by C. C. Snow
“Hey, buddy. What have you been up to?” He set the toddler on his lap and listened to Aiden chatter. No matter how incoherent the little boy sounded, Troy didn’t lose patience or interrupt.
My chest tightened at the touching sight. The bond between them was tangible. Tearing my eyes away from them, I encountered Cora’s inquiring gaze and I blushed. How much had she witnessed before she interrupted earlier?
“Uh…I’m going to finish printing out the reports,” I said and skedaddled into the dining room. I tried to concentrate on my work, but the sound of his deep laughter mixed with his nephew’s higher-pitched squeals was distracting.
After an hour, Troy left and I told myself I wasn’t disappointed when he merely waved goodbye to me.
I wasn’t!
I was glad he was leaving me alone.
When Cora closed the door after him, she slanted me a curious look, but to my immense relief, she didn’t ask any questions.
***
Troy
It was good to be CFO.
Especially when I needed access to a personnel file for an employee of Weston Enterprises.
I studied my computer screen.
Gabrielle Lazzaro. Aged twenty-six. Graduated from New York University with a bachelor’s in Italian Literature, but never put her degree to use. All the previous jobs on her résumé were at restaurants.
Pulling up her picture, I leaned forward and studied her face.
The image was a woefully inadequate representation of her. She looked beautiful in it, even without makeup, but the photo captured none of the fire that burned beneath the surface. In real life, her espresso-dark eyes shimmered with little caramel glints and her thick hair made a man want to bury his face into the soft waves. My thumb rubbed against my fingers, remembering the satiny texture of her hair from that night.
I touched the screen, tracing the outline of her mouth. In real life, the curves of her lips were softer, fuller. Her taste was indescribable—sweet, but with a bite of sharpness. The angle of her chin was prouder. And there was the barest hint of sadness in her face that stirred my curiosity.
Looking at the photo and seeing her in person was the difference between hearing someone describe the flavor of a single-malt whiskey and tasting the smoky, peaty beverage for yourself. There was no comparison.
The tartness of her personality. Her blatant disdain for my wealth and status. Her sharp intelligence. They all made her irresistible.
I leaned back and folded my hands behind my head.
Her employment as Cora’s PA was a sign. It was fate stepping in and I wasn’t going to squander this opportunity. Based on her resistance to our attraction, I had been going about this all wrong.
In the past, I had used my sexuality to get what I wanted from women, but it wasn’t going to work with Elle. The asshole from her past made her skittish around men she considered players—men like me. Even if I told her I was after more, she wouldn’t believe me. And after seeing her hold Aiden so tenderly, I was after everything.
I needed a new strategy.
My blue balls demanded I find it fast. Grimacing, I reached down to adjust my still aching cock. The memory of her slender fingers touching me had been driving me crazy all afternoon. I chuckled at how well she had played me. The sexy, dirty things she whispered to me almost had me on my knees.
Begging for mercy indeed.
As soon as Gabrielle Lazzaro touched my dick, she became a marked woman.
Elle’s employment at Weston was a complication, but not an insurmountable one.
I needed a new strategy and I needed patience. The former was a challenge, but the latter might kill me.
Chapter 6
“Hey, I’m sorry.”
I almost jumped out of my skin when the large figure appeared at my side. “Shit! You scared the crap out of me.” Pressing a hand to my chest to calm my racing heart, I stared at Troy Weston in aggravation and confusion.
Over the last week, I had been on guard, worried about another surprise visit, but he never returned to see Cora and Aiden at the house again—at least not while I was there. To my chagrin, I had been disappointed and that made me even more irritated with myself.
The last place I expected to see him was in my working class neighborhood, looking completely out of place in his dark grey suit and shiny Italian loafers.
Halting, I put my hands on my hips and demanded, “How did you know where I live? Do you know stalking is a crime?”
He grinned. “Why, yes. I do.” Then he stood there without saying another word.
I growled. The man was infuriating. As CFO, he probably got my address from my personnel files. It was an abuse of power, but I doubted I could make a case against the son of the founder of the company.
Hitching my backpack higher on my shoulders, I started to walk away from him. It wasn’t worth my while to pick a fight with him. Ignoring him was the best strategy.
“I’m sorry, Elle,” he said softly, his long legs easily keeping up with my pace.
Against my better judgment, I stopped again and faced him.
He looked earnestly contrite, his mouth pulled down at the corners.
“What for?” I asked.
A twinkle entered his eyes. “Have I done more than one thing I need to apologize for?”
I didn’t hesitate and said emphatically, “Yes!”
He barked out a loud laugh, startling me. This man had been predictably unpredictable since the moment I set eyes on him. In my experience, powerful men like him did not like to be questioned or denied, but he had been almost…affable in the face of my insults.
Amusement lacing his voice, he said, “I’d love to hear about my list of supposed transgressions.” He gestured to a black Porsche Carrera. It figured the man would drive a sleek sports car. “Maybe you can tell me while I give you a ride to work?”
“Thank you for the offer, but I’m not interested,” I declined, taking a step to move around him.
Angling his body to block me, he said in a cajoling voice, “Come on, Elle. You’re my sister-in-law’s PA. I’m essentially her boss. My nephew adores you almost as much as he adores me.”
My eyes involuntarily twitched at his arrogance and that mischievous glint reappeared in his eyes.
“We’re bound to have a lot more contact. Can’t you give me a few minutes to apologize?”
“I don’t need an apology. Let’s forget it,” I said hastily.
“But I need to clear my conscience. You wouldn’t want me to be wracked with guilt,” he said with a forlorn expression.
I couldn’t control my eye roll and he chuckled.
“It’ll only take a few minutes, I swear. Otherwise I’m going to be waiting for you every day until you do listen to me.”
There was a note of determination that told me he wasn’t bluffing.
After a brief hesitation, I scowled and nodded curtly. As Cora’s pregnancy advanced, I would need to take on additional responsibilities. Dealing with the CFO would probably be a regular occurrence and it would make my life easier if we cleared the air.
“Excellent. Let’s go.” Smiling, he reached to take my arm.
I turned my body away from him, avoiding his touch. “I don’t need a ride. We can talk here.”
He sighed and grasped my elbow, propelling me toward his car. “Yes you do. It would be ridiculous for you to take the El when I can give you a ride. I’m heading over there anyway to pick up Jake. Besides, I don’t want the whole neighborhood to hear about my—according to you—numerous crimes.”
Grumbling at his high-handedness, I let him lead me to the car. He held the door open and gestured for me to get in. I lowered myself into the leather bucket seat and buckled my seatbelt.
As soon as he got into the driver’s seat and shut the door, I knew I had made a mistake. The already small interior shrunk. I shifted uneasily in the seat, feeling overwhelmed by the scent of leather, spicy cologne and clean male.
Leaning his
head against the window, Troy twisted to face me, his eyes fastened on my face. “Now, tell me what you think I should apologize for.”
“You first,” I fired back.
I fought to keep my expression neutral as he gazed at me with a disturbing curve at the edge of his mouth. The air fairly crackled as our staring contest dragged on for what felt like minutes. As the seconds ticked by, my body grew ever tenser until my skin felt like it was pulled too tightly over my flesh.
Then he grinned, as if he were delighted by some secret knowledge only he was privy to, and the tension snapped. The electricity ebbed to a low hum.
Huffing a breath, I folded my hands over my waist and waited.
“I want to apologize for trying to seduce you in my sister-in-law’s house,” he finally said.
I narrowed my eyes at his precise wording. He sounded like a fucking politician. “Are you sorry for the attempt or the location?”
God, those crinkles at the corner of his eyes were sexy.
“Both. It was unprofessional,” he said blandly.
There was just enough sincerity in his tone to make me want to believe him, but I distrusted the dash of deviltry in his eyes. Damn the man. He was impossible to read.
“And…?” I prompted.
He shrugged and quirked a brow. “And…what?” With a flick of his hand, the engine purred to life. He buckled his seatbelt and pulled into traffic.
“That’s it? That’s all you’re sorry for?” I asked, outrage rising in me.
“Yes.”
“What about…outside the restaurant?” I sputtered.
Another shrug. “I thought I already apologized for you losing your job,” he said, deliberately misunderstanding my question.
I said through clenched teeth, “Aren’t you going to apologize for…for…” I stumbled.
“For offering to escort you safely home?” Butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. He wagged his head slowly. “Mom would disown me if I didn’t. Especially if I also got the lady fired.” He shot me a look, his eyes sparkling with leashed laughter.
Bastard was enjoying this.
Why was I suddenly fighting a smile?
I bit the inside of my cheek. Hard. Hang on to your irritation, Elle. “No, that’s not what I’m talking about.”
“For calling you beautiful?” He turned to me and widened his eyes dramatically, looking both horrified and puzzled. “Would you have preferred that I called you an ogress? You are a strange woman, Elle Lazzaro.” He pinched his lips, as if he were deep in thought. “I suppose I could give it a try.” Looking pained, he turned to me and said, “You have very ugly toes.”
A chuckle bubbled to the back of my throat. “You haven’t seen my toes.”
“Everyone over the age of five has ugly toes, so I think I can safely say yours are hideous,” he said authoritatively, shooting me a grimace. “I bet they look like overripe prunes.”
I pressed my lips together but a noise escaped despite my efforts. “Do not,” I objected in a strangled voice.
He nodded sagely. “Ahh…then you must have the ones that look like dried figs.”
The horrible image made me involuntarily snort.
He made a clucking sound of sympathy. “Worse than that? Then you must have bunions.”
Laughter exploded out of my mouth. I bent over, dropped my face into my palms, and giggled uncontrollably. I couldn’t remember when I’d had a more ridiculous—and I had to admit, entertaining—conversation. Finally, when my stomach was aching, I lifted my head to look at him.
Troy was grinning broadly, his eyes glinting with mischief.
“You’re a jackass,” I said without thinking and then my eyes bugged out when I realized I had insulted my boss’s boss.
His eyes widened in astonishment and then he burst out laughing.
I bit my bottom lip, fighting another fit of giggles. Damn it. All my irritation with him had drained away.
A smile still on his lips, he said, “I’m only a jackass on days that end with a y.”
I snorted and he smiled wider.
He held out his right hand. “Truce?” he said softly, splitting his attention between the road and my face.
“What are we calling a truce on?”
“I’d like us to be friends.”
My mind boggled at the idea of being friends with this man. I eyed his large hand warily and lifted my gaze to his. Suspicion rippled through me at that too innocent expression.
“What does ‘friends’ mean?” I questioned, using air quotes.
“Well, according to the dictionary, it’s someone you like or enjoy spending time with.”
One smart-ass comment deserved another. “Well…” I drawled. “I’m pretty sure I don’t like you and I’m damn sure I won’t enjoy spending time with you.”
He clutched at his chest like a bad actor. “You wound me.”
I rolled my eyes. Since he didn’t fire me for calling him a jackass, I decided to push my luck. “I amend my earlier comment. You are just a plain ass.”
Chuckling, he held out his hand again and wiggled his fingers. “Come on, Elle. Right now I only have friends who kiss my ass and none to tell me I am one. Don’t you want to save me from a life of ass-kissing?”
I didn’t want to think about your ass at all.
We came to a stop at a light and he turned to look at me.
At his exaggerated sad puppy face, I felt my lips twitch. Damn it. I could feel his charm weaving around me like a silken web. There was something so damn appealing about a man who wasn’t afraid to make fun of himself. Most guys—especially rich ones—took themselves far too seriously.
“I’m sure you enjoy the ass-kissing,” I said dryly.
He winked at me. “Depends on who is doing the kissing.”
An image of me on my knees, my lips against taut flesh, flashed in my mind. I ignored the pulse of heat between my legs and turned my head away from him.
Self-preservation demanded I stay away from this man. He was too attractive, too charismatic, too rich, too…everything. He was like a pound of dark chocolate truffles. You wanted to eat every last one, even knowing you would be sick with regret afterwards.
Common sense reasserted itself and I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”
“Why?” he shot back.
“Look, we have nothing in common—”
“You don’t know that.”
I turned to look at him and curled my lip. I waved my hand to indicate his car and his clothes. “Come on, Troy.”
He smiled. “At least you’re not calling me Mr. Weston anymore.”
I didn’t bother responding to that.
Smile fading, he narrowed his eyes. “You’re a snob.”
I gasped. “I am not!”
A horn honked behind us and Troy put his foot to the gas and looked straight ahead.
“You are. You’re not willing to be friends with someone who has money. Tell me, Elle. Do all your friends have to belong in a certain tax bracket?”
“That wasn’t what I said,” I muttered.
He slapped a hand on the steering wheel. “Well, it sure as hell sounded like it. You just told me I am not worth knowing because I have a nice car and dress a certain way.”
“No I didn’t. I merely pointed out that we come from different backgrounds and don’t share any interests,” I asserted in my most reasonable tone.
“That’s bullshit. You think people with money are assholes. What do you think of Cora and Jake then?”
“You’re twisting my words.”
He glanced at me with a challenge in his eyes and said softly, “Then prove it. Have a drink with me.”
“I don’t need to prove anything to you,” I countered.
A sudden smirk appeared on his face and he turned his attention to the traffic. “I understand.”
Ire rose in me at hearing the knowing note in his voice. “What do you understand?”
“You’re afraid you can’t control yourse
lf around me.”
Outrage stole my breath for a moment. “You arrogant ass!”
He nodded sagely. “I know I’m hard to resist, but I can protect my virtue.”
“You…you…” I sputtered, hating that he always had me on the defensive. I knew he was baiting me, but I still couldn’t control my reaction. “I’d be able to resist you even if you were naked and covered in honey.”
He wrinkled his nose in distaste. “That sounds uncomfortably sticky. Not sexy at all. Of course you can resist.”
If we weren’t in a moving vehicle, I would have opened the door and stormed off. I eyed the moving scenery and calculated the odds of surviving a jump. Because if I stayed in the vehicle, I was going to bean him in the head.
“One drink. And if we find out we have nothing in common, I’ll leave you alone.”
“How do you know I won’t chug my drink and leave?”
“I have faith in your sense of honor.”
Well, shit. That took the wind out of my sails.
He held up a finger. “One measly drink, Elle.”
I narrowed my eyes at his persistence and asked baldly, “Do you see me as some sort of challenge because I wouldn’t jump into bed with you?”
He threw back his head and laughed. “I promise you I don’t see you as any such thing. And I’m offended. I think you just downgraded me from ass to douche.”
“You probably have a million friends. Why do you want to hang out with me?” I questioned, truly puzzled.
“Because you’re argumentative and contrary and what man doesn’t want to spend his whole night fighting with you?” he said with a perfectly straight face, somehow managing to make the insulting words sound like a compliment.
My lips twitched. I was tempted. So damn tempted.
Verbally sparring with Troy was like taking a few shots of tequila on an empty stomach; it heated my blood and clouded my judgment. It was more exhilarating than anything I’d felt for a long time.
My eyes dropped to his mouth and I swallowed. Well, maybe there was one moment that had been more thrilling. I flicked my tongue over my bottom lip, remembering the rush of desire when he covered my mouth. I felt my pulse accelerate as a heaviness settled at the bottom of my belly.
