by Bella Andre
Harper closed her eyes briefly in mortification.
“That’s a woman’s prerogative,” Will said with a smile she saw once she braved opening her eyes again.
“Well, I’m ready now,” she said brightly.
“Not just ready, Harper,” Will said in that low voice that sent tingles coursing through her, head to toe. “Gorgeous.”
He held out his hand and she let his warm fingers close around hers, palms resting together. It felt good. Too good. But she simply couldn’t make herself pull away. Not when it felt like there hadn’t been nearly enough good things in her life...and certainly nothing this good.
“I’ll have her back home safe and sound, Jeremy, don’t you worry.”
“I wasn’t worried,” Jeremy said with all seriousness. “She gets to stay out as long as she wants because she’s an adult.”
“Trish will be here in half an hour,” Harper reminded Jeremy.
She didn’t mind his being alone for half an hour, but certainly not a whole evening. Number one, Jeremy didn’t like the dark. And two, though she’d trained him to use 911, she wasn’t confident about his reaction time. Harper always had Trish, their neighbor’s college-age daughter, come in for a few hours if she was going to be late.
“I know, Harper.” Her brother gave an exaggerated wave as Will led her down the front path.
She’d expected a muscle car like the Challenger. Even an expensive Ferrari or a Porsche. But he held open the door of a BMW for her. Nothing flashy or showy, though it was elegant and luxurious. He helped her with a hand to her elbow, and she felt his heat through her jacket. She couldn’t remember ever being this aware of a man—the true-blue color of his eyes and the thickness of his black hair, wondering how soft it would be against her fingers.
As he closed her door and walked around to the driver’s side, she firmly reminded herself that she needed to maintain dignity and control tonight.
Because something told her that Will Franconi not only had plenty of practice in sweeping a girl off her feet and making her feel completely breathless, but for some reason she couldn’t understand, he was planning on putting those skills to use tonight.
With her.
CHAPTER SIX
Beside her, Will filled the car with his overwhelmingly male presence. When he was near, it felt to Harper as though everything and everyone else was eclipsed. Case in point: Despite her intention to be happy with her life the way it was—just her and Jeremy—she was heading out on a date with a man she barely knew and still wasn’t at all sure she could trust.
As Will headed up Sand Hill Road, out to the freeway, he said, “I hope you like Italian. I know a great place in Woodside, not far from here.”
“It sounds lovely.” Though her job was talking and bringing people together, she felt horribly tongue-tied. What was so different about Will that simply sitting next to him made her heat up all over and her brain go blank?
“Why recruiting?” he asked into the silence after he’d merged into the freeway traffic.
Glad that at least one of them was able to think straight enough to start a conversation, she said, “I’ve always liked connecting people and helping them find a career that’s just the right fit. Plus, it’s a fairly flexible job, so I can work from home or arrange meetings around Jeremy as I need to.”
They exited at Woodside and headed west. The roads were winding and two-lane here. The town was small and quaint, surrounded by horse farms and large estates. They passed a small vineyard with bright green leaves and grape clusters just starting to appear.
“I know you’re not looking for anyone to give you credit, but you’ve obviously done an amazing job taking care of your brother.” He glanced at her, and she was surprised to see admiration in his expression. “Especially when you’re so young. And with all his special needs, not many people could handle that.”
But she didn’t feel particularly young. She’d grown up fast after Jeremy’s accident. “He’s got school and a job at the local grocery store. So he keeps pretty busy without me, actually.” And she felt guilty letting Will think she’d taken miraculous care of Jeremy on her own. “The truth is that I couldn’t have managed without the trust.”
“Trust?”
She’d already told him too much in his garage. But he was obviously quite good at realizing when there was more—and at getting her to share it. “The father of the teenager who hit Jeremy set up a fund.”
Will was silent a long moment before saying, “I wanted to ask you before, did the kid go to prison?”
“No one saw anything. And my parents had to take the money because they couldn’t pay for everything that Jeremy needed.” Though she knew it might sound defensive, she couldn’t stop herself from adding, “My parents did what they had to do.”
Will took his hand off the stick shift and placed it over hers for a moment. One that was too brief before he had to change gears again, but long enough for her to be seared by his heat—and touched by his obvious compassion.
“Of course your parents did what anyone would have done in their position.”
It meant a lot to her that he didn’t seem to be judging either her or her parents for using the trust to take care of Jeremy. Still, she felt as though she’d told him pretty much everything about herself at this point. Now she wanted to know his story. Because even if this was just one night away from real life, she couldn’t help but want to know where he’d come from and how he’d gotten here.
“Tell me about you, Will.”
A muscle jumped in his jaw right before he gave her a crooked smile. “My life is already out there on the Internet.”
But all the Internet said was that he was a self-made man from Chicago who’d dated several gorgeous models and actresses. She also knew that he was part of a consortium called The Maverick Group, whose members were all self-made men like him.
Everything else about Will Franconi—the man, not the billionaire—was a mystery. One that she couldn’t help but want to solve.
And yet, at the same time, she knew she shouldn’t let herself get invested in him. They weren’t going to fall madly in love, get married, and live happily ever after—it was just a drive and dinner, after all. Not the first night of the rest of their lives together.
As if by design, before she could ask anything more, he pulled into a parking lot and said, “We’re here.”
She was pleased to see that the restaurant looked homey, a place she’d be comfortable in, rather than a flashy see-and-be-seen kind of place. The small yard of the yellow Victorian house with a wraparound porch and dormer windows was filled with flowering bushes and a carved wood sign that read Ristorante Cannelli.
Will got out, but Harper didn’t wait for him to come around and open her door. Not that she minded men holding doors for her, but it seemed odd to sit there waiting for it. Seeing that she’d taken care of herself, he retrieved something from the backseat, then offered her his arm like a gentleman as they crossed the gravel lot.
Had he learned his manners from his mother? Or maybe he’d modeled them after his father? Yet again, she found herself wanting to know the answers despite herself.
“Mama Cannelli makes a duck ravioli to die for.” He kissed his fingers in a very Italian gesture.
A young hostess greeted them as they entered. She was obviously of Italian descent, with long dark hair, dark eyes, and a full hourglass figure. “Mr. Franconi, Mama will be so happy to see you. We’ve held your special table.”
“Thank you, Katerina.” Harper shouldn’t have cared that he didn’t react to the other woman’s beauty. But she couldn’t help but be pleased that he only seemed to have eyes for her tonight. “Please tell Mama Cannelli I have a surprise for her.” Will held up the tin he’d taken from the backseat.
The house hadn’t been gutted to make a large dining room. Instead, tables with red-checked cloths had been set up in each of the rooms, the formal dining room to the left and the front parlor to the right.
A big picture mirror over the fireplace reflected the patrons. Candles in glass jars and small pots of flowers gave the room a homey touch. Harper wasn’t overdressed nor was Will underdressed.
It wasn’t what she’d expected at all. No show, no flash. No private jets or hot air balloons.
And she loved it.
She also loved the tang of tomato sauce, garlic, and spices that trailed behind them as Katerina led the way upstairs and along the landing. Will’s special table was by the window overlooking a back garden awash in azaleas and hydrangeas.
Katerina laid down the menus as Will pulled out Harper’s chair. “Your usual drink, Mr. Franconi?”
“Please.”
“And for the lady?”
“A Riesling would be lovely if you have it.”
The girl left, and Will set the tin on the table as he sat. Harper could see only the back label, the print too small to read.
“This place looks fabulous.” Harper expected that they’d be fawned over, the center of attention. But Will was treated just like any other diner in the room.
“Great food. Good price.” Will unrolled his utensils from the napkin. “I’m a big believer in value.”
“Is that what you do? In your business, I mean. Give people value?”
“I give them what they want. I pay attention to current fads, but I’ve always had an eye for the good stuff. Something exclusive and expensive. The value is in how badly people want something unique. And that’s all in the perception.”
Glad that he didn’t seem to mind talking about his business, at the very least, she asked, “Like what?”
“Some people will pay anything to be able to say something is one of a kind, so that they’ve got bragging rights. They don’t want to walk into a store and buy it or get it on the Internet. It’s designer couture. Like an award-winning Japanese single malt whiskey of which only fifty bottles were produced. Or a Turkish rug that took two years to weave. My customer is happy to pay for that one-of-a-kind perceived value, and then I pass it on to the artisan and make my profit at the same time.” He spread his hands. “Everyone’s happy.”
It couldn’t be standard business practice to share the wealth with the people who did the actual labor, but she already knew from her time in his garage with Jeremy that Will wasn’t typical. Not when most rich men would have tossed Jeremy’s letter in the trash—or treated him like there was something wrong with him.
Still, she didn’t entirely understand. “What kind of people would pay so much?”
“The kind of people who have more money than they can possibly spend.”
He’d compared luxury goods to designer couture, the fifty-thousand-dollar designer dresses celebrities wore to the Oscars. But the exorbitant amounts were beyond her.
Just like he was beyond her.
Harper had a perfectly good sense of self-worth, and yet she wasn’t going to lie to herself and say that everything about Will’s world didn’t make her head spin. She couldn’t imagine living a life like his.
“Do you regularly travel to Japan and Turkey?” She’d never been outside the U.S. She’d had dreams, of course, but after her parents died, it wasn’t a luxury she could afford. Not yet, anyway, though she was saving up. One day she and Jeremy would see all the places she’d read about curled up on the couch at night.
“It’s one of the perks of what I do.” Smile crinkles appeared at the corners of his eyes.
“And do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“No.” The crinkles disappeared. His face shut down. The muscle in his jaw jumped again. “Not by blood, anyway.”
Clearly, he was far more comfortable talking about his business than he was about anything personal. And she hated that she’d said something that had clearly prodded old wounds, especially when she knew how difficult it was to have to tell people the hard stuff over and over again.
Fortunately, just then a woman burst through the doorway, chattering in Italian to the wait staff. She swished through the tables, a tray balanced on her hand with Harper’s wine and a frosty mug of beer for Will.
“Mr. Franconi.” She set down both drinks with a flourish.
“Mama Cannelli.” Will rose to hug her.
She was the stereotypical Italian mother from the movies, with a round face, round body, and dark hair sprinkled with strands of silver. Her dress was something out of the 1950s, protected with a black apron.
“This is my friend Harper.”
Mama Cannelli beamed. “Very nice, very pretty,” she said in melodious, Italian-laced English. “I hope you don’t eat like a bird.”
“I very much enjoy eating good food,” Harper said with a smile. “Will recommended the ravioli.”
The woman’s entire face smiled—her forehead, her laugh lines, her mouth, even her dimpled chin. “Oh, he loves that duck.”
“I certainly do. And I brought you a present, Mama.” Will held out the tin.
“You don’t need to bring me presents whenever you dine with us. All you have to do is enjoy our food.” But she took the round tin in her hand, dipping into her apron pocket for a pair of reading glasses. “Mio Dio. I cannot accept. This is far too much.”
He touched her hand. “It’s a gift. I have an entire shipment. One small tin is nothing.”
“It’s a pound.” Her voice rose. “A fortune.”
“Why don’t you make us a special hors d’oeuvre with it? Make some for yourself, too, and then save the rest for your very special customers.”
What was in the tin? Harper still couldn’t read the label.
“Please?” Will said.
“You’re a terrible one.” Mama Cannelli turned to Harper, her eyes sparkling. “You watch out for this one. He’s a charmer. He gets his way with everyone.” She turned back to Will and gave him a kiss on the cheek, one that clearly pleased him to no end. “Grazie, Mr. Franconi. It demands a simple preparation so as not to overwhelm the flavor. I will return shortly with the delicious treat.”
“I’m dying to know,” Harper asked after Mama had left them. “What was that?”
“It’s a surprise for you, too.”
She shot him a mock glare at keeping the mystery spinning out—something he was very good at—as the waiter arrived, introducing himself as Antonio. The Cannellis were friendly with Will, and he was very polite and considerate. No cocky finger-snapping. Maybe she’d seen too much TV, where rich people treated the help like second-class citizens who were not even worth a thank-you.
But Will wasn’t like that. At least, as far as she could tell. Because as they talked over their wine and beer—a little more about his cars, about the amazing weather they’d been having, about some of her best and worst clients over the years—he managed not to say much about himself at all.
Soon, Mama Cannelli arrived with her simple yet elegant creation. “I have taste-tested. Magnificent.” She kissed her fingers just as Will had earlier. “Any garnish would be a travesty.” She placed a small pot in the center of the table. Beside that she laid a plate of toasted bread slices and set a spoon by the pot. “Mother-of-pearl. We must not influence the flavors.” She threw out her hands expressively. “Now eat.” Then she leaned down to Will. “The ravioli tonight is on me. And a bottle of our best champagne.”
“That’s not necessary,” Will protested, but Antonio was already popping the cork.
“One cannot have caviar without champagne,” she declared. “And now I leave you alone with your beautiful lady.”
“You brought her caviar?” Harper examined the pot filled with tiny golden eggs.
“I found this about six weeks ago. It’s Ossetra caviar. The golden color is quite prized. And, as a bonus, the fishery is known for its conservation policies, given that the sturgeon is a threatened species.” He picked up the mother-of-pearl spoon, scooped up the caviar, dabbed it on the toasted bread, and brought the slice close to her lips.
“Taste,” he urged.
The action was intimate.
Sexy.
Her heart began to beat loudly in her ears. Just as he wanted her to, Harper ate from his fingers, her lips touching his skin. But the flavor that exploded on her tongue was far more decadent than caviar.
The most delicious flavor by far was him.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Will felt an ache grow in his gut as he watched Harper taste caviar for what he guessed was her very first time. Her cheeks flushed as she chewed, savored, and swallowed, her tongue slipping out to lick away the excess.
The delicacy had a rich, buttery, slightly salty flavor. Mama Cannelli was right on with the preparation—no adornment, no garnish.
Harper didn’t need fancy clothes or glittering jewelry, either. She shone all on her own. Shone so brightly that he wanted more and more from her by the second. Not just a dinner out. Not just one hot night.
Will wanted her to stay and fill the empty spots inside of him. And so that he might also be able to do the same for her.
He knew that he shouldn’t let himself want those things from her. Nor could he argue with the voice of reason that told him he should let her find some perfect guy who had never seen or done the things from Will’s hellish past. Maybe he could have lived with the things his father had made him do. But Will couldn’t forget the things he’d done all on his own after the old man went to prison. He should have left the Road Warriors behind and committed to the Mavericks right then, to Bob and Susan, to his new family. But he’d gone on making mistakes for years. Until things had happened —terrible things—for which he could never forgive himself.
But none of those truths were doing a damned thing to make his desire disappear.
After he fed her another slice and relished the caress of her lips on his fingers, she said, “You’re not having any.”
“It’s better feeding it to you.”
“I can’t eat it all myself.” She selected a slice of toast, ladled on a spoonful of caviar, spread it, and handed over the morsel.
She deliberately kept her hand too far away to feed him. But he couldn’t resist wrapping his fingers around her delicately boned wrist and pulling until she was close enough for him to catch the crisped bread between his teeth. Biting down, he took half, stroking her wrist with his thumb as he demolished the caviar.
