Chocolate and Italian Wine (Music and Mayhem Book 1) (5 page)

He licked his bottom lip in response to her statement and she wasn’t sure if that was a habit or a seductive move. Regardless, it was sexy as hell.

“Well, I’m very happy that you’re here,” he said. “So tell me, Karisma Montgomery, how does it feel to have one of the most famous faces on the planet? Having the press ridiculously follow you around the way they do? What is it like to be you?”

Karisma had heard that question a thousand times, but mostly from reporters. Not from someone like Paolo. She sensed that he didn’t have any angle other than getting to know her better. She thought about his question. “My life is extraordinary. And I mean that in a good way. But it’s unnatural in a way, despite being ordinary to me now. Does that make sense?” He looked at her and nodded that it did. “Right now, my phone is vibrating, and it has been since I walked in here. It’s usually Chris, but it could be my assistant, or my agent, or my parents, maybe my sister, it might even be Wolfe. And because everything’s going to voicemail, they’re probably all calling each other to find out what’s going on. I don’t get a lot of time to myself. And I have over a hundred million followers on Twitter. So, this lunch invitation is a treat, one that I am grateful for. Thank you for it.”

“You’re welcome,” Paolo said. He reached over for the bottle and grabbed Kari’s flute, ready to fill up her glass again.

“Oh, no more, thanks.”

“Don’t you like it?” he asked, his brow furrowed in concern.

“It’s wonderful. I’m just not a big drinker,” Kari replied.

“Fair enough,” he said. “So, how do you manage having over a hundred 
million
 followers on Twitter?”

“A PR firm helps,” Kari said, laughing, “but I do like to throw my own messages out there.”

“How do they know what’s from you?”

“Everything with a KM at the end shows it’s personal. I really appreciate my fans a lot and don’t ever want them to forget it.”

He whistled. “You’re a hard working young woman, Karisma.”

 “Yes, I work very hard, especially during awards season. We want to get nominated and we’ve been pretty blessed, but it makes for one chaotic schedule.” She gave him a wry smile. “Like I said, I’m grateful, but I do get tired.”

“I understand that. When do you take a real break? Time for just you?” Paolo asked.

“I don’t really have a break coming, not in the foreseeable future, anyway. We have a lot of appearances on talk shows, a few photo shoots, and some charity events over the next few weeks. Plus, we have a lot of rehearsals for when we go back out on tour next month.”

“Twelve weeks, right? Where to?” Paolo asked, leaning forward and trying to be as close to Kari as possible. He almost wished he’d sat next to her, not across from her.

“It's a European tour. We’re hitting just about all the major cities. We’ll be in Italy the middle of April.” She smiled that beautiful smile again and took a sip of her water. “Did I answer your question?”

“Yes,” he said with a charming, devilish grin. “You live an extraordinarily ordinary life which is quite unnaturally natural. I get it.”

The main entrée’s arrived and Kari was enjoying herself immensely, both the food and the company. She didn’t want the afternoon to end, but alas, it did.

It was clear that the two were attracted to each other, with easy flowing conversations and flirty undertones. “So, now, Mr. Montovani, what is this business proposition you wanted to ask me about?”

He smiled, remembering the excuse for asking her to the restaurant. “Aw, my proposition,” he said as he leaned back in the chair, crossing his long leg, “is to see if you would be willing to do a cameo on one of the new tunes Oliver the Poet is working on. It’s tailor made for your voice and when I heard it, I thought of you.”

“Just me, or Goldust?” she asked. 

“You. Unless you have a problem with appearing without them.”

“No, that’s not a problem. Who wrote it?” she asked.

“He did. He writes most of his music, it seems.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that. Okay, get it to me, I’ll listen to it and we can go from there. I’m not sure about your schedule, but it might be tough to get it to work out before the tour. And you realize, I don’t come cheap, right?” she teased with a raised eyebrow.

“Cheap is a word I’d never consider in reference to you, Miss Montgomery. Thank you for considering this. It’s a good song and I think you’ll like it, but first things first. You’ve got to hear the track, right?”

“Right,” Kari said softly, feeling disappointed that the business part didn’t take long at all. She’d wanted to stay there, enjoying this exciting new man, who would undoubtedly become a hot sought after commodity in a short time once everyone realized who he was, and what he looked like.

She took out a card from her small clutch and a pen and wrote her email and cell number on the back and handed it over to Paolo. “Okay,” she said with a shy smile.

He openly studied her. She looked away coyly. “What’s wrong?” He reached out and put his hand under her chin and her skin felt smooth and velvety.

“Nothing. I’m relaxed. Comfortable,” she said. “Well, I better go, before Wolfe comes looking.”

“Wolfe?” he said, scrunching his brows close. 

“My driver and bodyguard, the one that’s probably sitting out in the hallway with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face. He’s tough on the outside and excellent at what he does, but he does have a soft side, too,” she said, laughing gently. Then she picked up her phone to text Wolfe and was surprised to see that it was already 3:30 PM. She’d been there for over two hours.

Wolfe texted her back: 
I’ll start the car and meet you at the door.

“I didn’t walk you in, but let me walk you out,” Paolo said, standing up and walking over to Kari and helping to slide her chair back.

“I had a wonderful time,” she said.

He stopped before opening the door. Turning her toward him, he told her, “I enjoyed myself, as well.” 

Neither of them spoke and they stood still for a brief moment. The room was quiet except for the soft Italian music playing on the piped in system. She saw him swallow and his Adam’s apple bobbed. She looked up at his face.

“So, a month, huh?” he asked and she nodded, never taking her eyes off him. “Do you think you can fit me into your schedule?”

She couldn’t answer. She was too focused on the beautiful eyes that bore into her.

He leaned in and his lips brushed her forehead like they had when she got there, and then he leaned over to whisper in her ear. “You smell so good.”

She felt warmness in the pit of her stomach that radiated throughout her body. Nervously, she smiled and bit into her bottom lip. His sapphire eyes followed the movement and soon his head was lowering to her lips. His hand gently brushed her cheek and he looked into her eyes as if to make sure it was alright. When she looked at his lips, too, he crushed his mouth to hers. It wasn’t a hard kiss, actually, it was both slow and thoughtful. A full, open mouth kiss, that had her standing on her tip toes even in her platform heels. 

He brought her body flush to his as their mouths moved in a slow, circular course, her hands raised to his strong, muscular arms, while her body squirmed to get closer to his. Soon the kiss became urgent, and his hands cupped her face and cradled the back of her head. She was fully aware of him and of her response to him as she kissed him with the same passion. She was so overwhelmed, that her knees began to feel weak. 

His hands traveled down her back as he lightly stroked her there, going lower still, but stopping right above her sweet round butt. Allowing them to catch their breath, his forehead touched hers. Breathless, and with his heart racing, he looked at her face, touching her cheek again, and then moved in once more to taste her. He sucked her lower lip and traced it with his tongue.

By now, she was extremely aroused, and with his long, hard body pressed in to her the way it was, she knew that he was, too. Her arms went around his neck and he trapped her against the door. His tongue slid inside her mouth, licking her tongue, chasing it seductively, extorting from her a soft, sweet moan that made his stomach do flips. Slowly, reluctantly, the kiss ended. She felt lightheaded, and when he opened his eyes and connected with hers, she knew he saw that dreamy look on her face, as she was pretty certain it was similar to the look he wore.

“So, can you fit me into your schedule?” he whispered huskily. 

She nodded, still unable to speak.

“Bene,” he said, stroking her face.

Then she heard Wolfe’s voice in the hallway. It was time to go. Hopefully she could walk out with some composure because she felt like her legs were going to give out on her.

4

Karisma heard the alarm go off and she rolled over, yawning deeply and wanting to put her lustrous silk sheets over her head. Wait! What time was it? She jumped up, hearing people meandering about out in her hallway. Confused and alarmed, her eyes opened wide and looked around the dark room. What was going on?

The digital clock blinked to 2:15. Had she been dreaming? Karisma sat up in bed, still disoriented, and listened. The alarm still blared, and she now heard voices coming near her room. She jumped when someone knocked loudly.

“Karisma!” It was Amani Mohammad, her head of security. 

“What’s going on, Amani?” she yelled back, jumping from the bed to snatch her robe and open the door. 

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, what's going on?” she repeated nervously.

“Looks like someone tripped the system. We’re checking it out now.” 

Amani was one of a team of security personnel that included Wolfe, Omar Shabazz, and Jamil Odebo. They were contracted and hired through the Fruit of Islam, the paramilitary wing of the Nation of Islam. They were highly trained guards who watched over Karisma wherever she went in the world. They were loyal and made sure no one got too close. All four men were large and extremely intimidating. A hard look from any one of them had sent many an overzealous fan scurrying off in the opposite direction. They didn’t play. 

Amani London changed his name to Amani Mohammad eleven years ago when he converted to the “Nation.” After several run-ins with the law, he began to feel as though his life was going in a direction that would lead him only two places: dead or in jail. He decided to change before it was too late. Karisma admired that about him and seeing his concern, made her concerned. He was the best.

He looked down into Karisma’s frightened eyes as she stared back at him. “Should I lock myself in here, or what?” she asked him, her voice hitching slightly.

“For now,” he replied. “Close your door, lock it, and keep the lights out. You’re not here. The cops are on the way.”

She nodded her head and stepped back and then glanced down at the ground. She noticed a chipped bit of polish on her toenail. It was ridiculous, but she did. She felt suddenly anxious. What if it was Ray?

Amani noticed Kari’s concern. “We’re looking at the cameras, Karisma, don’t worry. We’ll find out what happened. I’ll let you know what’s going on. Now lock the door and stay quiet, okay?”

“Okay.” She listened to him like he was her parent. What was the point of having the best if you didn’t listen to them?

She was tempted to sneak to her window and look out, but knew that wasn’t wise. Plus, what if the Paparazzi were lurking around out there somewhere. You just never knew. Then she heard some car doors and couldn’t resist looking outside. It was a huge home, who would see her if she just peeked?

Two squad cars from the LAPD were getting out by the front entrance. Amani was already out there and starting to talk with a short, well built Latino officer. Karisma wanted to know what they were saying and what was going on.

Knock, knock
. There were two soft taps on her door that scared her and made her jump. Her arm flung around and accidentally toppled over a photograph.

“Kari, are you alright? Open up, it’s me, Stella.”

She went over to the door and unlocked it and Stella came in.

“Did someone really try to break in?” Kari asked.

“I’m not sure, but I tink so,” Stella stated, trying to hide the fact that she was nervous. Kari knew her too well to not know what she was up to. Stella put a protective arm around Karisma’s shoulders and squeezed. Giving the young woman a firm pat to the arm, she released her and sat on the small sofa near the door.

“I hope everything’s okay,” Karisma said, feeling like a helpless prisoner.

“Dey know what’s best. Dat’s why ya pay em da big bucks.” Karisma nodded and walked back to the French doors. She started to open the curtain again, but Stella stopped her.

“No, no, girl, dey might see da curtain open. The cameramen might be dere too. You not here, remember,” Stella scolded. 

“Yeah, you’re right,” Kari conceded.  

“You okay?” Stella asked. 

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Karisma said with a sigh. “I suppose this will make the news.”

“It always does, ey?” Stella replied.

“Yeah, it always does,” she answered softly.

                                           ***

Sleep didn’t come easy for the rest of that night. They’d found nothing to indicate why the alarms had gone off. By 6 AM her phone was ringing. First, she had to reassure her parents that she hadn’t been held for ransom in her own home and that she was unharmed. They wanted her to go and spend a few days with them—something that wasn’t an option considering her schedule. Then, most of the band had called to inquire about the news report. So had her agent, and other well-meaning friends. And Sierra was keeping the press at bay. While speaking to Karla her phone beeped. Looking at it, her heart skipped a beat. She saw the caller ID said, 
P Montovani
. Excited, she gushed, “Oh my gawd! Karla, I need to call you back. I have another call.” 

“Wait…” Karla began to protest but Kari ended the call, eager to get to the new one.

Karisma cleared her throat and touched the screen. “Hello?” she answered, trying to keep the enthusiasm from her voice. 

“Buongiorno, Karisma,” Paolo said, slow and sexy. “It’s Paolo. Did I wake you? Or were you already up from the excitement?” 

She felt herself smile widely. “Buongiorno, Paolo. It certainly has been an exciting morning, and I’ve been up a while,” she replied in her own version of sexy.

Then his sexy voice became masculine, surly, and authoritative. “Are you okay, Kari? Someone actually tried to break into your home? Or did they just get onto the estate?” 

“I’m fine, Paolo. I was inside and safe in bed. We're not sure just what happened yet.”

“Oh? The reports said you weren't at home.”

“Yeah, my security didn’t want me to have to talk to police,” she said. “Our secret, right?” She was talking to him like she could trust him—dangerous territory.

“Ah, I see. Yes, our secret,” he said. “So your security is top notch?”

“Definitely. They’re Fruit of Islam.” No more needed to be said. They had a reputation.

“Really? You have the Fruit of Islam on your payroll? They’re excellent. Very well trained. What do they say about the breach?”

“Only that there’s no evidence of anyone approaching the grounds. But something set off the alarm, so we’ll see,” she sighed.

“Well, I’m happy to know that you’re okay. You were on my mind,” he said, bringing the sexy back.

“Was I?” she asked, definitely liking the thought of that.

“Oh, yeah,” he said huskily. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since I tasted you for lunch.”

Her eyes widened at his bold statement, and she squirmed in her seated position on the mattress. She loved his voice and his words. He was so sexy that she had to bite her lip. “You’re pretty unforgettable, yourself, Mr. Montovani.”

“Good,” he said. “I don’t want you to forget me.”
Ever
, he thought. “What are you doing today, sweetheart? May I intrude on your time?” 

Smooth, 
she thought.
I might be in trouble.
 Raising her brow, she purred, “After my photo shoot, I’m all yours.” 

“Did you get to listen to the track?” he asked.

“Let’s talk about it when I get there,” she cooed, wanting to add some suspense.

“I'm going to hold you to that, the talk and you being all mine,” he said. “Does 9:00 work?”

“Make it 10:00, just to make sure the photo shoot is wrapped up,” she said.

“10:00 it is. Can I pick you up at your home?”

“Yes, that'll work, Mr. Montovani.” Then she thought about it and asked, “Should I dress casually?”

Not expecting the question, he asked, “Was there something you wanted to do in particular? Someplace you want to go? We could stay in if you’d like. Your wish is my command.”

                               ***

Paolo stepped off the elevator onto the fifth floor of FutureShock Records, where his office was. The record company’s headquarters was on Hollywood and Gower, not far from his restaurant. Paolo liked Hollywood, the vitality of the people and the creative energy that was in the air. It suited him well and he was glad to be a part of it. This record business was one that gave him pleasure. Some of the others, not so much. The Montovani empire had been growing by epic proportions for years, but had become titanic once the family had been able to secure its fortune in marijuana. Raffaelo, with his pupil Paolo at his knee, had spent tireless days and nights behind the scenes working with lobbyists and being one of the driving forces in getting California legislators to approve medicinal marijuana. Judges were paid off and lawmakers were befriended in the long fight for California to pass its cannabis laws and for the Montovanis to be able to legally plant their cannabis plants alongside the grape vineyards in Napa. Along with the other, mostly illegal activities they had dealings in, the Montovanis had amassed such fabulous wealth, that they had become arguably the most powerful family in the Calabrian Mafia.

He walked through the glass doors. A futuristic silver-toned 3D logo, emblazoned with the name of the record company and sizzling electrical shocks popping, leaped out from the wall. The front desk receptionist greeted him first and he said hello. He kept walking until he reached his secretary, Willa, a tall, 30ish, rail thin blond with pale blue eyes and thin lips. She was waiting by her desk with a coffee mug and a wide smile.

“Good morning, Mr. Montovani. Ready for your coffee?” she asked with the mug suspended in mid air, smiling at him in the way that women smile at handsome men. He knew she had a crush on him. Hell, all the women in the building noticed him. Today Willa wore a navy pencil skirt and a champagne colored long sleeved silk blouse. She wore her thick straw like hair shoulder length and bluntly cut, with a side part. As she took a few steps toward him in her three inch navy pumps, he noticed she walked with an unsteady gait as if the shoes she had on were new and not yet broken in. 

He smiled at her. “Good morning, Willa,” he said, taking the cup of coffee from her hand. “Give me five minutes, please.”

“Your father called. He’d like you to call him before noon our time,” she said, still standing there and smiling.

“Very well,” he said as he walked into his office and closed the door.

Paolo moved in behind the large ebony desk that sat in front of a massive window. On clear, sunny days like this, he could see the Santa Monica Mountains in their brilliant glory. He liked the way the sun danced off of them, bringing him a sense of contentment that helped him focus.

He looked around his plush, elegantly decorated office. Nearly everything, with the exception of his walnut desk, was lightly colored. The walls were white. He had poster sized black and white photos of his family covering that wall which he called the Montovani Wall of Fame.

Setting his briefcase on his desk, he thought about his Uncle Carlo who gave him the leather case when he left for college. His Uncle Carlo was his father’s youngest brother. He had been married three times to women who were all half sisters. All together, they’d given birth to his seventeen children. His father thought that Carlo was a clown, because of this, but Paolo knew better. And silently, so did Raffaelo. Carlo was fierce, fearless, and loyal to the core. He was a man that Paolo, as well as his father, could always depend on.

Sitting in his oversized swivel chair with the high back, Paolo twirled back and forth as he glanced at the portraits of his family members. Looking away, his thoughts centered on Karisma. He wanted her, but he would go as slow as she needed him to. He didn’t want to frighten her with his desires so soon. He was completely taken with her. He’d be remiss not to acknowledge that she frightened him, too. After all, he had bought a whole record label to get close to her. Everything about her turned him on, but, damn, that face, that body. He shifted in his seat. She was a dream, the whole package. “It’s going to be a long day until I see her,” he mumbled.

With a sigh, he picked up the phone and dialed his father, knowing just how impatient a man Raffaelo Montovani, Sr. was. If he’d called thirty minutes ago, Paolo knew he was pushing his father’s patience to its limit.

“Ciao, Figlio,” Raffaelo said, not hiding his annoyance with his middle son.

“Ciao, Papa,” Paolo replied.

“Happy to see that you could take time out of your busy life to return your father’s call. The corporate raider forgets his roots,” Raffaelo said, switching to a voice thick with a sarcasm that only Raffaelo, Sr. could pull off.

Paolo shifted in his seat and loosened his tie, not willing to enter into an argument with his father.

“I just got in, Papa. I phoned as soon as I got your message,” he answered. 

“I hear that you lunched with a movie star yesterday,” he said, “that brown skinned girl that sings so beautifully. What's her name?”