Seducing the Tycoon (International Temptation)

by MK Meredith

  “I warned you,” he said. Three little words found Chase on her back with Drago squarely between her legs.

  “Wait.” Her tone was breathless but demanding.

  His eyes narrowed.

  Reaching toward the nightstand, she pulled open the drawer, grabbed a cellophane packet, then ripped it open with her teeth. He leaned back, leaving himself bared to her, and her stomach full-on flipped at the sight. She wrapped one hand around the base of him and slowly rolled the condom down his length.

  He leaned forward and took her mouth as he slid into her a fraction of an inch. He throbbed against her sensitive skin. “God,” she said against his mouth.

  “You mean Drago.”

  “More.” She pushed at him to go deeper, but he resisted.

  “Say it now.”

  The hoarse demand increased her urgency to feel more of him, leaving her to all but beg. “Drago.” She sucked his lower lip into her mouth, then ran her tongue along it. “Now, Drago. Don’t make me wait.”

  He pushed into her a fraction deeper. “Like that?” His breath came out in harsh pants of reined-in control.

  She shook her head, digging her heels into his ass, trying to take what she wanted. “Drago!”

  With a low moan, he swept his tongue into her mouth, then plunged to the hilt.

  Her vision went white, pleasure rolling out from her center. “Yes, goddammit. Yes.”

  With her arms wrapped around his shoulders, she pulled at him to continue the rhythm he’d set. His body was unyielding, his demands unreasonable, and she wanted to push and pull against him, make him go faster, harder, to never stop.

  His hands found all of her secret places, the places only she knew after years of exploration. The pads of his fingertips were light when they needed to be light, and firm when they needed to be firm. His tongue drove every nerve ending to exploding. And as her body hummed, ready to break over the edge of pleasure, she held on tighter.

  Biting into his shoulder, she muffled her scream of release, overwhelmed by his scent and taste and feel. He increased his pace, harder and faster, until he, too, cleared the edge and joined her. Gasping for air, they stared at each other in silence.

  Drago dropped his forehead to hers and demanded, “What was that?”

  She had no idea. She was by no means a shy woman when it came to men, but never in all of her encounters had she experienced anything quite like they had together. His body seemed to know hers as if he’d sculpted her himself.

  “I, uhhhh…” The shocked quality of her whisper stilled her tongue. She couldn’t process yet, and saying anything now would be a big mistake. “Thank you.”

  His laugh echoed off the walls around them as he shifted to her side. She looked at him through the dim light let in from the bathroom. Something passed over his face as he returned her gaze. She couldn’t place it, and honestly didn’t think Drago was the kind of guy she really wanted to figure out anyway.

  “Thank you,” he returned.

  She wet her lower lip with her tongue as she roamed her eyes over his large body next to her. “Why are you so big, love?”

  A choked sound erupted from his chest, and he covered his mouth with a fist. “Excuse me?”

  She slapped at his shoulder with a giggle. “You know what I mean, though you’ll get no complaints from me. But you are very tall compared to the rest of Ferrara.”

  His fingertips burned a trail along her side from beneath her breast to her hip as he spoke. “My grandmother’s family immigrated to Italy after World War II. That whole side of the family is over six feet tall. A long line of Dutch Italians ran Casa di Nonna. It’s too bad it might come to an end.” His expression changed suddenly, and he sat up.

  “Come to an end? That’s a bit dramatic, isn’t it? I know things might be tight, but—”

  “I need to go.” Drago ran his hands over his face.

  The room turned cold. “What’s wrong?”

  He patted her hip as he dropped his feet to the floor. “No, nothing. I’m sorry. I just realized the time, and I have a red-eye meeting.”

  She didn’t believe him for one minute, and all the warm appreciation she’d felt chilled with the arrival of suspicion. “A red-eye meeting?”

  He took care of business, then pulled on his pants, followed by his shirt. Slipping his feet into his shoes, he grabbed his socks and briefs, shoving them into an empty pocket, then stopped to look at her. She sat up, holding the sheet over her breasts.

  Glancing down, he scowled. “Now that is a shame.”

  She looked at him from the corner of her eye. “I suddenly feel a chill in the air.”

  With a wince, he stepped around the bed and kissed her soundly. “No, don’t. I’m sorry. Call me tomorrow so we can set up the rest of our week.” He hesitated, looking at her with an intense gaze that brought back all the heat they’d shared, and she lowered the sheet.

  He sucked in a breath, flexing his free hand at his side. “Buona notte, bella.”

  He slipped out the door of her suite and it closed with a soft whisk. Falling back against her pillows, she stared at the ceiling.

  Now what the hell was that all about? He all but ran from the room, leaving her both supremely confused and satiated.

  But, goddamn, she’d also been both wrong and right.

  Reality actually exceeded the fantasy.

  And hell, the man knew how to handle his biscotti.

  Chapter Eleven

  Drago threw back his third espresso of the morning, then set it down for Nonna to fill one more time. Even if he hadn’t been up all night working, the games he’d played with Chase kept him too wound up to sleep. It was one thing to outmaneuver in business, but another to screw with a friend’s dreams. She didn’t deserve it. And therein lay the problem. He cared for Chase.

  Drumming his fingers on the table, he stared at the bottom of his cup. There must be something he could do to make it up to her.

  “Caro, we need to talk.”

  “Nonna, not now. I’ve been up all night tracking down Diego. I think we might have found him, but I have a few more phone calls to make.”

  Her jeweled hands fluttered in front of her chest. “You think you found him?” Her eyes welled, and she pulled in a shaky breath. “He broke my heart.”

  Pushing away from the counter, he embraced her with a kiss to the top of her head. “Don’t get your hopes up yet. Even if I have, the process of getting your money back—if we even can—isn’t guaranteed, and won’t be fast. But I know you’re hurting. I’m sorry.”

  She nodded.

  When had the lines deepened by her eyes and her hair grayed at the temple? She suddenly seemed much older than she had a day ago. Or was he finally seeing her in the glaring light of his own failures?

  He closed his own eyes against the truth. His grandmother was only in this mess because he’d been a coward. Too scared of his reflection looking so much like his father’s that he ended up being much worse.

  So he’d try to change that. And the first step was saving the inn. Though he wished he didn’t have to keep the truth from Chase to do it. Feeling completely relaxed after having the best sex of his life last night, he’d almost screwed everything up and told her about the real trouble at the inn. Hell, in that moment, he wanted to tell her everything about himself. About what he’d done.

  Which meant he’d had to get out of there fast. The hurt and confusion in her eyes had followed him all the way home, but he couldn’t risk saying the wrong thing. Not now. The fact that he even cared about her feelings messed with his whole mission.

  Minchia. This was the exact reason emotion didn’t belong in business. It screwed with his agenda, with his determination. And when it came to Nonna, he couldn’t afford to let his guard down. She deserved better from him.

  “What happened with Diego is in the past,” Nonna said. “All I can do is move forward. But what I’m worried about is you, Drago.”

  Now, that got his attention. The last
thing his grandmother should be doing was worrying about him. He raised a brow. “Why in the world would you be worried about me?”

  Nonna casually studied the rings on each of her fingers. She pointed to one particularly beautiful sapphire set in a wide gold band. “Do you remember the story behind this ring?”

  Everyone knew the story behind the ring. Without it, none of them would be there. He dipped his chin. “I do.”

  “I was a stubborn chit when I was younger.”

  He narrowed his eyes at the “younger” part.

  She chuckled. “I am still stubborn, but I like to think I’ve learned a thing or two. Back then, I was determined to rule my little slice of the world, make it mine, make it bend to my will. So much so that I almost missed out on the love of my life.”

  The ring had been from his grandfather back when he’d first courted Nonna. She wouldn’t have any of it. From another country and too proud, she’d fought against falling in love with an Italian and having to stay. She’d had plans to go back to the Netherlands and build her life there, but Grandfather had been just as stubborn—and he’d been in love. Nothing more powerful, or so the story goes. Drago thought it all a fanciful bunch of bullshit. It wasn’t love but sheer determination that had made his grandfather successful.

  The story was legendary in Ferrara: his grandfather’s family had lived in a different contrada, a different section of the city from Nonna’s. Each contrada took incredible pride in its home, its colors, its unity. And they gathered for great races and a flag-throwing contest in the city center. But Grandfather wore Nonna’s colors in the weeks leading up to the Palio races. It had been unheard of. And almost considered an act of treason.

  Nonna twisted the ring around her finger. “When your grandfather showed up at the races for the flag-throwing in my colors, I knew it was over. I’d never find another man who’d be more dedicated to me, to my life. But my stubbornness wasn’t without cost. The town did not appreciate his gesture as I did. It took years before they got over it, but to him, it had all been worth it.”

  Drago nodded. “What are you trying to say, Nonna?”

  Her dark eyes roamed over his face. “You look so much like him, but you act so much like me.” She sighed.

  Shaking his head, he drained the rest of his cup. “I don’t see that as being a bad thing.”

  She let her hands drop to her sides. “We shall see.” She studied him a bit longer. “I don’t want you working against the Huntington House opening. Chase doesn’t deserve that. I’ve never met a lovelier young woman.”

  He shook his head. “We’ll lose the inn.”

  “Nipote, that is on us, on me. Not Chase. You’ve always said yourself when a business fails it’s on the businessman.”

  He railed against her words, his own words. This wasn’t just a business, this was history, a way of life, a family. “Exactly, business is business. It’s what I do best.”

  “Oh, caro, sabotage is not your best.”

  The look in her eyes left him cold. “Nonna.” He tried to form words around the lump in his throat. He wanted to argue against the shame in her words, but he pressed his lips together instead. He had to do this. Why couldn’t she understand?

  “You care for her, caro. You’ll regret this.”

  Care? A completely inappropriate vision of her looming over him, her breasts hanging above his face, her lips glistening in the low light of the room, and her familiar scent clouding his senses came to mind. His body’s response was swift and fierce, leaving him to shift in his seat. He certainly felt something. But he didn’t want to care. In the end, she had to leave. Caring would only complicate things.

  Nonna squeezed his hand. “I have our own opening on track. The catering and the entertainment have been scheduled. The plumbing’s almost finished. It’s beautiful how our stone walls are centuries old but our pipes, the very veins of the inn, are brand-new. It’s a change that means something. Like new life pumping through us.” She held his gaze. “Just as Chase’s arrival has done.”

  He dropped his mouth open, but she walked from the kitchen toward the front sitting rooms. He followed close behind because he couldn’t do anything else. He couldn’t stop his plan. The inn would be lost; he’d be lost.

  Walking through his home was like walking through a living museum. Two nineteenth-century gilt-varnished silvered grotto armchairs flanked a black marble-top table that boasted a pedestal carved to look like a forest. As a child, he’d hid underneath the table too many times to count, naming all the animals—he couldn’t fit one leg under there now.

  “The opening will be intimate, more of a family affair,” Nonna spoke as she entered the sitting room they’d used when visiting with Chase. She stopped to inspect the intricate crown molding under restoration.

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, there’s really no other choice, is there? Chase is sparing no expense. Her opening will be impossible to ignore, even by the most loyal of Ferrara.”

  Nonna patted his cheek, hope shining from her eyes. “You’ll find Diego, and I’m going to speak with the plumber. Go. Do what you do.”

  She walked off, but he could feel her presence long after she’d left the room. Nonna was the only person he’d ever truly loved, but what she asked was impossible. Abandoning his sabotage would ruin her. As for Chase, he had no doubt she’d succeed in life no matter what happened to her grand opening. She didn’t quit in the face of adversity; she didn’t cave under an onslaught of challenges. In fact, she was one of the most business-savvy women he’d ever met. So continuing with his plan wouldn’t hurt her. Not really.

  He sank to one of the sofas that sat adjacent to the large arched window, resisting the feeling of panic that was trying to toe its way inside. So far, any breakthrough concerning Diego was rocky at best, the plumbing project had tapped out the last of the inn’s savings, and the opening was a lost cause. Like any vision his grandmother might have involving him and Chase. And that idea that she pumped new life into theirs. He grunted.

  Scrolling through his phone, he pulled up her number. Either way, he’d handled his own shit-storm like a dick the night before. The sex had been incredible. Hot and demanding and as soon as it was over, he’d wanted to lose himself in her again. He’d never lost himself in anything other than work, and certainly not in anyone. It was a dangerous and foolish thing to do.

  Right now he was simply craving American cuisine. But it wouldn’t last. So he’d get it out of his system while she was here.

  Here. That was the sticking point. She’d been in his home, in his space. Now he couldn’t walk through the kitchen without tasting mango, or set the table in the dining room without smelling cocoa butter. He’d watched her charm his grandmother right under his nose. And the charming had been mutual and sincere from both sides.

  He clenched his jaw, working through the twisting in his gut. The truth was, Chase deserved so much more than a man like him could ever offer. She didn’t deserve his manipulation. But if he abandoned his sabotage, how the hell was he going to save Nonna?

  Cazzo. He’d have to figure out something. Nonna was right. He was better than sabotage, and so was Chase. The Dragon never resorted to games, but he’d been hit with a desperation he’d never known before.

  Because he did care. And now it would cost him.

  His phone buzzed, yanking him from the unfamiliar turn his thoughts had taken. “Ciao.”

  “Mr. De Luca. This is Detective Miglioccio. I think we’ve found Diego.”

  Drago’s fist clenched. “Where’s the bastard hiding?”

  “Right now we have him marked in Taiwan. He’s been lying low, paying cash, but slipped up over the weekend. It was only a matter of time.”

  Drago wanted to smash his fist through Diego’s face, and short of that, he wanted to destroy the little man’s life. If he couldn’t shut down the Huntington, he’d have to shut down Diego and get his grandmother’s money back.

  A plan took shape, and he j
otted down a few notes. He put a call in to a banker friend, then back to the detective. It was a long shot, but if they played their cards right, they just might be able to make Diego deposit the money right back into Nonna’s own bank account.

  Chapter Twelve

  Chase stretched, slowly waking to the soft light of the early morning peeking through the automatic blinds on her windows. A rough sensation, almost like sand, greeted her leg as she moved it along the sheet.

  “What the hell?” She sat up, testing the sensation once more. She threw back the covers and stared at her luxurious Frette sheets, only to find the fabric pilling into tiny balls and wearing a faded spot into the space where she lay.

  Her stomach tightened. The sheets she’d chosen were no lightweight expense. Frette sheets were the linens of royalty dating back to the late 1800s. The exact reason she’d chosen them. What better luxury while in Ferrara than resting on the fabric of kings? Or so she’d thought.

  This could not be what her patrons woke up to. They’d never come back, and the Huntington reputation for luxury would be nothing more than an ironic joke.

  She dressed quickly, then made her way down to the lobby as Inez and Rita arrived. “We have a problem. I need one of you to contact our Frette representative immediately.”

  Rita spoke up. “What seems to be the problem?”

  “The first day I slept on the sheets they were exactly as I’d expected, absolutely decadent. But this morning the sheets are pilling as if they’re fifty years old. This is completely unacceptable.” She’d signed a two-year contract making the linen company their sole provider, a pricey commitment but one that would be worth every penny if the quality she’d always known had been what she’d found on her bed. Her chest tightened.

  Checking her watch, she considered her options, then looked to Inez. “Run down to the supply room and grab a handful of sheets that have been laundered. Let’s see what they look like.”

  Rita pulled up the contact information on the computer. “I’ll make a few calls.”