Taught by the Tycoon, Page 2

  His gaze lingered on her mouth that had always reluctantly intrigued him, and again he wondered what it would feel like beneath his. At the sweetness he would find inside.

  Such a dangerous, forbidden path he really shouldn’t be exploring. Damiano tossed the pen in his hands back on the desk, and then stood.

  Rachel quickly rose to her feet as well, panic flashing in her eyes. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have bothered you with any of this. Really—”

  “Have dinner with me.”

  Chapter 3

  Any reply died on Rachel’s lips, and her thoughts scattered from her head like birds startled in the park below. For a moment she felt trapped by the intensity of his contemplative gaze and she couldn’t have looked away if she wanted to. Which was silly.

  But her heart began to thud harder, and she wondered if she’d made a terrible mistake by soliciting him for advice.

  The first time she’d been interviewed by him, she’d nearly forgotten her own name. Fortunately he’d known exactly who she was.

  Even though she’d known him as a child, the years apart after private school had dimmed the memory of him some. He’d also disappeared for several years, going back to Italy. She’d heard he’d even dropped out of college for a bit, before once again enrolling.

  But seeing recent pictures in the paper hadn’t prepared her for the devastatingly handsome man Damiano had grown into. Not just handsome, but heaven help her, he was charming.

  Sometimes she questioned whether he’d given her the job because she was Theo’s younger sister. It hadn’t mattered though. Her pride hadn’t cared. She’d gratefully accepted the position as his personal assistant and vowed to go above and beyond.

  She’d forced herself to present a level of immunity to him, a complete indifference, because she would not be one of those nitwits who fell in love with her boss.

  Damiano was not to be seen as a sexual being. He was her superior. A friend of her brother. She would not be attracted to him. This had become almost her daily mantra, and she’d done fairly well at never giving him any reason to think otherwise.

  Until one little night in Paris.

  Her heart tripped, and she worried that he might see the sudden softness in her gaze. The memory of what she so desperately tried to forget. With what seemed like a massive effort, she forced her gaze away.

  She’d been prepared for the possibility of being brushed off with some comment about how this conversation was hardly professional. And yet he hadn’t. Instead he’d asked her to dinner.

  “Dinner?” she repeated haltingly.

  “Yes. It’s a meal. Sometimes they serve fish,” he teased. “Conversation is known to occur during such an event. Which would be perfect as we can continue ours.”

  Now that he stood, he seemed to loom above her. His height always made her feel at the disadvantage. She wasn’t petite, but Damiano was tall enough that her head only reached his shoulders.

  She tried to form a witty reply. Knew that he expected it. But her attention was distracted by the fact that he no longer wore his suit jacket that he’d had on early in the day. Her gaze inadvertently wandered over the dark curls that peeked above the crisp white shirt that wasn’t quite buttoned to the top.

  Her mouth grew dry and she curled her fingers into fists, dismayed to realize she had the desire to explore those curls. To discover the hardness beneath them.

  These urges had become more frequent lately, and they were completely unwelcome and inconvenient. Much like a cold one would pick up on the subway and be unable to shake.

  But she had to shake it. Oh god, she had to shake it. Which was why she knew she had to make an attempt to start dating. Which was also why being alone with him in a non-work situation was risky.

  “I thought dinner involved a treadmill, but thank you for setting me straight,” she replied with an attempt at humor, but she knew she was still blushing, and she turned away so he wouldn’t see how much his request had unnerved her.

  She took a few steps to the window that overlooked Central Park, and trailed her finger over the cool glass pane. The lush canopies of green trees were bathed in the setting sunlight, but even the lovely view wasn’t enough to help her unease.

  It was just a dinner invite, so why was she freaking out? It wasn’t as if they hadn’t dined together countless times before.

  Her friends made it no secret they envied her job. Being paid to travel the world with one of the most handsome, eligible billionaires in existence.

  But it had never been glamorous for her. Most of the business trips she’d accompanied him on, she’d usually retire to her room to take a meal while he dined with clients. Or often, if there was time, she might go out alone to explore the city they were in. Sometimes he’d join her, but more often not. He was all business, very little pleasure.

  She’d been so deliberate, so cautious in her attempts to keep things professional between them. And now tonight it seemed she was sprinting past that line drawn in the sand by requesting his help.

  She’d been stupid to seek advice from the man she was trying to distance herself from emotionally.

  He was waiting for an answer. She knew it, and realized he must be analyzing her response with every second that passed.

  “It’s a Friday night,” she hedged. “Surely you must have other plans.”

  She could sense his presence, even without hearing the approach of his silent footsteps.

  “Nothing that cannot be rearranged.” His words were soft, deceptively casual, and so close to her ear she could almost feel the heat from his breath.

  Her muscles coiled with awareness and she closed her eyes.

  “Unless you’ve already eaten?”

  “No. I haven’t.” She wanted to lie, but sensed he’d see right through it. He always knew when she lied, could read her like the Sunday Times, and usually she wasn’t stupid enough to try it.

  “Wonderful. I’ll have my driver pick us up downstairs in a few minutes.”

  Settling into the Rolls Royce some minutes later wasn’t exactly a novelty for her anymore. She traveled enough with Damiano to be used to it. Besides, she counted herself among the New Yorkers who weren’t easily impressed by celebrities or wealth anyway.

  The novelty part came into effect when they were ushered to a small, intimate booth in the back of an exclusive restaurant. She wasn’t altogether unfamiliar with the place, having made reservations for Damiano numerous times, but more often it was for him and the current lady on his arm.

  Or in his bed.

  She ignored the voice in her head. This was business tonight, albeit strange business that was more on the personal side, but she wasn’t delusional enough to think him taking her to dinner had any romantic connotations.

  “Would you care for wine, Rachel?”

  About to say no, she changed her mind. Maybe a glass of wine would help relax her.

  “I would actually love a glass.”

  His soft, knowing chuckle sent a shiver of awareness down her spine. When the waiter approached he ordered them a bottle of wine she’d never even heard of.

  Soon she had a glass of red liquid courage before her, and she wasted little time in taking that first sip.

  Don’t drink it all in one gulp, girl, this stuff probably costs three figures for the bottle.

  “Tell me, Rachel, do you have any plans for the long weekend?”

  Besides watching a series of Audrey Hepburn movies and indulging in chocolate cake? Not a lot. But she could hardly admit that to her tremendously cultured boss.

  She remembered the times when her brother and Damiano would watch action flicks as teenagers. She doubted Damiano had sat down and watched a movie in years. He was constantly in work mode. The only time she’d seen him out of it was no doubt when he slept, and when he’d take a woman out.

  Like tonight, and somehow she’d become the woman he was entertaining. Sort of. Without the sexual attraction business to get in the way.

 
“No plans this weekend really,” she murmured, “Just to relax.”

  A faint smile crossed his lips. “Hmm. I shall have to try this relaxation thing you speak of some day.”

  As she took another sip of her wine, she watched him over the rim of her glass.

  He cradled his glass in long, capable fingers, his gaze amused as he watched her. She felt a little bit like a bug under a microscope and just barely resisted the urge to squirm in her seat.

  “You really should,” she agreed lightly, sliding her gaze away. “I bet you’d actually love it.”

  He tilted his head, and then murmured, “Hmm. Or maybe you can teach me?”

  “Teach you?” she parroted in disbelief. “How to relax?”

  “But of course.”

  She gave a nervous laugh, not sure what he’d meant by that remark. “No teaching necessary. I promise it’s self-explanatory.”

  “Yes, of course you’re right.” He reached for the bottle of wine and refilled her half-empty glass.

  Crap, had she really drunk that much already? She took another sip before burying her face in the menu.

  She saw the prices, or lack there of, and felt the color drain from her face. Unlisted prices were never a good thing. Reaching again for her wine, she knew she’d need it to get through this evening.

  Chapter 4

  Damiano watched in amusement, as his usually composed assistant seemed a little nervous at being alone with him.

  Not that it was a rarity. They were often alone in the office or while traveling, yet never when it didn’t include business. And this most definitely was not business.

  What had driven him to invite her to dinner? No doubt the curiosity about this ‘wealthy’ man she was considering dating. But there was more to his invitation. He wasn’t foolish enough to lie to himself.

  There was a curiosity burning within him. Who was this man was she considered becoming involved with? Unless this was all a ruse to gain his attentions and flirt in a roundabout way?

  The idea clicked to life in his head, at first a sardonic afterthought, but then it clawed its way into possibility.

  Hmm. He leaned back and observed her through narrowed eyes.

  Was it possible Rachel had felt the same brief attraction he had on that night in Paris? Maybe, in the past few months, she’d been struggling with how to approach him about it and was using a fictitious man to bring them together?

  Damiano was not only her boss, but also the close friend of her older brother. Surely it would be difficult, and complicated, for her to come straight out and admit a sexual interest.

  It was an interesting concept for certain. But would he be so rash as to act upon it if his theory was right? Would he even want to?

  He slid a slow gaze over her, noting the tiny furrow between her eyes as she studied her menu. Her lips were on the smaller side, but when she flicked her pink tongue out to wet them, his body responded.

  Her clothes were lackluster. Her demeanor was almost conservative at times, but even still, he realized the answer was yes. He wanted to act on this seedling of attraction that had become noticeable in Paris. Whether it was wise was another question.

  “I insist on paying for my own dinner.” Her words were laced with a tension that matched her fingers clenching the menu.

  “And I insist on denying you that right.”

  She glanced up at him and her mouth rounded. “This isn’t a business dinner, Damiano. I couldn’t possibly—”

  “I am enjoying your company for a meal that I invited you to,” he said gently. “Please, you must allow me to pay.”

  She looked conflicted and then resigned. She clearly knew him well enough to realize she would not win this debate. Still, when it came time to order, he noticed she picked what was likely the lowest priced item on the menu and refused any side dishes. His lips twitched as he ordered enough for them both.

  “Tell me about your friend who lives with you.”

  The tension visibly eased from her shoulders. “Lexi? Oh, she’s my age. We met at NYU. Which is why she’s completely broke.” She grimaced. “And I would be too if I hadn’t been given this job.”

  “You earned it. You’re a bright, amazing young woman.”

  “Thank you.” She laughed. “Nobody will ever say that you aren’t charming.”

  “No charm intended.” Perhaps a little, but it hardly mattered when he spoke the truth. “So you invited her to live with you.”

  “Yes. She pays half the rent, which I’m not sure she can even afford, but she says her pride insists upon it. I’d pay the whole thing if she let me. I enjoy her company.”

  He could understand that. She must feel quite alone with Theo moving to London to expand his company, but surely her parents were still in New York?

  “Do you not see your parents all that often?”

  “My parents moved to Israel a year ago.”

  His brows rose. “You never mentioned that. Another archeological dig?”

  “Of course.”

  He knew her father had traveled frequently during her and Theo’s childhood. Which was why Damiano had often kept one eye on his own schooling, and the other on the girl who’d been five years younger than him. Almost like a sister, and yet not.

  There was nothing remotely sibling like in the emotions running through him now. Her cheeks were flushed from the wine and her eyes a bit brighter. She was more relaxed than she’d been all night. She was lovely.

  And he didn’t like it one bit that he was noticing it.

  “More wine?”

  Was that smart? Rachel wondered. “Oh, well, I suppose.”

  He lifted the bottle of wine and poured more into her glass, and she wondered briefly if she should be protesting. Surely with the way he kept topping it off she’d already finished an entire glass by now?

  “So this man you’d like to date. Will you tell me more?”

  His soft request should’ve made her nervous, but the wine was doing wonderful things for her nerves. Still. She would have to bite her tongue on just how much she confessed.

  “He’s attractive.” She took a sip. “Mmm. And a bit of a public figure.”

  “Is he near your age?”

  She hesitated. “He’s a littler older. Mid-thirties.”

  “Practically in a senior home. I’ll see him there.”

  Laughing, she shook her head and met his hooded gaze. “Hardly.” She lowered her lashes.

  Damiano was thirty-two, she knew, but even if he were sixty, she had no doubts that this man would turn the heads of women of all ages. Damiano was classically handsome. Timeless. Like old Hollywood royalty. Now, in his prime, he was lethal to the female hormones.

  Which she shouldn’t even be acknowledging. She had to keep her boss as a completely non-sexual entity in her mind. Noticing how handsome he was, how charming, would only bring trouble.

  She wanted to imagine him as an older brother again, just as she’d seen him as when she was a child. Unfortunately that older brother theory had gone out the window when she’d walked into his office for the interview and come face to face with him all grown up.

  Time to get her mind off of Damiano’s level of attractiveness, and back to why she’d sought his help in the first place.

  “So I’ve been thinking about it, and you’ve caught my interest with a comment you made.”

  He took another sip of wine. “Any one in particular?”

  “The one about helping me learn my utensils.”

  Amusement flashed across his face. “You would like reminder lessons after all?”

  “Well,” she took a deep breath and plunged on with it. “Something along those lines.”

  Damiano set his glass of wine down and studied her through narrowed eyes.

  She was serious?

  “I mean, not necessarily the utensils thing. I’m pretty solid on that, but if you could give me some advice. Some pointers.”

  He arched a brow. “You would like pointers? On what ex
actly?”

  She sighed. “I wish I knew. I date blue collar, not billionaires. I don’t know what’s expected of me. How I should look. How I should behave. I just need some insight on what I’d be getting into if I said yes to—” She broke off and looked down. “If I said yes.”

  If she said yes.

  Damiano might have been more irritated about her intents to charm this mystery man, if he wasn’t beginning to suspect this man didn’t exist. All her answers about this potential beau had been vague and brief.

  And now she wanted his opinion on how a woman dating him should look? Act? Had he really ever paid much attention? A beautiful woman on his arm who would transition smoothly into his bed had generally been the prerequisite.

  “I certainly don’t think you need to change your personality to fit into some cliché, Rachel.”

  She arched a brow. “Don’t I?”

  All right, sure, he’d play along with the fake love interest story. “No. And clearly if this gentleman has sought you out, he is interested in who you are already.”

  Rachel made a harrumph before taking a sip of wine.

  Why she dismissed that comment was baffling. What Damiano himself enjoyed most about Rachel was what made her stand out from all the other women he’d been involved with.

  “You’re sweet...”

  She grimaced. “Sweet is the kiss of death. It’s the equivalent of a woman saying, ‘Look, you’re a nice guy’.”

  Was it? “You’re quirky, and cheerful. Perhaps too cheerful first thing in the morning, but it’s endearing.” He smiled and studied her from beneath hooded lids. “You’re real.”

  “Men don’t want real.”

  “Of course they do.”

  “No. They want a polished Barbie on their arm.”

  “Some do, undoubtedly.”

  “You being one of them,” she quipped back.

  The denial was on his lips, but he held it back because she was right. Maybe it hadn’t been done so deliberately, but there was certainly a type of woman that ended up in his bed. Usually blondes who had more curves than brains.