Give a Little (6 page)

“I know them very well, actually.” He smiled, amused. “Have you visited the factory?”

“No.” She frowned. “I take it you have.”

He’d opened the factory, but she didn’t need to know that yet. “I am Luca Fiorelli,” he said, exaggerating, knowing how she’d take it.

She rolled her eyes. “Your ego knows no bounds.”

“Neither does yours.” He walked toward her. “It’s one of the ways we’re compatible.”

“We are
not
compatible.” She stood her ground as he approached.

“We’re two sides of the same coin, Beatrice.” Taking her by the hips, he guided her back until she leaned against the bonnet.

“What are you doing?” she murmured even as her hands snuck inside his coat.

He braced his hands on the car, on either side of her. “I’ve missed you,” he whispered.

“I’m surprised you noticed my absence.”

He smiled, touching the frown at the corners of her lips. “Ah. You missed me, too.”

“I—”

Before she could deny it, he brought his lips to hers.

She lit under him, the way she always did, and the world righted for the first time in weeks.

Despite dinner, he found himself ravenous, and there was only one thing he wanted. He kissed her, his hand grazing the inside of her thighs, pushing her dress up. His heart pounded as his fingers reveled in the creamy feel of her skin.

It would never be enough. He could never have enough of her. He kissed her harder, needing her more than his next breath.

“What if Roger comes?” she asked against his mouth.

“He’s not the one who’s going to come,” Luca promised her, his fingers pressing over the silky knickers that safeguarded her secrets. Glancing down, he exhaled when he saw the fancy lingerie she liked to wear. He slipped his fingers inside the silk, wanting to howl when he felt the wetness he’d caused.

Her head fell back, and her legs opened. “We’re going to have to be quick.”

He smiled, feeling himself harden even more. He loved that she didn’t tell him to stop. He loved that she wanted him as much as he wanted her, even if she tried to deny it.

Her hands braced on the car, her hair streaming on the dark blue. She was beautiful, her face lit in pure ecstasy.

He knew exactly where to touch her, how much pressure she liked and which spot drove her crazy. He was tempted to kneel down and lick her.

Why not? He got to his knees, pushed the silk aside, and set his tongue to her. He wanted to hear her scream in this empty building. He wanted her to come undone for him, the way she refused to lose control in everyday life.

Her hands gripped his hair. “
Luca,
” she cried a second before she stiffened with her pleasure.

He hummed, licking slowly as she came down from her high. Righting her panties, he pulled her dress back down and then stood.

Her eyes glittered, half-mast, and her breath was still heavy. “You’re not going to shag me?”

What he would give to lie her on the bonnet and take her completely, but now wasn’t the time and place. He adjusted himself to make it more comfortable. “Is that an invitation?”

“I didn’t realize you stood on the formality of being invited,” she said, smoothing her hair.

He wanted to take her hand, to hold it. He wanted that privilege for life. Only he knew she’d balk at that. She was like a wild animal that needed to be won over with affection and trust. He’d waited this long, he could be patient a bit longer.

Hopefully.

So he stuck his hands in his pockets, which only made his trousers tighter. “Everyone likes to be wanted, Beatrice. Even me.”

Her brow furrowed.

He smiled, liking that she was obviously confused. He nodded to the exit. “Shall we?”

Her frown deepened even more when he dropped her off at her flat instead of taking her to his.

Penguins and disco balls.

Rowdy looked around the ballroom. Men in tuxes, the wait staff only distinguishable from the attendees because of the trays they carried. The women all wore glittery dresses that reflected light like the disco ball he had hanging in his bathroom back in Boston.

He sipped the champagne he’d filched from a passing tray, wondering when the festivities were going to get started. When he’d arrived they’d told him to have a drink and relax, that they’d let him know when they were ready for him.

He supposed he should mingle. As he looked around the room, looking for someone interesting to talk to, his gaze caught on Jasmine Hayes.

Surprised to see her, he stopped and stared. She stood to the side, an untouched glass of champagne in her hand. She wore white, one of those mullet dresses that was business in the front and party in the back. Even in the virginal white cloud of fabric, she looked spicy—the kind of spicy that lingered in the mouth and burned hotter the more time that passed.

He didn’t mind spice. In fact, he preferred some heat.

Actually, he preferred
her
—he had from the first time he’d seen her. It’d been like a poke awake, a flash of certainty that he wanted to get to know her better. He’d been distracted over the past weeks, what with his rehab center and stuff, but Pop and his bucket list had him thinking he should seize the day.

Tugging his shirtsleeves down, he decided it was time to find out if she felt the same.

Jasmine turned as if she felt him approaching. Her gaze flickered on him, and he felt a tingle of sparks when her almond eyes roved over him.

Smiling, Rowdy sauntered up to her. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Yes, it’s surprising, isn’t it?” Her gaze rolled over his body, taking in his tux.

He knew he looked good. He cleaned up.

“Is everything all right with your family?” she asked softly.

“Aww … You remember that?”

“Of course I remember.” She frowned. “I wasn’t drunk.”

No, she hadn’t been. He eyed her glass. In fact, he’d never really seen her drink much, even celebrating at Vi’s wedding. “Why were you at that bar anyway? Were you meeting friends?”

“No.” She shrugged, looking away. “I was bored.”

“Bored?” He crossed his arms. “Should I believe that?”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“Because I think there’s more to it.” He studied her. “Did you find someone to help you with your boredom?”

Jasmine looked him straight in the eye as she said, “I spent the evening alone.”

A surge of satisfaction shot through him, but before he got carried away, he had to ask. “Because of me?”

Something in her gaze shifted, and suddenly she was plastered to his side, her head tipped up to his. “What do you think?”

“Jasmine,” a crisp masculine voice said from behind them.

Rowdy looked over his shoulder to see an older man frowning at him with an expression that didn’t look impressed or pleased. Then the man turned his disapproval on Jasmine.

She lifted her chin defiantly but said nothing.

Oo-kay. Facing the man, Rowdy smiled and held his hand out. “I’m Gary Stimson, but my friends call me Rowdy.”

“This is John Hayes,” Jasmine said, stepping back. “And he has no friends.”

The man gave her an exasperated look and shook Rowdy’s hand. “How do you know my daughter?”

This was Jasmine’s father? Rowdy looked between them, not seeing any resemblance whatsoever. “We have friends in common,” he said easily.

Jasmine toyed with the champagne glass in her hand. “He’s a friend of the woman Finn married. Remember that Finn got married?”

“I can’t believe you let Phineas Buchanan get away,” John Hayes said, his expression sour.

She smiled bitterly as she faced Rowdy. “Finn was the one goal in life my parents expected me to achieve. I’d say now they think I’m an utter failure, but they always thought that.”

“Really, Jasmine.” Her father gave her a look.

Rowdy expected her to lash back, but she pressed her lips shut and looked away. He glanced back and forth between them, not sure what was going on but knowing Jasmine didn’t like it. She tried to hide it, but behind her wall she was sad.

It made him want to fix it for her. The only thing he could do was divert her dad’s attention, so he smiled at the older man. “This shindig is pretty amazing. It’s nice of you to support the cause.”

“What do you do?” the man asked as though Rowdy hadn’t spoken.

“I was a professional rugby player until last week,” he said cheerfully, not fazed by the man’s rudeness. He was clearly looking out for his daughter—he couldn’t be faulted for that. Rowdy totally got it. He put his hand in his pocket. “Now I’m opening up a rehab center. Do you follow rugby?”

“No.”

Rowdy heard the disapproval in the guy’s voice, and it amused him. “Soccer?”

“We call it football,” John Hayes said in his fancy accent.

“Yeah, I know, but my best buddy used to play and I always call it soccer to get a rise out of him.” Rowdy grinned. “You know what they say about soccer and rugby, right?”

The man frowned. “What?”

“Soccer is a gentleman’s sport played by hooligans. Rugby is a hooligan’s sport played by gentlemen.”

The emcee came on, cuing the auction.

He was on. He handed his champagne to Jasmine’s father. “Take this, will you?”

The man sputtered but accepted the glass.

The British and their sense of politeness. Rowdy mentally shook his head. That was one thing he never thought he’d get used to. He winked at Jasmine. “Catch ya later, doll.”

Hand in his pocket, he strolled to the side of the stage and asked where he should go.

Someone in black with a clipboard directed him backstage to stand in a line of reluctant-looking men. He took his place and smiled at the dude next to him.

Once he’d wrapped his head around being auctioned off, he’d started looking forward to it. It was going to be fun. He chuckled, thinking how much Pop would have enjoyed being auctioned himself. The old man had moxie.

Rowdy listened to the emcee auction off the first round of bachelors and the polite applause that accompanied each one. They raised quite a bit of money for each guy. He could get more though.

The girl with the clipboard waved at him.

Showtime. Grinning, he strutted his stuff onto the stage.

The emcee motioned him forward with her note cards before she looked down at them. “Straight from the United States, bachelor number eight likes piña coladas and getting caught in the rain.”

At her disbelieving glance, he shrugged. They’d asked him for an intro, and he’d had to improv it. He grinned out at the crowd, unbuttoning his coat and holding it open. Might as well show off his wares.

There was a ripple in the crowd, and a few women came to the front and began to bid against each other.

But he could do better. The other guys didn’t have his intriguing face or his physique. Grinning at the ladies, he slowly shimmied out of his coat and tossed it aside.

There was a moment of stunned silence, and then someone catcalled, giving permission to the other women to cheer louder.

He winked at the startled emcee and yanked his bowtie off before popping his shirt open from the tuxedo studs.

Someone started piping music through the speakers.
That
was what he was talking about. “Yee-ahhh,” he called out, gyrating his hips to the rhythm as he pulled his shirt out of his pants.

His gaze caught Jasmine’s. Winking at her, he took the two sides of his shirt and teased them open wide.

Then a glitzy woman in the front raised her hand and called out an obscenely high bid.

The emcee jumped on it. “That’s a respectable bid for a not-so-respectable man, but I think we can do better, ladies. What do you think?”

The crowd cheered, and the emcee began to drive the price up.

The glitzy woman bid with determined precision, glaring at her competitors every time one tried to outdo her. Then she raised her hand and added another thousand pounds to the pot.

“I think the stakes have just risen,” the emcee said, dollar signs in her eyes. “Now you can’t tell me that’s all you’re willing to offer for this fine man.”

He looked at the glitzy woman. She looked like she wanted to eat him up. Not that he was interested. He found Jasmine in the crowd.

Her gaze was narrowed on the glitzy woman like she wanted to claw her to ribbons.

Interesting. Rowdy faced the glitzy shark, tore his shirt off his shoulders, and tossed it to her.

“Ten thousand pounds,” came a sultry voice from the back.

Jasmine’s voice. He looked at her, shocked. That was a ton of money.

Jasmine stared at the emcee, her face set as though she was determined to win him.

“Well, hello,” he murmured, standing straighter, hitching his thumbs in his pockets.

“Ten thousand, once, twice, sold to the woman in white.” The emcee led everyone in clapping. Facing Rowdy, she said, “That’s the highest bid one person has ever raised.”

Taking a bow, he grabbing his coat, slung it over his shoulder, and strutted to the edge of the stage. Ignoring the girl with the clipboard who waved frantically from the sidelines, he hopped down right in front and strode past the pouting glitzy woman to the one who’d paid a fortune to go out with him. That had to mean something, right?

As he approached, Jasmine met his gaze measure for measure, unflinching, unapologetic.

His groin tightened. He made his way through the crowd, aware of the awed stares and congratulatory remarks, but his focus was all on her.

He came to stand before her, his arms held out. “I’m all yours, babe, for one night.”

She quirked her eyebrow. “One night is all my money buys?”

“Yeah. But don’t worry.” He grinned at her. “The rest is negotiable.”

Bea tapped her phone to her chin, the information Inga had compiled on Stallon-E spread around her in her car. Minus pictures—she’d had her assistant weed them out. Because whenever she glanced at the car, she twitched with post-traumatic stress.

Just like that, the images flashed in her mind: Luca kneeling before her, worshiping her with his mouth. Because, as much as she hated to admit it, that was what it had seemed like: He’d worshipped her.

And she wanted more.