Catering to the Italian Playboy (3 page)

His low sexy chuckle teased her raw nerves. “You misunderstood, my dear. You do own a business, don’t you? What did you say it was? Catering?” He lifted a brow as if he didn’t quite believe her.

Well, she couldn’t exactly blame him for not buying it. How many other caterers worked in a G-string? Still …

“Yes. A Touch of Spice Catering. But, I don’t see what that has to do with the price of tea in China.” Did he plan to sue her or something?

Max reached behind her and swiped the cake with his index finger. He jabbed the frosting into his mouth. “Not bad.” He nodded. “Actually, it’s pretty fantastic. Chocolate is my weakness, you know.” His lips curved up. “My question has nothing to do with the
price of tea
in China as you so aptly put it, but it does have something to do with the Chinese investors you sent running for the hills.”

Sophie swallowed hard. “Oh.”

“You see, since you ran off my latest investors I think you still need to pay retribution.” He took another swipe of the frosting. “I could get addicted to this. But I need to sample the rest of your wares before I make a decision.”

Sophie sputtered indignantly.
Her what?
“I beg your pardon!”

A wolfish grin spread across Max’s handsome face revealing a set of perfectly straight pearly whites. “Your menu, of course. I need to find out if the rest of your food is as delicious as this cake. If it is suitable, I might have a proposition for you. One that will allow you to make up for botching my deal and satisfy us both.” A teasing light replaced the icy depths in his gray eyes. Apparently, he enjoyed riling her feathers. “After all, you do owe me since you just ruined my chance of opening a Rinaldi in Hong Kong.”

Sophie bit her lip. He did have a point. But she was just a bit wary of his proposition. If it included anything other than food then he could shove it where the sun didn’t shine. She may have slept with him once – even if he didn’t remember it – but she wasn’t promiscuous. It just so happened she’d met him at a very vulnerable time in her life.

Sophie’s chest clenched. A time when her world had come crumbling down around her and she hadn’t known what to do or where to turn. Unfortunately, she had turned to the nearest stranger who had taken an interest in her. Since then she’d worked very hard to make sure nothing like that ever happened again. Built her business from scratch
without
using her family name or her father’s money to get ahead. A pain shot through her ribcage and sliced her heart. Her mother’s death – she still couldn’t admit to herself it had been a suicide – six years ago had been the last straw. She’d run – not walked – away from the prestigious Westbrook name and her father’s unyielding ruthless hand.

And she’d never looked back.

Working for Max was definitely not in her best interest, but she always paid her debts and, unfortunately, it looked like she had just racked up another one. Still, she would keep it strictly professional. There was no way she could ever get personally involved with the billionaire playboy again.

She swallowed hard. Not if she wanted to keep her secret.

“So when can I sample those wares?” Max leaned over for another swipe at the frosting, his warm breath only inches from her neck, teasing erogenous zones she didn’t even know she had.

Sophie shivered with unexpected pleasure.

Good lord, what was she getting herself into?

** TWO **

Dio!
It was
her!

Longer hair, a bit fuller face than he remembered, but definitely her.

Max closed the file he had been working on and leaned back in the leather chair. He knew it the minute she had mumbled something about a curveball and rolling with it. Whatever the devil that meant. It was the same quirky phrase she’d used the night they had spent together. Right before she slid into his arms and awakened senses he hadn’t even known existed.

Max closed his eyes to relish the memory. His hands combing through her burnished locks, feeling each strand slide through his fingers like silk scarves. The soft swell of her hip molding against his muscled body as he held her tight. Her scent – lavender, vanilla and something quite primal – clinging to his skin long after she had disappeared. Her …

Max muttered an oath and shoved a hand through his hair in agitation. Remembering how soft that woman – Sophie – felt in his arms wasn’t helping anything except the need for a cold shower.

Sophie
.

The name had a nice sound. She hadn’t told him her name six years ago. She hadn’t told him anything about herself and quite frankly, he hadn’t asked. Talking definitely hadn’t been what he’d been interested in that night.

He swiveled toward the window in his personal hotel suite and focused on the blinking neon lights and lit-up billboards in Times Square. A busy city alive with nocturnal activities, boisterous tourists and enthusiastic New Yorkers.

Max expelled a long sigh. Sometimes he envied the closeness he witnessed among couples exploring the streets of Manhattan relishing in every moment together, or the excitement of families vacationing in the Big Apple making memories that would last them a lifetime.

That special feeling of belonging – being loved unconditionally – he had never experienced and knew he never would. As a child he had dreamed of finding a family who would make him a part of their life and give him a place to call home. As an adult he traded in that childish dream for a more attainable one. Wealth, success and independence.

Max clenched his chin. After years of disappointment, he had hardened his heart to the notion of love and learned how to depend only on himself. To go after what he wanted and not let anything stand in his way.

Which was precisely why he decided to hire Sophie for next week’s function. He wasn’t about to let her slip through his fingers again. He intended to get her out of his system once and for all by enticing her back into his bed.

No harm in that as long as he was upfront about his intentions. No strings attached. Just two consenting adults who knew the rules and didn’t expect anything in return. He was a let-the-relationship-run-its-course-then-part-ways kind of guy. And as long as Sophie didn’t expect any white picket fences or commitments – he didn’t do commitments – everything would be fine.

No harm. No foul.

Max shoved to his feet and crossed the plush beige carpet to the window. His gaze swept to the shimmering Manhattan skyline lighting up the night sky with a spectacular view he never tired of seeing.

* * *

“I need more flour,” Sophie called over her shoulder three days later as she rolled out the dough for the pie crust.

“Coming right up.” Felicity pulled another bag from the cabinet then set it on the counter near Sophie’s rolled-out circle. She glanced up as the bell jingled on the door. “
Ooh la la
. Boss, check out, McSexy. Three o’clock.” She let out a soft low whistle.

Sophie looked up to see a pair of gray eyes staring at her from across the room.

Max.

Her mouth went as dry as the Sahara Desert. What was he doing here? He wasn’t supposed to be here for another couple of hours. She didn’t have everything ready yet.

Sophie set the rolling pin down and whispered in Felicity’s ear, “McSexy is our new client – only probably not a paying one now that I think about it.” Sophie shook her head vehemently. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. He’s the one whose meeting we ruined.” She hesitated then looked at Felicity and lowered her voice. “Look, do me a favor and don’t mention Alex. Okay?”

Felicity raised a blonde brow. “McSexy doesn’t like kids?”

“No – I don’t know. Just don’t say anything, please.”

Felicity gave her a thoughtful look then shrugged. “You got it.”

“Thanks.” Sophie wiped her hands on her apron and resisted the urge to smooth back the few strands of hair that had escaped her low ponytail. Why the sudden concern with her appearance? It wasn’t like she was trying impress him.

“Afternoon, ladies. I believe I have an appointment.” The deep timbre of Max’s thickly accented Italian voice slid over Sophie like black velvet.

“You’re early.” Sophie stepped around the counter with a frown.

Max glanced at his watch. “By ten minutes? Guilty as charged.” His lips twitched.

“What? No, it’s only one thirty. Your appointment is at three.”

“Uh, boss? It’s actually ten minutes ‘til three,” Felicity interjected then rolled her eyes heavenward. “I think your watch has stopped again.”

Sophie’s frown deepened as she glanced at her flour-covered wrist. Sure enough the second hand refused to budge on the watch. She thumped the glass face. Nothing. Dead as a doorknob.

Wonderful.

She expelled a long sigh and shot Max an apologetic look. “I’m afraid I don’t have everything ready.”

Great. Now he thinks I have no professional skills whatsoever. Can’t get the party room right and can’t get the food prepared on time. Oh, and let’s not forget the G-string performance a few days ago. Yep. About as professional as a lizard.

Sophie gritted her teeth
.
This is so
not
the way she liked to run her business. It would have been nice to at least appear professional.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to sample what you have ready. I can’t come back today.” Max’s brows slashed downward. “I have a meeting this afternoon.”

“I’ll be in the back getting some of the desserts ready.” Felicity nodded, shooting Max another adoring look. “Call me if you need anything, boss.”

Sophie pulled herself together. No need to wallow. Just another one of life’s curveballs so she might as well roll with it. “Right. I do have some of the appetizers ready and two of the main entrees.” She gestured toward a small table in the corner of the room. “Have a seat. I’ll bring them right out.”

* * *

Max settled at the small table and watched as Sophie disappeared behind two gray swinging double doors. The gentle sway of her hips in the snug faded jeans sparked a new wave of heat in his veins.

Six years hadn’t nixed his desire for her. Quite the opposite, in fact. It had intensified it. Surely having her in his bed again would satisfy his need so he could get her out of his head.

Provided, of course, she was willing.

He swallowed a smile. That shouldn’t be a problem. The art of seduction had always been one of his strong points and he’d never had any complaints before. Except…

A frown perched between his brows. Except for the fact she had disappeared without a trace the next morning before he’d even awoken. If he hadn’t been a confident man, that could have been a devastatingly low blow to his ego. Lucky for him he didn’t lack confidence in anything he did.

Though he had no idea why Sophie had vanished so suddenly six years ago, he did know it didn’t have one damn thing to do with his love-making technique. If the satisfied purrs and contented sighs were any indication, she had enjoyed it as much as he had.

If not more.

Max leaned back against the chair as Sophie pushed open the swinging doors with her hip and balanced two large trays in her hands. This time he’d make sure she didn’t leave him again. Not before he was ready to part ways.

“Appetizers first.” Sophie sidled up to his table. Succulent aromas of roasted peppers, garlic and Italian spices wafted from the trays in her hand. She placed one on the counter behind her and another at his table. “Wrapped Sea Scallops, Antipasto Skewers and Teriyaki Salmon. I had a few more cold ones planned, but well…”

“This will be fine.” It didn’t really matter if everything tasted like sandpaper. He still planned to hire her. Just to keep her from disappearing again before he was ready.

Sophie chewed on her bottom lip as Max speared the Salmon with a toothpick. He found her nervous gesture amusing. Apparently, she really did care about his opinion. He popped the Salmon in his mouth and a delicious burst of flavor spread over his taste buds.

Definitely didn’t taste like sandpaper. It was good. Very good.

A flash of steady lights on his right nearly blinded him. Instinctively he threw up his arm to block his face and hers.

Sophie whirled around toward the window where at least twelve cameras were rapidly flashing. She blinked at the barrage of bright lights. “What in the world?” She turned back toward Max puzzled.

“Paparazzi.” Max grimaced. “Or as I like to call them: the henchmen. It’s a rare occasion that I can go anywhere without being photographed or interviewed. Most of the time I ignore them.”

“They are photographing you sampling my food?” Sophie’s shot another glance toward the window.

“Tasting food. Jogging in Central Park. Jetting off to Paris for a meeting.” Max shrugged. “You name it, they photograph it. If they can get close enough that is.”

“Why?”

Her question wasn’t offensive exactly. More curious, as if she couldn’t understand why anyone would be interested in the mundane things he did. And to be quite honest he had no idea why every move he made – and some he didn’t – was national news. Not when there were so many other stories out there of people who made a real difference in the world. His fame had never been something he cared for or understood. “I don’t know. Maybe they don’t have anything better to do.”

“So will this photo of you sampling my menu be good or bad for my business?” A worried frown creased her forehead.

“Depends. If I use your services it will be good. They’ll give you rave reviews. If I don’t, they’ll probably rake you through the coals with criticism.”

Sophie gasped. “Why, that’s not fair! You’re not a food critic. You’re just a man.”

Max’s lips twitched. “Thank you for pointing out my ordinary qualities.”

“You know what I mean.” Sophie twisted her hands together and paced the baby-blue tiled floor. “They shouldn’t be able to print anything bad about A Touch of Spice Catering unless they have tried the food. It’s not fair for them to base their opinion on your likes or dislikes.”