Catering to the Italian Playboy

by Tamelia Tumlin

  Max arched a brow. If the thought was so distasteful then what the hell was she doing dressed like a go-go girl in the middle of his presentation?

  The Asian glanced at the other men. “We’ll be in touch.”

  Max nodded curtly. “Certainly. Please don’t let this misunderstanding discourage you. I assure you Rinaldi Resorts are some of the best in the world. I know a partnership between the Rinaldi and Ching Investments would be beneficial to us both.”

  “We’ll let you know.” Spines stiff, the five men filed out and the wooden door slammed behind them. Max clenched and unclenched his fist. His chance of acquiring their investment and opening one of his resorts in Hong Kong had just nose-dived into the sewer.

  All because of a woman.

  In a G-string to boot.

  * * * *

  Uh-oh. That didn’t sound good.

  Heart in throat, Sophie blinked at the fury smoldering in the Max’s eyes. Lovely shades of gray swirled like a brewing storm. And she had a feeling this particular storm would be targeting her. Now would be a very good time to take her leave.

  Before he figured out who she was.

  As if!

  Like the man would even remember her. One stupid mistake six years ago may have left a lasting impression on her, but for a playboy like Max she’d just been another notch on his bedpost. Or rather a notch on the bedpost in the exquisite hotel suite he’d taken her to after she’d practically thrown herself in his arms after her mother’s funeral.

  Sophie swallowed again, cheeks flaming at the memory. She should be thankful he didn’t remember her. It was humiliating enough without taking a trip down memory lane with the likes of Maximus Rinaldi – playboy extraordinaire.

  Still, a sliver of disappointment skittered over her. She knew she’d meant nothing to him, but to actually experience the proof stung. “I guess I can safely assume you’re not turning seventy today.” She offered him a small smile.

  Definitely not seventy. More like thirty-something. A very in-your-face-sexy thirty-something, she might add. Good lord, a sensuous mouth like his should have a warning sign attached. Danger: Heartbreaker Ahead.

  And she should know. She’d kissed that sensuous mouth until her body quivered with delight six years ago.

  The sensuous mouth didn’t return her smile. “You assume correctly.” A muscle throbbed in his proud chin. “I’m Maximus Rinaldi. I own this hotel.”

  Sophie swallowed hard. “So I gathered. I apologize for the mix-up. I was supposed to be Mr. Carmichael’s birthday surprise.”

  Max’s eyebrow shot up. His gaze scanned the length of her in a slow, lazy scrutiny which sent tingles of excitement along her skin. Her nipples hardened and heat slid into her thong. She crossed her arms over her breasts. His lips quirked at her obvious discomfort.

  “Not that kind of surprise.” Sophie lifted her chin a notch. “I own a catering business. I was only supposed to make the dessert. Not be part of it,” she added dryly. “Then, of course, Tootsie or Bunny or whoever canceled, and I got stuck filling in. I guess my assistant must have gotten the conference rooms mixed up. Sorry about that. Sometimes life throws us a curveball and we have to just roll with it.” She flashed him a dimpled smile. “It’s the only way to get through life’s little surprises. I hope there are no hard feelings about the mix-up.”

  Shock registered on Max’s face. “What did you just say about a curveball?”

  “Only that I’ve been thrown enough in my life to know there’s no point in getting all worked up over something you can’t change.” She bit the inside of her cheek thoughtfully and tilted her head to the side. “To be as successful as you are, I imagine you’ve had to roll with a few a time or two.”

  “What makes you think I’m so successful?”

  Sophie blushed. “I’ve read the tabloids. You’re listed as one of the ten most successful bachelors in the world. Billionaire Bachelors I believe was the correct heading in the latest one.” She didn’t bother to add his playboy reputation also pegged him with a different woman in practically every metropolitan city. Not that she believed everything she read, of course. For him to be that much of a player he’d have to be Houdini. But there was probably a grain of truth in it somewhere.

  When he didn’t confirm or deny her assumption, she added, “Right. I’ll just get out of your way then.” Before I make a bigger idiot out of myself. She reached for the red velvet cake on the table behind her.

  His arm shot out, a hand clamped over her wrist. “Not so fast, sugar.”

  Sophie bristled at the sarcastic endearment. “I beg your pardon.”

  “It seems we have a problem.”

  “We do?” Why, oh why, did these things always happen to her? Just once, it would be nice if fate would smile on her. At this point she would take a tiny grin. A grimace even.

  “Your little exhibition just cost me several million dollars.”

  “But … but they said they’d be in touch.”

  “Which means they are politely declining my offer.” The muscle in his chin throbbed harder. “The way I see it, you owe me.”

  Wonderful. Could this day get any worse?

  “I don’t have that kind of money.” None that I care to put my hands on anyway. She lifted her chin another notch. It would be a sizzling day in the Arctic before she ever asked her father for a dime. “My company is already floundering at the moment. I need every gig and every dime I can get to keep us afloat.” She ducked her head, hoping he wouldn’t see the worry in her eyes. “The next few months could make us or break us.”

  “I see.”

  “I really am very sorry,” Sophie looked pointedly at the vice grip around her wrist, “but I must get to Mr. Carmichael’s party.” Surely, he wasn’t serious about owing him several million dollars.

  He could be. Dear old Dad certainly would have been.

  An uneasy feeling slithered over her as she glanced around the luxurious conference room. Besides the over-sized chandelier, everything about Rinadli Resorts shouted unimaginable wealth. From the thick, avocado-colored carpet to the rust-and-mustard yellow designer walls. Not to mention the artwork, which, if she were a betting woman – which she wasn’t – she’d put money on being original Rembrandts. And that was just the hotel. As for Max himself – well power rolled off him in tidal waves.

  She could practically smell the money. Or was it just the expensive spicy cologne he was wearing? He needed another million dollars like he needed a hole in the head. But, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t expect her to pay up. The wealthy always expected the world to do their bidding.

  “So you expect me to lose a very costly deal and let you walk out of here Scott-free?” He rocked back on his heels, amusement flickering in his eyes.

  “It was an honest mistake. It’s not like I deliberately set out to sabotage your meeting.”

  “That may be true,” Max conceded with a nod. “But it doesn’t help my business deal does it?”

  “For the love of Mike, what do you expect me to do about it? You can’t get blood from a turnip and I don’t have one million dollars much less several.” What exactly did this man expect?

  “A turnip?” Max frowned-puzzled. “You’re referring to a vegetable?”

  “It’s an old saying.” Sophie gripped the edge of the table behind her. Did he have to stand so close? The scent of expensive spicy exotic cologne muddled her brain. She’d always been a sucker for good-smelling men and Maximus Rinaldi smelled divine. Just like he had six years ago when she’d practically jumped his bones. “It means I don’t have anything for you to take.”

  “I beg to differ.” The corners of his lips quirked, and his eyes slid over her once more. “You seem to have quite a bit to offer.”

  “Not on your life, mister.” Sophie hugged her breasts tighter. Great Pete, did he remember her after all? Or did he think she was the trollop she was dressed as? He didn’t seem to remember their little tryst, but his remarks had her wondering. Sophie bit h
er lip and shot him an uneasy look. Her body tingled in places she didn’t care to admit as the memory of his hands exploring very intimate parts of her body sprung to mind. Heat flooded her cheeks. She needed to get out of here. Fast. Before she made a fool of herself again and before he remembered the night she’d hadn’t been able to forget in six years. “Now, if you’ll excuse–”

  His low sexy chuckle teased her raw nerves. “You misunderstood, my dear. You do own a business, don’t you? What did you say it was? Catering?” He lifted a brow as if he didn’t quite believe her.

  Well, she couldn’t exactly blame him for not buying it. How many other caterers worked in a G-string? Still …

  “Yes. A Touch of Spice Catering. But, I don’t see what that has to do with the price of tea in China.” Did he plan to sue her or something?

  Max reached behind her and swiped the cake with his index finger. He jabbed the frosting into his mouth. “Not bad.” He nodded. “Actually, it’s pretty fantastic. Chocolate is my weakness, you know.” His lips curved up. “My question has nothing to do with the price of tea in China as you so aptly put it, but it does have something to do with the Chinese investors you sent running for the hills.”

  Sophie swallowed hard. “Oh.”

  “You see, since you ran off my latest investors I think you still need to pay retribution.” He took another swipe of the frosting. “I could get addicted to this. But I need to sample the rest of your wares before I make a decision.”

  Sophie sputtered indignantly. Her what? “I beg your pardon!”

  A wolfish grin spread across Max’s handsome face revealing a set of perfectly straight pearly whites. “Your menu, of course. I need to find out if the rest of your food is as delicious as this cake. If it is suitable, I might have a proposition for you. One that will allow you to make up for botching my deal and satisfy us both.” A teasing light replaced the icy depths in his gray eyes. Apparently, he enjoyed riling her feathers. “After all, you do owe me since you just ruined my chance of opening a Rinaldi in Hong Kong.”

  Sophie bit her lip. He did have a point. But she was just a bit wary of his proposition. If it included anything other than food then he could shove it where the sun didn’t shine. She may have slept with him once – even if he didn’t remember it – but she wasn’t promiscuous. It just so happened she’d met him at a very vulnerable time in her life.

  Sophie’s chest clenched. A time when her world had come crumbling down around her and she hadn’t known what to do or where to turn. Unfortunately, she had turned to the nearest stranger who had taken an interest in her. Since then she’d worked very hard to make sure nothing like that ever happened again. Built her business from scratch without using her family name or her father’s money to get ahead. A pain shot through her ribcage and sliced her heart. Her mother’s death – she still couldn’t admit to herself it had been a suicide – six years ago had been the last straw. She’d run – not walked – away from the prestigious Westbrook name and her father’s unyielding ruthless hand.

  And she’d never looked back.

  Working for Max was definitely not in her best interest, but she always paid her debts and, unfortunately, it looked like she had just racked up another one. Still, she would keep it strictly professional. There was no way she could ever get personally involved with the billionaire playboy again.

  She swallowed hard. Not if she wanted to keep her secret.

  “So when can I sample those wares?” Max leaned over for another swipe at the frosting, his warm breath only inches from her neck, teasing erogenous zones she didn’t even know she had.

  Sophie shivered with unexpected pleasure.

  Good lord, what was she getting herself into?

  ** TWO **

  Dio! It was her!

  Longer hair, a bit fuller face than he remembered, but definitely her.

  Max closed the file he had been working on and leaned back in the leather chair. He knew it the minute she had mumbled something about a curveball and rolling with it. Whatever the devil that meant. It was the same quirky phrase she’d used the night they had spent together. Right before she slid into his arms and awakened senses he hadn’t even known existed.

  Max closed his eyes to relish the memory. His hands combing through her burnished locks, feeling each strand slide through his fingers like silk scarves. The soft swell of her hip molding against his muscled body as he held her tight. Her scent – lavender, vanilla and something quite primal – clinging to his skin long after she had disappeared. Her …

  Max muttered an oath and shoved a hand through his hair in agitation. Remembering how soft that woman – Sophie – felt in his arms wasn’t helping anything except the need for a cold shower.

  Sophie.

  The name had a nice sound. She hadn’t told him her name six years ago. She hadn’t told him anything about herself and quite frankly, he hadn’t asked. Talking definitely hadn’t been what he’d been interested in that night.

  He swiveled toward the window in his personal hotel suite and focused on the blinking neon lights and lit-up billboards in Times Square. A busy city alive with nocturnal activities, boisterous tourists and enthusiastic New Yorkers.

  Max expelled a long sigh. Sometimes he envied the closeness he witnessed among couples exploring the streets of Manhattan relishing in every moment together, or the excitement of families vacationing in the Big Apple making memories that would last them a lifetime.

  That special feeling of belonging – being loved unconditionally – he had never experienced and knew he never would. As a child he had dreamed of finding a family who would make him a part of their life and give him a place to call home. As an adult he traded in that childish dream for a more attainable one. Wealth, success and independence.

  Max clenched his chin. After years of disappointment, he had hardened his heart to the notion of love and learned how to depend only on himself. To go after what he wanted and not let anything stand in his way.

  Which was precisely why he decided to hire Sophie for next week’s function. He wasn’t about to let her slip through his fingers again. He intended to get her out of his system once and for all by enticing her back into his bed.

  No harm in that as long as he was upfront about his intentions. No strings attached. Just two consenting adults who knew the rules and didn’t expect anything in return. He was a let-the-relationship-run-its-course-then-part-ways kind of guy. And as long as Sophie didn’t expect any white picket fences or commitments – he didn’t do commitments – everything would be fine.

  No harm. No foul.

  Max shoved to his feet and crossed the plush beige carpet to the window. His gaze swept to the shimmering Manhattan skyline lighting up the night sky with a spectacular view he never tired of seeing.

  * * *

  “I need more flour,” Sophie called over her shoulder three days later as she rolled out the dough for the pie crust.

  “Coming right up.” Felicity pulled another bag from the cabinet then set it on the counter near Sophie’s rolled-out circle. She glanced up as the bell jingled on the door. “Ooh la la. Boss, check out, McSexy. Three o’clock.” She let out a soft low whistle.

  Sophie looked up to see a pair of gray eyes staring at her from across the room.

  Max.

  Her mouth went as dry as the Sahara Desert. What was he doing here? He wasn’t supposed to be here for another couple of hours. She didn’t have everything ready yet.

  Sophie set the rolling pin down and whispered in Felicity’s ear, “McSexy is our new client – only probably not a paying one now that I think about it.” Sophie shook her head vehemently. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. He’s the one whose meeting we ruined.” She hesitated then looked at Felicity and lowered her voice. “Look, do me a favor and don’t mention Alex. Okay?”

  Felicity raised a blonde brow. “McSexy doesn’t like kids?”

  “No – I don’t know. Just don’t say anything, please.”

  Fe
licity gave her a thoughtful look then shrugged. “You got it.”

  “Thanks.” Sophie wiped her hands on her apron and resisted the urge to smooth back the few strands of hair that had escaped her low ponytail. Why the sudden concern with her appearance? It wasn’t like she was trying impress him.

  “Afternoon, ladies. I believe I have an appointment.” The deep timbre of Max’s thickly accented Italian voice slid over Sophie like black velvet.

  “You’re early.” Sophie stepped around the counter with a frown.

  Max glanced at his watch. “By ten minutes? Guilty as charged.” His lips twitched.

  “What? No, it’s only one thirty. Your appointment is at three.”

  “Uh, boss? It’s actually ten minutes ‘til three,” Felicity interjected then rolled her eyes heavenward. “I think your watch has stopped again.”

  Sophie’s frown deepened as she glanced at her flour-covered wrist. Sure enough the second hand refused to budge on the watch. She thumped the glass face. Nothing. Dead as a doorknob.

  Wonderful.

  She expelled a long sigh and shot Max an apologetic look. “I’m afraid I don’t have everything ready.”

  Great. Now he thinks I have no professional skills whatsoever. Can’t get the party room right and can’t get the food prepared on time. Oh, and let’s not forget the G-string performance a few days ago. Yep. About as professional as a lizard.

  Sophie gritted her teeth. This is so not the way she liked to run her business. It would have been nice to at least appear professional.

  “I’m afraid I’ll have to sample what you have ready. I can’t come back today.” Max’s brows slashed downward. “I have a meeting this afternoon.”

  “I’ll be in the back getting some of the desserts ready.” Felicity nodded, shooting Max another adoring look. “Call me if you need anything, boss.”

  Sophie pulled herself together. No need to wallow. Just another one of life’s curveballs so she might as well roll with it. “Right. I do have some of the appetizers ready and two of the main entrees.” She gestured toward a small table in the corner of the room. “Have a seat. I’ll bring them right out.”