My Italian Billionaire: A BWWM Italian Billionaire Romance (14 page)

"Happiness? Is that what you are, Lucca? Because it doesn't seem that way to me. You're desperate yourself and lonely, and you and I both know that loneliness will drive you to another woman. You can't stand being single, can you? It'll eat you up inside."

"I can't afford time to be single," he growled. "The stipulation, my birthday—"

"You don't even know who you are as a single man, do you? What's the longest stretch of time you've gone without a woman in your life, in your bed? A week? A day?"

"Don't presume to know me."

"Funny. Aren't you doing the same thing to me?" She rushed to the door and opened it.

His large hand reached high above her to slam it shut again.

Megan jerked around. "Let me leave."

"After this."

The kiss he stole from her was unlike any of their previous ones. Now she understood what he meant about fire and smoke and heat. Her body burned from his touch, as if he was branding her, and all she could do was fight him back, fire and fire.
We're the same,
she realized,
despite our differences.

But even so, everything she had said was true. And as she broke off the kiss and walked the long, lonely way back to her place—then changed direction and headed for Julie's instead—she reflected that everything he had said about her need for control was true too.

Maybe it had been wrong or even foolish to push him away, but she had to know if she was just another conquest. If he could handle being alone for a little bit and figuring out who he was when it was just him, then maybe he could handle the true relationship he claimed to be desperately looking for.

That night, she and Julie got very drunk and her alcohol-infused dreams warred between amazing dreams of her not having sex with Lucca but making love to him, and dreams of him having woman after woman after woman.

She woke up both wet and crying.

She was broken, but she would not break. Not even for Lucca Greccio.

Chapter Nineteen: Crippling Loneliness

For a week now, Lucca had been a hermit. He ate all of his meals at home and even worked from there, through emails and phone calls and skyping.

He hated it.

But Megan…

She had wanted him to figure out who he was, just him as a person. He had to admit he didn't know who he was if he was separated from his playboy persona. She had said the words out of anger, but they had hit a nerve—he hadn't been without a girlfriend since he'd turned thirteen.

But just because he wasn't dating anyone didn't mean he had to become a recluse.

A knock sounded at the door, and Paul strolled in. "My Labor Day party is in two days. You still have a date for it?"

Already? He'd been a Halloween baby.
Two months.
All the time he had left.

"If you don't mind my saying so, you look like crap."

"Geez, thanks," Lucca said dryly.

"What the hell happened? You sounded like a space cadet when we last talked. Been avoiding my calls so I assumed you were still on cloud nine with that chick you were with, but now that I'm here, I don't see her, and you look and smell like a bum…"

"You really know how to kick a guy when he's down."

"Who can bring down the mighty Lucca Greccio?"

Who indeed. Megan had wanted him to find himself, but that wasn't why he turned to say to Paul, "You and me. Golfing. Tomorrow."

It was for himself.

"That's more like it." Paul grinned. "What about tonight? After a shower and shave that is."

Lucca grimaced. "I'm not that disgusting." He rubbed his chin. Okay, so maybe he really did need to shave.

"Dinner out then dancing. How's that sound?"

"Good to me."

Lucca took a long shower, and some of his stress and tension washed down the drain. Tonight, he was just going to have fun. Wasn't looking for anyone to spend time with, just his friend. And if Paul should find someone to shack up with, so be it. He could stay and dance or go to a bar and have a few drinks or just go out for a stroll… Whatever he wanted.

It felt freeing.

And God knew he needed to feel free right now, what with the stipulation hanging over his head.

Free to be me.

Chapter Twenty: Progress

Megan bit her lower lip. "Do you like it?"

"What is this sauce?" Her new boss, Louis Weaver, wrinkled his nose as he took another bite. He had some size to him, his love of food evident in his belly. If he had a beard and white hair, he'd make an amazing mall Santa, not that Megan would ever dare to tell him that.

"One of my own creation. I thought it might give the sandwich a little more zest."

"Zest is the word for it. But not everyone likes zest." He frowned and pointed to another bowl. "And what's this?"

"Something I whipped up last night."

"The customer didn't order dessert."

"I know. I made way too much so I thought we could give it away as a bonus."

"A bonus. Heh. You start to give out freebies and everyone expects one."

She pulled out a side plate. "I saved one for you."

Staring at the chocolate square with disdain, he broke off a small piece and chewed it thoroughly. "Hm. Tastes like an Oreo almost."

"Good! That's what I was going for. Kinda of a spiced cream brownie. There's cream and—"

"Is that nutmeg? And clover? Hm." Weaver shoved the rest of the brownie into his mouth.

"So you like it?" She held her breath.

He nodded, but his grimace grew.

"What's wrong? If we can't give it away, that's fine. I just didn't want them to go to waste…" She hadn't been able to sleep. Not after she'd seen TV footage of Lucca out and about at a wild party. She immediately turned it off. Didn't want to know if he had found another woman. She had been the one to push him away. Set him free and all that. If he came back to her, it was supposed to be love, right? Wasn't that how the saying went?

Baking had always calmed her so she'd started mixing ingredients together and this was the product of her labor. She'd tasted a fair amount to know she liked the mix of spices and cream and brownie, but then again, she liked anything chocolate so she wasn't an impartial judge.

"It's good. Great even." He mumbled something under his breath.

"What is it?" She bit her lower lip. She needed this job. Her mom had called a few days ago and said she and her father were thinking about going to the city and could they possibly stop by? It would look like her life was complete and steady if she had her own place.

"You. Your kind." He practically spat. "You won't be working here for long."

"Excuse me?" What was he talking about?

"The real cooks, the real chefs, they're always creating, always bettering themselves. Always trying something new. I know you're type. You'll stay here, working under me only long enough to learn how to run a business and then open your own catering business. Or you'll be snatched up by a new restaurant and become a star. You'll forget all about old Louis."

"I…" She didn't even know what to say.

"Just pack up the food."

"All of it?"

He picked the crumbs from his plate and popped them into his mouth. "Yes, including the dessert. You'll ruin me," he mumbled as he walked away.

She'd just finished boxing the last of the sandwiches when he returned.

"Ah, Megan…"

She already knew that tone. She forced her lips into a smile. "What can I do for you?"

"Miguel, our driver, he just called out sick. Would you come with me for the drop off? This client has their own wait staff. What do you say?"

"Sure thing." What else could she say?

Louis talked the entire drive, complaining about his wife, his kids, his weight, but it was all in good fun. He was a complainer, she had noticed that when he'd interviewed her, but he seemed like a good man.
Maybe a bit delusional to think I could own my own catering company one day.
Catering wasn't her goal. It was a stopgap. But could he be right that she could really use this as a stepping stone to get to a bigger restaurant? She could only hope.

Her heartbeat quickened as they pulled up in the back of G. Tech Incorporated. Lucca's company had hired the caterers before she'd signed on. There was no way she'd run into him down here.

And she didn't. She helped Louis unload the trays they and Louis's nine other employees had prepared. "A real up and coming caterer," he'd boasted, and if he'd landed his gig, he had nothing to complain about on that front.

They had just taken the last trays out of the back of the delivery truck when a man dressed all in black approached. "I have a big favor to ask." He glanced around. "Is it just the two of you?"

Louis puffed out his chest. "Yes. What do you need?"

"We're short on wait staff, and we're willing to pay if you'll step in. We have extra uniforms you can change into."

Her boss glanced at her and then nodded. "We'll do it. I'm short staffed myself today. It happens."

And that's how Megan found herself in black pants and a black collared shirt, serving men in tuxes and fancy suits and women dripping in diamonds. Not a soul did she recognize until she spied him. Lucca. He looked even more dashing than she remembered. A pinstripe suit brought out his dark eyes, but his grimace almost ruined his appearance. "Georgia, how many times do I have to tell you? I'm with someone."

Megan's throat grew tight. He wasn't coming back to her. She had set him free, and he'd found someone else. Of course he had. Why was she surprised?

He glanced over, and their gazes connected.

"Georgia." Lucca was grinning now. "Here she is now. Megan, will you come over please?"

What was he talking about? She carefully balanced the tray on her shoulder and approached the couple. They looked good together, she thought sourly. Her mental picture of Georgia hadn't been too far off.

Lucca wrapped his arm around Megan's waist.

Georgia's eyes bulged. "You're dating the wait staff?" she all but shrieked.

"Actually, I'm with the catering company," Megan corrected sweetly.

"I don't understand. How can you pick her over me?"

"Easy." Lucca kissed Megan's cheek. "I had no idea you would be here now," he whispered in her ear, "but it saves me from going straight to your place after this fundraiser is over."

"Or maybe not." She smiled slyly at him.

"You're right. We haven't christened any of the rooms in my house yet." He straightened.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Georgia stomp off. "You found yourself?"

"I did. And I would rather be an ordinary millionaire than anything else. Megan, I think I can grow to love you one day."

Her heart felt full, nearly to bursting. "I am here to work, and so are you. We can talk later."

"Yes." His eyes were hooded as his gaze wandered over her body. Her borrowed clothes were tight, and she was constantly checking to make sure a button over her breasts hadn't come undone. "Can't I have a kiss first?"

"Really, now. I know the company will be yours one day, but you don't want people to start talking, do you?" And she sauntered away, swaying her hips purposely.

Things were looking up.

The fundraiser lasted for hours. After the last guests trickled out, Louis walked over to Megan. "Ready to go?"

"Actually…" She spied Lucca, who was talking to his secretary. He'd found time to introduce her to some of his coworkers, which astounded her. He didn't care that she was filling in for the wait staff. And his voice, his tone—he was proud to show her off. He was proud of
her
. It made her tingle just thinking about it.

He followed her gaze. "If you don't need me, I'm leaving. The missus isn't going to be happy about me coming home so late. Maybe I'll stop and grab her some flowers on the way home."

"You're sweet."

Louis grimaced. "Sweet's not a word she ever used to describe me. I'll see you tomorrow." He walked away.

Lucca approached. "My place or yours?"

"Doesn't matter to me. I just need to quick change my clothes." When she returned, he was waiting on her, and he brought her to the limo she'd seen at his place.

She hesitated.

"It's just like any other car," he whispered. "It won't bite, but me… that I can't promise." His breath on the back of her neck made her shiver.

The chauffer or butler or driver—whoever he was—didn't pay them any attention, and Megan didn't pay him any mind either. Not with Lucca kissing her and holding her again. Not with his hand slipping down her shirt to pinch a tightened nipple. Not when his other hand reached down her pants to her wetness. Biting her lip only muffled her moans. He had her between his legs and refused to allow her to touch him except for her arms reaching up and over to clasp around his neck or to touch his face. He was hers. He had come back to her. Against all odds, he had picked her.