Matteo (7 page)

Chapter 13

“Well
you’re
up late, Ms. Parker.”

I hear his voice behind me, just beyond my shoulder. His breath tickles the hairs on the back of my neck. My tongue swipes quickly across my bottom lip and I let out a shaky exhale.
Get it together, girl. You can’t let this man see how much he rattles you.

My steely armor slides back into place just as Matteo straddles the barstool next to me. He’s dressed casually, his hair is a sexy mess and the shadow of stubble on his jaw is thicker now than it was at the inspection earlier.

“Mr. Moretti,” I say, managing to keep my tone cool and aloof despite the sudden acceleration of my pulse. “So are you,” I state, my eyes following the bartender’s every move as I wait patiently to snag her attention.

I fiddle with my fingernails not quite knowing how to continue the conversation, but I can feel his eyes slowly flittering across my body. My face, my neck, my breasts all the way down my bare legs. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him run his tongue across his lips before his signature smirk settles on his mouth.

He turns his attention to the bartender. Almost immediately, she glances at him and smiles. What the hell! I’d been sitting here for nearly five minutes trying to get this woman’s attention to no avail. Then, Matteo Moretti strides up and within seconds, she’s ready to take his order.

He raises two fingers in the air. She nods, grabs two tumblers from beneath the counter and turns back to the liquor-filled bottles behind her.

“Did you just order for me?” I ask, feeling somewhat incredulous. The nerve of him to buy me a drink without even asking what I want.

How arrogant and presumptuous!

A slow, sensual grin meanders across his lips and his eyes light up with mischief. “Yes – Triple beaver tails.”

My eyes narrow. “And what is that exactly?”

“Three shots of Canadian whiskey and maple syrup.”

I shake my head vigorously. I know myself well enough to admit that hard liquor makes me act like a damn fool. “That really doesn’t sound like a good idea. I’m notoriously bad at handling my liquor.”

He taps his fingers against mine. “C’mon, Ms. Parker. It’s Friday night. Live a little.” And then…he smiles and – holy dimples – all of a sudden, I forget how to breathe.

And, damn his penetrating, chestnut eyes – they have a way of catching your gaze and holding it…even when you want to let go.

The plan had been to come to the bar and nurse a single glass of white zinfandel until I was buzzed enough to fall asleep. The factory inspection had left me too wired to doze off unassisted. Keeping up the professional façade all day had been draining, especially since Matteo looked absolutely lickable – is it weird that I find myself battling the intense urge to lick my smoking hot attorney? Anyway, when I came down to the bar tonight, I had a purpose and playing college drinking games with Matteo Moretti was definitely not it.

I laugh nervously. “I’m not the type of girl who spends her Friday nights drinking herself under the table.” My gaze drops to my hands sitting on the counter.

His eyebrows shoot up in disbelief. “Oh really? Even at your age?”

I glance at him. “You look surprised.”

He licks his bottom lip, his eyes still piercing into me. “I thought a girl’s early 20s was all about experimentation…” The words slide slowly out of his mouth.

Is he flirting with me?

My eyes shift away. “Not all girls are interested in experimenting.”

He gives me another onceover. He pauses before he says, “So, how do you spend your time? You don’t exactly strike me as the type of girl who spends her Friday nights watching chick flicks and doing facial scrubs with her girlfriends.”

A tight smile comes to my lips. “I don’t have very many ‘girlfriends’,” I say picking at the chipped glittery blue polish on my fingers.

His lips perk into a pondering twist as he appraises me again. “Hmm – I should have guessed that.”

I turn to face him head on. “What do you mean?”

He smiles, his gaze searching for the waitress. “Nothing…”

Right on cue, the waitress sashays over and gives me a nasty glare as she sets down a glass in front of each of us. She tosses a wink at Matteo before turning away, her long red hair swinging behind her.

I chuckle bitterly to myself, shaking my head.

“What?” Matteo asks, his intense stare riveted on me.

It’s my turn to say, “Nothing…”

“No, seriously. What is it?” he insists before taking a gulp of his beverage. He doesn’t even flinch as he swallows the liquor.

I clear my throat. “That bartender just gave me the look of death. But did you see the look she gave
you
? I did absolutely nothing wrong and I get flak just for
sitting
here with you.”

He gives me a one-shouldered shrug, his eyes still peeled to my face. “I can’t help the way that women look at me.” His words seem arrogant, but there’s absolutely nothing factitious in his tone.

I spit out a laugh. “Wow – you actually sound sincere.”

His eyebrows furrow. “I am. Why wouldn’t I be? I did nothing wrong, either. I’m just a guy sitting at a bar with a pretty girl on a Friday night.”

He just called me ‘pretty’.

Fucking cocky bastard. He
is
flirting with me.

Fighting in vain to suppress a flushed grin, I knock back my cocktail in hopes of staving off the butterflies dancing around in my belly.

I nearly choke. Wow – this is some potent stuff. I cringe as the alcohol slithers its way down my throat.

Anyway, he thinks he’s clever. And charming. I’m not buying his whole self-effacing act. He’s full of it; I know that much. “Ugh – Guys like
you
…”

“What do you mean ‘guys like
me’
?”

“You know the effect you have on women. Don’t play dumb. I’d respect your game much more if you’d just own up to it,” I tease. “You love it. Admit it. Don’t play modest. It doesn’t suit you.” I take a small sip of my drink, my chest still burning from my previous gulp.

He looks me straight in the face, a wildfire burning in his eyes. “So, Ms. Parker, are you saying that I’m having an effect on you tonight?” His lips rise into an awfully conceited smirk.

God – those sure look like delicious lips…

I feel my cheeks heat up. My breasts ache, wanting so badly to feel his big, warm hands cupping them, squeezing them. I look off into the distance, too flustered to hold his stare. “I’m just a girl sitting at a bar with her lawyer on a Friday night.” I finish off my drink.

He chuckles, mock offense paints his expression. “And you accuse
me
of being insincere.” He playfully touches my hand, which is buried in my hair.

I cringe when I realize I’ve been twirling a lock of my hair around my finger for the better part of five minutes.
Am I flirting, too?
I immediately drop my hand to my lap and adjust my posture.
What is wrong with me?
Sitting here, batting my eyelashes and giggling like a silly teenager with a crush. I might as well send in my freaking application for the Matteo Moretti Fan Club.

He waves down the bartender again and when she looks his way, he gestures for two more drinks. She’s back in a flash with our refills.

Maybe I shouldn’t drink anymore
, I think to myself as I cautiously nudge the glass away from me.

Matteo’s eyes haven’t left mine yet. His fingers flitter across my shoulder bone and my skin tingles, arousal undulating through my body. “You’ve got a chip the size of Atlanta on that shoulder of yours.”

“Well that may be true but my ‘chip’ is still not as big as your ego,” I retort trying to appear cool and composed despite the swirling and whooshing in the pit of my stomach. “Being that arrogant
must
be exhausting
.
”

“Funny.” He downs his drink in one voracious gulp. “But seriously – what’s got you so jaded, Ms. Ellie Parker? What’s your deal?” His searing gaze is relentless as he drinks in my profile, studying me intensely. “Did some guy break your heart and leave you bitter?”

“Ha!” I spit out a mirthless laugh. As if I’d ever let a guy get close enough to hurt me.

He continues to eyeball me. “No – that’s not it,” he says out loud to himself. Silence hangs heavily above us for an uncomfortable moment and I can see his mind racing. My body becomes warm and tingly and I can’t tell whether it’s the alcohol working it’s way through my system or the intensity of this man’s gaze.

“You think you’re so smart, huh, Mr. Lawyer?” I mutter under my breath as I bring my glass to my lips.

“No – it’s your father,” he says suddenly as if a light bulb just went off in his head. “Your father – filthy rich, ostentatious business magnate, Elias Parker, spent all his days in the lap of luxury. Meanwhile you, you were god knows where – somewhere off in the shadows. You never got the life that was rightfully yours. You resent him for keeping you a secret...”

I feel my chest tighten. He’s hit the nail on the head, but I don’t know him well enough to admit it. “You just have me all figured out, don’t you?” I turn my body away from him, towards the bar.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see him lift a shoulder nonchalantly. “Maybe I do, maybe I don’t.”

He’s silent for a while. I watch, quietly, as his index finger circles the rim of his glass. An image of him circling my clit with that thick, strong finger flashes through my mind.

Whoa – where did that thought come from?

I shift uncomfortably in my seat, painfully aware of the wetness pooling in my underwear.

Great! Just great!

Looks like I’m gonna need another sip of that alcohol.

When I left my room tonight, it was because I was restless. I couldn’t sleep after the long day at the factory inspection. I needed to unwind in order to fall asleep. I never would have imagined I’d find myself pinned down under Matteo Moretti’s intense gaze.

But I like it. I
actually
like it.

Honestly, I can’t believe how easy it is to talk to him. It should feel somewhat awkward having such an intimate moment with my lawyer, at a bar no less. But, it feels oddly comfortable and familiar and the banter just seems to
flow
.

The man in front of me is nothing like the douchebag my blog has made tens of thousands of dollars reporting on. The contrast between the real Matteo Moretti and the caricature that the
New York Flame
has propagated over the past two years is striking.