Taught by the Tycoon (6 page)

“Here you are, Mr. Mantovani.” Lillian returned just then with a sleek gray bag.

“You’ve purchased a dress already?” Clearly stunned, Rachel now held her credit card in her hand as she glanced from him to the storeowner.

“I have.” He took the bag and draped it over his arm. “Shall we see about heels next?”

“I’m certain I have suitable shoes.” She shook her head. “I was going to pay for the dress myself, Damiano. I couldn’t possibly allow you to—”

“Consider it a work expense on the company account,” he interrupted briskly, urging her toward the exit with the hand he pressed on the small of her back. “You’re accompanying me tonight, by my request.”

Her frown deepened, and when she would have argued, he called out a farewell to Lillian and thanked her for her time and assistance.

As they stepped out of the shop and moved back toward the car, she gave him another concerned look.

“Damiano—”

“You worry too much, Rachel. What is a dress and shoes in the grand scheme of things?” He ushered her into the back of the Rolls Royce first, and then followed in behind her.

“It’s just a lot of money.” She sighed and crossed one leg over another, worrying her bottom lip.

“Not in my world. And if you want a glimpse into it, and how my woman—or
someone like me
—would be treated, consider this a front row seat.”

“I’m honestly not sure I’m cut out for this,” she muttered. “Maybe I should’ve just stuck to football players who work at Hollister.”

He laughed softly, amused at the extent she was taking this ruse. Why did she feel it necessary? While it was a bit confounding, he would certainly play along. At least for a bit longer.

Tonight, after the gala and they inevitably ended up in bed, then perhaps he’d call her bluff. He knew her mortification would be real, and could already imagine the guilty blush on her cheeks.

While taking a call from a client from Japan, he kept his gaze on Rachel, amused at the way she fretted over finding the most affordable pair of Prada heels.

Soon it was nearly noon and they’d finished their shopping. He felt confident she had everything she’d need to be his pseudo date this evening.

When dropping her back off at her apartment, he’d offered to send a makeup artist to help her this evening. Rachel had laughed it off, promising she knew how to paint her face when times called for it. He wasn’t sure if that was supposed to reassure him or not.

On the drive home, he tried to remember the last time he’d spent so much time in the company of a woman when it didn’t involve sex.

Breakfast in her apartment had been quiet and quaint—a relaxing oasis that he rarely experienced. And the shopping had been a task to check off the list. He usually wasn’t all that fond of shopping, even if his entire corporation was built upon the concept, but he had enjoyed watching Rachel model dresses maybe more than he should’ve.

He hadn’t wanted to leave her after dropping her off, even knowing that it would only be for six hours or so before their night out together began.

Shaking that disturbing thought from his head, he entered his penthouse apartment and headed straight for his laptop to check his email. Once work became his forefront, things became a bit more customary, and Rachel slipped to the back of his mind.

When he returned to her apartment that evening, his mind was still on business. A high-end department store was requesting that Mantovani Handbags design a bag that would be sold exclusively in their stores. Not standard, but perhaps it could be beneficial to both parties.

He knocked on Rachel’s door once, and then went about re-fastening a button on the cuff on his tux that had come undone. There was the sound of heels clicking before the door swung open.

The lust that rocketed through him hit like a sucker punch to the chest.

While he’d seen her try on the dress and heels separately, the two together was stunning. She was a vision of sensuality and delicate curves.

Her hair was once again up, but this time in some elaborate twist, with a few tendrils framing her face.

Her makeup looked just as amazing as any makeup artist he’d offered to send her way could’ve done. Her eyes were rimmed with a dark liner and a soft shadow, while her lashes were inky and impossibly long. Her lips seemed fuller with a layer of shimmery gloss on them. Gloss that he had the sudden urge to kiss away with his lips.

“Is the makeup too much?” She started to nibble on her bottom lip, then must’ve realized it would mess up her gloss, and stopped. “I can take some of it off. I haven’t worn this much since college when—”

“
Bellissima
. Don’t change a thing.” He stepped into the apartment and closed the door. “You look very beautiful, and your makeup is flawless.”

A self-conscious smile flickered across her face. “Thank you. I used to go clubbing and we were big on the dramatic eyes.”

Rachel clubbing? His brows rose as he struggled
not
to imagine her grinding against some guy in a club—maybe some football player who worked at Hollister, as she’d said.

No. That was not an image he enjoyed envisioning.

“I just need to grab my purse.” She turned on her heels to move back into the living room.

The back of her dress made his breath catch. Had it been cut so low earlier today? It lay open to the small of her back, showing soft looking skin and the delicate curve of her spine. It was a more sensual effect than had it been cut low in the front.

Unable to help himself, he followed her into the living room, and was just steps away when she turned around.

Her eyes widened in surprise.

“Lesson one,” he murmured. “You’re dating someone of my stature, and he arrives to take you out for the evening and finds you looking just as you do now.” He stepped closer, lifting his hand to touch the softness of her cheek. “You must consider the possibility that you may not make it out the door in a timely manner.”

Her lips parted and he heard the hitch in her breathing. “And why not?”

“You really need to ask?” His gaze dropped to her mouth. “He will likely strip you of your clothes and carry you to the bedroom.” He pressed his thumb to the softness of her bottom lip and smoothed the slickness of the gloss. “Or perhaps to the kitchen table.”

Was she even breathing now? He wondered. There was shock in her wide gaze and the pupils were dilated.

“Maybe even just quickly against the wall.” He lowered his voice and stroked her lip. Teasing just briefly into the wet cavern inside.

“Damiano,” she finally choked out, her chest rising raggedly.

His gaze slid briefly down to her breasts and saw the tips had hardened beneath the slinky fabric. There was no possible way to wear a bra beneath the dress. The urge came to bend his head and draw one nipple into his mouth, fabric and all.

She wouldn’t stop him. He knew this without a doubt. Already he could imagine her hands in his hair while he sucked on her.

But all in good time. And before he took her, he would hear her confess to the elaborate charade of pretending there was another man.

He removed his thumb from her cushiony lip and then slid his hands into the pockets of his tuxedo trousers.

“
That
is what you can expect from any red-blooded billionaire such as myself.” He gave a wry smile. “Though I believe any heterosexual man on the planet would have a similar response, whether rich or poor. Especially with the way you look tonight.”

Confusion flashed across her face and then comprehension. As if she just remembered the pretense she’d created.

“Lesson two,” he went on casually. “Don’t look at prices.”

Her cheeks went red. “I don’t—”

“You do. You searched for prices on the menu last night, as if they would magically appear at any moment, and did so while searching for shoes and dresses today.”

She slid her gaze away and didn’t deny it. “I have trouble spending that much money on things.”

“But a man such as myself will not hesitate to spend money on the woman in his bed.” He tilted his head slightly and gave her a gentle look. “We can easily afford to do so and often enjoy it. You please us in so many ways, and we in turn would like to find a way to please you. So I’d advise you to become comfortable with the practice.”

“There are more ways to please us than with money.”

“Yes, and I’m quite aware of those too,” he drawled lazily.

Her eyes widened. “That’s not what I meant.”

He couldn’t help but laugh. “I realize that. I was teasing. Do not fret the money bit.”

Still she looked anything but comfortable, and the realization charmed him more than it should’ve. The women he’d dated in the past had no qualms about him buying them gifts, or them spending his money. Some who’d been around past a few months had even asked for an allowance as if they were some child doing chores. Those relationships had ended quite quickly after.

“I suppose those are enough lessons for the moment.” He offered her his arm. “Shall we go?”

Rachel stared out the window as the Rolls Royce maneuvered through the streets of Manhattan.

Her heart rate was still about double what it should be, and her bottom lip still tingled from where Damiano had touched it. Even now, as she darted her tongue out to wet it, she swore she could almost taste the faint saltiness of him.

For a moment back at her apartment, she’d almost been convinced he was intent on seducing her. He’d stepped entirely too close and his voice had dropped an octave, all while describing taking her against a wall.

Of course he’d only been making the point of what might happen with Samuele. But she hadn’t been thinking of anyone else at that moment, she’d been thinking about Damiano. Her mind and body had come alive to the possibilities. To the
what ifs
.

Which was absolutely stupid. She knew better, so why was she letting her mind go there? It had been a lesson. Maybe a bit of an invasive lesson, but one nonetheless.

If there was one thing she was certain of, it was that Damiano had never been interested in her sexually. He would never blur that line between business and pleasure. Besides that, she was so far from his type it was almost funny.

The car slowed before coming to a stop.

“And here we are. I hope you’re not too nervous?” he asked, arching a brow.

“I’m a little bit,” she admitted with a small smile. “But I promise not to get sick on the other guests, if that’s what you mean.”

Shock flickered in his gaze for a moment, before the edges of his eyes crinkled in amusement.

“You will be fine,
Dolcezza
.”

Before she could ask him to translate that last word to English, the door was opened by his driver, and Damiano climbed out first.

He turned, offering his hand, and she curled her fingers around his and allowed herself to be helped from the car. The flash of a camera had her flinching, but it wasn’t too much of a surprise.

Not only was Damiano the name behind the super popular Mantovani handbags and luxury goods, but he was also one of New York’s most eligible bachelors. The cameras always came out when he attended social events, and she was well used to them. Though only from the viewpoint of the shadows, not on his arm.

His head dipped and he murmured near her ear, “We just have to pose for a few pictures on the carpet and then it will all be over. I promise the press will be more interested in what Beyoncé is wearing than you and I.”

It hit her then that they were literally walking down a red carpet. This wasn’t just some casual party, but one of those major galas that paparazzi frequented to critique dresses and couples.

Up ahead of them on the carpet she spotted Hollywood’s latest “It” actor, and her pulse quickened. Never had she felt more out of her element than she did now.

“Keep smiling and just be natural.” Damiano placed his hand on the small of her back. “Here we go.”

He stopped them a moment later in front of a line of cameras and the cameras went off in flurry.

“Who’s your date for the evening, Mr. Mantovani?” one called out.

“Who are you wearing, ma’am?” Another yelled.

Damiano only answered the question about her dress, and then waited a moment more before leading them inside the building.

“Not only did you survive, but you were perfect.” He led her into the open elevator straight ahead.

She grimaced. “If by perfect you mean keeping my mouth shut and not fainting, then, thank you?”

He laughed again. “You looked relaxed and beautiful.”

“Well, I’m not really sure on either of those, but again, thank you.”

The elevator stopped, and when the door opened the strings of an orchestra greeted her. As he moved them into the room, she took in her surroundings with a mixture of enchantment and dismay.

Everywhere she looked men were in tuxedos and women were in designer gowns. Waiters carried around trays with champagne and little food bites to nibble on. As one went by, Damiano procured them each a flute of champagne and she took hers gratefully.

She’d barely taken a sip when a stunning woman who appeared to be in her early fifties approached them.

“Damiano, it’s simply been forever,” she gushed.

All it took were those few words expelled on alcohol fumes, and the bright flushed cheeks, for Rachel to realize the woman was drunk.

“Angela.” Damiano nodded. “A pleasure to see you again. Is your husband with you this evening?”

“Oh he’s somewhere. No doubt trying to get lucky with one of the barely-legal Wall Street girls running around here tonight.”

It was a struggle not to laugh, or show any reaction, but Rachel managed to keep her expression neutral as she took another a sip of her champagne.

Damiano introduced them and she gave a murmur of hello and let them get back to their conversation. When the woman rushed off in a fume of alcohol to visit with someone else, Rachel couldn’t hold back her giggle.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t laugh,” she said, pressing her hand to her mouth to compose herself. “Who’s her husband?”