by Deana Birch
“To answer your questions…” He twisted the platinum watch below his starched cuff. “For starters, perhaps I am interested in having some privacy on this matter and wish to not mix it with the accounts that have been in my family for decades. I am well aware of the labels that accompany my lifestyle. I still have a sweet, aging grandmother, and I have no intention of killing her with rumors of my sex life.”
Claire’s hands folded once again, but this time she rolled her shoulders back and shivered.
“And secondly, I read about you. I know you are a perfect balance of risk-taker and security. Much like anyone, I’d like to see my money grow. As I have no friends who are clients of yours, I feel the risk is mutual.”
She sat back and tapped her delicate thumbs together three times.
Stalemate.
Her gaze ran the length of Luca and when it met his, she gave a slight purse of her mouth. “When?”
He wet his lips.
“Friday or Saturday night. You’ll need to sign a non-disclosure agreement and you won’t be able to visit the higher floors. But you will get a sense that the members are as normal as you and me.” He paused at the brief fantasy of her in his private suite. “And you will see the respect and consent of a tight community.”
Her eyes raked over him again. A good sign? He couldn’t tell.
“I’ll think about it.”
She rose, as did he, and he followed her to the door.
“I’ll see myself out.” Luca nodded. There was no way he could follow that ass down the hall after he’d discovered how her skin could blush with just a few words.
“As you wish,” she said.
Despite the brakes halting in his mind, Luca exited her office.
How had she known? How could she have possibly known the symphony of music those words were to his ears?
Chapter Two
Claire
Claire took a quick inventory of the rainbow of clothes hanging before her. Even something as simple as choosing an outfit held so much weight. What she wouldn’t give for someone else to make the decisions. Someone she trusted. Someone she…
Bah.
She scanned the various items again and chewed the inside of her cheek. A man could don a suit with little-to-no thought and receive the same respect and admiration from the coffee shop to the boardroom.
But Claire was a woman—and barely thirty. Every day she had to choose her attire based on what statement she wanted to make, not what she wished to wear. She had to toe a fine line in the banking world, appearing capable enough to make transactions of millions of euros and appease the staid, older clientele while still looking trendy enough to entice the fresh-faced young businessmen taking the tech world by storm. Even her nail polish had been chosen for its subtle pink hue, adding a little shine without appearing too garish.
Some days the mountains of decisions and expectations were overwhelming.
She landed on the chiffon sleeve of her favorite sapphire blue blouse. She tugged gingerly, trying to free the garment from the overly stuffed row. The hook of the hanger tangled with the one behind it and, with a final pull, both items fell out.
The lump that hadn’t seemed to have ever fully disappear in the ten months since Liam had died clogged her throat as his black button-down shirt fluttered to the floor. She picked it up and held it close to her nose. The spicy scent of his aftershave was long gone.
But a hint of bergamot and lime tickled her nostrils. She groaned and laid Liam’s shirt on the bed. That blasted Luca Bernardi. She huffed as she slid her blouse over her shoulders. The smell of his cologne had lingered on her hand far too long after she’d shaken his, distracting her during several conference calls.
Claire pulled the black pencil skirt up over her hips and slid the zipper into place. But it was more than the undeniably addictive scent that had wreaked havoc long after his departure. It was the deep, rumbling invitation that echoed in her mind.
“I would like to prove you wrong. And the best way to do that I think would be to show you.”
She tucked her black heels into her bag and slid on the ballet flats she’d kicked off in the living room the previous night, much more practical for hurrying on and off the train. A flick of her wrist to consult the thin silver watch she always wore confirmed her suspicion.
Late.
Again.
She swiped a banana off the table, grabbed her briefcase from the floor and ran out of the front door. At this rate, she’d be lucky to catch the next train.
A grin tugged at the corners of her mouth. Liam had found her perpetual tardiness charming and endearing, even when it had resulted in an hour delay for their wedding. Mr. Luca Bernardi would probably never approve.
The eight o’clock train disappeared around the corner just as Claire reached the platform, and her shoulders sagged. She sent her partner a quick text message to let him know she’d be late then dropped her case to the ground and leaned against a post as she peeled her banana, taking a large bite with much more gusto than the soft fruit required.
As if filling her mind with the unapologetically commanding—not to mention insanely attractive—Mr. Luca Bernardi for hours yesterday hadn’t been enough, now he was seeping into her morning. And why in the world would she compare him to Liam?
His offer played on repeat as she boarded the next train and throughout the entire ride. When she disembarked, she squared her shoulders and shook her head. She couldn’t allow Mr. Luca Bernardi any more space in her brain—not even if his eyes spoke of secret promises, not even if his deep voice caused a vibration all the way to her toes, not even if she’d had an instant stirring at the sight of him that she hadn’t felt in far too long.
What was that American saying Helen quoted all the time? It was from some old movie… Claire grinned as she marched up the incline. “I’ll think about it tomorrow. After all, tomorrow is another day.” She rolled her eyes. “Or at least I’ll think about it after lunch, since he needs an answer today.”
Her self-satisfied smile turned to pure joy when she crested the steep sidewalk and spied her favorite vendor nestled between two local farmers. The quintessential elderly Swiss woman sat behind the square table with small trinkets spread out before her. Claire was still several feet away when her gaze landed on a teacup and saucer she knew were meant to be hers.
“Guete tag!” She leaned down to kiss the silver-haired woman on each plump cheek. They exchanged a few pleasantries before Claire slid the money across the table, several francs more than the woman was asking.
She could easily afford new—and perfect. But the cream porcelain with the intricate plum-colored designs reminded her of Helen, especially the tiny crack running down the side of the cup and the small divot on the saucer. Those meant more to her than any level of ideal.
Gingerly, she stowed her latest purchase in her bag and lifted a hand. “Tschüss.”
The new addition to her eclectic little collection kept her small smile in place as she walked the rest of the way to her office. As soon as the aged stone building came into view, however, her back instinctively straightened. She paused at the corner to exchange her practical flats for the heels she loved and loathed at the same time. Her smile disappeared, her mouth settling into a firm line as she crossed through the wrought-iron gate and into the lobby of the office space.
She offered a brisk nod of her head to the security guard on the first floor. “Guten morgen.”
Too many stairs and tight smiles later she plopped behind her desk—and groaned when Julien burst through the door. “Sie haben einen Anruf von—”
Claire shook her head. “Please, English. I didn’t get even half enough sleep last night for anything else.”
Julien snorted and sat in the chair across from her with a little wiggle of his shoulders. “Honey, with that gorgeous hunk that was in your office for far too little time yesterday, I’m surprised you managed any sleep.”
She dipped her chin and held a hand out.
“Messages? Appointments? Schedule? Any of the millions of things you are responsible for that don’t include my bedroom habits?”
He rolled his eyes with an overly dramatic sigh. Although, really, everything about Julien was exaggerated and provided Claire with exactly the dash of levity needed to get her through the day.
“You have three conference calls, the final meeting regarding the inn’s grand opening, a three o’clock check-in with David and”—he laid the last piece of paper in her outstretched palm—“a reminder from a certain hot Italian that he is looking forward to your response.”
The officious, presumptuous, domineering… The very last thing she wanted was to witness some privileged debutante in black latex getting recreational spankies, but she couldn’t really alienate someone as powerful as Mr. Luca Bernardi without at least humoring him first. His connections had the ability to cement her position in the banking world. And playing nice was second nature for her.
She pursed her lips and slid her smartphone across the desk. “Fine. Program reminders for the calls and the meeting in my phone.”
Julien’s eyebrows rose as he grabbed her phone and his fingers flew across the screen. “And the heartthrob with the sexy-as-hell voice?”
“I’ll handle him.” Her declaration was voiced with far more confidence than she possessed. It was probably naive to think her breeding had prepared her to manage anything the corporate investors could throw at her. A seedy sex club run by a pushy Italian certainly hadn’t appeared at any point in her Diploma programs and certainly hadn’t been on the Oxford course list.
A knowing smirk settled on Julien’s face as he handed back her device. “Oh, sweetheart, I don’t think that is the kind of man who is handled, even by you.”
Claire glared at his retreating back and the closed oak door for several minutes after he’d left. More often than not Julien had proven to be not simply a competent assistant but also a trusted confidant and a surprisingly dear friend—especially after Liam had died.
Lately, he’d also become quite the pusher of men. She rolled her eyes and pulled up her email on the slim laptop she preferred to use over the hulking PC her partner clung to. Line by line she answered inquiries, directed personnel concerns to HR and scheduled several initial consultations.
By four o’clock she was chewing her lower lip and wondering if she’d given the all-powerful Mr. Luca Bernardi enough of a silent treatment that he’d understand she wasn’t about to be ordered about by him. She picked up the receiver of her office phone and held it dangling from her fingers for a moment before dialing the number Julien had written on the yellow slip of paper—the number she certainly hadn’t memorized after looking at it repeatedly throughout the course of the day.
“Luca Bernardi.” The voice practically purred across the line after only two rings, not nearly long enough for Claire to prepare herself for the sound.
She fought the urge to clear her throat. No need to let that man have any inkling that she found him intriguing far beyond his business acumen. “Mr. Bernardi, this is Claire Favre. We spoke yesterday.”
“Yes, Ms. Favre, I do recall. I also believe I called you nearly nine hours ago.” His short-clipped tones were drenched in disapproval.
Heat crept up Claire’s neck and she was grateful he wasn’t there. His all-too-knowing gaze had zeroed in on her discomforted blush yesterday with far more interest than she’d liked—or not enough.
“My deepest apologies, Mr. Bernardi. I’ve been incredibly busy today. However, I would like to revisit your invitation…”
“Yes, I assumed so. Please be ready by eight. I’ll send a car.”
Claire’s mouth fell open and moved fruitlessly several times before a sound finally came out. “Now, Mr. Bernardi, with all due respect, I was calling to tell you I wouldn’t be available until tomorrow evening.”
Silence. She chewed on her lower lip to halt the flood of apologies and pleas for him to take her tonight. Why does his pleasure matter to me so much?
A heavy sigh broke the dead air. “Tonight would be far more convenient for me, but I suppose I am to blame for giving you the option. Very well, I shall send a car tomorrow evening. Same time.”
Claire’s mind raced. She wanted to tell him that she could drive herself. She wanted to tell him he should meet her at her office. More than anything she wanted to ask how he even knew where she lived. Just as had happened yesterday, her words were stolen, manipulated and spoken without any input from her brain. “As you wish, Mr. Bernardi.”
A deep rumble sounded as he cleared his throat. “Good evening, Ms. Favre. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”
She cradled the phone and let her head hit her desk with a thud. “What have I just done?”
“Please tell me that Tall, Dark and Bossy is the reason for this.”
Claire lifted her head far enough to pin Julien with a glare. “Close the door.” She sat back and stared silently at Julien for several minutes. “Not one word of this leaves these four walls, understand?”
The humor disappeared from his face as he sank into the chair across from her. “I… don’t like the sound of that, but you know you can trust me with anything. I’ve never brought up that one summer at boarding school when you—”
“Julien!” She didn’t want to tell even him, but she needed help from someone open-minded, experienced, younger and… Hell, sharing the truth with Julien was all she had anymore. “Mr. Bernardi wants us to manage the investment and growth of a new business he is acquiring.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “A sex club!”
Julien’s steely gaze widened. “Just when I thought hot couldn’t possibly get hotter.” He sat back in his chair and fanned himself. “I don’t get it. Why does this matter? His business will undoubtedly be discreet.”
Claire fidgeted with the hem of her skirt. “The problem is that when I questioned him, he invited me to come…experience the club personally.” She ran her hands down her face. “And I agreed. Tomorrow night.”
A slow smile spread across Julien’s face. “Oh, my darling Ms. Favre, this requires a shopping trip.”
She groaned and covered her eyes. “Fuck, I didn’t even think about that. What does one wear to a human meat market? They never covered that at my cotillion classes.”
Julien tilted his head back and crowed with laughter. “Sweetheart, bars are human meat markets. This is an elite dining experience.” His gaze washed over her. “Oh, I am going to enjoy dressing you up.”
Chapter Three
Luca
Forty-three. She was forty-three minutes late. Fifteen—maybe twenty—would have been annoying but forty-three was downright punishable. Who was he kidding? One minute would have been too much for any other woman he’d sent a car for to meet him at Bruno’s club, soon to be his.
Located right inside the city, within plain view for all to see, was the five-story pre-war, massive building Luca had been renting to Bruno for over a decade. Once his friend had opted for a calmer life and the top floor residence had become vacant, it had been natural for Luca to take up occupancy—after a remodel, to be sure.
Another town car drove by on the well-lit street and Luca checked his thick watch. Forty-four. For a brief moment, his heart sank. Is she not coming? Preposterous.
He straightened his cuffed sleeves and perked his pointed, tieless collar as the familiar dark Audi hugged the curb in front of him. Finally.
No longer able to wait, Luca moved to the back door and leaned down to open it. Two bare, pale legs attached to black patent-leather Italian heels swung out to the sidewalk. He extended his hand and the firm pressure that was returned when Claire stood almost made him forget her tardiness.
Her black dress, while short and tight, had long sleeves and a neckline that revealed nothing. Pity. He would miss the flush of her chest. Another time. Another woman. This was business.
She smiled up to him. Even in those shoes she could not compete with his height.
�
��You’re late, Ms. Favre. How exactly does one do that when a car is sent to fetch you at a specific time?”
Her blue-gray eyes glanced to the ground. “I…” She twisted her jaw and her cheek caved in as if it was being sucked in from the other side. “I wasn’t sure what to wear…” She stepped to the side to allow Luca to close the car door and she held her small clutch with both hands below her waist.
Unsure. The little lamb hadn’t known how to dress. And why would she? She’d never been to a club like this before. It was evident from her opinion at the office about what transpired behind the thick stone walls. Proving her wrong was twofold—one for his money and two for his curiosity. Had her magical words meant more?
Luca tilted his head and gave her a rare, warm smile. “I’d say you look perfect. A successful partnership of class and sleek.”
He reached his arm around her back to guide her toward the entrance, only to be met with soft, cool skin. A calculated breath calmed his racing heart as the contact blanketed his insides with heat.
Madonna mia.
There was no back to her dress. In fact, after a glance for further inspection, the entire C curve of her lower spine was revealed—and it was heavenly.
They walked in silence to the broad double doors and Luca reached inside his jacket for his key card. After a scan at the discreet pad to the left, both doors quietly popped open and gave way to a massive marble foyer.
He nodded to the flanked security guards and led the lovely banker down the hall toward the bar. Perhaps his hand didn’t need to return to her skin, but surely chivalry mattered in business as well.
They passed the closed doors of the offices and surveillance rooms and arrived at the archway of the bar. Boring—in their current state, anyway—faces chatted in tiny groups that filled the dimly lit den. But, like the smell of fresh meat in the cage of a panther, all eyes shifted to Claire Favre, especially those of that young blond bastard Noah Paulick.
But unworried, due to status and knowing that the mere fact of being seen with him had laid his claim to the beautiful banker, he led her past the leather couches and low tables to the bar. She sat on the stool and crossed her lovely legs. Luca chose to remain standing and admired her back again as she swiveled around to the bartender.
