Sweet on You (9 page)

"Someone probably should," he agreed, "but it's not going to be me."

"Me either." She stretched overhead to tangle her floury fingers in his hair.

He liked it—the messier, the better. He slid his hand lower into her pants, until his longest finger found what he was looking for.

Her head fell back and she cried out.

His mouth next to her ear, he whispered to her. "I like how open you are to me. You're so wet, and I've barely touched you."

"I have a weakness for bastards."

"Then I'm happy I'm one." He rubbed his finger over the spot that had her panting.

She squirmed in his arms. "I'm not going to be able to hold out."

"I don't want you to. I want to feel you to writhe in my arms. I want you to fall apart. To scream."

She cried out again, and he could feel her losing control of her body. He kept the pressure on her sensitive parts constant, deliberate, knowing by the way she undulated under his touch that the waves of ecstasy were building, ready to crash over her.

"Now, Daniela," he commanded.

And she came—hard and without cease, over and over, calling out his name.

He loved hearing her cry his name.

He held her there, wrapped around her, keeping her grounded and safe, giving her a place to come back to. He was crazy with lust and the need to be inside her. But it was too much, too soon, so when he felt her limbs regain their strength, he righted her clothing and detached himself from her.

As she refastened her hair onto her head, she looked him in the eye. "Don't think that just because you gave me an orgasm that I'm going to stop my bid for the property."

"I'd be disappointed if you did." He adjusted his still very prominent erection to a more comfortable position.

Her eyes fell to his crotch, but then she lifted them again. "You should probably go now."

"I know." He picked up his jacket. Then he went to her, lifted her chin, and kissed her one last time—partly because he wanted to get the last word in and partly because he just needed to.

Smiling at her dazed expression, he strode out, feeling oddly satisfied for someone who was closer to blueballs than any man had ever been.

Chapter Twelve

The house her brother Tony had rented for her was ridiculous. Too big, too grand, and entirely too ostentatious. But it had three ingredients Daniela loved.

The basement
. She shuddered, thinking of living down there, but it made Marley happy, and that was all that mattered.

The bathtub in her room
. The bathroom itself looked like it belonged in a bordello, with all the red accents and gold fixtures, but the tub was excellent. A modern remake of a deep claw-footed tub, it was perfect for soaking after being on her feet all day.

And the view from the kitchen nook
.

Daniela sat there with her coffee and stared out on the trees populating the Presidio. She liked starting her mornings out here—it felt like she was almost in the woods—a unique sensation for a city girl.

This morning, though, instead of seeing the eucalyptus trees edging the back of the house, she just saw Nico's face, flushed with desire.

Wanting her.

She fanned herself. Every time she thought about what they'd done in the showroom kitchen she got hot and bothered all over again. She wasn't sure she'd ever be able to bake in there without remembering how he'd seduced her with his words and his touch.

She'd wanted to be seduced though. Badly, and only by him.

She hadn't heard from Ken regarding the bidding war. Maybe she should make a move on Nico right away, because as soon as one of them bought the building their flirtation would certainly end.

"Daniela, here you are." Marley strode into the kitchen with her briskly efficient walk. "I need to talk to you about a couple things."

She sighed. Marley was a godsend—she couldn't have asked for a better assistant. But sometimes she wanted to tell the young woman to get a life. "Now's not a good time."

"Yes, I can see you're busy."

"Was that sarcasm?" Daniela frowned. "And are you wearing
pink
?"

The younger woman flushed, touching her sweater defensively. "You bought it for me, and I have black on under it."

She tried to remember the last time Marley had worn anything other than black and drew a blank. "But you never wear anything I give you."

"That's a mistake I'm trying to rectify." Her assistant sat across from her. "We have a couple things we need to discuss. As you know, the clock is ticking down for accepting the Food Network offer. Everyone's eager for your answer."

"No."

Her assistant blinked owlishly at her. "No, they aren't eager?"

"No, I'm not accepting. You know what I mean. Don't play dumb."

Marley took a deep breath, as though she were counting to keep her cool. "Okay, let's talk about Sophie Martineau's birthday party."

"Marley." Daniela leaned forward. "Don't tell me you really want to discuss an aging diva's necessity for status. Because that's all my cake will be to her. She'll order it and coo over it, but she won't even have one bite because she'll worry that it'll add cellulite to her hips and that no amount of lighting will cover it up in her next nude scene."

Her assistant prissied up. "Well, those are the business items we need to take care of."

"Consider them discussed and decided on."

"Daniela—"

Fortunately her cell phone rang right then. She looked at the screen and thanked God it wasn't her brother. "Gotta take this," she said even though the number was blocked. She answered it with "Daniela Rossi."

"Meet me tonight," a dark, earthy voice commanded.

She flushed instantly. "Do you think I'll jump when you tell me to?"

Nico chuckled. "Jumping wasn't what I had in mind, but if you're into that..."

She couldn't help grinning. She probably looked like an idiot, but she really didn't care—not with the prospect of being ravaged by him on the program. "One condition."

"Name it."

"No business, no hidden agendas. This'll only be about us."

"Deal."

"Seven o'clock," she told him. "Pick me up. I assume since you somehow got my cell phone number you also know where I live."

"I know a whole lot about you, baby, including the way you cry out when you come."

Her face burned hot. Aware of her assistant's curious gaze taking in every detail, she turned away. "Fine. If that's how you want to play it."

"It's definitely how I want to play, Daniela. Seven, sharp." He hung up.

She practically wilted with desire as she set her phone down. What was she going to wear? And, more importantly, what was she going to wear under it?

"Who was that?" Marley asked.

"No one." She pointed at her assistant. "And don't think you'll wheedle the answer out of me. The last thing I need is for Tony to interfere in my personal life."

"You have a personal life?" Marley clapped a hand over her mouth, only her horrified eyes showing. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it that way. Of course you have a personal life. I'm just surprised I didn't know about it."

Daniela leaned forward. "If you say a word to Antonio, I'll take away your Justice League."

Marley sat back, gasping. "Harsh."

She nodded, satisfied that she'd made her point.

"This guy must be important," her assistant mused. "Who is he? Do we know he's not after your money?"

She remembered how Ken, her real estate agent, had told her Cruz Enterprises could buy and sell her ten times over, and she collapsed onto the table in a fit of laughter. It wasn't her money Nico was after. It was the Harrison building—and her body. She just wished she knew which he desired more.

"That wasn't really the reaction I expected," she heard Marley mumble.

Shaking her head, Daniela stood up.

"Where are you going?"

"Shopping." She wasn't going to take any chances—she wanted to be prepared for anything tonight. And that meant she needed to make a stop at Romantic Notions.

On impulse, she called Eve and had her meet her at the lingerie store, since Eve and Olivia, the woman who owned the shop, were good friends.

Eve was in the store, talking to a very pregnant Olivia, when Daniela arrived. Both women turned to her eagerly, but Eve was the one who said, "Who is he?"

She didn't pretend to play coy. "No one. Yet."

"But you want him to be," Eve said.

Olivia nodded. "We can help with that."

"He's direct and to the point." Daniela looked around, smiling distractedly at the young woman behind the counter—Olivia's new hire, Nicole, according to Eve. "I don't know if he's not into the trappings of romance, if you know what I mean."

"All men are into trappings. You just have to find the right trigger. Something simple that'll showcase the goods, I think." Olivia surveyed the store from her perch. Then she turned to Nicole. "What do you think?"

"The red," she said without hesitation.

Olivia smiled proudly. "Exactly."

"I'll get it." The young woman rushed behind the curtain, presumably to the backroom.

"I'm training her to mostly run the store while I'm on leave with the baby," Olivia said. "I think she's going to be great. She's got the right instincts."

Nicole returned holding out a red bra and matching panties. "Want to try it on?"

Daniela looked at Olivia. "Do I need to?"

She shook her head. "It's going to be perfect."

"Okay then." She handed her credit card over. "Let's do it."

Eve leaned her hips against the counter. "You know we expect details, right?"

"If you wear that"—Olivia pointed to the underwear Nicole was bagging up—"the details are going to be juicy."

Daniela grinned. She hoped so. She really did.

At six fifty-nine, Daniela stepped outside, right as Nico rolled to a stop in front of the house. His slinky car purred as it idled.

She slid inside, taking him in. He wore slacks and an immaculate dress shirt with a couple buttons undone.

Flushed with the urge to kiss that bared patch of skin at his collar, she fanned herself.

"Warm?" he asked, adjusting the vents.

Overheated by testosterone was more like it. She felt like she was drowning in it. But it'd be a happy way to go. She tucked the black lace of her dress around her legs. "My brother would approve of your ride."

"I approve of your dress."

"Thank you." She loved this dress. It was vintage, from the fifties, and made her feel like a movie star. More importantly, it made Nico look at her like she was good enough to eat.

But wait till he saw what was underneath. With a secret smile, she buckled herself in. "Where are we going?"

"My place."

She glanced at his profile as he eased the car from the curb. "Is that a good idea?"

"It's a
great
idea." He flashed her a wolfish grin.

She hid her smile by looking out the window. Tonight was a great idea. Soon they'd have an answer on the building, and then who knew—

No thoughts about business, she told herself. She was going to revel in Nico tonight. What happen from here on out was up to Fate and him.

They drove in silence, which was a first for her. Normally she was chatty, especially when she was nervous or unsure. Talking made her feel bold.

She wasn't nervous, though, she realized. Yes, she had butterflies, but they were from anticipation rather than anxiety.

He pulled to a stop at the curb in front of a curved walkway. She read the sign on the building. The Mandarin Oriental.

A valet came around the car and opened the door as Nico put the car in park. "Good evening, Mr. Cruz."

"Robin." Nico unbuckled his seat belt and got out. "Did you send in your application to Berkeley?"

"Yes, sir." The valet beamed at him. "Thanks again for the recommendation."

Interesting, she thought as she pried herself out of the low car. She watched Nico hand the boy what looked like an impressive tip before coming to escort her inside.

"I thought we were going to your place," she said as he escorted her through the lobby.

"We are."

"But only people on nighttime TV dramas live in hotels."

"It suits me." He swiped a card on the elevator keypad. The doors closed and they shot up to the top floor. The doors swooshed open directly into his suite.

She walked in, awestruck. She wasn't a stranger to luxury—she'd been in some of the most ostentatious homes and castles around the world. But to live in a hotel suite like this cost a small fortune. If he could afford to spend money on this, her project was doomed. She had money, but not like this.

Now wasn't the time to dwell on that. No business—only pleasure.

Pushing away the worry, she strode to the wall of windows that looked out on half of San Francisco, from the Bay Bridge to the Golden Gate and in between. "This is amazing. No wonder you live here."

He came to stand behind her, his hand on the small of her back. "I live here because it's convenient. The view is a bonus."

"You're lying." She glanced over her shoulder at him. "The view is why you live here. Otherwise you'd have converted one of the floors of your office building into a living space. Here, you sit on top of the city."

"Most people wouldn't have the guts to call me a liar, even if they were thinking it," he said too casually.

"Guts have never been something I lacked."

He smiled, his hand tightening on her waist. "Wine?"

She turned around. "You."

A predatory look darkened his gaze. He walked her back until she was pressed against the cold sheet of glass. "I thought we'd have dinner first."

Goose bumps broke out up and down her body, as much from his hands on her as the chill of the glass. Her heart began to pound with the promise of the chase. "Let's start with dessert."

"I like dessert." He lightly rasped his chin against her neck.

"So do I," she said as he slipped a hand up her leg and under her dress.