Billionaire Boss, M.D.

by Olivia Gates

  If anything had ever disturbed him, it was that thought.

  Could he be getting soft and stupid like his brothers? Behind the suave front he’d meticulously created, he’d always been the one with steel-enforced nerves and diamond-coated insides. Not even this unpredictable fireball could change that...could she?

  Of course she couldn’t.

  And when he got her to succumb—and he definitely would—not only would he remain unchanged, it would still serve his original cause. There’d at least be that, once his desire for her dissipated.

  But then, he couldn’t even imagine it doing so. From the aroused condition he remained in just thinking of her, it seemed his need for her wouldn’t fade easily or soon.

  Which suited him. He had all the time in the world.

  He would savor her capture and her devouring, slowly, thoroughly, as he’d never done anything in his life.

  * * *

  Lili woke up very late. It had been another restless night filled with outlandish, feverish dreams starring Antonio Balducci.

  She’d woken up with a hammering heart and a cramping core. She’d felt so needy that she’d barely refrained from relieving the throbbing between her legs in the shower.

  Getting out in record time before she succumbed to temptation and ended up feeling only worse, she eyed the pajamas she’d decided to spend the day in, shrugged listlessly and headed to the kitchen in her bathrobe instead. She needed sugar. Lots of it. She’d bought giant triple chocolate chip muffins last night. Two for breakfast sounded about right. It wouldn’t compensate for the loss of her job and security, but it would make her feel better nonetheless. Hopefully.

  Flopping on the couch in front of the TV, she decided she’d binge-watch every single episode of every sitcom she liked. If that meant she’d sit there with only kitchen and bathroom breaks for the next month, so be it.

  By the fourth episode of her favorite show, she found herself actually watching and not replaying her confrontations with Antonio in a never-ending loop. Soon she was chuckling, then laughing, then reciting the lines that had become engraved in pop culture. She was singing a jingle alongside one of her favorite characters at the top of her lungs when the bell rang.

  Her raucousness came to a halt as her eyes darted to the wall clock. At 1:00 p.m. on a Wednesday, the few neighbors in her gated community who ever came knocking knew she’d be at work.

  It had to be one of them checking out the inexplicable noises. Or the mailman leaving something she’d forgotten she’d ordered online, as usual.

  Coming to this conclusion, she turned the volume down, subdued her hair and tightened the belt of the two-sizes-too-big bathrobe. Failing to locate her slippers, she pattered barefoot to the door.

  She pulled it open, eyes down looking for a package. Instead, they fell on a pair of big shoes. Polished, handmade ones.

  Her eyes trailed up, over endless legs, a lean abdomen, a door-wide chest and shoulders, all encased in darkness that seemed to absorb the sunlight like a black hole.

  “You’re sitting at home watching sitcoms and causing a neighborhood-wide alert, when you should be in your lab advancing medical science?”

  Lili blinked, for a moment believing the colossus she was staring at was an apparition. Perhaps she’d been thinking of him so obsessively she’d actually conjured him.

  Not that even her fevered imagination could replicate him. Antonio Balducci was really on her doorstep, glowing like a gilded god in the afternoon sun, perfect in ways that she hadn’t known possible and that should be outlawed.

  And there she stood in front of this vision of grandeur, the hair she hadn’t combed a riot of tangles, no doubt looking like a freckled porcupine drowning in its parent’s garment.

  When she continued to gape at him, he folded his arms over his chest, his gaze mock-severe. “May I remind you that you didn’t ask permission to take the day off?”

  His reprimand finally snapped her out of her stupor. “May I remind you that I tendered my resignation?”

  His majestic head jerked up in dismissal, presenting her with an even better view of his formidable jaw and cleft chin. “You may also remember it was categorically rejected.”

  She tossed her head back, too, attempting to emulate his haughtiness. “I needed you to approve my resignation only so you’d provide me with my end-of-service benefits. Your approval is unneeded if I relinquish them. Which I did. So I can do what I want. And I’m doing exactly that. Sleeping in and watching TV.”

  He gave such a pout, it was a wonder she didn’t jump him to bite those maddening lips. “I hate to burst your bubble, but a rejected resignation only means you still work for me.”

  “No, it means I give up all the rights that come with an accepted resignation.”

  “Accepted resignations don’t only come with benefits. They come with recommendation letters—”

  She cut in. “I’ll do without those, too.”

  He continued as if she hadn’t interrupted him. “—endless severance forms to fill and to sign—”

  She butted in again. “I’ll do that sometime next week.”

  That made him stop, his gaze merrily roaming her, his lips twitching on the verge of ending his not-so-convincing stern act.

  Yeah, tell her about how ridiculous she looked.

  “Won’t you invite me in?”

  “No.”

  Her immediate answer gained her an equally swift “Why?”

  “Because of all of the above.”

  His eyes twinkled in the sunlight, a more crystalline and intense blue than she’d ever seen. “It’s not good for your health to hold a grudge.”

  “Oh, it’s very cathartic to do so, for a limited time. I’ve allowed myself a week of hurling curses your way.”

  As his lips lost the fight and broke into a smile, the image burst in her mind of a lightning bolt striking him in that perfect ass. And she burst out laughing.

  His eyes narrowed as he examined her. “Are you drunk, Dr. Accardi?”

  “What if I am?” she spluttered. “I can’t get a ticket riding my couch.”

  Without warning, he crossed her threshold.

  A thousand alarms rang in her head. “Hey, you can’t do that. I haven’t invited you in.”

  He walked her back into her foyer, his advance slow, smooth, a sweep of power and seduction, the very opposite of her ungainly stumbling.

  “Like a vampire, you mean?”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if you were one.”

  “Then I would have certainly developed that anti-sun vaccine you mentioned before.” He took another step closer. “I would have also developed a no-invitation-needed immunization.”

  Another few steps back had her thudding against something hard. The archway of the great room. Her heart bobbed in her throat as he bent his head closer and inhaled deeply, his eyes watching her intently.

  “You smell of...you.”

  The way he said that, it was as if he were bracing himself against some sharp ache. His velvet groan was the darkest she’d heard his voice.

  Trying not to let the shudder that traversed her body rattle it visibly, she smirked. “Thanks for the news flash. And here I always thought I smelled of someone else.”

  “Do you have any idea how you smell?”

  “As long as I don’t smell bad, who cares?”

  “If you don’t know who, I won’t tell you. Yet.” He lowered his head, closed his eyes and drew another deep inhalation. “I know now that defiance and dry wit and fearlessness have scents. Hot and sweet and bright.” Before she decided if she’d swoon or not, he added, “You also smell of ginger and orange.” He’d pinpointed the scents in her shampoo and conditioner. His eyes opened, heavy and hooded, filled with so much she couldn’t understand but that s
till seared her to the marrow. “And chocolate.”

  Gulping, she nodded. “Yeah, I’ve overdosed on triple chocolate chip muffins.”

  “Sounds great. Smells better. Offer me some.”

  “What makes you think I have any left? Should I refresh your memory about the definition of overdosed?”

  He gave her a perfect Bela Lugosi leer. “Should you be haggling with a hungry vampire who’s doing you the courtesy of settling for chocolate instead of blood?”

  “The hungry vampire will take the blood anyway, so I’m at least saving the chocolate.”

  Shaking his head in gesture of surrender, he laughed. Peal after peal of debilitating male amusement. That thick, corded neck jutting from his open black silk shirt was the closest it had been to her lips. It was so tempting, as if inviting her to reach up and sink her teeth—

  Dammit. Get away!

  Though he wasn’t really crowding her, she sucked in her stomach as she squeezed out from between him and the wall. Grabbing the remote, she turned off the TV, then swung back to him. He’d followed her, was facing her across the couch.

  “How about we dispense with the comic relief and get to the reason for your home invasion?”

  “I came to resolve the issue that made you skip work today.”

  “For the last time, I skipped nothing. I quit.”

  “Yes, I got that the first time you said it. I’m here to tell you quitting isn’t an option.”

  “It’s my only option. You gave me ultimatums—”

  “I offered you alternatives.”

  “—and I rejected them. So I was back to square one—working on your project and having mine swept aside.”

  He shook his head. “You keep making assumptions of what I think or what I’ll do, and they’re consistently inaccurate.”

  “What’s inaccurate in all I said?”

  “Only the most relevant part. Your assumption that I wasn’t open to compromise. Which I certainly was. You pushed, I countered and our negotiations were just starting when you took off.”

  “There was nothing more to negotiate.”

  “There’s always more. Nothing is ever final.”

  “I thought with you everything is.”

  His gaze swept her from head to toe and back, swathing her in fire. “I thought so, too. But I’m learning that was because I never found a worthy challenger.”

  “Me? Yeah, right.”

  “I will cure you of that self-deprecation yet. For now, I’m here to tell you that you can have your project back, with all the logistical support and financial backing I would have offered you to work on mine. I ask for nothing in return.”

  Her mouth fell open but nothing came out.

  It was only on the third attempt that she croaked, “So what’s the catch?”

  “You’re assuming again.”

  “Just spit it out. The one thing I can’t handle is surprises. I have to know what I’m walking into while I’m still a thousand miles away.”

  His eyes gleamed with approval. “A control freak, I see.”

  “Takes one to know one. But then again, I’m just a wannabe who has nothing to show for my obsessive proclivities. You’re the real deal with the billions to prove it.”

  “Again, you shortchange yourself.” He frowned for a moment before he exhaled. “There’s no catch, Dr. Accardi. Your pressure tactics worked.”

  “What pressure tactics?”

  His huff was incredulous. “Seems it’s not only me who does things on autopilot. You flat-out bulldozed me.”

  “I was only struggling not to let you bulldoze me.”

  “And your struggle was so ferocious you upended the tables. It took me a while to realize I was beaten, since it never happened before. But there’s a first time for everything. So here I am, coming with a white flag. If there’s one thing I ask, it’s that you promise you’ll separate our professional and personal interactions from now on.”

  “We have no personal interactions.”

  “Something I aim to rectify, starting now, over lunch.”

  “What is it with you and meals?”

  “We do have to eat. We’ll eat together.”

  It was her turn to shake her head, disbelief coursing through her. She’d expected him to consider her a pest, to dismiss her and spare her his disconcerting focus. But not only had he come after her again, but the more obnoxious she was, the more patient and persuasive he grew.

  But for whatever reason he was doing this, there was only so much temptation she could withstand.

  Clinging to the last vestiges of sanity, she exhaled. “You must be in dire need of amusement. But let’s say I accept, how about something quick? Coffee? Here?”

  He shook his head, unmovable. “Lunch. Out.”

  “I’ll give you a muffin.”

  His laugh rang out again, and she could swear all of her mother’s crystal still distributed around the living area where she’d left them sang in response.

  He was still chuckling when he persisted, “Lunch. A leisurely one. So clear your agenda.”

  “What agenda? I’m unemployed now.”

  “You’re no such thing. We’re celebrating your triumphant return to your lab. This is nonnegotiable, Liliana.”

  Her heart somersaulted. It didn’t matter that it was impossible. It did. Then it attempted to burst out of her chest.

  At her distressed cough, he covered the distance between them urgently, held her by the arms, solicitous, singeing her even through the thick terry cloth.

  “Are you all right?” When she nodded and tried to step away, he followed, hands tightening on her arms. “Liliana...”

  “Lili.” It was too much hearing him say her full name, making it an overpowering spell. “If you’re no longer calling me Dr. Accardi, then call me Lili like everyone else.”

  An eyebrow rose imperiously. “You’re Liliana to me and I will always call you that. That is also nonnegotiable.”

  Stepping back so she could breathe again, she raised her hands. “Okay, okay, call me whatever you want. I will call you whatever I want, too.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “I didn’t mean to your face.”

  His guffaw was more delighted than ever. “And what will you call me outside of your internal rants?”

  “I’d rather not call you at all.”

  He took her arm again, steered her toward the ground-floor bedroom where she slept. “Call me anything you want. I eagerly anticipate whatever you come up with. Now go dress.”

  “I haven’t said I’ll go out to lunch with you.”

  “You will.”

  “Is this the billionaire’s entitlement or the surgeon’s god complex, or were you just born an overbearing brat?”

  He whooped in laughter again. “You’ll get a chance to find out over lunch. Now go put on something nice.”

  She yanked her arm from his grip. “I don’t have something nice. Not by your standards.”

  “Anything that doesn’t smother you in layers of cloth.”

  “I don’t have that, either.”

  “Anything not hideous. I’m sure you can manage that.”

  “This bathrobe isn’t hideous. Would you settle for that?”

  “I would. Would you?”

  She should go out with him in her bathrobe and bare feet and see if he’d still take her to lunch.

  Her thoughts paused before she huffed in resignation, threw her hands up and headed to her bedroom.

  She’d bet he wouldn’t bat an eyelid. If she even stripped naked it wouldn’t deter him. Or maybe that would change his mind about taking her out and he’d—

  Oh, shut up. He’d nothing. All this was probably him conducting some experiment,
and he considered her the perfect test subject.

  After that lunch, and after he was sure she’d go back to work, she doubted she’d see him again. Even had he been interested in her that way, Antonio Balducci had perfected the art of the one-night—or the one-outing—stand.

  So what would one lunch hurt, anyway? She should actually make the most of it.

  It would be her first and last chance with him.

  Five

  She’d worn something nice.

  As nice as she could manage from a wardrobe designed for a life that had no social or romantic components.

  Not that she’d thought it was nice when she’d put on the dark green sleeveless above-knee dress with matching three-inch sandals.

  That verdict was his.

  When she’d come out of her bedroom, flushed because he’d been across from her door when she was totally naked, he was watching the same sitcom episode she had been when he’d arrived.

  He’d thrown his head back like a lazy feline, then had said one word. Nice.

  The word itself was innocuous enough. It had been the way he’d looked at her and the way he’d said it, that lethal gaze and that purr of bone-liquefying seduction, that had swept her in flames of longing.

  Not that she thought that was his objective. Seducing her was too far-fetched a motive behind everything he’d done so far. Her amusement factor remained the most probable reason.

  She reeled all over again at the cascade of events that had led her to this point, where she was sitting beside him in his luxurious Lamborghini.

  When he’d found her eyeing everything as if she feared touching it, he’d only said that he always bought Italian-made cars, as a nod to his heritage—which she shared. Knowing he was trying to disprove her “different species” comment without tackling it head-on, she’d countered that he found this car appealing not because of its country of origin but its million-dollar price tag. He’d only sighed about her continued gross misjudgments and, with a wiggle of an eyebrow, underestimates.

  Feeling it would be obnoxious to criticize his personal spending habits, she’d instead questioned the absence of his limo and chauffeur. His response had been yet another blow to her equilibrium. That he hadn’t been about to pick her up for their first lunch together with another man around.