Catering to the Italian Playboy (2 page)

A shriek pierced the air as her left heel skidded across the glossy lacquer. The sickening screech drew another round of shocked murmurs from his investors.

With a knee-jerk reaction Max’s arms shot out and encircled her waist while she teetered toward the edge. Her full, pink lips formed a surprised
O
as he hauled her half-naked body flush against him before she could hit the floor. Soft, subtle curves molded into his body and his hands tingled against her velvety skin. Max inhaled sharply.

Lavender and vanilla. The same delectable scent that had haunted his dreams for the past six years. His chest tightened.
Christo!
Could she be…?

No!
Not possible.
Max quenched the ridiculous thought before it could take root in his mind. No matter how many times he’d tried, how many investigators he’d hired or how much money he’d thrown around, he’d never been able to find the mysterious woman he had shared one unforgettable, passionate night with six years go. She’d disappeared like an elusive dream as quickly as she’d appeared, leaving him with an unquenchable desire he couldn’t quite shake. Not that he’d wanted anything permanent with her, of course. He didn’t do permanent. But, there had been
something
between them – a connection – that he couldn’t get out of his mind.

Something he had never felt with any other woman before or after.

The rhythmical
thud, thud, thud
of the woman’s heart against his chest seemed to echo in the now silent room. An unexpected bolt of desire flared in his blood reminding him he was still a hot-blooded Italian male and not immune to the charms of a beautiful woman, even if she wasn’t the one occupying his thoughts day and night. His arm curled around her small waist.

“Oh, crap!” She tilted her head to look up at him. Her flush deepened. “I – I’m so sorry.”

Max frowned with annoyance, more from where his thoughts had taken him than from her untimely interruption of his very important meeting. “Would you care to stop apologizing and simply answer my questions?”

The woman started. “Oh, sorry.” She clamped a hand over her mouth, her nervous eyes darkening to a delightful shade of green. “I mean, I – I’m Sophie.”

Max’s breath hitched. The woman
did
seem vaguely familiar. But then again, so had every other woman he’d met in the last six years with green eyes and fiery red hair. And none had turned out to be
her
.

He swallowed a sigh. Neither would this one. But this woman – Sophie – was quite lovely in a wholesome sort of way with a sprinkle of freckles across her cheeks. The type of woman one would bring home to meet the family.

If one had a family to bring a woman home to.

Max’s stomach twisted into a sailor’s knot. He immediately stamped out the thought. It didn’t matter that he didn’t have a family. He didn’t plan on ever letting a relationship with
anyone
get far enough for that.

Families, babies and happily-ever-after were not in his vocabulary. Not anymore. Not, of course, that he minded the occasional fling as long as both parties were in mutual agreement.

No strings attached. That was his motto.

Max’s gaze swept the length of Sophie. Heat flooded through him. This woman definitely had very few strings attached. Very, very few strings, with lots of creamy skin and more curves than a road map through the Swiss Alps.

He narrowed his eyes. So, why was Miss Wholesome wearing “hire me for your pleasure” attire? A muscle flexed in his chin. She
mu
st be a spy from one of his competitors. Who else would
dare
interrupt his meeting? “Would you kindly explain why you are standing half-naked in the middle of my presentation?”

Sophie unclamped her hand and let it fall to her side. A soft sigh escaped her lips as her head bobbed up and down. “The flu.”

“The flu?”

“Right. And asthma.”

“You’re standing in here half-naked because you have the flu and asthma?” Could explain her lack of dancing abilities. Maybe she was on meds.

She waved a hand in front her and stepped out of his embrace, her lower back pressed against the table. The sudden urge to pull her back in his arms surprised him. “No. No. Not me. I’m healthy as a horse. Felicity–” Sophie gestured toward the door. “She has asthma and, well, asthma and tight spaces don’t exactly mesh.” She pointed to the heavily frosted plastic cake beside them. “Then Tootsie or Bunny or whatever the name of the exotic dancer I hired is came down with a nasty case of the flu and had to cancel at the last minute. I tried to find a replacement dancer, of course, but apparently there is a big run on them on Tuesday nights in October. Who knew?” Her shoulders lifted as if that explained everything. Of course, it actually told him nothing. “So that left me.” She blew a breath between her lips.

Max swallowed a sigh. No meds. Just plain nuts. Definitely
not
his mystery woman from six years ago.

“You still haven’t explained what you are doing in here.”

“Wishing you a happy birthday, of course.” She gave him a wobbly dimpled grin, though her words didn’t hold much conviction.

“It’s not my birthday.” Max fisted the laser pointer. No one made a fool of him.

“Oh.” Sophie shot another uneasy look around her. “I – I suppose it’s not.” Max’s gaze followed hers and his chin twitched. His clients were not amused by her faux pas and neither was he.

A discreet cough caught Max’s attention as chairs moved away from the table. Several Asian men stood, discomfort evident in their tight faces. In quick Chinese one of them pointed to the projector screen and declined the current offer muttering something about needing a more conservative project.

A muscle flexed in Max’s jaw. “Gentleman, I apologize for this–” he narrowed his eyes at Sophie “–interruption. I assure you it will not happen again. If you’ll give me a moment to sort this out, I will make you an offer you can’t possibly refuse.”

The men shook their heads, shuffled papers into their briefcases and headed toward the door.

One of the men stopped in front of Sophie, contempt lining his Asian features. “I do not think we are ready for your hotel’s services.”

Sophie’s green eyes snapped with indignation. “I am
not
a service of this hotel.”

Max arched a brow. If the thought was so distasteful then what the hell was she doing dressed like a go-go girl in the middle of his presentation?

The Asian glanced at the other men. “We’ll be in touch.”

Max nodded curtly. “Certainly. Please don’t let this misunderstanding discourage you. I assure you Rinaldi Resorts are some of the best in the world. I know a partnership between the Rinaldi and Ching Investments would be beneficial to us both.”

“We’ll let you know.” Spines stiff, the five men filed out and the wooden door slammed behind them. Max clenched and unclenched his fist. His chance of acquiring their investment and opening one of his resorts in Hong Kong had just nose-dived into the sewer.

All because of a woman.

In a G-string to boot.

* * * *

Uh-oh. That didn’t sound good.

Heart in throat, Sophie blinked at the fury smoldering in the Max’s eyes. Lovely shades of gray swirled like a brewing storm. And she had a feeling this particular storm would be targeting her. Now would be a very good time to take her leave.

Before
he figured out who she was.

As if!

Like the man would even remember her. One stupid mistake six years ago may have left a lasting impression on her, but for a playboy like Max she’d just been another notch on his bedpost. Or rather a notch on the bedpost in the exquisite hotel suite he’d taken her to after she’d practically thrown herself in his arms after her mother’s funeral.

Sophie swallowed again, cheeks flaming at the memory. She should be thankful he didn’t remember her. It was humiliating enough without taking a trip down memory lane with the likes of Maximus Rinaldi –
playboy extraordinaire.

Still, a sliver of disappointment skittered over her. She knew she’d meant nothing to him, but to actually experience the proof stung. “I guess I can safely assume you’re not turning seventy today.” She offered him a small smile.

Definitely not seventy. More like thirty-something. A very in-your-face-sexy thirty-something, she might add. Good lord, a sensuous mouth like his should have a warning sign attached.
Danger: Heartbreaker Ahead.

And she should know. She’d kissed that sensuous mouth until her body quivered with delight six years ago.

The sensuous mouth didn’t return her smile. “You assume correctly.” A muscle throbbed in his proud chin. “I’m Maximus Rinaldi. I own this hotel.”

Sophie swallowed hard. “So I gathered. I apologize for the mix-up. I was supposed to be Mr. Carmichael’s birthday surprise.”

Max’s eyebrow shot up. His gaze scanned the length of her in a slow, lazy scrutiny which sent tingles of excitement along her skin. Her nipples hardened and heat slid into her thong. She crossed her arms over her breasts. His lips quirked at her obvious discomfort.

“Not that kind of surprise.” Sophie lifted her chin a notch. “I own a catering business. I was only supposed to make the dessert. Not be part of it,” she added dryly. “Then, of course, Tootsie or Bunny or whoever canceled, and I got stuck filling in. I guess my assistant must have gotten the conference rooms mixed up. Sorry about that. Sometimes life throws us a curveball and we have to just roll with it.” She flashed him a dimpled smile. “It’s the only way to get through life’s little surprises. I hope there are no hard feelings about the mix-up.”

Shock registered on Max’s face. “What did you just say about a curveball?”

“Only that I’ve been thrown enough in my life to know there’s no point in getting all worked up over something you can’t change.” She bit the inside of her cheek thoughtfully and tilted her head to the side. “To be as successful as you are, I imagine you’ve had to roll with a few a time or two.”

“What makes you think I’m so successful?”

Sophie blushed. “I’ve read the tabloids. You’re listed as one of the ten most successful bachelors in the world. Billionaire Bachelors I believe was the correct heading in the latest one.” She didn’t bother to add his playboy reputation also pegged him with a different woman in practically every metropolitan city. Not that she believed everything she read, of course. For him to be that much of a player he’d have to be Houdini. But there was probably a grain of truth in it somewhere.

When he didn’t confirm or deny her assumption, she added, “Right. I’ll just get out of your way then.”
Before I make a bigger idiot out of myself
. She reached for the red velvet cake on the table behind her.

His arm shot out, a hand clamped over her wrist. “Not so fast, sugar.”

Sophie bristled at the sarcastic endearment. “I beg your pardon.”

“It seems we have a problem.”

“We do?” Why, oh why, did these things always happen to her? Just once, it would be nice if fate would smile on her. At this point she would take a tiny grin. A grimace even.

“Your little exhibition just cost me several million dollars.”

“But … but they said they’d be in touch.”

“Which means they are politely declining my offer.” The muscle in his chin throbbed harder. “The way I see it, you owe me.”

Wonderful. Could this day get any worse?

“I don’t have that kind of money.”
None that I care to put my hands on anyway.
She lifted her chin another notch. It would be a sizzling day in the Arctic before she ever asked her father for a dime. “My company is already floundering at the moment. I need every gig and every dime I can get to keep us afloat.” She ducked her head, hoping he wouldn’t see the worry in her eyes. “The next few months could make us or break us.”

“I see.”

“I really am very sorry,” Sophie looked pointedly at the vice grip around her wrist, “but I must get to Mr. Carmichael’s party.” Surely, he wasn’t serious about owing him several million dollars.

He could be.
Dear old Dad certainly would have been
.

An uneasy feeling slithered over her as she glanced around the luxurious conference room. Besides the over-sized chandelier, everything about Rinadli Resorts shouted unimaginable wealth. From the thick, avocado-colored carpet to the rust-and-mustard yellow designer walls. Not to mention the artwork, which, if she were a betting woman – which she wasn’t – she’d put money on being original Rembrandts. And that was just the hotel. As for Max himself – well power rolled off him in tidal waves.

She could practically smell the money. Or was it just the expensive spicy cologne he was wearing? He needed another million dollars like he needed a hole in the head. But, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t expect her to pay up. The wealthy always expected the world to do their bidding.

“So you expect me to lose a very costly deal and let you walk out of here Scott-free?” He rocked back on his heels, amusement flickering in his eyes.

“It was an honest mistake. It’s not like I deliberately set out to sabotage your meeting.”

“That may be true,” Max conceded with a nod. “But it doesn’t help my business deal does it?”

“For the love of Mike, what do you expect me to do about it? You can’t get blood from a turnip and I don’t have one million dollars much less several.” What exactly did this man expect?

“A turnip?” Max frowned-puzzled. “You’re referring to a vegetable?”

“It’s an old saying.” Sophie gripped the edge of the table behind her. Did he have to stand so close? The scent of expensive spicy exotic cologne muddled her brain. She’d always been a sucker for good-smelling men and Maximus Rinaldi smelled divine. Just like he had six years ago when she’d practically jumped his bones. “It means I don’t have anything for you to take.”

“I beg to differ.” The corners of his lips quirked, and his eyes slid over her once more. “You seem to have quite a bit to offer.”

“Not on your life, mister.” Sophie hugged her breasts tighter. Great Pete, did he remember her after all? Or did he think she was the trollop she was dressed as? He didn’t seem to remember their little tryst, but his remarks had her wondering. Sophie bit her lip and shot him an uneasy look. Her body tingled in places she didn’t care to admit as the memory of his hands exploring very intimate parts of her body sprung to mind. Heat flooded her cheeks. She needed to get out of here. Fast.
Before
she made a fool of herself again and
before
he remembered the night she’d hadn’t been able to forget in six years. “Now, if you’ll excuse–”