First Love. Forever Love…?

International business mogul Rafael Morretti has his pick of the world’s most desirable women. But the all-work, no-play bachelor can’t forget the one who got away. Fifteen years ago, Paris St. Clair was his college sweetheart. Now a destination wedding in Venice has reunited him with the vivacious beauty. And he will stop at nothing to win her back.

Busy building her financial career, Paris is still haunted by the one who got away. Maybe meeting Rafael again in The Floating City is a sign that their love is meant to be. As passions collide and they give in to desire at a private villa, will a sudden web of blackmail destroy Rafael’s good name and sabotage their precious second chance?

“You taste even better than I remember,” he said in a deep, guttural tone of voice.

Lips locked, their bodies pressed flat against each other, they stumbled inside the suite and collapsed against the door. His lips were made for kissing, for licking and sucking, and Paris couldn’t get enough of his mouth. His hands were in her hair, then caressing her neck and shoulders.

Inhaling his scent, Paris relished the feel of his touch, the thrill of finally being alone with him, and the pleasure of his kiss. His lips felt oh-so-good and tasted even better.

The kiss took on a life of its own, snowballed into something fierce. Grew stronger, more intense with each flick of his tongue. Her desire for Rafael was insatiable, more powerful than any drug. They teased and caressed each other until Paris didn’t know right from left. It was the hottest foreplay she’d ever had, and they were still dressed.

Yeah, but not for long.

PAMELA YAYE

has a bachelor’s degree in Christian education. Her love for African-American fiction prompted her to pursue a career in writing romance. When she’s not working on her latest novel, this busy wife, mother and teacher is watching basketball, cooking or planning her next vacation. Pamela lives in Alberta, Canada, with her gorgeous husband and adorable, but mischievous, son and daughter.

Seduced by the Heir

Pamela Yaye

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Dear Reader,

Rafael Morretti, the firstborn of Arturo and Vivica Morretti, embodies all the traits of an oldest child. He’s a born leader with a high IQ who’d much rather work than party. But when he travels to Venice, Italy, for his best friend’s wedding and comes face-to-face with his old college sweetheart, Paris St. Clair, he steps up his game and pours on the charm! Being with Paris is so easy, so natural, and their chemistry is stronger than ever. The couple spend a magical weekend together exploring tourist hot spots, dining in posh restaurants and slow dancing under the stars. And after an explosive night of lovemaking on New Year’s Eve, Rafael feels himself falling fast….

I LOVE the Morretti family and hope to write about this dynamic, close-knit clan for many more years to come. If you keep reading, I promise to keep writing! :)

I’m anxiously waiting to “hear” what you think of Rafael and Paris’s sizzling love story, so drop me a line at pamelayaye@aol.com, find me on Facebook or visit my website, www.pamelayaye.com.

Thanks for the support. Happy reading, and be blessed.

With love,

Pamela Yaye

I wouldn’t be a multipublished author without my amazing critique partners, Donna Tunney and Leica Cornwall (of Avon books). I can’t imagine not having you lovely ladies in my life and feel incredibly blessed to call you my friends. I appreciate your encouragement, your unwavering support and your honesty.

Next time we meet at BP for lunch, it’s on me! :)

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Copyright

Chapter 1

“I’ve wanted to meet you for years, and it looks like today is my lucky day!”

Like a genie in a bottle, a voluptuous woman in a gold strapless dress appeared at Rafael Morretti’s side, flashing a seductive smile. He had been searching the tent for his friend Stefano Via, but couldn’t find the gregarious stockbroker anywhere. Stefano and his bride-to-be, Cassandra Knight, had rented the lavish countryside villa, near Venice, Italy, for their week-long wedding celebration. And the three-hundred-plus guests inside the satin-draped tent were partying like there was no tomorrow. Conversation was loud and boisterous, the live band was whipping the fashionably dressed crowd into a frenzy, and the mood was energetic and festive.

“I spotted you the moment you arrived.” A girlish giggle fell from between her thin, peach lips. “Being over six feet tall, and drop-dead gorgeous makes you kinda hard to miss.”

Raising an eyebrow, Rafael regarded his female admirer closely. The blue-eyed temptress didn’t seem to care about sending the wrong impression or offending the other guests. In fact, she was determined to violate his personal space, and to rub her body against his. Damn, he thought, searching the tent for an escape route. Now I know how a waitress feels during happy hour!

“I’m a huge fan of your work, and I have every magazine you’ve ever been featured in.”

Rafael raised his glass to his mouth and tasted his Dom Perignon. The blonde was staring at him with adoration, as if he was a rock star and she was his number one fan. But Rafael wasn’t moved by her sultry tone or her provocative pout. Her blatant come-on was a turnoff. Call him old-fashioned, but he didn’t like the aggressive, take-charge types. He preferred classy, refined women who carried themselves with grace and dignity. A huge fan of my work? he thought, puzzled by her words. Can’t say I’ve ever heard that line before. I hope she doesn’t think I’m Emilio.

His younger brothers, Demetri and Nicco, teased him mercilessly about his resemblance to their famous, cousin—race-car driving sensation Emilio Morretti. And although Rafael didn’t see the physical similarities, he suspected that’s who the giggly blonde thought he was. “I’m sorry, miss, but I think you have me confused with someone else.” He peeled her fingers off his forearm and forced a smile. “I don’t know you, and I’m certain you don’t know me.”

She batted her fake eyelashes. “I know exactly who you are and I can prove it.”

“Okay,” he said, deciding to call her bluff. “Who am I?”

“You’re Rafael Morretti, heir to the Morretti Incorporated empire, and according to Business Weekly, one of the most brilliant minds of the twenty-first century.” Moving closer, until they were touching, she lowered her voice to a whisper. “You turned thirty-six back in August, but in my opinion you don’t look a day over twenty-five.”

A grin found its way onto his lips. Rafael was impressed. Not because the woman had memorized his personal bio, but because she’d managed to recite his profile with a sincere expression. As if she truly was his biggest fan.

“You were born in Italy, but presently reside in Washington D.C. You’re single, you’ve never been married and you have no kids. Are you satisfied? Or should I go on?”

“No, I think you’ve said enough.”

“Silly me. I forgot to introduce myself.” She stuck out her chest and twirled a lock of hair around her index finger. “I’m Stefano’s cousin, Julietta Via. You probably won’t believe this, but I’m very well known in Italy.”

Oh, I believe it! I bet you’ve tried to seduce every rich man in the country! As he stood there, listening to Stefano’s cousin brag about her burgeoning modeling career, Rafael couldn’t help wondering what he was doing wrong. Women like Julietta were always throwing themselves at him, sliding him their phone numbers and boldly propositioning him. These were the exact reasons he preferred to stay home on the weekends. He wasn’t interested in finding Ms. Right, or making a love connection in Venice, either. He’d been disappointed by the opposite sex one too many times, and after his ex-girlfriend’s bitter betrayal he’d decided to take a break from dating altogether. Rafael had no intention of getting played by another conniving woman desperate for fame and fortune. So he took a giant step away from the aggressive blonde and scanned the grounds for someone else to talk to.

“This is my favorite song,” Julietta said, swaying to the sensuous beat of the music. “Let’s get out there, and show everyone how to really get down.”

Rafael shook his head. “I don’t dance.”

“Then let’s take this intimate party for two inside the villa.” She linked an arm through his and gestured to the French doors. “Follow me. I want to show you something.”

“Are you always this forward?”

“I believe in taking life by the horns.”

And I believe in staying far, far away from provocative women like you! Rafael spotted his brothers, slow dancing with their wives-to-be out on the floor, and felt a twinge of envy. These days, Demetri and Nicco were busy planning romantic dates and jetting off to the City of Lights, rather than hanging out with him. And for the first time ever Rafael was unfulfilled at work, and worried about his future. Am I destined to spend the rest of my life alone? he wondered, releasing a deep sigh. Will I ever meet a woman who loves me for me, and not because of my net worth? Ever since his younger brothers had gotten engaged, their mother, Vivica, had been on his case to settle down. And when she wasn’t badgering him about finding a bride, she was trying to set him up on blind dates.

But Rafael had bigger problems than keeping his mother out of his personal life. Someone was out to ruin his family, and he had to find out who it was before it was too late. Terrifying things had happened over the summer, and even though his dad put up a brave front, Rafael could tell he was deeply concerned about Nicco’s restaurant being vandalized, the shooting at the Beach Bentley Hotel and the recent arson attack. For that reason Rafael didn’t bother to tell his father about the blackmail letters he’d received last Friday. He’d immediately turned the letters over to the police, though he knew there was little the cops could do. It was ultimately up to him and his security team to unearth the truth, and they would, no matter what.

“I want to get to know you better.”

Rafael surfaced from his thoughts. “Is that right?”

“Absolutely,” the blonde purred, brushing her lips against his cheek and a hand against his forearm once again. “Let’s sneak inside for a quickie. No one will even notice we’re gone.”

Rafael had to admit it was a tempting offer, but he wouldn’t do it. He wasn’t looking for trouble, and Stefano’s cousin could be the poster girl for Gold Diggers Anonymous. For all he knew, she was in cahoots with one of his business rivals, and he had no desire to end up on the cover of a sleazy Italian tabloid. Not when he was on the verge of finalizing a multimillion-dollar deal with one of the largest car manufacturers in the world. He had come to Venice for business, not pleasure, and it was imperative he keep his eyes on the prize, and off Julietta’s jaw-dropping cleavage.

“I’m not interested.”

“Of course you are,” she argued, licking her lips lasciviously. “I can do things with my tongue that will make you scream....”

A rich, effervescent laugh filled the air, seizing Rafael’s attention. It couldn’t be, he told himself, shaking his head. No way she was there. Not in Venice, at his friend’s wedding.

Another giggle reached his ears, louder and longer than the last. Rafael combed the tent, searching for the woman whose throaty, sultry laugh still gave him chills. His gaze landed on the bar, more than fifty feet away. And there she was. Paris St. Clair. How could he miss her? She’d been his first love, the only woman he’d ever felt an intense connection to, and even after all these years the sound of her voice still aroused him.

Her scarlet-red lips looked plump and juicy, her silky hair hung like a curtain over her shoulders, and she was dressed to kill in a black lace minidress. His eyes roved over her delectable shape. His pulse hammered in his ears, and his temperature shot through the roof. Breathe, fool, breathe!

Rafael stood at the back of the room, mesmerized, watching Paris dazzle her group of male admirers. Her radiant, butterscotch skin was glowing, her eyes shimmered under the decorative lights and her silky brown legs seemed to go on for miles. He was curious to know if she was married, how many children she had and if she’d fulfilled her dream of owning a beauty salon franchise. But most important, he wondered if she’d ever thought of him over the years.

Rafael didn’t realize he was moving until he heard the blonde’s high-pitched voice fade into the background. With a dry mouth and a pounding heart, he strode purposely toward the bar. The beauty with the dazzling smile and bountiful curves sure looked like his ex, but Rafael had to know for sure if it was Paris, and there was only one way to find out.

* * *

Paris St. Clair loved having male attention. She stood at the bar discussing lucrative investment opportunities with a group of distinguished Italian businessmen worth millions. It was her job as maid of honor not only to tend to the bride, but to socialize with the other guests. Plus Paris knew if she continued flirting, and laughing at their jokes, they’d soon be putty in her hands.

Raising her champagne flute to her lips, she discreetly scoured the tent for anyone else wearing diamond watches and designer suits. No one caught her eye, but she made a mental note to introduce herself to the groom’s family during dessert. Stefano Via came from old money, and although he never flaunted his wealth, Paris knew his father, a former mayor, was one of the richest men in the country. Definitely someone to get better acquainted with.

“So, what happened, little lady?” The media mogul with the salt-and-pepper hair grinned like the Cat in the Hat. “Did you hit the target or miss by a mile?”

Make them wait. It builds suspense! she thought, taking another sip of her champagne. Being a senior executive at her father’s company, Excel Construction, had given her keen insight into the opposite sex. And holding center court among a group of rich, influential men was an exhilarating high. Being the “boss’s kid” definitely had its downside, but Paris wouldn’t trade working for her father, or her fabulous, jet-setting lifestyle, for anything in the world. She’d never forgotten her humble beginnings—all the times she’d gone to bed hungry as a child—and she was willing to do whatever it took to remain in the lap of luxury.

“I hit the bull’s-eye on my first throw,” she said proudly, shaking off the bitter memories of her past. “And when my brother fell into the dunk tank, he looked like he was going to cry!”

Tossing her head back, she laughed long and hard at the memory of Oliver shouting and flailing his arms in the dunk tank during Excel Construction’s annual employee barbecue. Midgiggle, her gaze fell across a superfine man with light brown skin, a fitness trainer’s build and the sexiest lips she had ever seen. The ground fell out from under her feet and her eyes widened in surprise.

Swallowing a gasp, she willed herself not to faint. Her heart was beating so loud and so fast she feared it would explode straight out of her chest. It was Rafael. Her first love. The guy she’d lost her virginity to; the man she’d once innocently believed was her soul mate.

Paris squinted, focused her gaze. Maybe her eyes were playing tricks on her. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d mistaken a gorgeous Italian guy for her ex, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. Their eyes met, zeroed in on each other, and Paris knew without a doubt it was Rafael. She’d recognize his smoldering stare and those long, thick eyelashes anywhere. Off-kilter, she gripped the side of the bar to keep from keeling over onto the manicured grass.

Eyes narrowed, she inspected him from head to toe. The years had obviously been kind to him. Back in the day, Rafael had been cute, but today he put the h in hot. His thick black hair was neatly trimmed, and he was immaculately groomed. His muscled physique filled out every inch of his tailored suit, and his boyish smile still made her heart swoon. He moved through the crowd with more confidence than one of Hollywood’s leading men, and if that wasn’t bad enough, charisma oozed from his pores.

Paris fanned a hand in front of her face, warning herself to get a grip. But he looked so dapper in his khaki suit that she couldn’t help but stare at him. This can’t be real. I must be dreaming. What is Rafael Morretti doing here? And why is he headed my way?

His cologne was a subtle fragrance, and as it wafted through the air her thoughts slipped back to the afternoon she’d lost her virginity to him at his family’s beach house in Cape May. Did he remember that night? Paris quickly told herself it didn’t matter. She didn’t have time to relive the past, not when her past was staring her right in the face. Rafael was there, just inches away, and seeing him again gave her a heady feeling.

Desire rushed down her spine, tickling and teasing her most intimate parts. After all these years, she still wanted him, but Paris was determined not to embarrass herself.

To break the ice, she smiled. Rafael didn’t.

“This is a pleasant surprise.” His clipped tone suggested otherwise, but he had that twinkle in his eyes. A hungry, predatory expression on his face that said he was aroused. Back in the day, that look used to make her body tremble and quiver—

Still does, her conscience interrupted. You’re shaking so hard your teeth are chattering!

“It’s been, what, twenty years since we saw each other?”

No, fifteen years and three days, but who’s counting? Feeling as if she was trapped in a mental fog, she gave her head a hard shake to clear her thoughts. Never in a million years did she expect to see Rafael at her best friend’s engagement party. Questions raced through her mind. Did he still live in Washington? Did he have children? Was he married?

Of course he’s married! her conscience shrieked. Look at him! He’s worth millions, he’s built like a Greek god and his scent is as seductive as his smile.

Years ago, he’d been featured in Money magazine, but the article didn’t reveal any personal information about him. Currently, the rumor mill was filled with tales of embezzlement, lawsuits and infighting at Morretti Incorporated. But the most shocking story she’d heard recently was that Rafael’s brothers, Demetri and Nicco, were happily in love. Deliriously in love, if the gossip blogs were true. The Morretti brothers used to be closer than the Three Musketeers, and Paris couldn’t imagine any woman—no matter how beautiful she was—ever coming between them.

“It’s wonderful to see you again.” Commanding her legs to quit shaking, Paris leaned casually against the bar, as if she wasn’t the least bit affected by his arrival. And she wasn’t. She was a confident, thirty-five-year-old woman, not a shy, pubescent tween. She refused to let her nerves get the best of her. “It’s been a long time, Rafael. How have you been?”

Rafael parted his lips, but his brain froze. Nothing came out. Not a word, not a squeak. Paris took his breath away—literally—and it demanded every ounce of his self-control not to sweep her up in his arms for a kiss. His tongue suddenly felt too big for his mouth, and it hurt to swallow. Struck dumb, he couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

Rafael wanted to smack himself hard upside the head. What’s the matter with you, man? Why are you standing here gawking at her? She dumped you, remember?

Standing tall, he masked his unease with a smile and slid his hands into the pockets of his dress pants. Damn, Paris made him feel nineteen again—like that quiet, socially awkward teenager who used to carry her books and walk her to class. But I’m not a kid anymore, he told himself, in an effort to bolster his confidence. I’m an accomplished businessman who out earns the president, so why the hell am I acting like a flustered, jittery fool?

“There you are. We’ve been looking all over for you.”

Rafael turned, saw his brothers and shot them a puzzled look.

“Ms., do you mind if I steal my brother away for a few minutes?” Nicco asked.

“No, not at all. He’s all yours.” Paris placed her empty glass on the bar and tucked her purse under her arm. “It was great seeing you again, Rafael. Take care.”

As she turned away, Rafael caught sight of the massive diamond ring on her left hand. Knowing that she belonged to another man should have tempered his desire, but it didn’t. Paris was a stunner, hands down the most beautiful woman in the vicinity, and he hated to see her go.

“Damn, bro, are you okay?”

“Yeah, Demetri, I’m fine, but I wished you hadn’t interrupted us.”

Nicco wiped imaginary sweat off his forehead. “Thank God we did. You were drowning fast, bro. Five more minutes and you probably would have fainted at her feet!”

His brothers chuckled, but Rafael didn’t appreciate their laughter at his expense. He wanted them to disappear, so he could track Paris down. She was married, and likely had children, but he’d rather spend time with her than with his wisecracking brothers. “All right, I admit it, seeing Paris again threw me off my game, but—”

“That was Paris St. Clair? The girl you were obsessed with in college?”

Rafael scowled. “Demetri, you’re exaggerating. I wasn’t obsessed with her.”

“Yes, you were,” Nicco argued, his tone matter-of-fact. “You wrote her love letters every day, and you slept with her picture under your pillow!”

“That was then, and this is now.”

Demetri wore a skeptical look. “Are you sure? Because you were crushing on her pretty hard a few minutes ago.”

“No, I wasn’t. I was just making conversation.”

Nicco chuckled long and hard. “You weren’t. You were drooling like a Doberman with a raw steak bone!”

Chapter 2

“Why didn’t you tell me you invited Rafael Morretti to your wedding?” Paris burst into the master bedroom on the second floor of the twelve-room villa and cornered her best friend, Cassandra Knight, inside the enormous walk-in closet. “I almost fainted when I saw him!”

“What’s the matter? Why are you so upset?”

Stumped, Paris closed her mouth. What am I supposed to say? Seeing Rafael left me rattled. I’m still attracted to him. He’s even more handsome at thirty-six than he was at nineteen.... Since she couldn’t find the right words to express her feelings, she said nothing.

“You two should get along great. He’s half Italian, and you love pasta, and Godfather movies. Sounds like a match made in heaven to me!”

“Knock it off,” Paris snapped, annoyed by her friend’s teasing. “This is serious.”

Cassandra’s face softened and she wore a sympathetic smile. “I know what this is about. You propositioned him and he shot you down, didn’t he? I told you girl, less is more—”

“Rafael did not shoot me down.”

Cassandra belted her robe and returned to the master bedroom. “Then why are you ranting and raving about a guy you just met?”

I know him better than you think, Paris thought, ambling over to the window. Pulling back the bronze drapes, she searched the grounds of the villa for her first love. Reuniting with her old college sweetheart had stirred powerful feelings inside her, but even more shocking was the impulse she felt to jump his bones. Maybe celibacy isn’t such a good idea. I’m so horny I’m fantasizing about a guy I dumped fifteen years ago!

“Keep your chin up. You’ll meet a great guy this weekend. I just know it.”

Paris scoffed and rolled her eyes to the vaulted ceiling. “Girl, please, I have a better chance of being struck by lightning during a snowstorm!”

“Okay, okay, fine, quit pouting. I’ll get Rafael’s phone number for you.”

“I’ve known Rafael since I was a teenager,” she blurted out, staring down at her bejeweled hands. The very same hands she’d once used to stroke Rafael’s face, his chest and his... Paris deleted her last thought. To ward off the memories sneaking up on her, she pressed her eyes shut and took a deep, calming breath. “He was my first love.”

“You hooked up with Rafael Morretti? No way!”

“We started dating our freshman year of college, and broke up a year later.”

Cassandra wore a cheeky grin. “That means Rafael is Mr. O!”

“Don’t call him that.”

“What?” Her smile was coy, but the expression in her eyes was one of pure mischief. “You said your first love gave you orgasm after orgasm, night after glorious night.”

“All right, all right,” Paris snapped. “Enough already. I don’t want to talk about my sexual escapades with Rafael Morretti.”

“Don’t get mad at me. They’re your words, not mine.”

Needing a distraction—something, anything, to take her mind off her old college sweetheart—Paris surveyed her surroundings. The seventeenth century villa was the perfect blend of Old World Venice and the modern, contemporary age. During the tour of the villa that afternoon, she’d learned it had a wine cellar, a personal theater and a home gym. But the room that impressed Paris the most was the study. Later, when the party died down, she was going to curl up on the couch and unwind with a romance novel.

“How was I supposed to know Stefano’s childhood friend was your old college sweetheart?” Cassandra plopped down on the antique chair at the vanity table and unzipped her Hermes makeup bag. “I’m a savvy businesswoman, Paris, not a mind reader!”

Paris laughed, but the uneasy feeling in her stomach remained. To take her mind off Rafael, she joined Cassandra at the vanity table and picked up a curling iron. “You’re right. I’m sorry for blowing up at you, but seeing Rafael again after all these years has me on edge.”

“Relax, you’re getting yourself all worked up for nothing. Rafael is too much of a gentleman to rehash the past. Besides, he’s leaving for Tuscany tomorrow, so you won’t see him again until the wedding day.”

“He balked at your ridiculous, five-page itinerary, too, huh? Smart man.”

“I just want everyone I love to spend quality time together this week.”

“I hear you, but a week-long wedding celebration is a little over the top, even for me.”

“Don’t talk to me about over the top. You rented out Spago for your thirtieth birthday, flew in friends from all across the country, and paid thousands of dollars to have Maxwell to perform,” Cassandra said, nailing her with a don’t-mess-with-me look. “Only celebrities do that, and the last time I checked your last name wasn’t Kardashian!”

The friends laughed.

“Is, ah, Rafael, staying here, too?” Paris asked, keeping her tone light, casual.

“Of course.”

“But I thought you rented the villa for the bridal party.”

Cassandra frowned. “I did. Rafael is the master of ceremonies.”

“Of what?”

“The wedding, Einstein!”

“And you’re just telling me about this now!”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, eyebrows raised, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “I didn’t realize I needed your approval before making decisions about my New Year’s Eve wedding.”

Paris ignored the dig. Things just keep getting better! Her gaze landed on the bedroom window overlooking the backyard. She recalled her conversation with Rafael, wondered why he had given her the cold shoulder. Is he still mad about the way things ended? Their exchange had been plagued with silence, and had felt like the longest minute of her life. Paris didn’t want to stay at the villa, but she had few options. If she grabbed her stuff and left, Cassandra would flip out, and Paris didn’t want to get on her girlfriend’s bad side. “Are you sure Rafael’s the right person to emcee the wedding? He’s always been on the quiet side, and he hates public speaking.”

“Don’t be crazy. Of course I’m sure. He’s incredibly charming,” Cassandra said. “Once you get to know him you’ll see what an amazing guy he is.”

Girl, please, trust me, I know him. I’ve had that man in ways you wouldn’t believe!

“Rafael only arrived a few hours ago, but the bridesmaids are already fighting over him. Even the ones with boyfriends!” she said with a laugh.

“They are? Really?”

“Yeah, Stefano’s cousin, Julietta, told the other girls to back off or else.”

Paris didn’t like the sound of that. Not one bit. It was insane that after all these years she was still attracted to Rafael, but she was, and she didn’t want him sowing his wild oats while they were under the same roof. “Is there anything else I should know?” she asked, twirling a lock of Cassandra’s hair around the base of the curling iron. “I don’t like surprises, and I have a feeling you’re keeping something from me.”

“You’re paranoid.” With a grin, Cassandra added, “And horny! You want Rafael so bad desire is practically oozing from your pores.”

Paris wanted to tell her friend that she was dead wrong, but couldn’t get the words out. Am I that transparent? Did Rafael sense my desire? Is that why he ignored me earlier?

“It’s obvious you still like him, or you wouldn’t be so upset about seeing him again.” Her tone was confident. “Just admit it. You have the hots for him, and you want to rekindle your romance.”

“That’s ludicrous. I haven’t seen him in years.”

“Yeah, but Rafael was your first boyfriend, your first kiss, your first love—”

“I know, I know,” Paris said glumly. “Don’t remind me.”

“As if you haven’t relived that night a million times in your mind.” Cassandra sighed dreamily, as if her heart was bursting with love, and touched a hand to her chest. “You said your first time was the most magical moment of your life.”

“I was a teenager. It didn’t mean anything.”

“Good, so I don’t have to worry about you and Julietta fighting over him, right?”

“Don’t worry. I’d never dream of doing anything to ruin your big day.”

Cassandra grabbed her hairbrush and pointed it at the mirror. “You better not, or I’ll kill you with my bare hands!”

The women laughed. As Paris continued to style Cassandra’s hair, they discussed the sightseeing excursion planned for tomorrow, and the wedding rehearsal at the world-famous Frari Church in the evening. Everything was in place for Stefano and Cassandra’s New Year’s Eve ceremony, and Paris was so excited for the couple that she was anxious for the big day to finally arrive. Just because she didn’t believe in love, or the ridiculous notion of two people living happily ever after, didn’t mean she couldn’t support her best friend. Stefano was a great man, who treated Cassandra like a queen, and Paris was glad he’d finally popped the question and relocated to London to be with her. They were a dynamic couple, and Paris was thrilled that her friend was finally going to get her happy ending.

“If things get too overwhelming this weekend just let me know.” A sad smile touched Cassandra’s lips. “I’m here for you, Paris. Don’t ever forget that.”

“Quit stressing. I’m fine, really.”

“I know, but I worry that all this wedding stuff is going to bring back painful memories.”

Paris dropped her gaze to the floor and swallowed the lump in her throat. Sadness consumed her, caused her heart to pound erratically. Willing herself not to cry, she bit the inside of her cheek. Three years ago, she’d dated a man she’d hoped to build a life with despite her feelings for Rafael, and now she was alone, forced to deal with the pain of her ex-boyfriend’s bitter betrayal.

Taking a deep breath, she cleared every troubling thought from her mind. Instead of dwelling on the past, she was going to focus on all the wonderful things in her life. She had a loving family, caring and supportive friends, and a successful career. Sure, she hated her job, and thought of quitting every day, but she’d rather suffer in silence than disappoint her father. Paris wanted to make him proud, craved and desired his approval more than anything in the world, and was determined to earn his respect.

“Have you spoken to Winston’s mother recently?”

Paris nodded, but didn’t elaborate on the hour-long conversation she’d had with the retired nurse days earlier. She couldn’t talk about her ex-boyfriend’s mother without getting emotional, and just thinking about the frail, elderly woman made her heart ache. She appreciated Cassandra’s concern, but knew if she didn’t change the subject quick she’d succumb to the clutches of grief and despair. And the last thing Paris wanted was to have an emotional breakdown.

“Don’t move.” Paris picked up the pink aerosol can on the vanity table, and sprayed Cassandra’s elegant up-do with hair sheen. “Voilà, you’re all done.”

“I love it, girl, thanks!” Touching the nape of her neck, Cassandra turned from right to left, admiring her chic hairstyle. “When are you going to quit working for your old man, and finally open a high-end beauty salon?”

Paris groaned. “Not this again.”

“Yes, this again. It’s time you quit working for daddy dearest, and branch out.”

“We’ve talked about this ad nauseam. I’m not cut out to run my own business.”

“Of course you are,” Cassandra argued, propping a hand on her hip. “You got your MBA from one of the finest business schools in the country, and you graduated at the top of our class.”

Paris shook her head, refusing to give any thought to what her best friend said. Leaving Excel Construction wasn’t an option. Even though she loved doing hair and makeup, and always dreamed of owning a salon, she wasn’t about to leave her cushy executive job in Atlanta. Traveling the world, making great money and partying with wealthy, influential people was important to her. And if she quit working at her dad’s company, she’d have to kiss her fabulous social life goodbye. “I opened a salon back in the day, and it was a complete failure, remember?”

“Don’t be so cynical. You’re older and wiser now. Things will be different.”

“I can’t afford to take that risk. I still owe my dad thousands of dollars. I’ll be paying him back for many more years to come.”

Cassandra stood, gripped Paris’s shoulders and stared her down. “Then do what you do best—find some big-money investors and persuade them to back your salon.”

Leaning against the vanity table, Paris gave some thought to what her friend had said. It was a good idea, but she didn’t have the time or energy to take on such an enormous endeavor. Not when she had more responsibilities than ever. Besides, no one in their family ever defied her father, and Paris wasn’t about to start.

“I’m going to go change.” Selecting one of the dresses on the bed, Cassandra sashayed back inside the walk-in closet, and shut the door. Minutes later, she returned to the bedroom wearing a designer bejeweled gown. “How do I look?”

For effect, Paris hollered like a cheerleader. Her best friend had always been a low-key, no-fuss type of girl, but there she was, in her third dress of the night. She was draped in thousands of dollars’ worth of diamonds, and her blue silk gown made her look as graceful as the Duchess of Cambridge. “I love the color of your dress, and how it shows off your killer bod. Your fiancé is one very lucky man!”

Giggling, the friends linked arms and exited the bedroom.

“We better hurry,” Cassandra said, as they slowly descended the spiral staircase. “It’s time for dessert, and if we’re late there’ll be nothing left. Julietta is a little, bitty thing, but boy, can that girl eat!”

Paris followed Cassandra through the grand foyer and out the French doors. Music, laughter and the pungent scents of fresh fruit and flowers filled the night air. With a dry mouth and an erratic heartbeat, Paris stepped inside the tent, hoping Rafael was long gone. At the thought of him, blood rushed through her veins. Try as she might, she couldn’t squelch the butterflies swarming around her stomach. He had a hold on her still, after all these years. One Paris didn’t understand, and couldn’t explain. Memories sneaked up on her, scrolled through her mind in slow motion. The first time they’d kissed and the nights they’d made love were deeply cherished memories, ones she had relived hundreds of times over the years, and nothing would ever change how much she’d once loved and adored Rafael Morretti.

Once loved him? her conscience repeated. When did you stop?

To that, Paris didn’t have an answer.

Chapter 3

Rafael sat in the media room, playing chess with Stefano, but he was having a hell of a time concentrating on the game. His thoughts were on Paris. Had been from the moment he’d laid eyes on her. Seeing his old college sweetheart again, after more than a decade, had his mind so twisted he couldn’t think of anything but her. Stefano had won the last three games, and if that wasn’t bad enough, he’d bragged about his landslide victories on Facebook and Twitter.

Realizing he didn’t have a chance in hell of beating Stefano, Rafael threw his hands up in defeat and reclined in his leather chair. Low-hanging lights, plush furniture and colorful artwork gave the room a one-of-a-kind look. The air smelled of roasted peanuts, and the mouthwatering aroma made Rafael’s stomach grumble. The wet bar was only a few feet away, but he was too tired to get up and fix himself a snack. It had been a day filled with surprises, and he still couldn’t wrap his mind around Paris St. Clair being at his best friend’s wedding celebration.

Raising his eyes to the ceiling, he contemplated calling it a night and heading upstairs to his bed. Paris was staying on the second floor, only three doors down from his room. And knowing that his ex—the woman he’d once loved more than anything in the world—was only a breath away would be the ultimate torture.

Rafael heard his cell phone chime, and glanced down at the coffee table to read the number on the screen. His eyes narrowed, hardened with disgust. It was Cicely Cohen. His ex-girlfriend. The woman who’d betrayed his trust for fifteen minutes of fame. She’d been blowing up his phone for weeks, had left dozens of teary voice mail messages, but Rafael hadn’t returned her calls. Wasn’t going to, either. He had nothing to say to her, and the sooner she got the hint the better. They were over for good, and there was no way in hell he was taking her back.

“Rafael, is everything okay? You seem distracted.”

“I’m cool, man. Don’t worry about me,” he said. “How are you feeling? The big day is fast approaching, so if you’re having second thoughts, now’s a good time to skip town!”

Stefano wore a proud smile. “Proposing to Cassandra last year in Aruba was the best decision I ever made, and I can’t wait for her to become Mrs. Stefano Via.”

“I’m glad to hear that. You’re an incredible couple, and she definitely brings out the best in you.” Rafael wanted to say more, but stopped himself in the nick of time. He couldn’t fire off questions about Paris—not without raising suspicion—so for now he’d just have to cool his heels. “Have you guys decided where you’re going to live after you get married?”

“We’re going to stay in England for the time being. We love living in London and now that my consulting firm has taken off, I’m in no rush to return to the States.”

“Congratulations, man. It sounds like everything has finally come together.” Rafael picked up his wine cooler and took a swig.

“Where’s Nicco?” Stefano asked. “I thought he was joining us for a nightcap.”

“That’s what he said, but Jariah probably had other ideas. My brother thinks he’s running things, but make no mistake, his fiancée is the one in charge.”

Stefano chuckled, and nodded in agreement. “I know what that’s like, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. If my woman’s happy, then I’m happy. Cassandra means the world to me, and I’ll never let anything come between us.”

“You sound like an online dating ad!” Rafael joked.

“And you have no idea what you’re missing. Now that I’ve found my soul mate I—”

“Have you met Paris’s husband?” Rafael felt his cheeks burn, heard his pulse hammer in his ears, but faked a smile. It was too late to stuff the words back down his throat, and besides, he was curious to know about the man who’d captured his first love’s heart.

“Who told you Paris was married?” Stefano asked, wearing a puzzled expression.

“She’s not?”

His frown deepened, caused fine lines to wrinkle his forehead. “Nope, last time I checked she was single and ready to mingle!”

“But she’s wearing a massive diamond ring on her left hand.”

“Paris loves jewelry. Most women do.”

Surprised, and oddly relieved by the news, Rafael pressed on. “Is she dating anyone?”

“Why? Are you interested?”

“I didn’t come to Venice to make a love connection.”

“Nicco said you dated Paris in college. How come you never mentioned her?”

He shrugged. “Because we weren’t serious.”

“Why did you guys call it quits?”

“What’s with all the questions?”

“I just couldn’t imagine you dating someone like Paris, that’s all, and I wonder—”

“Someone like Paris?” he repeated, interrupting. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re polar opposites. She’s a high-maintenance diva and you’re Mr. Laid-back.”

Rafael thought about what his friend had said, wondering if there was any truth to it. In college, Paris had been the girl every guy wanted, and every girl wanted to be. But he couldn’t recall her ever copping an attitude with him, or behaving like a diva. Loved by everyone, and admired by all, she’d easily made friends. She had shone as the student council president, and gained the respect and admiration of the faculty and staff, as well.

Had Paris changed? Was she like all the other shallow, materialistic women he’d had the misfortune of dating in the past? Unlike his friends, Rafael didn’t flaunt his wealth, and derived great pleasure from the simple things in life. Hot summer days spent jogging through the park with his beloved dogs; spending Sunday afternoons playing golf and watching football. He’d yet to find someone who loved the great outdoors, and humanitarian work, and doubted he ever would. Most women he met were more interested in driving around town in his Bentley and dining at five-star restaurants than getting to know him as person. And since he had more than enough work to keep him busy, he had zero interest in the Washington dating scene.

“Paris loves to party, and you’re a recluse, so you’d definitely make an odd pair.”

“Recluse? That’s a stretch, don’t you think?”

“No. The last time you went on a date Michael Jordan was still playing for the Bulls!”

Rafael had a zinger on his tongue, one he knew would wipe the grin clear off Stefano’s face. But before he could speak, his friend resumed his interrogation.

“Did Paris cheat on you?” he asked in a solemn tone. “Is that why you broke up?”

“No, she transferred to Spelman her junior year, and the distance proved too much....” Rafael trailed off, stopping himself from saying more. What he didn’t tell Stefano was that Paris had dumped him three days before his birthday and immediately started dating someone else. Some rich, good-looking clown on the football team. It’s in the past, water under the bridge, he told himself, downing the rest of his wine cooler. I moved on a long time ago, and never gave Paris, or her loser boyfriend, another thought.

If that’s true, his conscience said, then why are you still bitter and resentful about your breakup? Why does your heart ache every time you see her?

“I can’t believe you’re still sweet on her after all this time.”

“Stefano, knock it off. I’m not sweet on Paris. I haven’t seen her in years.”

“So? Who’s to say she’s not the one?” he challenged, raising an eyebrow. He leaned forward expectantly. “Maybe it’s true what they say. Maybe absence does make the heart grow fonder.”

Rafael laughed, rejecting his friend’s opinion with a dismissive flick of his hand. “Thanks for the advice, Dr. Love, but I’m not interested in making a connection with Paris or anyone else.”

But I wouldn’t mind a few nights of carnal pleasure, he thought as images of his ex-girlfriend bombarded his mind. Rafael couldn’t remember the last time he’d had sex. Six months? A year? He told himself it didn’t matter, because now that he’d reunited with his old college sweetheart his sexual drought was about to come to an abrupt end.

A grin tilted the corners of his lips. Seducing Paris was going to be more fun than playing high-stakes poker in Atlantic City. Rafael lived for the thrill of the chase, the pursuit, and he had a feeling the sexy socialite was going to make things very interesting this weekend. The only hurdle would be hooking up with Paris without everyone at the villa finding out. Rafael didn’t want word of his holiday tryst getting back to his brothers, or worse, his matchmaking mother. He’d think of something, he had to, because tomorrow, when he saw Paris at breakfast, he was setting his plan in motion.

“I’m beat. I’m turning in.” Stefano stood and swiped his iPhone off the coffee table. “Tomorrow’s going to be a long day, and if I doze off during the tour Cassandra will kill me!”

“Is everyone heading into the city for the sightseeing excursion?”

“And by everyone, you mean Paris, right?” He wore a wry grin. “Yeah, she’s going.”

“I might tag along,” Rafael said, keeping his tone light, casual. The thought of spending the day with Paris appealed to him, but he didn’t confess the truth. If his best friend knew he was feeling something for her—even just a little—he’d blab to Cassandra, and Rafael didn’t want anyone to know he was interested in hooking up with his former flame. “My meeting has been pushed back to Monday, and I have nothing planned tomorrow.”

“That’s great. Now you’ll have time to romance Paris!”

Rafael scoffed at the suggestion. Ever since Stefano had proposed to Cassandra he seemed hell-bent on hooking him up with one of her single friends. And when he wasn’t playing matchmaker he was bragging about his lady love. Stefano couldn’t go five minutes without talking about how great she was, and listening to his buddy gush about his bride-to-be made Rafael feel lonelier than ever.

First my best friend finds love, and then my brothers, he thought, releasing a deep sigh. Coming to Venice was a bad idea. All this love and happiness is sickening.

“I’ll meet you on the tennis court at 7:00 a.m.,” Stefano said, as they exited the media room. “Don’t be late, or I’ll send Julietta to come get you.”

“You better not, or you’ll be sporting a black eye on your wedding day.”

Chuckling good-naturedly they strode down the hall and climbed the staircase.

“Good night, man.”

“Try not to snore,” Rafael teased, clapping his friend on the back. “I’m a light sleeper, and I need my rest so I can whip you in straight sets tomorrow.”

“Keep dreaming, pretty boy, it’s not going to happen!”

Seconds later, Rafael opened his bedroom door, flipped on the lights and kicked off his shoes. The first thing he noticed was Julietta—sitting on the king-size bed in a flimsy lace negligee.

“I can’t sleep,” she stated. Her eyes were as wide and as innocent as Bambi’s, but the mischievous expression on her tanned face told another story.

“What are you doing here?” Rafael retorted.

“I came to see you,” she purred, flinging the blanket aside and hopping to her feet. Meeting his gaze head-on, she stalked toward him like a jaguar prowling the jungle for fresh meat. “Let’s get down and dirty. I have wine, and more toys than a dominatrix!”

“I’m not interested.”

“Then I’ll just have to change your mind.” Julietta reached for his belt buckle, but Rafael grabbed her hands. “What are you doing? Don’t you want to have a good time?”

“It’s late, and I have work to do.”

“You don’t want me to stay?”

“No, sorry, I don’t.”

Her smile fell away, and a sneer stained her glossy red lips. “I don’t need this crap. I’m superpopular here, and there are plenty of guys who’d kill to be with me,” she argued, propping her hands on her wide, full hips. “I was the third runner up in last year’s Miss Italia contest, and I have more Twitter followers than the Dalai Lama....”

To end her rant, Rafael opened the bedroom door. “Good night, Julietta. Sleep well.”

“If you change your mind, which I know you will, I’ll be skinny-dipping in the pool.”

Rafael watched the blue-eyed temptress slink down the staircase, convinced that things couldn’t get any worse. But as he turned away, he spotted Paris standing at the other end of the hall, staring at him. He wanted to tell her about what didn’t happen with Julietta, but he could tell by the malevolent glare on Paris’s face that she thought he was the scum of the earth. But he had to say something, had to defend himself. Before Rafael could utter a word she marched into her bedroom and slammed the door.

Chapter 4

On Friday morning downtown Venice was clogged with noisy tourists, and flamboyant street performers hoping to make a quick buck, but Rafael couldn’t keep his eyes off Paris. Standing in the middle of the world-famous Piazza San Marco was a mind-blowing experience, one that should have been captivating enough to hold his attention, but it didn’t. Not with Paris around.

She looks like an angel, Rafael thought, admiring her on the sly. Her oversize sunglasses gave her a youthful air, her crimson lips held a dazzling smile and her sleeveless white dress played up her pear-shaped figure.

Yeah, a naughty angel you’d love to see naked, his conscience taunted. Quit gawking at her. You’re better than that. You’re a Morretti, remember?

But Rafael didn’t turn away. He lacked the willpower and fortitude it required. Paris was dressed to kill, and her traffic-stopping curves made him hot under the collar and below the belt. Diamonds dangled from her ears, neck and wrists, and her ankle bracelet drew his gaze down her long legs time and time again.

“The Piazza San Marcos is one of the most beautiful places in Italy, and people travel from far and wide to admire the magnificent works of Antonio Canova, Giovanni Bellini and Vittore Carpaccio.”

Rafael tore his gaze away from Paris, and turned his attention to the middle-aged tour guide with the receding hairline. He tried to listen to what Mr. Esposito was saying, but all he could think about was kissing Paris with all the passion coursing through his veins. He wouldn’t act on his feelings, knew better than to make a move on her in public, but dammit if he didn’t want to.

That morning at breakfast he’d scored a seat beside her. But unfortunately Paris had spent more time chatting with the other groomsmen than talking to him. And when they did speak their conversation was plagued with tension and awkward silences. No matter, Rafael told himself. He wasn’t giving up. They’d had something special once, and he liked the idea of having a holiday fling with Paris in his beloved hometown. In fact, he couldn’t think of a better way to kick off the New Year. He was determined to connect with his old college sweetheart and nothing was going to stop him.

Raising his water bottle to his lips, he took a long, refreshing drink. The sky was clear, the breeze thick and the air was filled with the scent of sweet-smelling flowers. People were everywhere—snapping pictures, feeding the pigeons, wandering the cobblestone streets and pushing and shoving like kids waiting in line at the water fountain. As Rafael moped the sweat from his brow he decided he’d had enough excitement for one day.

He choked down more water. After hours of walking from one ancient monument to the next, he was ready to head back to the villa for some R & R. He’d been up since dawn, and after working on his presentation, he’d played tennis with Stefano and swam in the heated pool.

Checking his gold wristwatch, Rafael was surprised to see that it was midday. After lunch, the group was heading over to the fashion district. He had no desire to go shopping, and had better things to do with his time, but knew it was a bad idea to ditch the group. If he did, one of the other groomsmen would make a move on Paris, and there was no way in hell Rafael was letting that happen. He’d have to suck it up, and bide his time.

“Are we going on a gondola ride today?” asked one of Stefano’s short, plump aunts.

The tour guide wore a polite smile. “No, ma’am, I’m afraid not.”

“But it’s on the top of my bucket list, and I may never come to Italy again!”

Everyone in the group laughed. The bride and groom’s friends and family—sixty-five loud, boisterous people in all—entered the Campanile, the city’s oldest and tallest building. But Rafael noticed Paris ducking into one of the nearby bakeries.

Curious, he entered the pasticceria and took off his Ray-Ban sunglasses. A fruity, spicy aroma sweetened the air, stirring his senses and rousing his appetite. With its sultry lights, timber chandeliers and glass sculptures, the shop looked more like an art gallery than a pastry store. Italian music was playing, and the servers looked as chic as the decor.

Rafael looked around, but couldn’t find Paris anywhere. As he sat down on one of the raised, wooden stools, he spotted a buxom waitress climbing the circular, white staircase. Rafael contemplated heading upstairs to scope out the second floor, but decided against it. Trailing Paris was a bad idea. They had plenty of time to get reacquainted, and since he didn’t want her to think he was stalking her, he’d hang out on the main floor, have a cup of coffee and watch the world go by from his window seat.

His cell phone chirped, alerting Rafael that he had a new text message. He took his iPhone out of his backpack and punched in his password. Reading the message from Gerald Stanley gave him a surge of adrenaline. His security advisor was one step closer to single-handedly cracking the case.

I just got off the phone with my source at Miami PD. Gracie O’Conner has no alibi for the night of the arson, and neither does her ex-con brother.

Rafael was pleased with the work Gerald had done, and sent a short, quick response.

The suspects in the case were obvious, so why hadn’t the police made any arrests? he wondered. Why were they taking their sweet-ass time bringing the perpetrators to justice? Gracie O’Conner, Nicco’s former assistant, was a scheming manipulator with an ax to grind. And although she was a petite, soft-spoken woman, Rafael’s gut feeling was that she was involved in the crime. But Gracie wasn’t the only one who hated his family. His father had made a lot of enemies over the years, and Rafael wouldn’t be surprised if one of his dad’s old business rivals was out to destroy him.

His cell phone rang, and the sound yanked Rafael out of his troubled thoughts. He didn’t recognize the number, but saw the area code, and knew the person was calling from Washington, D.C. “This is Rafael Morretti.”

“Hello, Mr. Morretti,” said a husky female voice. “My name is Danica Lyons.”

The name didn’t ring a bell, so he waited for the woman to explain who she was. It was 5:00 a.m. on the East Coast, and Rafael couldn’t image why someone he didn’t know would be calling him first thing in the morning. After a moment of silence, he asked the question at the front of his mind. “How did you get my phone number?”

“It doesn’t matter. I’d like to speak to you privately, and the sooner the better.”

Rafael frowned. He turned her words over in his head, but they still didn’t make any sense. “I’m sorry, Ms. Lyons, but I’m afraid I don’t understand what this is pertaining to.”

“I’d rather not discuss the matter on the phone,” she said in a crisp tone. “I’d like to come to your office tomorrow to speak in person.”

“I’m out of the country, and won’t be back in Washington until January 3.”

“Don’t play games with me, Mr. Morretti, or things will get real ugly for you.”

Taken aback by her abrupt rudeness, Rafael stared down at the phone, unable to believe what he was hearing. “Are you threatening me?” he asked, struggling to control his temper. “Because if you are, this conversation is over.”

“I’m not threatening you, Mr. Morretti. I’m simply stating a fact.”

Rafael struggled to not lose his cool. Keeping his head was paramount, so he took a deep breath and cleared his voice of emotion. “Call my office, and my secretary will book you an appointment.”

“Very well. I look forward to meeting you.”

What the hell? Rafael hit the end button and immediately dialed Gerald’s number to tell him about his bizarre conversation with Danica Lyons. He suspected she knew something about the arson investigation, so he asked Gerald to do a background check on her. Everyone everywhere wanted to get their hands on the Crime Stoppers reward, and although Rafael didn’t put much faith in the Washington PD solving the case, he refused to leave any stone unturned.

Seconds later, when he’d ended his phone call with Gerald, Rafael felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He had nothing to worry about. By the end of the week he’d have a detailed, comprehensive report on Danica Lyons, and he was looking forward to reading every salacious word.

He slung his backpack over his shoulder and slowly perused the circular glass cases in the upscale pastry shop. After ordering a latté, he bought gourmet chocolates for his mom, Italian cookies for his father and amaretto brownies for his brothers, and paid to have them delivered to the villa.

At the cash register, Rafael spotted Paris. She was standing in front of the elaborate cake display, snapping pictures of it with her cell phone. Tapping her foot, she swayed to the beat of the music, rocking her hips provocatively from side to side. Her moves were hypnotic, and like a drunk guzzling Cristal, he was hooked. She was close enough to touch and caress, but instead of reaching out to stroke her sinuous curves, he looked away, stuffing his hands deep into the pocket of his blue jeans.

He picked up on the whispered conversation of two dark-haired men nearby as they pointed at Paris, obviously admiring her beauty. His chest automatically puffed up with pride. An odd response, considering she wasn’t his girlfriend, but Rafael couldn’t help the way he felt. Nothing had changed. If anything, Paris was more captivating and appealing. She was as vivacious as ever, and everywhere she went people gravitated to her. As he continued to watch her sway and groove to the music, he could see why.

Rafael glowered menacingly at the cocksure businessmen, who were speaking in rapid-fire Italian. His hands balled into tight fists and his heartbeat thundered inside the walls of his chest. The men were discussing how to lure Paris into bed, and even joked about filming the encounter and posting it online. Their conversation was none of his business, but Rafael felt compelled to say something. Had to before he lost his temper and pummeled them both into the ground.

Rafael spoke to the men in an authoritative voice, and scowled for good measure

Back off, fellas. The lady’s with me? his conscience repeated. How original!

“W-we’re sorry,” stammered the man with the mustache. “We didn’t mean any disrespect. We were just joking around.”

The two took off through the side door, and Rafael sighed in relief. Crisis averted. Nothing wrong with telling a little white lie, he decided, tasting his coffee. It was either that or lose Paris to someone else, and he wasn’t about to let that happen. Rafael didn’t want anyone to ruin his chances with her—

Your chances of what? his conscience questioned.

Paris must have sensed him behind her, because she glanced over her shoulder, then hit him with a pointed look. But when she spoke her tone was rife with amusement. “See anything you like?”

Do. I. Ever! His mouth watered and his temperature soared. The view of her big, beautiful backside made an erection swell inside his jeans. Her eyes lit up like stars when she laughed, and she smelled sweeter than the desserts inside the pastry shop. “The truffles look good,” he said casually, gesturing at the wall behind her. “I think I might get a few packages for my soon-to-be-sister-in-law. Angela loves chocolate almost as much as she loves Demetri!”

“So, the rumors are true.” Paris dropped her cell phone inside her purse and gave him her undivided attention. “Your brothers found love, and are both getting married next year. How exciting! Is it a double wedding? When are they tying the knot? Where is the venue?”

His jaw stiffened like clay, but he managed a weak smile. He didn’t want to talk about his brothers or their future wives. Not here, not now. But if he changed the subject Paris would think he was rude. Or worse, jealous, and he wasn’t.

Rafael averted his gaze and raked a hand over his hair. He tried not to think about how lonely he was, how empty he felt inside. These days he hardly saw his brothers, and when he did they droned on and on about their fiancées. Especially Nicco. He was the worst perpetrator. He adored Jariah and her six-year-old daughter, Ava, and over the past three months the trio had developed a strong bond, one he talked about nonstop. At times it was funny, endearing even, but at other times it got on Rafael’s nerves.

He was happy his brothers had found their soul mates, but he didn’t want to discuss their love lives. He was dying to know more about Paris—where she lived, what she did for work, if she was dating anyone—and he didn’t want to waste time chatting about wedding nonsense. “I’m the wrong person to ask. I don’t even remember when the wedding is, and I’m the best man!” he joked good-naturedly.

“Are you sure Nicco’s ready to get married?”

Her question surprised him, gave him pause. “Yeah, why?”

“Because I was at the grand opening of Dolce Vita Atlanta and he was flirting with everybody!”

Rafael chuckled. “He wasn’t engaged back then. Jariah started working for Morretti Incorporated last summer, and apparently they hit it off immediately. Nicco says it was love at first sight, but the jury is still out on that one!”

“So do you like her?”

“Yes, of course.” He thought back to the first time he’d met Jariah, and cringed inwardly when he remembered the unflattering things he’d said about her to Nicco. His brother had always had horrible taste in women, and he’d feared that Jariah was another gold digger. Thankfully, she wasn’t, and the more time Rafael spent with the hardworking single mother, the more he admired her. “Any more questions, Katie Couric?”

“Excuse me for trying to make conversation,” she said with a laugh. “I was surprised to see you get on the tour bus this morning. Aren’t you supposed to be doing business in Tuscany?”

Rafael wore a puppy dog face. “You’re keeping tabs on me. I’m touched.”

More laughter passed between them.

“My meeting was pushed back to Monday, so I decided to join the group,” he explained, admiring her radiant brown skin. “Why are you hiding out in here? You’re supposed to be at the bell tower with everyone else.”

Paris picked up her wicker basket, slipped her hand inside a white package and tossed a chocolate-covered cashew into her mouth. “I got hungry.”

“You always did like your sweets.”

“Still do,” she quipped. “Cassandra forced me to go on the soup diet with her, and if she finds out I cheated she’ll go ballistic, so don’t tell her you saw me in here, okay?”

“I won’t tell a soul. Your secret is safe with me.”

Paris walked over to the cash register, unloaded her items on the marble counter and paid the cashier. Seconds later, she joined him at the entrance of the store. “What’s your story?” she asked, slipping on her oversize Givenchy sunglasses. “Why did you ditch the group?”

Because I want to be alone with you, he thought, but didn’t say. It was too much too soon, and he didn’t want to scare her off. Not when they were enjoying each other’s company. To keep the mood light, he said, “I got tired of Cassandra’s foster mom hitting on me, so I decided to make a break for it when she wasn’t looking!”

Paris cracked up. The sound of her high-pitched giggles bolstered his confidence. He couldn’t have scripted a better reunion.

“It was great talking to you, Rafael. See you around!” she said suddenly, walking closer to the door.

He caught her arm just as she was about to breeze past him, and slid in front of the door to prevent her from leaving. “Where are you rushing off to?”

A frown touched her lips, marring her pretty features, but she didn’t speak. His body was a raging inferno and his impulse to kiss her was so strong it consumed him. He wet his lips with his tongue, moved closer. “Don’t go.” His voice sounded foreign to his ears, a lot huskier than it had ever been. “I’ll escort you to the bell tower.”

“I’m not going there. The group is slowing me down, and I have tons of shopping to do.”

An idea came to him, and a lie fell smoothly from his lips. “You have to shop and I have to shop, so we might as well knock it out together.”

“Are you sure your paramour won’t mind? I don’t want to create any problems at home.”

I’m not interested in Julietta. I’m interested in you.

“You guys looked awfully cozy last night,” Paris continued. “And she’s also made it very clear to the bridal party that you’re off-limits.”

“Paris, I’m single, and there’s no special woman in my life, but if you feel uncomfortable hanging out with me, then...”

Her frown deepened. “Why would I be uncomfortable?”

“Because we had a messy breakup.”

“Yeah, like twenty years ago,” she scoffed, giving him a funny look. “We dated when we were kids. It didn’t mean anything. I moved on and so did you. No hard feelings.”

Listening to Paris downplay their relationship hurt like hell, but Rafael held his tongue. Besides, she was right. They’d dated eons ago, and living in the past was a waste of time. “So, you don’t mind if I tag along? I promised my dad I’d buy him a case of Italian cigars, and if I forget he’ll cut me out of his will!”

Paris wore a cheeky smile. “Sure, why not? You could help me carry my bags.”

“First we eat and then we shop.”

“When did you get so bossy?” she teased, slanting her head to the right. “What happened to the sweet, easygoing guy who used to let me call the shots?”

Rafael lowered his mouth to her ear. “He grew up.”

“I can see that.”

“And what you call bossy, I call decisive,” he said smoothly. “I don’t believe in playing games. When I see something I want, I go after it. No matter what.”

Her eyes opened wide.

The air was saturated with the scent of his desire. Rafael wanted to crush his lips to her mouth, wished he could taste her one more time, but he didn’t act on his impulses. To keep his hands busy, and off her curvy, shapely body, he stepped aside and opened the door. “Shall we go? I’m hungry, and I bet you are, too.”

“Where are we going?”

“To the best Italian restaurant in town, of course.”

Her face came alive, brightened with excitement. “Now you’re talking. Lead the way!”

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