Give a Little (5 page)

Luca studied her for a long silent moment. Then he said, “The London Motorexpo is this week, and Stallon-E is being featured. I can take you, if you wish.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Convenient, isn’t it?”

He shrugged, hands out as if to show he had nothing to hide. “You’re the one interested in the car. I’m merely giving you what you want.” He leaned in. “If you let me, I’d make it my purpose in life to give you everything you want.”

Inga made a strangled noise.

Bea glanced at her usually self-possessed assistant, who watched Luca with bright interest.

Scowling, she crossed her arms. “I only want to go to see this car.”

“The car, and dinner,” Luca countered, also crossing his arms.

She knew time was of the essence, and as ornamental as he was, Luca knew automobiles. He really was the perfect person to talk to about the viability of the automobile. So she arched her brow and said, “The car and dinner, and that’s it.”

Smiling slowly, he lowered his face so his lips hovered above hers and whispered, “That’ll never be
it
, Beatrice,” and then he kissed her like she was the main course. With a victor’s grin, he straightened and sauntered past Inga.

“Wow.” Her assistant fanned herself, her eyes still on the door.

Picking up her mobile, Bea gripped it tight, trying to get herself back under control. “That didn’t happen.”

“I’m fairly certain it did.” Inga flipped her hair. “And your blouse is buttoned wrong.”

Flushing, she redid her buttons. “Is that all?”

“I’d assume no.” Inga gave a knowing look and closed the door behind her.

Luca saw Beatrice waiting for him from down the street. She sat on the red couch outside the restaurant, under the awning to avoid the drizzle, her golden hair shining under the restaurant’s light. Her mobile was in her hands, and her thumbs were tapping at it with amazing speed. Her legs were crossed, and her skirt had fallen open to reveal her thigh.

He’d kissed that thigh.

Luca hummed in his throat, wanting to kiss it again. She had luscious legs.

All of her was luscious. He’d never been the sort of man who had a fixation on any certain body part; he appreciated a woman as a whole¸ mind included. Without a sharp mind, the rest of it was wasted.

None of it was wasted on Beatrice Summerhill.

If it were up to him, he’d take her home and feast on her now. He’d slowly strip away her clothing and reservations and show her how perfect they were together.

If he could pry that mobile away from her.

He came to stand before her, waiting for her to acknowledge him.

“Just a minute,” she said in her clipped voice without looking up.

He frowned. He hated her mobile.

No,
hate
wasn’t the correct word. He
resented
the mobile. Perhaps he was even jealous. She had a relationship with that device that defied understanding. But he held no ill feelings toward the thing itself—it couldn’t help that Beatrice focused on it the way he wanted her to focus on him.

“Luca!” Hands in the air, Mateo came outside, grabbed his shoulders, and kissed both his cheeks. “
Come stai
?”

“
Va bene
, Mateo.” He clapped the boy on the back, surreptitiously glancing at Beatrice. She’d looked up and watched the scene, her fingers still poised on her mobile.

“You have a reservation for two,” Mateo said. “I gave you your favorite table.”

“Thank you.” He held a hand out to Beatrice, who was staring unabashedly now. “Are you ready, Beatrice?”

“Yes.” Avoiding his hand, she stood on her own and brushed by him.

“That’s your lady?” Mateo said in awed Italian, staring after her.

He nodded grimly. “Yes.”

“
Bellisima
.” The young man brought his fingers together and kissed the tips. Then he rushed after her, telling her in overly accented English that they were seated in the corner.

Luca followed, watching her unwind her scarf from her neck as Mateo pulled out the chair for her. He liked watching her take her clothing off, even something as innocent as a scarf, despite the fact that a young Italian pup ogled her like she was tiramisu.

“This is an interesting choice of a restaurant,” she said to him as he sat next to her.

“I know the owners.”

“From Italy?” she asked as she lifted the menu.

“No, I met them here. The owner is from Genoa.” They were both Italian in a foreign land, so of course they’d bonded instantly upon meeting.

She looked at him from above the menu. “Where are you from?”

“Bologna.” He unfolded the napkin and set it on his lap. “Have you been?”

“No.”

“A pity.” He lifted his hand to beckon their waiter over. Quickly, in Italian, he ordered a bottle of the wine they kept on hand especially for him, as well as food for the two of them.

“I take it you ordered for us,” Beatrice said dryly as the waiter took the menu from her hands.

He smiled. “Are your feathers ruffled?”

Her eyes narrowed. “I like to make my own choices.”

The first time he saw the Mediterranean he fell in love with the waters. Her eyes were the same hue. “Trust me, Beatrice. I won’t disappoint you.”

“That remains to be seen, doesn’t it?” She unfurled her napkin and draped it on her lap. She lifted her mobile and glanced at it. “How late does the show stay open? I feel like we may be late after dinner, and I want to be certain to have enough time for research.”

He had plans to help her with research. He shifted in his seat. “I’ve made arrangements.”

Her brows drew tight. “What does that mean?”

“That you should trust that I’ll provide what you need,” he said, trying not to let his frustration show. He smiled as well as he could. “And how was your day, Beatrice?”

Her eyes narrowed. “What are you up to?”

“You know what I’m up to.”

“Yes, but I don’t understand why you’re up to it.”

“Of course you do.” He leaned forward. “I haven’t been unclear in my intentions, Beatrice. I want you.”

“You’ve had me.”

“Only enough to whet my appetite.” Beatrice Summerhill was his forever, if he could only convince her of that. “I want more.”

She didn’t look any less suspicious. “I feel like there’s more going on right now than that.”

Because she was an intelligent woman. It hadn’t escaped his mind that if she invested in his company they would be entwined in a deep way as far as she was concerned. He recognized that even if the vows were sacred to him, to her a contract was more binding and true. He just had to convince her to enter a personal partnership with him.

Easier said than done.

Mateo was the one who came back with their wine. Not bothering to show the label, he began to uncork it, staring at Beatrice like a lovesick puppy.

Luca rolled his eyes.

Smiling, confident of her charms but without any coyness, Beatrice angled toward Mateo. “You do that so expertly. Have you worked here long?”

Luca sat back, amused, as he watched the young man fall in love with her. It was inevitable; Beatrice was one of those women who inspired undying devotion.

Mateo poured their glasses and with one last longing sigh, left them alone.

“He’s sweet,” Beatrice said, lifting her glass to inhale the aroma.

“He’s a boy.” Luca swirled his wine. “He won’t be interesting past a night.”

“True, but that has its own allure.” She held out her glass. “To Italian stallions.”

He laughed and clinked to the toast.

Her eyebrows raised as she sipped the wine. “This is good.”

He shrugged. “It reminds me of home.”

“Home must be delicious,” she said taking another sip.

He hoped she’d find out for herself one day, but first things first. “Tell me why you’re interested in Stallon-E.”

She arched her brow. “Can’t I be interested because it’s a good investment?”

“Yes, but that isn’t the reason,” he said with certainty.

“Investing in this company would be a win,” she said too easily. “And I like to win.”

He still didn’t believe her—there was more to it. “But you don’t know cars.”

“No, but I know business. This business has the potential to overtake other electric car manufacturers.”

A ripple of pride shot through him, that she thought his vision had potential. He didn’t need anyone’s approval, but having that of the woman he loved was a special sort of feeling.

Before he could comment, she picked up her mobile and began to fiddle with it. He frowned. He shouldn’t have brought up business.

The only sure way of refocusing her was to kiss her or to talk about her family. He couldn’t very well kiss her properly here, so he asked, “Are you ready for Rosalind’s wedding?”

Beatrice set her device down, her gaze soft, the way it was when she talked about her sisters. “It’s finally happening, isn’t it? I didn’t think Ros and Nick would ever get their ducks in a row, especially with all the date and venue changes. I hear you and Nick picked out your suits.”

“Don’t worry, I kept him from making any sartorial
faux pas
.”

She smiled wryly. “Will he be wearing pink?”

“Of course not.” Luca pretended to be offended. “Pink isn’t Nico’s color.”

Beatrice smiled, but she didn’t laugh. He loved her laugh, probably because he heard it so seldom. If he could have one wish, it’d be to hear it for the rest of his life from his side in bed.

If only he could get rid of the wall she had with him. He needed to figure out a way to smash it down.

She was polite through dinner, making the appropriate conversation. If he didn’t know her, he’d have thought she was perfectly pleasant.

Only he didn’t want appropriate or pleasant—he wanted
her
. He wanted to poke at her until her proper facade fell away and she was real with him.

He would have preferred lingering after dinner with a macchiato, but the hundredth time she glanced at her mobile he tossed his napkin on the table and waved to Mateo for the check.

Outside the restaurant, she began to play with her phone again.

He quickly took her arm and walked her down the street. “My car is this way.”

“I’m calling my driver,” she said, digging her heels in. “I’ll meet you there.”

“That’s ridiculous.” He stopped and stared her down. “We’ll go together. Unless you’d prefer not to go?”

Her eyes narrowed, the Mediterranean on a stormy day. “Fine.”

He guessed her clipped tone was supposed to cut him, but as long as he got to keep her close he was willing to brave a couple wounds.

Opening the door for her, she gave him a scathing look as she eased into his Ferrari. He stayed to enjoy the length of her legs, bared as her dress slid up.

She made a point of pulling it back down.

He leaned into the open door and softly said, “It doesn’t matter if you cover yourself head to toe, Beatrice, because I already know what every inch of you looks like.”

Before she could reply, he closed the door and went around to his side. He expected her to say something but was gratified when she only stared straight ahead, a tiny frown furrowing her forehead.

Good—at least he wasn’t the only one off balance here. He put the car in gear and took off.

He drove to Canary Wharf in silence, enjoying the feel of his Ferrari and Beatrice sitting next to him. Because it was late, he decided to weave his way to the building where his car was being displayed and park directly out front.

Unhooking her seatbelt, Beatrice frowned out the window. “Is the Stallon-E prototype outside?”

“No. Some of the autos are housed inside.”

“It’s closed,” she said accusingly.

“Yes, it is.” He went around the car and opened her door for her. “But it’s always open for me.”

She arched her brow as she got out. “Because you’re so special?”

“Because of who I am in the industry,” he corrected mildly.

Beatrice looked skeptical, but she followed him to the entrance.

The guard smiled when he saw Luca. “Good evening, sir. Come to take a gander at your car?”

“Yes, Roger.” Smiling, he shook hands with the man. “How did your son like the gloves?”

“He hasn’t taken them off, except for baths, and even then I think he’d keep them on.” Grinning, Roger turned to Beatrice. “Mr. Fiorelli brought my son autographed racing gloves.”

“That was nice of him,” Beatrice murmured.

“It was a right lovely thing,” the guard said with staunch loyalty. “I’ve been working these events for years, and most celebrities don’t care at all about people like us.”

“No, I suppose they don’t.” She glanced at Luca.

“I’m just making sure I have a fan for life,” he said smoothly. He put a hand on her back and escorted her inside. “I’ll get the lights before we leave, Roger.”

“Thank you, Mr. Fiorelli.”

He escorted her in.

“Aren’t you going to turn the lights on?” she asked after a moment.

He grinned at her. “You’ve been in the dark with me before.”

“Which is why I think lights are prudent.”

He didn’t say anything, and she still walked alongside him, so he led her down a dimly lit aisle to the back where his car was being showcased. Once they arrived, he went to the switch that lit the spotlight on the Stallon-E and flipped it on. “The future of automobiles,” he said with a flourish.

Beatrice walked around it, inspecting the vehicle with a shrewd eye.

Luca stood back and tried to see it as she did, though he knew it was impossible. It was his child, and therefore the most beautiful thing in the world. The lines were sleek, and the dark blue exterior gleamed with care and love.

Beatrice faced him. “What’s your opinion on this vehicle?”

“It’s revolutionary,” he said, not able to tone down the pride.

“Why?”

“The lines, the motor, all beautiful and powerful.” Like her. He touched the curves of the car’s fender, the way he planned on touching Beatrice’s curves. “Aside from that, the battery is unrivaled. It lasts five hundred miles.”

“So they say,” she murmured, skeptical. “Do you know anything about the management of the company?”