Naked Truth (Crimson Romance) (22 page)

Kennedy smiled. “I can see that about you.”

There was an awkward silence.

“So, how’ve you been?” he asked, obviously trying to sound casual and nonchalant.

Kennedy ran a hand through her hair. “I haven’t been sleeping well,” she admitted.

“Oh? Why not?”

She blew out a sigh. “Jack, I need to explain.”

“Explain what?”

“My divorce. Or lack thereof. I had no idea I—”

He cut her off. “I know. I was pretty pissed off at first, but I get it now.”

“Oh.” She didn’t know what to say to that. Did that mean he forgave her? Did that mean he was interested in … something between them? His heartfelt words, when he’d been coaxing Marie to let her go, had been the one bright light in the nightmares that had plagued her sleep. But had he only been saying those words, because that’s what FBI agents were trained to do in that type of situation?

“I think I’ve figured most of it out. Everything except the cheating part. Why did you tell everyone he cheated on you?”

She shifted her eyes to the sliding glass door, where vertical blinds were pulled closed, blocking the sunlight from pouring into the room. Then she stiffened her resolve. If she was going to do this, she had to be completely honest. Otherwise, what was the point?

“I was embarrassed. I had no idea he had a gambling addiction. I felt like such a fool afterward. He stole literally everything I had. Took cash advances on all my credit cards. Then, when I served him with divorce papers, he came to the house when I was at work and took everything of value I had there, too. I struggled on the edge of bankruptcy for years. It’s only been in the last few months that I’ve finally begun to feel … normal again.”

“I never should have hit on you at Cullen’s wedding.” He looked genuinely sorry.

Her throat constricted. She lifted a hand to her neck, curled her fingers over the bodice of her dress. He didn’t really mean that. He couldn’t. She was absolutely certain she could not live without this man in her life.

“No, please don’t say that. That was … I don’t regret what happened between us, Jack. I’m … I’m glad. You helped me. Like the last step in the healing process.” She stood stock-still, afraid to move, afraid to hear his response, and yet desperate for it. He let the silence stretch on until she fidgeted, wringing her hands in a nervous motion that normally annoyed her when someone else did it.

After a few moments of increasingly uncomfortable silence, Jack commented, “I checked out your … Jerry. Through the system, at work.”

She didn’t say anything, just looked at him.

“He’s in for a lot of money at one of the local casinos. A hell of a lot. A dangerous amount. And he’s overdue to pay it back. As it happens, I know the boss who runs that particular casino. You could say we’re … business acquaintances.”

“Are you suggesting you could get Jerry’s debt waived?”

“No. I’m suggesting that I could postpone the inevitable. Long enough for him to receive divorce papers and sign them this time.”

“I … I’ve started the process again. Divorce proceedings, I mean.”

Jack nodded, then asked, “Want to sit down?” He struggled to sit up, no small feat with one arm taped to his side.

“Oh no, don’t do that,” she said as she rushed over to help. But instead of pulling him into a seated position, she pushed him back down onto his back.

“Stay there,” she insisted. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“I’d say it’s a little late for that,” he grumbled. “But I’ll stay like this if you lie down with me.”

“Huh?”

He grinned slyly. “And take this beer and remote and put them on the coffee table. Please?”

She obediently did as he asked but remained standing next to the couch, unsure of how to read his signals. Was he simply being polite? Was he still sorry they hooked up in the first place? And what was he implying by offering to postpone the inevitable so that she could finally fully divorce Jerry?

“Are you going to lie down or what?”

“I … I’m not sure. Why do you want me to lie down?”

Jack reached out with his good arm and cupped the back of one of her knees. “Because I’m hoping one thing will lead to another, and I might finally get laid again. It’s been forever, or at least that’s what it feels like.”

“You want—?” She let out a little squeal as he gave her knee a hard pull, causing her to tumble onto the couch on top of him. She twisted her body to avoid landing on his bad arm, and after a moment’s disorientation, she finally managed to situate herself, lying on her stomach on top of Jack. She could feel his erection pressing into her belly.

“You,” he said as he twisted the hand of his good arm into her hair. “I want you. Any way I can get you. Every way I can get you.” He pulled her head down and captured her lips, kissing her with all the passion of a man who hadn’t had the pleasure in far too long.

She gasped when he finally broke the kiss. “But what about Jerry?”

Jack scowled. “What about him?”

“We’re still married.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you’ve figured out by now that I’m not so crazy about that part of the deal. Maybe we can just not talk about it until the divorce is final?”

“Oh.”

“You’re not saying it breathy enough. I think I need to be inside you.”

“Oh, Jack.” This time, it was a sigh.

“Kennedy?”

“Mmm?” She bent her head and kissed his neck, trailing wet kisses down to his chest.

“Do you love me?”

She froze, and then very slowly, lifted her head to stare into his eyes. “Do you love me?”

“I asked you first.”

She sighed. “I’m afraid I do.”

Jack laughed. “Afraid you do?”

She nodded solemnly. “As I recall, you told me once that you were a difficult man to live with, and I assume that means you are also a difficult man to love. But I’m afraid I don’t have a choice.”

“Why do you think you don’t have a choice?”

“Right before her wedding, Sabrina and I discussed what attributes would make up the perfect man. I recently realized that I’d described you, and at the time, I hadn’t even formally met you yet.”

He stared at her, his mouth slightly open, his face registering shock. After a few moments, he shook his head, as if to clear it. “Damn, I love you.”

“Oh, Jack…”

Having apparently decided they were done talking, he twisted his hand more tightly into her hair and pulled her head down for another kiss. Which led to other, more physical activities, which led to the breathy “ohs” he liked so much, and, eventually, to Kennedy screaming his name.

He informed her that he really liked that. A lot. In fact, he insisted, he loved it.

F2. Deal again.

The workday was endless when your biggest decision was FreeCell or solitaire. Today solitaire was the game of choice, and Sophia was already $830 down. Damn Vegas scoring. At least she didn’t have to worry about anyone knocking at her door to collect that debt.

The front doorbell buzzed, and she switched the display on her monitor from the game to webcam. Metal chair legs scraping against the wood floor indicated that the elderly porter had been awakened from his nap and was on the way to answer the summons.

Look up, look up
, she mentally willed the man standing at the door, waiting to be let in. Her telepathy not working, she tried adjusting the camera angle to get a better view, but all she could see was the top of his head. Dark hair, that was all. Useless angle, useless camera.

Not that she held out much hope that he would be worth looking at. The managing partner had mentioned as he passed her desk this morning that an important Italian property developer was coming to meet with him. An image of a short, middle-aged man with a Donald Trump hairstyle came to her mind, and she suppressed a giggle.

The visitor eventually arrived at the reception area. A Georgian house didn’t lend itself to the most efficient layout for an office. Trying to at least appear busy, Sophia pretended to save a document before turning to greet the man. She looked up, way up. Okay, so not short. And his black, slightly curly hair was brushed back from his face and bore absolutely no resemblance to Donald Trump’s. In fact, her fingers itched to run through it and release the curls further. His strong jaw and Roman nose looked like an advertisement for some amazing facial makeover. Dressed in a dark gray suit, he had an air of power. Even dressed more casually she was sure he would still have an aura of command.

This was no middle-aged specimen. The man standing before her was definitely in his prime. If he were a steer, he’d have AAA stamped on his left buttock, another image that left her battling the giggles. Until his dark eyes met hers, and all the air was sucked out of her lungs. He was so gorgeous, she clamped her lips together so she didn’t accidently drool on her keyboard.

“Luca Castellioni to see Walter Bodman.” His deep voice held only a hint of an Italian accent.

“Oh, yes, Mr. Castellioni. If you’d like to take a seat, I’ll let Mr. Bodman know you’re here.”

The guest smiled, as if distracted by a pleasant memory, and sat across the room in direct sight of her desk. Her suddenly nervous fingers had to twice dial the senior partner’s secretary, and her voice came out all breathless when she announced the visitor.

“Mr. Bodman is just finishing up a conference call. He’ll be down shortly.” At least she managed to sound a little normal.

The enigmatic visitor acknowledged her statement and picked up a magazine from the table next to him. But every time she looked up, he was staring at her rather than reading. He made no effort to look away, and it was Sophia who broke the eye contact each time. She was sure he could hear her heartbeat pounding from across the room. The more she tried to ignore his presence, the more acutely she became aware of his every movement.

Walter Bodman’s gruff voice booming across the room had never been so welcome. “Luca! Sorry to have kept you waiting. How wonderful to see you again. It’s been what—three years?”

“Five,” the Italian corrected. “You are doing well. Very nice offices … ” His voice trailed away as he followed his host.

A sharp stab of pain made Sophia aware she’d been clenching her toes. She kicked off her sensible ballerina flats and dreamed for a moment of the handsome Italian massaging her feet. There was no way she was going to be able to go back to her game of solitaire now.

Her mobile phone vibrated on the desk beside her. The bank was kindly advising that her account was now down to fourteen pounds fifty pence, and still six days to payday. With the tuition due for the next term of her interior design studies, her finances wouldn’t be much better even after she was paid.

She logged on to a job finder website, but there wasn’t much call for a receptionist with minimal experience and no real desire to do the job. And none paid more than what she was making now. Her desk phone buzzed, and she shut down the webpage. Might as well do the job she had, rather than worry about the one she couldn’t get.

An hour later Sophia was transcribing a letter one of the secretaries sent down when a shadow crossed her screen and the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. A hint of sandalwood and citrus tickled her nose. Looking up, she wasn’t surprised to see the Italian businessman standing at her desk.

“I look forward to seeing you tonight, Miss Stevens.”

“I … ah … I … how do you know my name?” She latched onto the first thing that came to mind while she tried to make sense of his words.

He pointed at the small plaque on her desk with her name inscribed. “Walter has invited me to the company party. I hope we will have the opportunity to talk. Until tonight … ” Turning on his heel, he strode from the room.

Why would a gorgeous Italian millionaire want to talk to me?
Her toes curled again.

• • •

Luca entered the marquee in St. James’s Square and searched for Walter. At least that’s what his brain told his eyes to look for. They decided to hunt down the blonde receptionist instead. She was beautiful. But he knew lots of beautiful women. Maybe it was the laughter in her green eyes or the way she’d tried not to notice him that intrigued him. Whatever it was, he couldn’t relax until he spotted her.

She stood twenty meters away, chatting with a couple of other women, a glass of champagne in her hand. Her simple black dress was elegant and alluring, hugging her curves rather than pushing them up for all to see. His pulse quickened, as it had when he had seen her in the office. Before he could approach her, Walter’s over-loud voice stopped him.

“Luca, glad you could join us. I want to introduce you to Chet Wilkins, an American business acquaintance. He’s scouting new locations for his boutique hotel chain. He’s looking for rural properties to turn into luxury spas where stressed executives can go to relax. But I’ll let him tell you all the requirements.”

Walter led him to a tall, thin man in his early sixties, standing beside a woman of similar age who was wearing too little dress and too much makeup. Luca glanced to where Sophia had been chatting, only to find she was no longer with the group of women. Forcing his mind back to business, he smiled at the American couple.

Thirty minutes later, his smile was strained and he shifted another couple centimeters away from Mrs. Leslie Wilkins. She stood so close, he was in danger of suffocating on her cloying perfume. And he was pretty damn sure it wasn’t by accident she kept brushing his thigh or backside with her hand. Her husband continued to drone on about the ideal properties he was looking for, completely ignoring his wife. Walter had excused himself ten minutes ago, so it was just the three of them, penned into a corner. A waiter passed and Leslie grabbed yet another glass of champagne.

“Luca, there you are. I wondered where you’d got to.” The sexy voice of Walter’s receptionist halted the glass halfway to the American woman’s lips. Sophia’s small hand slipped into his, and he gave it a squeeze of appreciation.

He glanced down at her upturned face and had to stop himself from bending down and kissing her slightly parted lips. Sophia did weird things to his self-control. He was probably in more danger from her than Leslie Wilkins. “My apologies,
amore
. Walter introduced me to Mr. and Mrs. Wilkins, and we got so engrossed in our conversation, I lost track of time. Leslie, Chet, do you know Sophia Stevens?”