by Pamela Yaye
Searching the room for Rafael, she found him standing at the champagne bar with Julietta. Paris’s eyes narrowed. For some reason, seeing them together made her green with envy. The blonde had been nipping at his heels since he’d arrived at the villa three days earlier, and as Paris watched them on the sly she couldn’t help wondering if the would-be model was making any progress. Yesterday, while shopping, Rafael had said he wasn’t interested in Julietta, but Paris didn’t believe him for a second. Of course he’s into Julietta, her conscience argued. She young and perky and eager to please!
Paris tore her gaze away from the bar. Smiling to herself, she stroked the delicate rose petals of the bride’s bouquet. Too competitive to lose, she’d fought off the other bridesmaids and the groom’s cousins to catch the bouquet. And when Paris was declared the winner, she’d danced around the grand ballroom, posing for pictures with her sweet-smelling prize.
“All right, guys, it’s your turn!” Stefano said, waving the bride’s garter in the air.
Reluctantly, all the bachelors in the audience stood and ambled out onto the dance floor. Paris watched, amused, as Cassandra grabbed Rafael’s hand, then dragged him to his feet and through the room as if he were an errant child. He stood behind the sour-faced group, staring down at his cell phone, seemingly bored.
“Ready, fellas?” Stefano flashed a mischievous grin. “Ready or not, here it comes!”
He twirled the garter around on his finger and then tossed it over his shoulder. It dropped on the floor, and the men nearby scattered in all directions.
Guests cracked up.
“Rafael won!” Cassandra scooped up her frilly lace garter, tucked it inside Rafael’s front pocket and gave him a peck on the cheek. “Congratulations!”
Paris knew what was coming next, but before she could jump to her feet and make a run for it Cassandra grabbed the microphone out of the DJ’s hand and said, “Paris St. Clair, get down here and come bust a move with your future husband!”
Cheers exploded across the room. Everyone was smiling and laughing—everyone except Julietta. The groom’s cousin was shooting evil daggers at her, so Paris shot them right back. Who does she think she is?
Ignoring her new blonde nemesis, she rose gracefully from her chair and carefully descended the short staircase. Drawing upon what she’d learned in etiquette class way back when, she raised her chin, pinned her shoulders back and sucked in her stomach. Each step Paris took hurt like hell, and all she could think about was soaking her tired feet in a bowl of Epsom salts later that night.
The moment Paris heard the opening bars of her favorite Backstreet Boys song she knew she’d been set up. And the cheeky grin on her best friend’s face confirmed it. Paris wanted to smack Cassandra for tricking her, but when Rafael slid his arms around her waist, her anger evaporated into thin air. His touch was magic, and his dark, smoldering gaze made her feel sexier than a model frolicking on the beach.
They swayed to the beat of the music, moved their hands and legs in perfect sync. It was hard not to get lost in his eyes, impossible not to be swept up in the moment. His slow, sensual dancing aroused her and caused explicit thoughts to flood her mind. Turned on, she fought to control the tingling sensation between her legs. Paris was trembling, hot all over, and her entire body was damp with sweat. Her throat was bone dry, and she was so nervous she couldn’t think of anything smart or interesting to say.
She knew everyone was watching them, could feel the heat of their stares, but she refused to let her nerves get the best of her. Swallowing hard, she searched the crowd for a friendly face. The bride and groom waved, and a laugh fell from her lips. Seeing Cassandra and Stefano wrapped in each other’s arms made Paris smile. She hadn’t seen her friend this happy in years, and she was thrilled that her girlfriend had finally found true love.
“Are you having a good time?”
The sound of Rafael’s deep voice instantly seized her attention and sent ripples of pleasure down her spine. “Of course,” she said with a nod. “I’m a foodie with a bottomless stomach, and the selection was to die for.”
“I couldn’t help but notice you tonight.” Desire blazed in his eyes, warmed his light brown skin. “You look sensational, and you made four trips to the dessert station.”
Paris pressed a finger to her lips and glanced around playfully. “Don’t tell anyone, but I have chocolate biscotti hidden inside my purse!”
“I hate to brag, but I’ve been told my orange-pecan biscotti ranks right up there with the best of them,” he said, his voice oh so smooth. “Next time you’re in Washington I’d love to make you an authentic Italian meal.”
“You cook?”
“Of course, I’m a Morretti!” Rafael chuckled. “My father taught me and my brothers how to cook at a very young age, and we can all throw down in the kitchen. But you don’t have to take my word for it. I’ll show you.”
Her mind went blank and her heart swooned. Good God, is he trying to seduce me?
“I frequently fly to Atlanta for business, so we can definitely make it happen....”
He spoke in a low, husky whisper, one intended to arouse and seduce. He caressed her hips slowly as they moved to the music. His stroke set her body on fire, causing her to yearn for French kisses and passionate lovemaking. Paris recalled their first date, and all her feelings and emotions for Rafael came rushing back.
“When’s a good time for you?”
“I’ll, um, have to get back to you.” She wouldn’t, of course, but Rafael didn’t need to know the truth. Or that she’d be in Washington next Friday to prepare for the Women’s Business Expo. Being the keynote speaker at the sold-out conference was an incredible honor, and Paris needed to be more focused than ever. Rafael was her weakness, the ultimate distraction, but Paris was too smart to act on her feelings. The last time I let someone get close to me he betrayed my trust, and I’d rather be alone for the rest of my life than get hurt by another charming, charismatic man.
“I’m going to hold you to that,” he said, tightening his arm around her waist. “It’s not often I meet a woman of your caliber, and I’d be honored to take you out on a second first date.”
Paris concealed a smile. She didn’t know how he did it. He had the ability to connect with people, no matter how old or young they were, no matter their race or gender. For the past three hours she’d watched in awe as Rafael worked his charms on everyone in the grand ballroom. She admired his intelligence and loved how his eyes twinkled whenever he teased her.
“I think you’re an incredible woman, and I hope this is the start of a great friendship.”
I hope this is the start of a great friendship? Paris almost laughed out loud, but caught herself in the nick of time. I can’t be friends with you. You’re a charmer and if I wasn’t so afraid of you breaking my heart, I’d do you right here, right now!
Paris maneuvered the conversation to a safer, less personal subject and spoke with excitement about her company’s charity gala in Washington, D.C. “Soldier’s Angels is a remarkable charity, and I’m hoping to raise a million dollars for the brave men and women who need this vital organization.”
“I’ll send a generous donation in your name.”
“If you attend the event, I’ll save you a dance,” she said, with a cheeky smile.
“Black-tie events aren’t really my thing,” he confessed. “I’m a numbers guy so I leave the partying and schmoozing to my father and Nicco.”
The music ended, but Rafael pulled her closer to his chest.
“Is it true you spent the morning doing everyone’s hair and makeup?”
“Not everyone,” Paris said. “Just the girls in the bridal party.”
“You make it sound like it’s no big deal, but I bet it was a lot of work.”
“The stylist Cassandra booked for the wedding never showed up, an
d when she started crying I knew I had to do something, so I grabbed my curling iron and got down to work.”
“You’re very talented.”
And you’re very sexy!
“There’s nothing worse than wasted potential, and it would be a shame to spend your life doing something you’re not passionate about.”
His words gave her something to think about. Was he right? Was she talented enough to run her own beauty salon, or would she fall flat on her face again?
Paris danced with Rafael for the next hour, and was having so much fun laughing and joking with him she forgot all about her tired, aching feet. “This DJ is off the chain!” Waving her hands in the air, she swiveled her hips to the loud, infectious beat. “I can’t believe he’s playing The Fugees. I haven’t heard this song in years!”
“It takes me way back—”
“All the way back to the U of W’s winter ball our freshman year?” Paris asked, with a coy smile.
“I had an amazing time that night.”
“What was your favorite part?”
Rafael lowered his mouth to her ear. “Making love to you in the backseat of the limo.”
“I’m surprised you remember.”
“How could I forget? You rocked my world that night.”
His words gave her a rush. The air was thick, saturated with the scent of his desire and charged with electricity. Their connection was strong, still as powerful as ever, and all Paris could think about was kissing him. The strength of his gaze and the soulful, sensuous music playing in the background only heightened her need.
“May I cut in?”
Paris turned, saw Julietta standing behind her and stared her down.
“Now’s not a good time.” Rafael had a cold, grim look on his face, but he spoke in a soft tone.
“But you promised me a dance, and I’ve been waiting for over an hour.”
“Then go bust a move with someone else.”
“You guys are hilarious,” Paris quipped. “You bicker like an old married couple!”
The blonde wore a triumphant smile. “See, Rafael, I told you! I’m not the only one who thinks we’re a great match.”
“I need a drink,” Paris said, turning to walk away.
Rafael grabbed her arm and pulled her to his side. “Hold on, I’m coming with you.”
“You are?”
“Of course. You’re one hell of a dancer, and I worked up quite a sweat trying to keep up with you.” He led her across the room and sighed in relief when they reached the champagne bar. “Do me a favor. The next time you see Julietta coming, tell me to run!”
Paris giggled. Couldn’t help it. Men who could make her laugh were hard to come by, but Rafael had been making her giggle all night.
“What would you like to drink?”
“Champagne, please.”
Rafael spoke to the bartender in Italian, and Paris fanned a hand in front of her face. It’s bad enough he’s tall, dark and dreamy. Does he have to sound sexy, too?
“When are you heading back to the States?”
“Bright and early tomorrow morning.” Paris took the goblet he offered her and tasted her drink. It helped take the edge off her nerves. “I have a meeting in the afternoon that I can’t afford to miss. I do wish I could stay in Venice a few more days, though. But there are clients to meet, deals to close and money to be made.”
“Amen to that!”
They laughed and clinked glasses.
“I need to use the powder room, so if I don’t see you again tonight have a safe trip back to the States. Oh, and Happy New Year!”
“Well, can I have your number? We’ve had such a great time reconnecting and I’d like us to keep in touch.”
Paris loved the idea of seeing Rafael again, but tempered her excitement. Their attraction was stronger than ever, and she feared what would happen if they renewed their relationship. “Really? But we’re both insanely busy.”
“It’s a ninety-minute flight from Washington to Atlanta, and my family is fortunate enough to have our own plane,” he said, with a hint of pride in his voice. “We can see each other as often as you’d like, and it won’t cost you a dime.”
“Rafael, I’m not looking for anything serious.”
“Me, neither. A few more dinner dates and slow dances should suffice.”
His grin was dangerous, and so were his dark, piercing eyes.
“Next time I’m in Washington I’ll look you up. How’s that?”
His smile fell away. “It sounds like you’re giving me the brush-off.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because you’re scared of history repeating itself.”
Surprised and confused, she frowned and folded her arms. What’s that supposed to mean? Is Rafael trying to imply that I was sprung back in the day? That I was as desperate as Julietta?
The music faded and a hush fell over the room.
“I’d like to call the Morretti brothers up to the podium,” the DJ said.
“Hang tight, okay?” Rafael kissed her cheek, and affectionately squeezed her shoulder. “I’ll be back in a couple minutes.”
The air was filled with excitement, and the whistles and applause were deafening.
“Cassandra, you’re the best thing to ever happen to Stefano, and if he ever steps out of line, just let me know and I’ll straighten him out,” Nicco said, with a rueful smile.
Demetri stole the microphone and pointed a finger at his chest. “Call me first! He’s been scared of me since the tenth grade, and I still outweigh him by forty pounds!”
Guests hooted and hollered.
“In a few minutes we’ll be going outside to watch a spectacular fireworks display, but before we do I’d like to make one last toast to the bride and groom.” Rafael raised his silver goblet in the air and spoke in a loud, clear voice. “I hope your marriage is filled with unspeakable joy and happiness, and may those of us who haven’t found our soul mates be fortunate enough to find a love as strong as yours....”
Paris felt the tears coming and dabbed at her eyes with her fingertips. Rafael spoke with such passion and conviction the crowd gave him a standing ovation.
And no one cheered louder or longer than she did.
Chapter 8
“Where are you rushing off to, pretty lady? I have big plans for you tonight.”
Paris groaned and dropped her gaze to the sleek marble floor. Glancing over her shoulder confirmed it was the groom’s uncle strutting toward her with lust in his eyes. Paris was standing in the lobby of the Hotel Excelsior, had been for several minutes while wondering why the elevator was taking forever to reach the main floor. And why Stefano’s uncle was pestering her.
“Where have you been? I’ve been looking all over for you.”
“Bye, Luigi. See you around.”
He growled and licked his dry, thin lips.
Yuck. Paris didn’t get it. How could someone as suave and well-bred as Stefano have such a sleazy uncle? Why couldn’t he be more like Rafael and less of a horndog? A picture of Raphael popped into her mind, but she pushed the image aside and faced her tormentor. Stefano’s uncle smelled faintly of vodka and cheap cologne. He was invading her personal space, standing too close for her liking, and she hated the way he was ogling her cleavage.
“You’re working the hell out of that dress.” Grunting, he patted his protruding belly with gusto. “You look so tasty tonight I could sop you up with a biscuit!”
Ignoring him, Paris frantically jabbed the up button and tapped her foot impatiently. Cheers and laughter rang out behind her. The lobby was loud, filled with well-dressed guests and spirited conversation. Paris was enjoying her stay at the hotel with the spectacular view of the Grand Canal. She had already decided the nex
t time she was in Venice she would definitely be paying Hotel Excelsior another visit.
Who knows? Maybe Rafael will join me.
At the thought, her heart skipped a beat. They’d had fun sightseeing yesterday and had flirted with each other throughout the wedding reception, but that didn’t mean Paris wanted to rekindle their romance. She didn’t.
Liar, jeered her conscience. You want him bad, and you know it!
“The bridal party and some of the out-of-town guests are going to The Zone nightclub, and I want you to be the lucky lady on my arm,” Luigi said, his tone full of bravado. “We have some unfinished business to discuss, and some dirty dancing to do.”
Paris wanted to smack the lewd grin off his face, but exercised restraint. She was anxious to return to her suite, and envisioned herself stretched out in the Jacuzzi tub, eating fruit and listening to cool jazz. Now if I could only get rid of Stefano’s uncle without having to use the can of mace in my purse, life would be golden!
“Thanks, but I’m not interested.”
“Of course you are.”
Is he deaf, or just hard of hearing? Paris had plans to go upstairs to her plush, sixth-floor suite, and nothing was going to stop her. She’d toasted the bride and groom, smiled for so many pictures her jaw hurt and fulfilled all of her maid-of-honor duties. And although she wished she didn’t have to wake up at the crack of dawn for her 7:00 a.m. flight, she decided to look on the bright side. She’d had a wonderful time in Venice with her girlfriends, and reconnected with Rafael. Hopefully, he’ll be at the Excel Construction charity gala in March, she thought, excited by the prospect of seeing him again soon.
“I’ll take you to the party bus. It’s waiting just outside.”
Paris patted back a yawn and wrapped her arms around her shoulders. “I’m exhausted. It’s been a long day and the only place I want to go is to my suite.”
