I’m not quite sure. They taste kind of minty.” She laughed. “And they sometimes make me drop my fork.”
Another laugh from her. Oddly, I felt as though I’d been given a gift.
I smiled. Riley Mansfield was a true enigma, but I knew one thing.
She and I would be going to bed together.
I wanted her that much, and I was prepared to do or say anything to get inside that hot little body. Instinctively, I knew she didn’t let just anyone in.
But she would let me in.
I’d make sure of it.
Troy returned to take our orders. I ordered lamb chops, of course. They would come with a potato or grain and a vegetable, whatever Trudy was able to get.
Riley paused a moment. “Is the pasta dish vegan?” she asked.
“Vegan?” Troy said.
“Yeah.”
“It’s vegetarian.”
“I can figure that out by the description. I want to know if it’s vegan.”
Troy look to me, confused.
“Is there butter in it? Eggs or any other dairy product?” I asked.
“I’ll have to check with Trudy,” Troy said.
“Never mind,” Riley said. “I’m not vegan. I was just wondering. I’ll have the pasta. Oh, and a cup of the tomato bisque with wild rice.”
“You know,” I said, “that sounds really good. I’ll have the soup too, Troy.”
Troy nodded and left.
“He seriously doesn’t know what vegan means?”
“I’m not quite sure myself,” I admitted. “I just guessed on the dairy and egg thing.”
“Really?”
“We’re pretty meat-and-potatoes here in Montana. But Trudy does make one of her offerings vegetarian every night.”
“Vegan is kind of vegetarian on steroids. It means no animal products at all, including eggs and dairy. Some vegans even insist on vegan wine.”
“Isn’t wine vegan by nature? Grapes and all?”
“Most wine is filtered using animal proteins, like egg white. True-blue vegans won’t drink it.”
“You’re not vegan, then?”
“No, I’m not even vegetarian. Though I don’t eat a lot of red meat.”
“Then why did you ask if the pasta was vegan?”
“Because I care about what I put into my body, Matt. I like to be informed.”
“But you ordered the pasta anyway.”
“Yeah”—she looked down at her lap for a second and then met my gaze—“I figured I’m on vacation—just a high school business ed teacher on vacation. So what the hell?”
I raised my beer mug. “I will definitely drink to that.”
I didn’t get another laugh out of Riley, but I did get a gorgeous smile. She picked up her wine goblet and took a drink.
Troy brought our soup then, and I took a taste. Interesting. The nuttiness of the wild rice added a nice contrast to the sweet and savory of the tomato.
“This is delicious,” Riley said after swallowing her first bite.
“Told you I’ve never had a bad meal here.”
“I believe it. I’m excited to try the pasta. Not that I usually eat dessert, but I noticed that there’s no dessert listed on her menu.”
“Trudy likes to surprise us, but you can get an idea. Just watch the other diners. Someone will have dessert before we get to ours.”
“You know? I might just have dessert tonight. A surprise sounds great.”
“Surprises are always good.” I couldn’t help smiling. “Why don’t you normally eat dessert?”
“I just don’t.”
“Honey—” Shit. I’d done so well. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay. It doesn’t bother me so much anymore. What were you going to say?”
“All right then, honey.” I chuckled a little. “I was going to say you need to treat yourself more. Dessert is one of the little treats in life.”
“What about everything in moderation?”
“Not eating dessert isn’t moderation, Riley.”
She smiled and took another sip of her wine. “I suppose you’re right.”
“Hey”—I nodded toward the table next to us—“Troy just brought dessert to that table, and it looks chocolate and completely menacing.”
She glanced over. “Oh my God. It’s cake or pie or something, and it’s nearly a foot tall.”
“If it’s too much for you, we can share one.”
“All right.” Then she glanced away from me and concentrated on her soup once more.
I wasn’t sure I’d make it to dessert.
“I so overdid it tonight,” Riley said when I walked her to the door of the cabin.
“You took about two bites of our dessert. I’d say I’m the one who overdid it.”
“Well”—she looked at her feet—“thank you for dinner. You didn’t have to pay.”
“I guess I’m a little old-fashioned,” I said. “I invited you, so of course I paid.”
“It was very kind of you. I…enjoyed myself.”
“Glad to hear that, Riley, because I definitely enjoyed myself.”
I touched her cheek, and though she winced a little, she didn’t pull away. Her skin was so soft, like the finest silk.
“Why are you afraid of me?” I asked.
“I’m not afraid.”
“Let me come in.”
“I… I can’t.”
&nb
sp; “Please.” I leaned in and brushed my lips lightly against hers. God, already I was hard as marble.
“Matt, you seem like a really nice man, but I’m just not—”
I couldn’t help myself.
I slammed my lips down on hers.
7
Riley
He was kissing me. This gorgeous man was kissing me, running his tongue along the seam of my lips, coaxing them open.
I’d kissed before. This was nothing new.
What was new was that I actually wanted to kiss this man.
And that scared the shit out of me.
What would a kiss be like with someone I actually wanted to kiss? I could find out easily. I could simply part my lips and let him in.
He was so big, so strong, and though my feelings frightened me, I wasn’t frightened of him.
I should have been. He could overpower me at any moment. He could take what another had taken so many times without my permission.
Yet I knew, somewhere deep inside myself, that he wouldn’t do that. Matteo Rossi would not take anything I didn’t give to him willingly.
What would it hurt to let him kiss me?
I relaxed my lips and parted them.
His groan vibrated through me when his tongue swept over mine. My arms drifted upward, seemingly of their own accord, and found a resting place on his hard, broad shoulders. He was warm, so warm. I grasped his muscles. Then I moved one hand higher, let my fingers scrape across the blond stubble on his cheek. All the time he was kissing me, our lips sliding together, our tongues probing each other. And what a kiss it was. I wasn’t recoiling in repulsion. No, anything but.
I wanted this kiss. I wanted this man.
In a way I’d never wanted anything in my life.
No!
Quickly I pushed at his shoulders, breaking the kiss with a pop of suction.
His blue eyes widened, and a look of sadness streaked across his handsome face. His full lips were pink and puffy from the kiss.
From our kiss.
My fingers slid to my mouth. I could still feel his phantom lips on mine. His strong hands on my cheek, caressing me.
“Look, Riley…”
