Secrets and Seduction Las Vegas (Sexy Italian Imports Book 1) (44 page)

Run, Lindsey, run for your life!
She'd heard shockingly wicked stories about him and the numerous women he dated, and seeing him for herself, she could believe every one of them. Her instinct told her his expressive eyes were experienced, arrogant, and interested in seeing more than what her gown revealed.

Standing next to the artist, the short, older museum curator waved to Lindsey and the two men started toward her.

“Miss Beauden.” The curator's voice carried over the chatter of the crowd. “You must meet our famous visitor.”

Damn, no way to escape now.
Forcing a smile, she slid into her professional persona as they reached her.

“Miss Lindsey Beauden.” The curator announced. “This is Dante Daniato, the extraordinary Italian artist.”

She was right. Thanks to her reckless staring, she stood face to face with Los Angeles' most eligible and notorious bachelor. And what a face. He was even more attractive up close. And larger than she'd thought, too.

A little overwhelmed by his height and broad shoulders, she leaned back slightly and extended her hand to him. His powerful hand enveloped hers, and the contact shot like electricity through her veins.

She swallowed a gasp and managed to say, “I'm pleased to meet you,
Signore
Daniato.” Her heart rate increased as he held her hand a bit longer than was proper.

“The pleasure is mine, Miss Beauden.”

Oh, heavens, what a voice! The hint of an accent pushed him to number one on her list of the world's sexiest men. His smile revealed perfect teeth, and tiny sun wrinkles appeared on the outer corners of his eyes. Then he lifted her fingers to his lips and kissed them, and a slow, sinful warmth spread through her.

Dreamy. She sighed. But dangerous.

Her social skills kicked in. “Please,
Signore
, call me Lindsey.”

He released her hand, but his stare remained locked with hers. “Then you must call me Dante.”

The sound of his name bounced around inside her suddenly-empty head, and she forgot to respond. And to breathe.

His left eyebrow lifted slightly, and his eyes gleamed.

Was he amused with her struck-speechless performance? He had to get that same reaction quite often. He was the definition of sexy.

After a few seconds, the curator cleared his throat. “Dante has kindly donated art to be displayed in the museum, as well as a number of pieces that will be sold tonight to benefit our outreach program.”

Her gaze flew to the curator's. The outreach program was the reason her family was considering pulling their funding. Had her parents spoken to him already? No, the man wouldn't be this excited if he knew what her family had planned.

She forced a small smile. “I've heard a great deal about the program—providing art classes for inner city youth. It's a wonderful project.” Which was all true. Only one component of the project was offensive: the artist whose reputation preceded him. Dante Daniato.

“Do you have children?” Dante asked her.

She met his gaze. “No, I don't, but The Beauden Foundation is very interested in all charities dealing with children.” That sounded snooty instead of caring and giving, which were her personal mottos.

The curator smiled. “And we truly appreciate your support.” He turned to Dante. “Lindsey's family foundation is a major sponsor.”

She caught herself chewing the inside of her cheek and took a sip of champagne. Her family foundation—of which she was the president—was about to issue an ultimatum to the museum. If they didn't agree to their demands, the Beauden Foundation's sponsorship would end. She was not looking forward to that battle.

“What are your foundation's objectives?” Dante asked.

Over the last six months, Lindsey had repeated their mission statement to hundreds of prospective charity representatives. “For generations, The Beauden Company has imported cloth for use in the garment industry. The foundation was established a century ago to provide assistance for local organizations. When my parents took ownership of the company, they expanded the scope to include improving conditions in cloth factories around the world. But we still focus mainly on supporting local charities.”

Dante nodded. “Admirable.”

It pleased her that he had an interest in her work. “Thank you.”

The curator tipped his head toward Dante. “Lindsey recently took over the position of foundation president.”

Dante's eyes flashed a hint of surprise and she steeled a calm expression on her face. Would she ever get used to people's reactions to her job title? Her youth and clichéd blonde-California-girl looks gave the impression she wasn't a serious businesswoman. Perhaps she should keep her Master's Degree in her purse to prove she did indeed have a brain.

“Lindsey, when I spoke with your parents earlier in the receiving line, they mentioned they wanted to talk to me. I imagine they want to buy a few pieces of art.”

That wasn't why they were looking for him. No words came to her, so she just nodded.

While the curator spoke excitedly to Dante about the Beauden's extensive art collection, Lindsey glanced around the room. She didn't see her family in the vicinity. Tucking a loose strand of long hair back into her chignon, she checked the circular stairway that wound to the second floor. She spotted her parents heading down to the main level. She wanted to be as far away from the curator and Dante Daniato as possible when her parents arrived to present the foundation's ultimatum.

Her gaze returned to Dante and she caught him studying her left hand. Was he looking for a ring?

“I believe I see your father, Miss Beauden.” The curator looked between Dante and her. “Please excuse me.” He executed a half bow and walked away.

“He's an interesting man.” Dante said in an amused tone.

“He has panache,” she agreed while glancing toward the front doors. Time to make an exit before the drama began. “I think I'll—”

“Have you seen my work yet?”

“Ah…” Looking up into his expectant eyes, she didn't have the heart to produce a little white lie that would get her out of the museum. So she told the truth. “No, I haven't.”

“I would be honored to escort you.” He chivalrously offered his arm.

She shouldn't, and she knew it. But a thrill of guilty pleasure tingled deep inside her and she threaded her arm though his. After all, they were in a public venue, and a gentleman escorting a lady was customary. No harm could come of it. Unless her parents saw them.

His warmth seeped through the layers of clothes onto her palm. As they walked, the fresh, tropical scent of his cologne drifted her way. Nice. It matched his style—smooth as glass. She inhaled deeply, then sighed. “Hmmm.” A little too loudly.

“You sound as though you're enjoying our stroll.” His smile was teasing.

Her face warmed. God, she was such a girl, all flustered and blushing just because a “tall-dark-handsome” smiled at her. “Excuse me.” She joked. “I think it was the bubbles from the champagne.”

He laughed, deep and resonant, and the sexy sound launched a flash of delight through her. She couldn't stop the smile that curled her lips.

Although the event was drawing to a close and the crowd had thinned, a number of people stopped them to congratulate Dante on his work. Lindsey introduced acquaintances, and caught a few curious glances at her hand resting on his arm. No one commented, but her parents would definitely hear about it.

They strolled through the central courtyard and into a pavilion. He detoured toward a bar and set down her half-empty champagne flute, took two full glasses and handed one to her. The cool glass would feel wonderful on her flushed cheeks, but she resisted that urge to and instead took a ladylike sip.

He bent close to her ear. “Watch out for the bubbles.”

She nearly choked, then looked up to see his grin.

As he stared at her, his expression slowly turned serious. “Your eyes are incredible. Your dress brings out a rich gold tone.”

Gold? She described her eyes as muddy brown, but hearing his compliment, she was glad she'd splurged on the gown. She glanced down at the floor-length, gold sequined sheath, and as she looked back up at him, her dangly earrings tinkled brightly.

“Thank you.” She smiled. “I'm just glad I didn't wear red.”

He chuckled, “You're making this difficult. I'm working my way to ask you to dinner, and you’re deflecting me with humor.”

Her stomach flipped in excitement, but her sense of self-preservation kicked in. No way could she ever date this man. She took her hand from his arm. “I'm afraid I've given you the wrong impression.”

His brow furrowed. “I just assumed…”

Lindsey walked to a window framing a view of the lights of downtown Los Angeles. Taking a couple deep breaths, she fought to calm her rioting nerves. Dante Daniato. Asked her out. A manic giggle threatened to escape her throat. She couldn’t wait to tell her girlfriends.

He followed and stood behind her. “Please excuse my presumption.”

She gazed at his reflection in the glass. He sounded so formal, as if her refusal meant nothing to him. True, it probably didn't shatter his ego. After all, there were probably a dozen beautiful women waiting to be his next conquest. “No apology necessary.” She made her words as cool as his had been.

“I usually have much better manners.” He leaned closer, spoke softly. “But being in the presence of such beauty is an overwhelming experience for me.”

His warmth reached her, surrounding her, sending shivers across her skin. Turning, she found herself staring into his eyes, just inches away.

His sensual expression warned that he wasn't giving up. Then his gaze dropped to her lips.

He wouldn't dare kiss her, would he? A part of her hoped he would, wanted to feel his perfect lips on hers. No, she couldn't. She quickly turned her head and took a step away.

Taking her hand, he tucked it back on his arm, and continued walking as if nothing exceptional had happened.

Blowing out the breath she'd been holding, she held tight to his arm, afraid her quivering knees might give out. His seduction was definitely working.

They walked past a string quartet playing Bach. “Are you telling me you're not available?” His words sounded casual. “Or are you saying you're not interested in me?”

He'd cornered her. She was both available and very interested in him, but she knew better than to admit either. She kept her tone light. “Or perhaps I'm afraid of photographers, and you live in the spotlight.”

He stopped, his face serious. “If that's all you know about me, I can understand your reluctance.”

She fought down the urge to question that statement. No doubt he had a well-crafted line to explain his lifestyle. One he successfully used to lure all those women into his arms. And she did not care to hear it. She tugged gently on his arm to get him moving. The sooner this stroll ended, the quicker she'd be able to get away from him.

They passed through a gallery of antiquities on loan from another museum. She avoided conversation by admiring the ancient paintings hanging in gilt frames, the faces in the artwork so real she could almost feel them looking at her. But it wasn't the paintings. It was his eyes that gave her the sensation of being watched.

She made the mistake of glancing at him.

He studied her, his eyebrows drawn together as if he were trying to read her thoughts.

She had to be sending him mixed signals, first staring at him and then making jokes and pushing him away when he started flirting. And that's exactly how she felt—mixed. Looking into his inquisitive eyes, she was torn between being flattered by his attention and being so intimidated by his notoriety that she wanted to take out her cell phone and call her mother to come and find her.

But she'd been in tense situations before, and she could handle this one by herself. Keeping her tone casual, she chose a new subject. “I understand you're in this country teaching and studying. What types of art interest you?”

His expression softened. “I love the female form.”

She closed her eyes for a second. Of course he did.

He chuckled. “I didn't mean that sexually. I endeavor to find the soul captured in a painting or sculpture. Every woman is beautiful on the outside, it's the inner light that interests me.”

She hadn't expected that level of insight.

As another group stopped them, Lindsey paid attention to Dante's flawless conversation style. Always asking, with interest, what they did for a living, offering a compliment to the ladies, and smoothly drawing Lindsey into the conversation. She was in the presence of a world-class charmer, and she needed to fortify her defenses.

Breaking away from the admirers, they arrived at the large, modern room displaying Dante's artwork. A few stragglers meandered on the quiet hardwood floors, speaking in hushed tones.

Lindsey was nearly speechless as she took in the superb paintings and statues. She slipped her hand from his arm and slowly spun, looking around the room. “All this is yours?” she whispered.

“Sì.”

It seemed natural to switch to Italian.
“Bellissimo! Sei un privilegiato.”

“Grazie.”

As she moved through the exhibit, the warmth of his gaze followed her, setting the tiny hairs at the nape of her neck tingling. Each painting stood out as a masterpiece and looked as comfortable in this museum as any Monet or Renoir. She caught the distinctive smell of oil paint, and smiled as the scent brought back memories of middle school art class.

“Your Italian is excellent.” He was suddenly behind her.

“College classes.” She continued to amble, admiring his work. “And I spent a month in Italy with my parents.”

“Ti piace l'Italia?”

“Yes, I love Italy, it's a beautiful country.” She looked at him.
“Di dov' è Lei?”

“I'm from Tuscany. From a small town on the sea.”

“How nice.” She turned to a painting of a secluded beach and imagined him walking along it, the golden sun warming his olive skin, wearing nothing but a sexy… Enough! She sucked in a breath. How did this man make her lose all control?