Matteo (5 page)

Chapter 8

I’m furious…or at least, I feel like I
should
be after the way my evening played out.

I need something to calm me down.

I set the piping hot cup of tea down so that I can light the cluster of candles sitting on the coffee table. I heave a small sigh, expelling some of the tension in my chest as I sink down onto the chaise. I curl my legs up under me before pulling my pale pink throw blanket tightly around my shoulders to ward off the chill lingering in the air of my small studio apartment. The clock above the bookcase tells me that it’s just after midnight.

Matteo Moretti stormed into my evening like a tornado and left so much potentially irreparable damage in his wake. And then, he stood there, all smug and good-looking with his bruised and swollen fist, expecting me to thank him.

Now, my relationship with my biggest advertiser is in jeopardy thanks to him and his hot temper. Relationships like the one I had with Hampton Fresh Juices aren’t easy to build. And I did it all on my own without relying on my father’s connections or contacts.

It took months to persuade Hampton Fresh Juices to invest a portion of their advertising budget in the
New York Flame
, and even more time to convince them to increase that budget to the point that it now represents tens of thousands of dollars each quarter. Tomorrow, I’ll have to swallow my pride, reach out to Lester and apologize in the hopes of salvaging our business relationship.

I
should
be furious at Matteo Moretti.

But at the same time, what he did was incredibly hot. I’ve never had a man go out of his way like that for me. And although it was extremely inappropriate, it kind of turned me on. Not to mention that I got a good kick out of the fact that he seemed to be jealous that I was out with Lester. A part of me wishes I had told him that Lester is just a business associate. A part of me loved watching him squirm, not quite knowing what was going on between Lester and me. And yet another part believes defiantly that what goes on between me and other men is none of Matteo Moretti’s business.

He’s my
lawyer
, not some potential suitor.

Gosh – what’s wrong with me? He’s my
lawyer
. Here I am letting my imagination get the best of me. Maybe he was just trying to protect me. I mean, he
is
my lawyer, after all. Did I mention that he’s my
lawyer
? Maybe if I repeat it enough times, it will sink in.

But I can’t help but feel that his interference was something more than a professional intervention. I can’t help but feel like his interest was personal.

He
did
try to kiss me, right? Just before his phone chimed? Or did I just imagine that?

I shake my head trying to snap out of my reverie.
What is wrong with me?

I’m not the type of girl who gets nervous just because some hot guy is in the vicinity. Yet, there I was, with my heart thumping and my palms clammy, struggling to catch my breath as I bandaged up Matteo’s wounded hand. I’ve got to get a grip of myself.

Whether or not he wants something personal with me is irrelevant. He’s a player. I know it. The last thing I need is to fall for him and become just another silly woman that he’s conquered.

I saw the look on his face when he received that text message tonight. Catalina – that’s who it was from. I wonder if she’s just some poor desperate woman, strung out and addicted to him after a torrid encounter or two. That won’t be me. This beautiful man has throngs of women throwing themselves at him and I’m not stupid enough to become one of them. I know all about Matteo Moretti. I have to remember that as gorgeous as he is with that panty-melting, dimpled smile and those soul-piercing eyes and those hands made for pleasuring a woman, he’s still the biggest man-whore around.

I chew on my fingernail. Matteo Moretti is nothing but trouble. I have to shut him out of my head.

Fatigue presses heavily on my mind. I feel the cloak of sleep slip over me and before long, I’ve drifted off.

Chapter 9

My apartment is eerily quiet just after midnight, but my hectic thoughts race loudly through my mind. I sit on the windowsill in my bedroom, twenty stories above Central Park, nursing another scotch. After Catalina texted, I’d rushed home. The text had been a hard reminder of where my priorities should lie. I can’t afford to focus my attention on Ellie Parker and her luscious body.

I’ve made a commitment to someone else. She comes first.

Feather-light snores emanate from my bed. They’re so light you can barely hear them. The sheets ruffle just a bit as my little girl rolls over, her favorite teddy bear hugged tight to her chest.

Poor baby.

Despite Catalina’s best efforts, Tilly still has a hard time falling asleep in her own bed. Her pediatrician says that nightmares are normal when a child’s mother drops her off at a strange house and leaves, never looking back. So, I let Tilly sleep in my bed most nights. It makes her feel safe.

Catalina doesn’t like it. She wants Tilly to be more independent. But Catalina is only the nanny, and as Tilly’s father, I believe that sleeping in my room is in her best interests at this point even if it means I can’t bring women home with me anymore.

And my mind inevitably wanders back to Ellie Parker as this reality foists itself upon me.

An image of her is replaying on loop in my mind. She’s naked. Spread out on my bed, waves of blond and pink hair splayed across my pillow. Her thick thighs are spread wide, the pink lips of her pussy drooling, waiting for my tongue.

It takes every bit of my self-restraint to keep from reaching into my pants and taking my throbbing cock in my hand. It’s begging to be jerked and rubbed until it finds release. But I have to resist the urge.

I don’t live alone anymore.

Besides, my hand still aches from the blow I sent to that idiot’s jaw at the restaurant earlier tonight. I would do it all over again. Just the thought of his filthy hands on Ellie is enough to send me flying into another blinding rage.

I hate to think how far that idiot would have gone if I hadn’t been there to stop him. Ellie thinks she could have handled the situation on her own. She’s naïve.

She’s all tough-as-nails on the outside but I’m a lawyer. I’m trained to spot duplicity. And I suspect that if I start peeling back her layers, I’ll find a “fragile” sign hanging above her heart.

I shake my head, snapping back to reality. I can’t have her. I can’t yank on her hair and fuck her from behind. I can’t spread her out on my kitchen table and feast on her pussy. I can’t command her to her knees and watch as she accepts my load in a single swallow. I have to remind myself of that. She’s a client of my law firm. She’s off-limits…right?

It’s common sense that a lawyer should avoid fucking the shit out of his clients. No matter how tempting and irresistible they are.

But Cartwright Moretti Stevenson went so far as to implement a goddamnned policy preventing all employees from being intimate with our clients.

Dammit – the policy was implemented because of me.

A few years back, when I was helping Michael set up the firm’s California office, I had a fling with one of our clients. My father’s response had been to pay my lover for her silence and implement a firm-wide ban on personal relationships between employees and clients. Then, as an extra kick in the teeth, he forced me to sign a written document undertaking to respect that goddamned policy.

The law firm laid down the rule, but I think I’ve found a woman worth breaking it for. One night with Ellie Parker is all I need to satisfy the hungry beast raging inside of me.

Rules be damned. I want her too bad.

And I’ll have her. Even if it’s only one time. Even if it costs way more than she’s worth. All I want is to take control of that tight little body. Just once. I need to feel her soft warm skin against mine again. To hear the way her breath hitches and see her eyes go wide when I touch her. I need to have her raw, dirty, begging for me. I won’t be satisfied until then.

I’ve made up my mind.

I
will
have Ellie Parker in my bed.

Chapter 10

Dove comes storming into my office first thing the next morning, her long dreadlocks swinging behind her, and from the frown on her face, I already know that this conversation won’t go well.

“Ellie – I just got off the phone with Vanessa at Hampton Fresh Juices. What the hell happened with you and Lester last night?” She doesn’t bother to sit. She just hovers over my desk, glowering down at me.

I shift my eyes back to my computer screen and continue typing away. “Nothing, really,” I say trying to sound casual.

“Nothing? Vanessa said he called in sick today. Apparently, his jaw is swollen shut. He has to go get it x-rayed.”

A wince flashes across my face but I don’t say anything.

“Ellie – what happened?” She folds her arms and taps her foot impatiently. She’s not going anywhere until I give her something.

Persistence. It’s one of the reasons she’s so good at her job. When she smells that there’s a story lurking just beneath the surface, she keeps digging until she comes up with the truth, or at least a story that’s juicy enough to drive clicks to our website. But this isn’t a tabloid story for our gossip blog. It’s
my
life. And I don’t want Dove prying.

“Things got a little out of hand. Lester got
touchy
and a good Samaritan intervened.” I say the words casually hoping that they’re enough to satiate Dove’s curiosity.

They aren’t.

“So, let me get this straight – some random guy punched Lester in the face because he was groping you?”

I nod without offering more. I watch her wrestle with herself over whether to accept my story. I sigh internally when her tense shoulders loosen and her pinched eyebrows relax. She’s decided to take my word for it.

“Wow – I thought chivalry was dead. Especially here in Manhattan.” She drops into the chair opposite my desk.

I just shrug, my eyes peeled to the screen of my computer. “How’d the interview with that freelance photographer go this morning?” I’m eager to change the subject.

“No good – I checked his portfolio. He’s not the right fit for us.”

I nod understandingly. “Okay,” I say simply. I trust Dove’s judgment. At least enough to let her interview a photographer. We’ve worked together long enough that I know she gets my style and the type of work that I like. That’s why I’ve delegated most of the hiring and human resources to her.

Just then, the familiar chime of her phone filters into the room. “Shit, I think I left my phone by the coffee machine again,” she says with a sheepish grin as she leaps out of her seat.

Perfect timing – now that she’s rushing out the door is the best opportunity to quickly broach the subject I’ve been avoiding without having to answer a barrage of questions from her. “Hey – I have a personal matter to deal with on Friday, so I’ll be out of the office all day. Can you hold down the fort?”

She pauses briefly, one of her nosy questions just on the tip of her tongue. But then, her phone rings again. She shoots a quick glance in the direction of the kitchenette before looking back at me. “Sure thing, boss,” she says with a quick wink over the shoulder as she rushes towards her phone before her answering machine grabs the call.