Seduced by the Heir

Paris cracked up. The sound of her high-pitched giggles bolstered his confidence. He couldn’t have scripted a better reunion.

“It was great talking to you, Rafael. See you around!” she said suddenly, walking closer to the door.

He caught her arm just as she was about to breeze past him, and slid in front of the door to prevent her from leaving. “Where are you rushing off to?”

A frown touched her lips, marring her pretty features, but she didn’t speak. His body was a raging inferno and his impulse to kiss her was so strong it consumed him. He wet his lips with his tongue, moved closer. “Don’t go.” His voice sounded foreign to his ears, a lot huskier than it had ever been. “I’ll escort you to the bell tower.”

“I’m not going there. The group is slowing me down, and I have tons of shopping to do.”

An idea came to him, and a lie fell smoothly from his lips. “You have to shop and I have to shop, so we might as well knock it out together.”

“Are you sure your paramour won’t mind? I don’t want to create any problems at home.”

I’m not interested in Julietta. I’m interested in you.

“You guys looked awfully cozy last night,” Paris continued. “And she’s also made it very clear to the bridal party that you’re off-limits.”

“Paris, I’m single, and there’s no special woman in my life, but if you feel uncomfortable hanging out with me, then...”

Her frown deepened. “Why would I be uncomfortable?”

“Because we had a messy breakup.”

“Yeah, like twenty years ago,” she scoffed, giving him a funny look. “We dated when we were kids. It didn’t mean anything. I moved on and so did you. No hard feelings.”

Listening to Paris downplay their relationship hurt like hell, but Rafael held his tongue. Besides, she was right. They’d dated eons ago, and living in the past was a waste of time. “So, you don’t mind if I tag along? I promised my dad I’d buy him a case of Italian cigars, and if I forget he’ll cut me out of his will!”

Paris wore a cheeky smile. “Sure, why not? You could help me carry my bags.”

“First we eat and then we shop.”

“When did you get so bossy?” she teased, slanting her head to the right. “What happened to the sweet, easygoing guy who used to let me call the shots?”

Rafael lowered his mouth to her ear. “He grew up.”

“I can see that.”

“And what you call bossy, I call decisive,” he said smoothly. “I don’t believe in playing games. When I see something I want, I go after it. No matter what.”

Her eyes opened wide.

The air was saturated with the scent of his desire. Rafael wanted to crush his lips to her mouth, wished he could taste her one more time, but he didn’t act on his impulses. To keep his hands busy, and off her curvy, shapely body, he stepped aside and opened the door. “Shall we go? I’m hungry, and I bet you are, too.”

“Where are we going?”

“To the best Italian restaurant in town, of course.”

Her face came alive, brightened with excitement. “Now you’re talking. Lead the way!”

Chapter 5 (#ulink_c1d11927-5c85-5f93-a1a3-b50e71a87f79)

Harry’s Bar, a ridiculously expensive pub in the heart of the city, was more than just a classy restaurant, it was a cultural institution. Open since the 1930s, it attracted Venetian high society, diplomats and celebrities from around the globe. The menu was simple, and the furnishings understated, but the award-winning food more than made up for the modest decor.

“Might I recommend the Cipriani chocolate cake for dessert?” The waiter, an older gentleman with kind eyes, collected Paris and Rafael’s empty lunch plates and refilled their water glasses. “It’s our most celebrated dish, and one of the First Lady’s personal favorites.”

“Sounds good,” Rafael said. “We’d also like another round of Bellini cocktails.”

The waiter gave a curt nod. “Very well, sir. I’ll be back shortly with your order.”

“You have to quit feeding me, or I won’t be able to fit into my gown tomorrow!” Paris joked, settling back comfortably in her chair. “I don’t want to get on the bride’s bad side—”

“Don’t worry, Paris. I’ll be there to protect you.”

He flashed a grin, and her breath caught on a moan. The second floor was filled to the brim with distinguished diners, and waiters in shiny bow ties rushing to and fro, but when Rafael looked at her everyone else faded into the background.

His gaze roamed over her face, warmed her tingling flesh. Desire blazed in his eyes, and for a pulse-pounding second Paris feared he was going to kiss her. What should I do if he does? Push him away, kiss him back or make a break for the emergency exit?

Swallowing hard, she moistened her lips with her tongue. Her attraction to Rafael was ruling her, mind and body, and if she didn’t get a handle on her feelings quick she was going to fall victim to her desires. And there’s nothing cute about pouncing on a man in public.

“The Cipriani chocolate cake is the pièce de résistance, and I can’t let you leave Venice without trying it. Trust me, you’re going to love it.”

“God, you’re smooth,” she quipped. “Now I know why Julietta’s been throwing herself at you all weekend. You’re as charming as they get!”

“She’s not interested in me per se, just my bank account.”

“That’s a harsh assessment. You hardly know her.”

“I know her type.” A frown wrinkled his brow, caused fine lines to gather around his eyes and mouth. “Tell me something.”

“Ask away. What’s on your mind?”

Rafael picked up her left hand, gently caressed each finger. Electricity crackled between them, and the more he stroked her skin the harder it was for Paris to concentrate.

“You’re single, right?”

All she could do was nod her head. Her mind was too jumbled to produce a coherent thought. She tried to ignore the flutter in the pit of her stomach, that tingling sensation shooting down her spine, but to no avail. He’s just a man, scolded her conscience. Sure, he’s tall, ripped and toned, but that’s no reason to get nervous and flustered.

His caress was better than she remembered. Paris told herself to breathe, to stare at something—anything—besides Rafael’s lips, but she couldn’t tear her gaze away from his face. Her desire for him was strong, so intense it made it impossible for her to think. Moving her hand away was out of the question too. Paris loved how he’d always made her feel desirable, wanted and sexy. “I date from time to time,” she said, twirling a lock of hair around the index finger of her free hand. “But I’m single, and have no plans to settle down.”

“Then why are you wearing an expensive diamond ring?”

To keep the opposite sex at bay. Talking about her ex-boyfriend always made her tear up, and since she didn’t want to have an emotional breakdown at their quaint corner table, Paris racked her brain for a suitable answer. Wanting to keep the mood upbeat, she said, “I love diamonds. Sue me!”

“I understand that, but why not wear the ring on your other hand?”

His question caught her off guard. No one had ever grilled her about her diamond ring before, but then again, she’d never let anyone get this close. Men were good for one thing and one thing only. After the deed was done Paris went home—alone. Pillow talk wasn’t an option, and neither was spending the night with her lover. “You’re a guy. You wouldn’t understand.”

Rafael released her hand and sat up straighter. “Try me.”