Lonzo: Book 1 (Tycoon Series Book 1) (15 page)

“Have you’ve been listening at all?” she bit out as she struggled to get out of his arms. “Get your hands off me!”

“I’ll get to the bottom of this.”

“I’m done defending myself. Could you let me go now? I really need my arm back,” she retorted sarcastically.

He paused.

She eyed him with scorn. “What? You’re going to apologize now? Don’t bother.”

He didn’t reply. Nor did he remove his possessive hold around her waist. She felt trapped. She couldn’t look away from his dark gaze but she would not back down from this bully.

The clink of wine glasses from the guests broke through the brewing storm between them.

She gave him a pointed look. “That’s the cue for us to do our duties. Time for your best man speech.”

He huffed. “We’re not done here.”

“We are. Unhand me. Now.”

“We’ll talk after I’m done with my fucking speech.”

“I can’t. Maid-of-honor duties. Have to serve some cake,” she said curtly.

“Let the other bridesmaids do it,” he declared.

Her blood pressure shot up again.

Why can’t she stop herself from reacting back? “I came here for my bestfriend, not for you—”

“And how many “duties” do you have to slave for tonight?”

“None of your business. And don’t call it enslavement…I’m doing this out of love for Mel. Something you obviously don’t understand.”

“I’ll see you afterward.” His voice was calm but the underlying hardness brooked no further argument.

“No you won’t. We’re done with our duty dance. This conversation is over,” she said defiantly before finally wiggling out of his grasp.

Or so she thought…before his hand prevented her from getting away.

“Not so fast—”

Her legendary patience was wearing thin. “Back to caveman tactics again?” she snapped, eyeing his hand before looking up at his face with as much disdain as she could muster. “I can sue you for this, you know.”

He grinned devilishly.

“We’re not done dancing, cara. Stop fooling yourself. We have so much rhythm. In the dance floor and in the bedroom.”

“What happened this morning was a one-time thing. I’m over it. Run off and harass someone else.”

“I’ll be the one to decide when it’s over, not you,” he said softly. “You owe me.”

She had never been propositioned and insulted in the same breath! Bastard! She fumed.

No point in losing her temper over this jackass, she thought, it would only empower him.

She drew a deep breath to calm herself, hiding behind her façade of nonchalance, something she perfected over these years.

Don’t let him see any of your weakness.

With cool fingers and an equally polite smile on her lips, she removed his hand from her arm as if it was an irritating insect.

He finally let her go. He had to. The emcee was calling his name for the toast.

But she had to have the last say in this.

“You’re right…I suppose I did owe you a thank you. So, thank you from the bottom of my gold-digging heart. I got rid of my cumbersome and embarrassing “state” thanks to your technique and expertise. Now I can finally move on and expand my “worldly” knowledge,” she fired back with all the confidence she had mastered in front of the camera.

The surprise on his face was worth it. He gaped at her. Or something close to it.

“One more thing…I hope you didn’t believe what the press wrote about me…that I believe in marriage and that “no premarital sex” stuff,” she continued, her voice saccharine with every word. “Oh, you did? You have to admit it’s a PR coup,” she added with her best fake smile. She was on a roll.

He remained silent as he scanned her body before settling on her face.

How does he do that?
She asked herself. Make her skin overheat with just a look.

“I was bored and I got misquoted. I’ve been planning to get rid of my v-card and you came along or rather, I woke up in your bed. Details are still hazy as to how that happened but who cares anymore? The deed is done. So…
grazie
. I hope I was able to fulfill your “virgin” fantasy. That will make us even. I don’t owe you anything. After all, you got the real thing,” she said flippantly before walking away.

She felt his eyes burning through her back but she didn’t dare turn.

One thing was certain. He would never be on her Christmas card list.

He was blindsided after the bitch
admitted that she used him to get rid of her v-card. She was no different from the rest. Not worth his time or attention.

He should have lost interest. Instead, it was stoked. He was enraged. How dare she use him like a stud?

His anger simmered. He was unsure as to how he managed to deliver his best man toast. Must’ve been okay because the guests laughed and gave him encouragement and applause.

“I thought you’re immune to supermodels,” Rocco reminded dryly.

“Shut it,” he replied, shooting his friend with an annoyed look.

The groom laughed. “Getting hormonal?”

He flipped his friend as he continued to stalk her with his eyes. She was ignoring him, pretending he was invisible.

It didn’t matter. He’d make sure she’d focus her entire attention on him after the reception, he thought.

So he was nothing but a stud to her…then she’d get what she wished for. He would fuck her brains out.

His lips thinned when he saw her run into the arms of a good-looking man who had just arrived.

“Who is he?” he asked Rocco, nudging his head in the direction of the latecomer. He gritted his teeth when he saw Jordana kiss the guy on the cheek before whispering something in the other guy’s ear with a familiarity that was hard not to notice.

She just lost her virginity to him this morning. Twelve hours later, the little houri was squishing her famous set of twins at another man.

He was more than tempted to throttle and kiss her at the same time.

He stood up to snatch her away from the arms of the newcomer when his phone rang.

He scowled. It was Pietro’s number, one of his VPs.

“This better be good, Pietro—” he barked.

“Sorry for the interruption, boss but there has been an accident. Your Thio Fredo—”

His heart banged against his chest.

“What happened?” he anxiously asked.

“Mild stroke. Luckily, the helpers were around when he collapsed. We flew him to Rome for medical attention,” Pietro reported.

“Is he alright?” he asked next.

“It was a close call but his attending doctors said he’s stable.”

He sagged with relief.

Frederico Vitale or Thio Fredo was his only remaining blood relative, this late father’s only sibling. Thio Fredo single-handedly raised him. He was the only one apart from Rocco who believed in him and his big dreams. His uncle mortgaged his small vineyard on top of his lifesavings to provide him with enough capital to jump-start his first business venture. Out of gratitude and sense of family, he gave his uncle a thirty-five percent stake at Vitale Internacionale. Thio Fredo may have chosen not to get himself involved in VI, but those shares were now worth several billion euros.

He asked Pietro for the name of the hospital. He instructed his trusted man to get the best doctors on board. He ended the call, still feeling worried.

Thio Fredo was a simple man. A childless widower, he remarked that his life force was connected to the land that he tilled which produced the high quality wines that Vino Vitale, their vintage, was known for. At sixty-seven, he showed no signs of slowing down or enjoying the life of a very rich man. Instead of traveling, he preferred to stay in his mountain hideaway with mountain goats for company.

He knew he would lose his uncle someday, but not today.

He felt conflicted whether to stay or drive like a madman back to Rome.

His eyes drifted back to the vixen.

She was openly laughing, kissing the stranger on both cheeks before she led the guy toward the newly-married couple. Mel obviously knew the man and almost leapt to embrace the guy like a long-lost friend.

He saw Rocco’s brows meet. Obviously his pal didn’t like the idea of his wife within thirty feet of any male, friend or not.

Their gaze finally met again. Electricity crackled in spite of the distance separating them. She raised her chin challengingly before cutting him off by smiling sweetly at the guy beside her.

He was incensed. The desire to walk, drag and bed her until she couldn’t walk for a week was so strong that he had to physically battle himself not to.

Why the fuck did she affect him this much? She was very beautiful but so were the other women he had in the past. He knew she was mercenary like the rest of them but that hardly put a dent to his interest.

The idea that he had lost power over his compulsion and urges infuriated him.

She made him weak.

His sneered at himself.

But his uncle was lying in a hospital. He was needed there. Family came first.

Jordana Almueda was just a woman. He can forget her in the arms of his readily-available mistresses.

Jordana’s nerves were shot.
Not even the presence of Leandro, who surprised Mel and her by flying from NYC could make her relax. She was so tense that he commented on it earlier. She shrugged and didn’t answer.

Her stress levels went up when she saw Lonzo approach but he walked past her to go straight to Rocco and Mel. She heard him congratulate the couple and then apologized that he had to leave due to an emergency. She wasn’t able to catch the rest because he switched to Italian.

Obviously the man didn’t want her to understand, knowing she could hear. As if she was interested!

Rocco and Mel hugged him and he turned to leave.

Lonzo glanced at her briefly. It was so brief, just mere seconds, but it was intense enough to undermine her pseudo-calm state.

She realized she was holding her breath.

“Dana? You okay?” Leandro asked, his gaze switching between her face and Lonzo’s departing back. “You know him?”

Knew him? Yes, in the biblical sense.

“Not really. I mean, I just met him today. He’s the bestman, Rocco’s bestfriend,” she replied, trying to sound casual but it came out evasive even to her own ears.

The tension that she constantly felt throughout the day slowly seeped out of her, especially when she heard the departing rumble of Lonzo’s supercar.

Leandro knew her too well. He gave her a quizzing look but decided not to push her for answers, which she appreciated. After everything that had happened, she wasn’t in the mood to give out answers.

As for Lonzo, it was best to simply forget what had transpired between them. Lock it at the attic of her mind, where all her bad memories stayed dormant.

He was bad for her.

But why she did she feel so bleak all of a sudden?

Chapter Nine

LANCASTER HOTEL, PARIS

SEVERAL WEEKS LATER

Jordana had just stepped out from a long, reviving bath.
She had also washed her long, brown hair from what seemed like a ton of industrial-strength hair products and was now held in a topknot above her head.

God, what a long day! She was bone tired, her arms felt leaden as she put on the terrycloth robe supplied by the hotel.

It was the last night of the Paris Fashion Week and she was glad that it was over. She would have at least a two-week reprieve from demanding designers, fashion-obsessed stylists, volatile editors and most especially, she would be able to avoid several models who were prime examples of egos in couture.

She was looking forward to some downtime to enjoy the sights and play tourist. Maybe she could outwit the shutterbugs and walk to see Arc de Triomphe, the Eiffel Tower, and Champs Elysees before hopping on the next trans-Atlantic flight to NYC the day after next.

It had been raining for several days but even the dreadful weather cannot take the magic out of the Parisian air. She was simply in love with this city, its cafés, chic people and the its awesome culture. The only downside was that the place, like Milan and London, was swarming with paparazzi. Thankfully, she had perfected the art of ignoring their presence by schooling her features into a blank expression during run-ins. But the rudeness of several, really determined paparazzo could still prick her veneer of indifference every now and then.

Three weeks had passed since Mel’s wedding. Her bestfriend emailed her a few days ago while en route to her honeymoon destination—Machu Picchu high up in the mountains of Lima, Peru. She wrote that the ancient ruins were terrific and promised to send pictures in her next email. And oh, Rocco said hi.

Leandro, on the other hand, left Italy the day following Mel’s wedding reception, after he received an urgent call. He seemed very troubled over something.