The Billionaire's Daddy Test

She smiled. “I like that.”

He reached for her hand. “And I like you, Mia.” The hand covering hers was strong and gentle.

His eyes were warm, darkening to slate gray and as liquid as the sensations sprinting through her body right now. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This intense, hard-to-ignore feeling she got in the pit of her belly. She couldn’t be attracted to him. It was impossible and would ruin everything.

She slipped her hand from his and rose from her seat. “I think I’d better check on the meal.”

His chair scraped back as he stood. Always the gentleman. “Of course.”

She scurried off, mentally kicking herself. An image of Adam’s disappointed face followed her into the kitchen.

Three (#ulink_de58186d-a320-5900-aca3-bfa0d6b96b73)

“Damn it.” Adam squeezed his eyes shut. He’d almost blown it with Mia. She was skittish, and he couldn’t blame her. She didn’t know him. It had been his MO not to let people in, and he’d done a good job of avoiding her questions tonight. He’d lost the fine art of conversation years ago, if he’d ever had it. If only he wasn’t so darn smitten with her. Smitten? Now that was a corny word. Hell, he was attracted to her, big-time. She was a breath of fresh air in his stale life.

He entered the kitchen holding two wineglasses he’d refilled and found her by the oven, wearing her little blue apron again. His throat tightened at the domestic scene. How long had it been since a woman cooked him a meal? Well, aside from Mary. A long, he couldn’t remember how long, time. “Me again.” He set down her wineglass. “What can I do?”

“How are you at making a salad?”

“I can manage that.”

She stirred the sauce as he opened the refrigerator and grabbed a big wooden bowl covered with plastic wrap. He set it in front of her.

“How’s this?”

“Looks beautiful.” She smirked. “You work fast.”

“Thank Mary. She anticipates everything.” He opened a drawer and revealed a loaf of fresh crusty Italian bread. “Yep, even bread.”

Mia smiled. “Thank you, Mary. The sauce is almost ready. I brought homemade tagliatelle. But I can’t take credit for making it. There’s no way I could duplicate my gram’s recipe. She’s the expert. She made it.”

Several sheets of thin pasta were laid out on a chopping block. Mia rolled a sheet all the way up until it was one rather long log and then she cut inch wide strips and then narrower strips all the way down the line. “Tagliatelle doesn’t have to be perfect. That’s the beauty in the recipe. Once you’ve made the pasta, cutting it is a breeze.” She unrolled two at different lengths and widths and showed it to him. “See?”

She added a sprinkling of salt to a boiling pot. “Here you go. Want to put these in as I cut?”

“I think you can double as a chef, Mia D’Angelo.” They worked together, her cutting, him adding the pasta to the bubbling water.

“That’s nice of you to say. But judge me in two minutes, when it’s done.”

“If it tastes anything like it smells...” The scent of garlic and herbs and the meaty sauce spiked his appetite. The homey aroma brought good memories of sitting down to a meal with his mom and dad, brother and sister. “It’ll be delicious.”

“I hope so.”

He helped Mia serve up the dish, and they sat down outside again. It was dark now; the moonlight over the ocean illuminated the sky. Mary had placed domed votive candles on the table, and he lit them. He couldn’t remember having a more relaxed evening. Mia didn’t seem to want anything from him. She was the real deal, a woman he wouldn’t have even met, if she hadn’t injured herself practically on his doorstep. She was curious, but she wasn’t overbearing. He liked that she made him laugh.

Steam billowed from the pasta on his plate and he hunkered down and forked it into his mouth before his stomach started grumbling. The Bolognese sauce was the best he’d ever tasted, and the pasta was so tender, it slid down his throat. The dish was sweet and savory at the same time, just the right amount of...everything. “Wow,” he said. “It’s pretty damn good.”

She grinned. “Good? Your plate is almost empty.”

“All right. It’s fantastic. I’m going in for second helpings. If that’s okay with you?”

“If you didn’t, I’d be insulted.” She ladled another portion of pasta onto his plate and grated parmesan cheese in a snowy mound over it. “There—that should keep you happy for a while.”

“I’ll have to double my swim time tomorrow.”

“How long are you out there usually?”

“I go about three miles.”

“Every day?”

He nodded. “Every day that I’m home.”

She swirled pasta around her fork. “Do you travel much?”

“Only when I have to. I’m doing a big job right now on the coast of Spain. It might require some traveling soon.”

“I’d love to travel more. I rarely get out of California. Well, there was this one trip to Cabo San Lucas when I graduated high school. And my father’s family was from West Virginia. I spent a few weeks there one summer. But oh, your life sounds so exciting.”

It wasn’t. He didn’t enjoy traveling. He liked the work, though, and it was necessary to travel at times. Adam pictured Mia on the southern coast of Spain with him, keeping him company, lounging in a villa and waiting for him to return home from work. He saw it all so clearly in his mind that he missed her last comment. He blinked when he realized he’d been rude. “I’m sorry—what did you say?”

“Oh, just that I’ve always wanted to see Italy. It’s a dream of mine, to see where my mother’s family was from. That’s all.”

He nodded. Many people would love to trace their roots, but if Adam never entered the state of Oklahoma again, he wouldn’t miss it. Not in the least. After Lily died, their family had never been the same. Some nights he woke up in a sweat, dreaming about the natural disaster that had claimed his sister’s life. “I can understand that. Italy is a beautiful country.”

“Have you been there?”

“Once, yes.”

She took a long sip of wine. His gaze was riveted to her delicate throat and the way she took soft swallows. He didn’t want the evening to end. If he had his choice, she’d be staying the night, but that would have to wait. Mia couldn’t be rushed, and he wasn’t one to push a woman into something she wasn’t ready for. “After dessert, would you like to take a walk on the beach? I promise I’ll bring a flashlight, and we’ll be careful.”

Mia turned her wrist and glanced at the sparkly silver bracelet watch on her arm. “I would love to, but it’s getting late. Maybe just dessert this time. But I’ll take a rain check on that walk.”

Late? It was a little after ten. “You got it. Another time then.”

They brought the dishes inside and Adam pulled out a strawberry pie from the refrigerator. “Mary brought this over this morning. That woman is a saint. I gave her the day off, yet she still came over with this pie.”

Fresh whipped cream and split strawberries circled the top of the pie.

Mia took a look. “Wow, it’s beautiful. Mary reminds me of my gram. Eating is a priority. And she makes enough food for an army. You’ll never go hungry if my gram is around.”

“I think I like her already.” Adam grabbed a cake knife from the block.

“You would. She’s the best.”

Adam made the first cut, slicing up a large wedge of pie. “Whoa,” Mia said, moving close to him. “I hope that piece is for you.”

Her hand slid over his as she helped guide the knife down to cut another thinner wedge. Instant jolts hit him in the gut. Mia touching him, the softness of her flesh on his. She’d gotten under his skin so fast, so easily. Her scent, something light, flowery and erotic, swam in his head, and he couldn’t let her go.