Never Dare a Tycoon (17 page)

Antonia took a step back, intimidated by his anger. “Out,” she said.

 

Swearing under his breath, “Doing what?” he asked. “Research,” she said, smiling again, refusing to take another step back or show him how frightened she was of his current temper.

 

“Researching what?” he asked. “What could possibly take ten hours to research?” he asked.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Thomas, Giuseppe, Michael and Carlo follow Sal back into the library and close the doors, leaving Antonia and Brett in private. For once, she was extremely grateful for all the manners her parents instilled in them.

“I researched many things. Why? Do you want an exact accounting? There were several magazines, a few books, some newsletters and financial reports.”

 

Brett stared at her, stunned. “You’ve been researching businesses all this time?”

 

“And then I went to a movie,” she said, not confirming or denying the subject of her research.

 

“You did?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“What businesses were you researching?”

 

Antonia couldn’t think fast enough. And she knew Brett saw the telltale blush on her cheeks. “You said I was researching businesses. I only said research.”

Swearing under his breath, he pulled her down the stairs and into the music room which was on the opposite side of the hallway from the library. Closing the doors, Brett turned back to her, leaning against the doorway and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Well, what were you researching? And why do you have an aversion to the car I gave you? Is it the wrong color? Do you have a death wish? Is that why you drive that contraption out there?”

She was glad he changed the subject. She had lied to her brothers for so long and hated it. But she didn’t think she could lie to Brett.

 

“I don’t dislike the car. I think it’s beautiful. But I didn’t buy it so I don’t want it.”

 

“So anything I give you, you’ll throw back at me?” “I didn’t throw it back. What’s wrong with my motorcycle? It gets me from point A to point B.”

 

“What if you get hit?”

 

“I haven’t. What if I get hit in the Porsche?”

 

“You’ll have more protection in that than you will on the motorcycle.”

“Its interesting that you think I’ll be safer in the car. I’ve already been pulled over by the police in the car and you just gave it to me a few days ago. I’ve never gotten a ticket, or even been pulled over while driving my motorcycle.”

“Touché,” Brett said and laughed. “Ok, do what you want. I don’t care if you drive the car or not. Its there for you to do what you want with.”

 

“Thank you,” she said. “I’m going upstairs now. I’m really exhausted.”

Brett looked at her face and noticed the dark circles under her eyes, but he didn’t move out from in front of the doors. “Aren’t you sleeping well?” he asked, reaching out and touching her cheek gently.

“Not last night,” she said.

“I didn’t either,” he said and pulled her close enough so the lower half of their bodies were touching. “I thought about you all night, wondering what you were sleeping in.”

Antonia blushed and looked away from him. “Why?”

“Because you weren’t right next to me. I imagined you the same way you were the other night,” he said, referring to the night they’d made love until the morning. “And it drove me crazy.”

Laughing, she said, “I sleep in a tee-shirt.”

 

“Hmmm. Going to have to do something about that,” he said, his voice husky.

 

“What would you like me to wear?” she asked, her imagination sparked despite herself.

 

Brett chuckled. “Nothing,” he said without hesitating. Antonia rolled her eyes. “Well, besides that,” she said.

His eyes were heavy as he looked down her figure. “How about a silk nightgown. One that came down to here,” he said, indicating her mid thigh, “and here,” he said, moving his hand up to a point right above her nipples.

Thinking about how little time she had left, she made a snap decision. Smiling mischievously, she looked up at him through her eyelashes. “Make me dinner at your house tomorrow night,” she said.

Brett looked at the expression on her face, then shook his head. “I don’t think that would be a good idea,” he said, groaning under his breath.

 

“I think it would be a great idea,” she countered, then stood on her toes and shyly kissed him.

 

Brett lifted her higher, holding her against him as he took over the kiss, deepening it while her feet dangled a half foot from the floor.

After several moments, he put her down and took a deep breath. “I need to get out of here,” he said. “I’ll cook you dinner tomorrow night, but I might be beaten up by all your brothers,” he said, laughing at himself.

“I’ll make it worth your while,” she whispered.

Antonia slept the sleep of the dead that night. She woke early the next morning and stretched languorously. Tonight was the night. She wanted one more night with Brett before she left. She wanted one more memory.

She showered and changed quickly, pulling on a pair of khaki pants and a white sweater. She left her boots in the closet and slipped her feet into a pair of loafers.

After a breakfast of fresh fruit and juice, Antonia left the house, waiving goodbye to Sal, but telling him that she was having dinner with Brett tonight. She walked around the garage to get her motorcycle, but at the last moment, she changed her mind.

Staring at the Porsche, she considered driving it one more time. She’d have to leave everything behind when she left here in a few days, she might as well enjoy the car while she had the chance.

Tossing her bag in the passenger seat, she got in, enjoying the feel of the soft leather once again. The engine roared to life and she put it in gear, shooting off down the driveway.

She was one of the first people in the library this morning so she chose a spot directly under the stained glass dome light. She retrieved her books from the shelf and dove in. After three hours, she’d narrowed her choice to three - Seattle, Washington – Bridgeport, Maine or Louisville, Kentucky.

On a sheet of paper, she listed the pros and cons of each city. Once that was done, she was able to look at the subject more objectively. And the clear choice was Bridgeport, Maine.

Refusing to allow herself to cry again, she put the books onto the shelf for re-filing and left the library. Driving to a mall just outside of Washington, D.C., she moved on to her next errand. And after two hours of shopping, she found exactly what she was looking for.

By that time, it was four o’clock, so she drove home and changed for her dinner with Brett. Walking in the house, she saw a message from him telling her that he’d pick her up at six o’clock.

Laughing out loud, she rushed upstairs and changed clothes. She pulled on a loose, yellow dress that flared out in an A line to her calves. It had two layers, the underskirt was a dark yellow, and the outer layer was a soft, lemony chiffon.

Brett picked her up precisely at six o’clock and drove them to his house. It was a gorgeous, Tudor home near Embassy Row, the area of the District of Columbia that contained the huge homes where the ambassadors and their families lived. It was one of the few areas in the district where the houses had yards.

His home was protected by two wrought iron gates that opened automatically when he drove up. A long driveway, lined by stately oak trees led the way to the house which opened to a beautiful lawn complete with rose bushes just starting to spread their leaves and bloom, a myriad of daffodils with their bright, shining yellow faces reaching for the last rays of the sunshine.

“This is wonderful, Brett,” Antonia said, impressed by the stateliness of the house.

 

“What were you expecting?” he asked, parking the car in front of the house.

 

“I’m not sure. I guess some penthouse apartment decked out in mirrors and leather,” she teased. “But nothing like this.”

 

Brett raised one eyebrow. “Mirrors?” Antonia laughed. “I didn’t know!”

 

Brett didn’t respond. He got out of the car and came around to her door just as she was getting out. “Do I get the grand tour?” she asked.

 

“Of course,” he said and put a hand on the small of her back to guide her inside.

The front foyer was black and white tiles with a large, black iron chandelier hanging down in the center of a curving staircase. In the center of the oval entryway, was a large bouquet of flowers which brightened up what would otherwise be an intimidating foyer.

He led her through the house, showing her the family room with its huge fireplace already stacked with firewood, the living room which was very formal with heavy mahogany furniture covered in formal tapestry type fabrics. There was a morning room with whicker furniture and softly flowered cushions and healthy green plants in all corners, a dining room that would comfortably seat thirty or more people, and bedroom after bedroom, all done in different shades but with heavy furniture, canopied beds and ornately carved panels.

The whole house reminded her of a countrified medieval castle nestled in the mountains somewhere in Europe but with a homey touch. “This is really wonderful,” Antonia said as they came downstairs again and entered the kitchen where the smell of something delicious was stronger. “Did you grow up in this house?” she asked, bending down and looking into the oven to find out what they were having for dinner.

“Um hmm,” he said distractedly, peering into the refrigerator, then lifting the tops of each pot and sniffing.

Antonia stood up to see what had distracted him, hoping it was whatever was cooking. She was starving. But he was staring at her. Antonia’s face immediately burst into flames. It was as if he was reading her mind. Because ever since she’d walked into the house, she’d wanted to touch him, have him touch her.

He must have noticed the look of hunger on her face and realized that it wasn’t for food anymore. He came over to her and lifted her up so her face was at the same level as his. “Why did you suggest dinner here tonight?” he asked, her feet dangling in the air.

Antonia’s hands were on his shoulders, amazed at the strength in his arms. Bravely, she said, “Because I wanted you to make love to me.”

Brett groaned and pulled her close, kissing her passionately. And for the next two hours, they were insatiable. Neither could get enough of the other. They made love twice before finally laying beside each other on the large sofa in the family room. Brett’s hand was brushing her hair back, his fingers twirling in the curls. “Are you hungry?” he said.

“Not anymore,” she said.

 

Antonia’s head shook as he chuckled. “I meant for food,” he said, rubbing her back.

 

“Oh, that,” she said, smiling. “I guess I am.”

Brett sat up, taking Antonia with him. He pulled his shirt off the coffee table where it had fallen after Antonia pulled it off his shoulders. He put it over her shoulders and Antonia slipped her arms into the sleeves, rolling the fabric up several times so her hands were free. Brett pulled on his jeans and the two of them padded barefoot into the kitchen to eat.

“What did you make me?” she asked, peering into a pot that was simmering on the stove.

 

“Well, I have a confession to make,” he said, lifting the lid to another pot.

 

“You didn’t cook, did you?” she asked, watching him investigate with the same curiosity.

“Nope,” he said, and pulled down plates from the cupboard. “But Liza is a great cook,” he said and pulled a casserole out of the oven, peeling the foil off the top. “And it looks like she outdid herself tonight. I suspect that this is her famous chicken divan,” he said.

They ate the tender, spicy chicken in a cream sauce with broccoli while sitting across from each other at the kitchen table, chatting about nothing and everything. For dessert, there were simmered apples and some sort of crunchy but sweet topping in one of the pots with a caramel sauce in another. After dinner, Brett and Antonia made slow, passionate love in front of a roaring fire, sipping red wine afterwards.

Brett drove Antonia home around midnight, promising to make her dinner again tomorrow night. Antonia hesitated for only a moment before agreeing. She made the decision to spend as much time as possible with Brett before she had to disappear.

And that’s how she spent the next two weeks. The days were spent researching the housing and employment markets, the taxes, statutes that might affect investments and income benefits of the state of Maine and the Bangkok city area specifically. And each evening, she arrived at Brett’s house for dinner. They’d make love before and after, never getting enough of each other. As the time grew nearer for Antonia to leave, she became desperate to have him, needing the tender, passionate moments to get her through the rest of her life.

It was the Thursday before she was planning on leaving and Antonia woke up with a feeling of dread. She couldn’t attribute it to anything in particular, but the feeling wouldn’t go away.

Walking downstairs, she looked around but Sal wasn’t anywhere in sight. She assumed he’d already left for the office, so she walked into the kitchen to talk to Maria. But she wasn’t there. A note was on the refrigerator stating that she’d gone grocery shopping and would be back by ten o’clock.

Antonia found some fresh fruit and cut it up for breakfast, taking it to the patio to eat it as she watched the morning birds.

 

It was nine o’clock when Marsha and Jennifer came over. Antonia was still sitting on the patio, savoring the scene when they found her.

 

“What are you doing out here?” Marsha asked.

 

“Just sitting, enjoying the sunshine,” Antonia said.

 

“Didn’t you get the message?” Jennifer asked.

 

“No, what message?”

“We’ve found the perfect wedding dress for you. And we have appointments with three caterers this afternoon to taste test,” Jennifer explained, thrilled with the whole day’s plans.

“The perfect wedding dress?” Antonia asked, dumbfounded.

 

“You’ll love it. It’s much simpler than the one’s you tried on during our last outing,” Jennifer explained.

 

“Get a move on,” Marsha said, taking the empty bowl out of her hands. “You can’t sit round here all day. We’ve got things to do. Hurry up and shower.”