Millionaire's Secret Seduction(10)

She held out her hot dog. "Here, you have it. I've lost my appetite."

She placed it in his wide palm and his fingers closed around it. "I'm not letting you go back to work until you eat something."                       
       
           



       

She shrugged. "Hot dogs aren't good for you, anyway."

"Come on." He stood and tugged her to her feet. "I'm taking you  somewhere for a real lunch." He tossed the hot dog in a wastebasket and  strode for the park exit. Her hand imprisoned in his, she hurried to  keep up.

Ignoring her protests, he hailed a cab as soon as they stepped onto the sidewalk, then almost pushed her into it.

"Where are you taking me?" She slammed down on the vinyl seat, gasping for breath. She didn't hear what he said to the driver.

Dominic eased his big body in next to her. The fine wool of his suit brushed her bare arm. "You'll find out soon enough."

"How do I know you're not going to keep me a prisoner in your hotel room?"

Why had that image sprung to mind? And why did it trigger an alarming shiver of anticipation.

She glanced at the cab driver to see if he had rescuer potential. His  rhythmic head bobbing didn't look to be a good sign. An iPod earphone  peeked out from beneath his turban. Was that even legal?

"Hmm. Good idea." The dimple nearest her made an appearance. "Except I don't have a hotel room."

"Where are you staying?" She gripped the door handle with an unsteady  hand as they headed downtown, weaving back and forth through Fifth  Avenue traffic in a way that made her stomach lurch.

"A friend's place."

She wondered if it was a female friend, then cursed herself. What did  she care? She was hardly hoping for a relationship with Dominic  Hardcastle.

She needed him to head straight back to Miami and her to find the file-ideally today.

This little detour was not helping.

He rolled down the window and inhaled a lungful of exhaust and  secondhand cigarette smoke. "Damn. I do miss this city. We lived here  until I was ten, then my mom got a job that moved us all over the  place."

"Are you thinking of moving back?" Her empty stomach cramped.

"Are you trying to say you'd miss me if I went home?"

"Not in the least."

"I'd miss you." He gave her a long-lashed sideways glance.

Flirt. "You don't even know me." She ignored the funny feeling in her chest.

"I know you have a beef with Tarrant Hardcastle. That gives us something in common."

"You said he'd give you anything you want. Figure out what you want and  ask him for it." His attempt to find common ground with her made her  palms sweat. Was he setting her up for something?

"I know what I want." A tiny frown etched his forehead as his gaze  drifted over her cheek and chin. "I wonder if Tarrant would give you to  me if I asked nicely."

She whipped around to face him, her fingers tingling to slap his arrogant, handsome face.

He was grinning.

She fought a bizarre urge to laugh. "Oh, stop it. You have me where you  want me because I was stupid enough to blab my whole sob story to you."

"Yeah. You should be more cagey."

"Thanks for the tip."

"Anytime." His black eyes roamed insolently over the front of her dress, where the patterned fabric clung to her breasts.

A sudden stray image assaulted her. His mouth on her breast. His tongue making a dark circle on the silk.

She lifted her head and stared out the window. She could feel her  nipples peaked hard inside her bra. Wondered if he could see them.

She wanted to suck in a deep breath but she knew that would only draw  her dress tighter over her breasts. "I do have work to do, you know."

"Sure. Rifling through the drawers in my family's business."

"Actually, we have a new product coming out." She wanted to prove that  she earned her keep. "Two of my researchers have perfected a powder that  creates the illusion of perfectly smooth skin. At first it didn't work  because oil in the skin broke it down, so the effect didn't last long on  a lot of people. Anita came up with a compound that absorbs oil and now  we can offer a twelve-hour guarantee."

Dominic looked politely interested. That irked her. "This stuff is  effective enough to cover deep scarring. It will change a lot of  people's lives."

"That's great."                       
       
           



       

"You think it's silly."

"I don't. It's a heck of a lot less silly than most of what Hardcastle  tries to foist on its consumers. Though, if they sold you that dress  I've got to thank them."

"I bought it at Ann Taylor." She smoothed the skirt and hid her smile of satisfaction.

"You would."

They were stuck in traffic. Dominic still had the window open and a chorus of honks pummeled her ears.

"I bet your dad would be really proud of what you're doing with his work." His tone, warm and intimate, made her breath catch.

"He wasn't interested in cosmetics. I think he'd have loved to work for the military, but they wouldn't hire him."

"Why not?"

"He was politically radical for a while after he came to the U.S.  Belonged to some fringe Marxist group. He was out of politics by the  time I was born, but I guess the stain lingers in the CIA files."

"That's a shame." His sympathetic look almost affected her. "Maybe you inherited his risky passion for lost causes."

Her back stiffened. "It's not funny."

"I know. That's why I don't want to see you screw up your life over something that can't be changed."

"Did you drag me out of my lab to lecture me?"

"Among other things. Feeding you and kissing you were higher on my agenda, but we seem to have gotten out of order."

He leaned forward and slid the partition aside, tapped on the driver's  shoulder and gave him some incomprehensible directions. They headed east  on Fourteenth Street.

"Since we're working backwards, can I kiss you now?"

The question was straightforward.

Her answer more so. "No."





Four




B ella's pulse picked up. Would he force her? Hold their "deal" over her head?

His expression serious, Dominic raised his thumb and brushed it gently over her lips. "Shame."

How dare he? Her mouth quivered under his insolent touch.

How would he feel if she reached out and-say-ran her fingers through his  hair? His thick black hair was combed back, but a natural wave pulled  it into disorder that begged to be "fixed". Her palms tingled.

Bella jerked her focus off him and stared out the window. The cab was  taking them into the gridless labyrinth of the West Village. "You still  haven't told me where we're going. Wouldn't that be polite?"

"You know by now that I can be quite rude when the occasion calls for it." Humor thickened his voice.

"Why do I feel like I should be calling a cop?"

"Maybe you should be." He leaned forward and muttered something to the  driver, who pulled over outside a small brown-stone storefront.

She climbed out onto the sidewalk, self-conscious in her smart dress  among the jean-clad people perched on the edges of sidewalk planters.

He held out his arm, gallant. Aware of all the eyes on her, she took it.  He led her up some concrete stairs. Inside people packed in front of a  narrow counter. A chalkboard menu covered the far wall. Delicious aromas  wafted in the air and she could hear the clatter of pans.

"Best food in the city." Dominic squeezed her arm in his.

"What kind?"

"Italian, of course."

Of course. And to compound his crimes of arrogance, he ordered for both  of them without even asking her what she wanted. Or liked.

Or even if she was hungry. Which unfortunately, she was.

He chatted with the guy behind the counter as if they were friends, but didn't introduce her. "Let's sit outside."

Of course, Your Lordship.

"You know, you are a lot like Tarrant." She arranged her skirt on the  hard bench that ran under the storefront window. "You do everything you  damn well please and don't care what anyone else wants."

"There's a lot to be said for being decisive."

"In business, yes, but it can be hard to take in personal relationships. Look how many times your dad has been married."

That got his attention. Dominic's lips pursed like he was about to say  something. Then he looked thoughtful. "How many times has he been  married?"                       
       
           



       

Regret rippled through her. She'd forgotten that Tarrant was a virtual  stranger to him. She probably knew his father better than he did.  "Samantha is number three. Have you met her?"