Matched to a Billionaire(17)

Done. That was as close as she could get to looking like the kind of   wife a man would enjoy coming home to. She took her time descending the   stairs in her five-inch heels and spent a few minutes in the wine  cellar  glancing at labels until she put her hand on a sauvignon blanc  Wine  Spectator had talked up. A perfect date-night wine.

She stuck the bottle in a bucket of ice and left it on the formal dining   room sideboard to chill until dinner, which the cook informed her  would  be a few minutes yet. At loose ends, she tormented the place  settings  until the silverware was either perfectly placed or exactly  where it'd  been when she started. She couldn't tell, which meant stop  obsessing.

The cook announced dinner at last. She went to fetch Leo and found him   in his study, of course, attention decisively on his laptop. His suit   jacket hung on the back of the leather chair. His shirtsleeves were   rolled up on his forearms and he'd already removed his tie. Rumpled Leo   might be her favorite.

Leaning on the doorjamb, she watched him type in efficient strokes,   pause and type again. Mentoring anonymously via chat again, most likely.   She hated to interrupt. But not really.

"Dinner's ready."

He glanced up without lifting his head and the way he peeked out from   under his lashes was so sexy, it sent a spiral of heat through her   tummy.

"Right now?" he asked.                       
       
           



       

"Um, yeah." She cleared the multitude of frogs camping out on her vocal cords. "We don't want it to get cold."

He typed for another couple of seconds and then closed the laptop's lid with a snick as he stood. "That would be a shame."

Boldly, she watched him approach, aware her body blocked the doorway and   curious what he'd do about it. "I'm a believer in hot food, myself."

He stopped a healthy distance away when he apparently realized she   wasn't budging. "I'm looking forward to a home-cooked meal. Thought I   should start eating better. I've had too much takeout lately."

Whose fault is that? "Just the food, then? The company wasn't a draw?"

"Of course the company was a factor." Something flickered in the depths of his blue eyes and heat climbed all over her.

Oh, that had all sorts of interesting possibilities locked inside. They   gazed at each other for a long, delicious moment, and he didn't look   away. Or back up.

Then he gestured to the hall. "Shall we, Mrs. Reynolds?"

And somehow, that was far more intimate than calling her Dannie. Deliberate? Oh, goodness, she hoped so.

Leo's capable palm settled into the small of her back as they walked and   she felt the contact all the way to the soles of her feet. Something   had changed. Hadn't it? Was her coffee that good?

In the dining room, Leo drew back the heavy chair and allowed her to sit   on the brocade cushion before pushing it in for her. Then he expertly   poured the wine to exactly the same level in both glasses on the first   try-impressive evidence of how good Leo was with both detail and his   hands.

Not that she'd needed additional clues the man hid amazing things under   his workaholic shell. Were they at a point where she could admit how   outrageously attracted to Leo she was? Or was that going past blunt into   another realm entirely?

Placing her glass on the table before her, he took the seat catercorner   to hers instead of across the table. "So we can talk without shouting,"   he said when she raised her eyebrows.

All small, small gestures, but so huge to her romance-starved soul.   Flutters spread from her stomach to every organ in her body. Especially   her heart.

For whatever reason, he was trying, really trying, to give her some of   his time. But what was his intent? The friendship she'd hoped for or   merely a small gesture toward crossing her path?

She'd keep her wits about her and under no circumstances would she read   anything into what was essentially just dinner. As they dug into Greek   salads served with crusty bread, she stuck to discussing her progress  on  the party. The more the wine flowed, the more relaxed they both  became.

About halfway through her swordfish, she brought up the one thing she'd   been dying to ask since the night of their marriage. "Do you still   draw?"

Leo's fork froze over a piece of grilled zucchini. "How did you know about that?"

"Your mother told me."

He grimaced. "I should have guessed. She still has every piece of paper I've ever touched with a pencil."

Which was no answer at all. "Is it a sensitive subject?"

"No." Carefully, he cut a hunk of fish and chewed it in a spectacular   stall tactic she recognized a mile away. He didn't want to discuss his   art, that much was clear.

"So, never mind then. It's not important," she lied. His reaction said   there was more to the story and it was very important, but she didn't   want to alienate him. "Tell me something else instead. Why venture   capital?"

His expression warmed. "If you're good, you can make a lot of money. You just have to recognize the right opportunities."

"Are you good?"

She already knew the answer but was curious what he thought about the   empire he'd built. Most of her research into the complexities of venture   capital had been conducted by reading articles about her husband's   successful company before she'd even spoken to him on the phone for the   first time.

"I'm competent. But I've made my share of mistakes."

As if that was something to be ashamed of. He seemed determined to   downplay all his positives. "Everyone makes mistakes. You've recovered   from yours quite well. The reputation of Reynolds Capital Management is   unparalleled."

He inclined his head with a pleased smile. "It's a work in progress."

Fascinated with the way his eyes turned deeper blue when he engaged, she   drained her wineglass and propped her chin on a curled hand. This was   exactly what she'd envisioned their friendship would look like. "So how   do you recognize the right opportunity?"                       
       
           



       

The cook bustled in and cleared their empty dinner plates, replacing   them with bananas Foster for dessert. She lit the rum and blew it out in   an impressive culinary display, then efficiently disappeared.

Leo spooned the dessert into his mouth and murmured appreciatively   before answering Dannie's question. "Experience. Gut instinct. A large   percentage of success is simply showing up. I create the remaining   percentage by getting there first and staying until everyone else has   gone home."

"Do you see your job as creative?" Dannie took a small bite of banana,   gratified Leo liked the dessert as much as she did, but determined to   keep him engaged in conversation. A full mouth wouldn't lend itself well   to that.

He pursed his lips. "In a way, I suppose. Without backing, a lot of   entrepreneurs' ideas would never see the light of day. I provide the   platform for other people to tap into their creativity."

Which was what he'd done for her-given her the opportunity and the means   to be exactly what she wanted to be. A wife. If tonight was any   indication, Leo had changed his mind about spending time getting to know   each other. Maybe she'd get the relationship-in some form or   fashion-she craved out of it, too.

"You're the puppet master, then," she said.

"Not at all. I never stick my fingers in the pie. Micromanagement is not   the most effective way to do business. I'm the money, not the talent."

"But you have talent," she protested.

His expression dimmed. "You've never seen one of my drawings."

"I meant you have a talent for recognizing the right opportunity." She   smiled in hopes of keeping things friendly. "But I have a feeling you've   got artistic talent, too. Draw me something and I'll let you know."

She was pushing him, she knew she was. But she wanted to know him, and his mysterious artistic side intrigued her.

"I don't draw anymore," he said, the syllables so clipped they nearly drew blood.

Message received. They hadn't connected nearly as deeply as she'd hoped,   but they'd only just begun. One day, maybe he'd open up that part to   her. "You've moved on to bigger and better canvases. Now you're creating   your art with completely different tools."

Leo pushed his chair back. "Maybe. I've got some work to finish up. Thanks for dinner."